VI. I am in the room at Grimmauld Place that they have told me belongs to Sirius, my dead godfather. They seemed to expect me to become upset when they told me of him, but to me, he is but another person I do not know. He, like the rest of them, is part of the memories that belong to the other Harry. The room is full of red banners and the walls are full of posters with naked women and motorbikes. I cannot say I like it, but when I talked with Ron about changing the room a while ago, he looked down right horrified. I haven't brought it up since then.
At the moment, I am sitting on the bed with my legs crossed under me, practicing the hand movement of Wingardium Leviosa with the holly wand in hand. So far, I haven't managed to produce any kind of magic, and if Hermione hadn't demonstrated the spell and its effects, I'd have thought they're pulling my leg. Still, Hermione seems determined to teach me spells I have, apparently, already known, and we now practice every day.
There's a knock on the door and I look up, wondering who it might be as it does not sound like Hermione's sharp knocks and Ron tends to forget to knock altogether.
"Come in," I call, and the door opens to reveal Ginny.
Her shoulders are slumped and her eyes are red and swollen as if she has been crying. She stands with her hand on the door handle, not quite stepping into the room, and looks at the floor by the bed instead of at me. I put the wand down and turn to her fully, but for quite some time, she says nothing.
"Do you miss me?"
When her words do break the silence, they surprise me and I cannot help but frown at her. Miss her?
"We saw each other at the Burrow, didn't we?" I ask carefully.
Her head snaps up and she stares at me, her eyes shining with unshed tears, and I realize that I have said the wrong thing once again.
"That was a month ago, Harry," she tells me, her voice strained.
"A month?" I repeat in surprise. Has it really been that long? It feels like it was just a few days ago, but when I think back, I find that most of the time is but a hazy blur that has passed me by as if the memories of those days have not quite stuck with me. I remember being at the Burrow and meeting the Weasleys, and I think it was just a few days later that Hermione first tried to teach me Wingardium Leviosa, but how many times have we practiced since then? I do not know.
"A month, Harry, and I haven't heard anything from you!" Ginny cries out and breaks through my thoughts. Her clenched fists are shaking by her sides now and she is taking deep breaths as if to gather herself. "I realize you're having a hard time right now, Harry. You need all the time you can get to try to get your memories back, I know that. But- I don't know, I guess I thought you'd still love me, but you really don't remember me at all."
I look at her, my hear sinking in my chest. "Ginny…" I mumble, but I do not know what to say.
She gives a bitter laugh and shakes her head.
"It's just so hard, you know? I was so worried about you when you were out there and no one knew if you were alive or not. But then you returned, and you were alive and well, and I was so, so happy. It was- I can't even describe it. Then there was the battle, and you were off fighting again, but you got out of it alive, and then you disappeared."
She stops talking, suddenly, and looks as if she cannot continue. I can do nothing but look at her helplessly, because even though Hermione and Ron have told me some about the war, I have no idea what she is talking about. When she continues, her voice is shaking.
"When I found out that you'd gone into the forest to die for us, I thought I would die, and then I found you with- with Voldemort's body, and you weren't breathing," she looks me in the eye and pauses for a moment. "You were dead, Harry. It felt as if my heart had been torn out of my body; after almost a year of worry I'd finally gotten you back, and after just a few hours, you die. I was mourning you, Harry, and then you woke up."
She shakes her head, her voice filled with wonder but her tone bitter, and she gives a weak laugh that has no humour in it. Angrily, she dries an escaped tear from her cheek.
"Now you don't remember me," she says quietly, her voice full of sorrow. "I love you, Harry, but… My heart's been torn to pieces too many times now, for something you don't even remember. I've talked with Hermione and she says your memories will return, but what if they don't? I- I can't do this anymore, Harry. I'm sorry."
She leaves with tears rolling down her cheeks and I am left sitting on the bed, alone with an empty ache in my chest. I don't think I have done anything wrong or that I could have done anything differently to change this, but it doesn't stop me from feeling like a horrible person. For the first time since waking up, I wish that I had those memories back if only to make this right, but it is too late now.
"I'm not that Harry," I say to myself. "I can't live his life."
The room is quiet around me. No one answers.