Spacious as his room's big guest bath was, the damp and chilly turn the weather had taken made Harry wish for the Dursleys' electric shower and warmed towel rail. As it was, he scrubbed his fingernails as quickly as he could and pulled new clothes on. Riffling through the trunk--his trunk--he'd found a pair of new trainers that fit him far better than the tiny old ones he had on, but, on second thought, had put them back.
There were all those jumpers, though, and it was cold. Comparing them all, Harry picked a bright green one. He'd never have dared wear a huge home-knitted jumper with a dragon on the front before--it would have been about four seconds before Dudley would have laughed himself sick and then beat him up--but it seemed normal here. And Harry liked the funny knitted dragon.
Of course, he had worn the jumper before, he reminded himself. It was easy to slip up like that in thinking. The problem was that the memories seemed so real. He kept thinking about his past, mentally weighing each moment. Sometimes he thought he could feel the difference between memories he knew were real and those he knew were fake: that time Aunt Petunia had cut off all his hair when he was little, for example, versus that time in Year Eight when he'd been knocked over by a bike on his way to school and had to walk the remaining four miles trying to ignore the blood soaking angrily into his sleeve. Then he'd had to convince the school nurse, yet again, that there was no point in trying to send him home. In the end, he'd spent the rest of the day sleeping in the cot in the nurse's office. It had been quite nice. But, looking back, it didn't feel quite real . . .
Then, sometimes, he had to count through the years to decide whether or not the things he was remembering had actually happened.
All the same, Harry liked the dragon. He pulled the jumper over his head and slid his wand into his back pocket.
By the time he got down to the kitchen, the Weasleys had already arrived, and Lupin was pouring the tea. Harry could feel his cheeks warming as all the red heads turned to look at him.
"Sorry," said Harry hastily. "We didn't expect the pouffe to explode when we moved it, or we'd've stopped cleaning earlier."
"Oh, it's fine," said Ron and Hermione at the same time, Ron clattering his teacup on the table.
"So, how was the trip?" Harry pulled out a chair at the table next to Ginny.
"It was . . . all right," said Ginny. "We came up with a new idea for what might have happened to you."
"Although Dumbledore doesn't think it's very likely," admitted Hermione.
"Well, that's good," said Harry awkwardly. He couldn't think of anything else to say.
"Oh, you're wearing your dragon jumper from Mum!" laughed Ginny, as Harry half-stood up to reach for the sugar bowl.
"Yeah, I liked it," said Harry.
"You know Mum made it especially for you because you faced one of those dragons, right?" Ginny asked him, biting into a jam tart.
"Did I?" said Harry. "When?"
"During the Triwizard Tournament," Ron explained. "The First Task was to steal a golden egg from a dragon. You did really well, so Mum made the jumper to commemorate it."
"Wow," said Harry. He couldn't recall even a trace of having done anything like that.
"It was exactly like that," said Ginny, poking her finger into the dragon on his chest. "A Hungarian Horntail."
"Ah," said Harry, searching for some sort of useful contribution to the conversation. "Apparently I rescued you from a Basilisk, too, right?"
This was patently the wrong thing to say. It seemed as though the fiery red of Ginny's hair and the fire-engine red of her jacket both faded suddenly. "Yeah, that's right," she said lightly.
"Not as fun as the dragon," said Ron grimly.
Luckily, Sirius strode through the door just then, and the conversation turned to greeting him for a while, which disguised the fact that Harry wasn't saying much.
Before, he'd imagined the rescue from the Basilisk as, well, a sort of St.-George-and-the-dragon situation, to the extent that he'd been able to imagine it at all. But now Harry felt sure something awful, not at all like that, had happened.
Whatever had happened, it was a link between Ginny and himself. Before, Harry had always treasured Hermione's offhand comment about having rescued Ginny. Now he felt a little guilty about that, because he'd obviously been very wrong.
But this one event in the past still connected him to her.
Harry realized that Remus was looking at him. "Oh, right," he said. "Um. I invited you all here because there was something I wanted to say."
Pale, they all nodded.
"I've decided to go on with Dumbledore's spell to get my memories back," Harry went on. "Later today, actually." He managed a smile. "So I might see you all again tonight and--you know--"
"You're not serious!" said Hermione, standing up and planting her palms among the dishes. "Dumbledore said it was dangerous--he's letting you do it?"
"Yeah," said Harry.
"What if something goes wrong, though?" said Ron. "I mean, you don't want to blow your head off or something, mate."
"It'll be okay," Harry assured them. "My head won't get blown off."
"You'd better tell us what happened right away," Ginny warned him. "Or else we'll just Floo over and see you."
"I will," Harry promised. He tried not to picture what it would be like, not to anticipate stepping out of the Weasleys' fireplace as their Harry, the old Harry.
Hermione was still biting her lip, but she didn't say anything else.
"Harry and Sirius have been doing a lot of cleaning on the upstairs," Lupin announced, to break the silence. "Why don't you come up and see? It's very different."
"Yeah, sometimes you walk through whole rooms without being injured," agreed Sirius, leading them out.
"What happened to the old portrait by the front door?" asked Ron as they entered the hallway.
"Eventually we just cut the brick out behind it," answered Lupin.
Harry ducked back behind the door and sat down again in front of his tea. It was cold. If anyone asked, he'd just say he'd gone to the bathroom, he decided.
He wasn't used to everyone's attention always being fixed on him, always having to make big dramatic decisions. It had been nicer--for him, at least--at the Weasleys' before, when it had been as though he was just a normal person.
"The door is over here," said Ginny from the doorway. "It leads to the hallway, which is where the stairs are, you see."
"Sorry," said Harry. "I just--" He shrugged.
Ginny sat next to him. "This reminds me of something, you know," she said.
Harry laughed. "You're right, it does," he said. "I wonder how I learned about magic the first time. I wonder if it was as nice."
"As I recall," said Ginny, "Hagrid picked you up from the Dursleys' and, I think, gave your cousin a pig's tail."
"Who's Hagrid?"
"Really big--I mean tall--groundskeeper at Hogwarts. Well, teacher now, actually. He's good friends with you."
"Oh, I think I heard people talking about him," said Harry. He realized again how much information about himself he was still missing. "Hey, Ginny?" he asked.
"Yeah?"
"Can I ask you a question?"
"Yeah," she said, pulling her feet up onto the chair.
"What exactly happened with the, er, Basilisk?"
Ginny looked at the table. "It's sort of complicated, but . . . basically, there was this Basilisk hidden in Hogwarts. Voldemort possessed me and used me to control the Basilisk to go through the corridors and--try to kill students. He didn't actually manage it, though, but in the end he just . . . well, we were in this underground place in Hogwarts, and he was sort of draining my life out, and then you came and found me and you killed the Basilisk with a sword. You almost died," she added. The early afternoon light caught the stray strands around her face, lighting them up as a copper haze. "That was my first year at Hogwarts. It wasn't very good."
"I'm sorry," said Harry, wishing he could say something more adequate. "But it wasn't your fault, if you were being possessed."
"It sort of was," said Ginny with a sigh. "Not that it was on purpose, but . . . I was taken in by something I shouldn't have been taken in by." She looked up at him. "Harry, if you're planning to get your memories back this afternoon, why are you asking about it now?"
"Oh," said Harry, feeling foolish. "Well, anyway, I wanted to know what you thought about it."
"It's just--" said Ginny. "You know, some people say, oh, when I was eleven I fell off my broom and knocked out my front teeth, how silly of me. When I was eleven, I got myself possessed by the Dark Lord and almost killed people. Sort of like that."
"But you were at school," protested Harry. "Dumbledore should have caught on and helped you. I mean, there should not be giant hidden reptiles in schools."
"Thanks," said Ginny. She smiled.
"Oh," said Lupin, who had just come through the door. "There you are."
"The jam tarts were so delicious, I had to have some more," Ginny said. "Harry thought so, too."
"I see," said Lupin straight-facedly. "Well, if you like, you can take some home with you."
"That would be lovely!" said Ginny innocently. "Thanks, Professor Lupin."
Not long after, Ron, Hermione and Sirius arrived (Hermione having become interested in the charm used on the exploding pouffe). Harry and Sirius made their goodbyes, and the Weasley crowd Flooed back to the Burrow.
Harry remained in his kitchen chair; as Ginny had taken the rest of the jam tarts, he was nibbling on the edge of a slice of Battenberg cake. It was too sweet, and made him feel slightly sickly, but he had to do something to relieve his nervousness or else he felt he might accidentally blow up the kitchen with magic. It was almost as bad as when he'd been waiting to get his wand.
Sirius sat in front of him. "Remus and Dumbledore and I have been thinking about what we'll do if the spell goes wrong," he said seriously.
Harry nodded.
"You can still decide not to do it, you know," said Lupin, next to Sirius. "Nobody will mind."
Harry nodded again, even though privately he had no intention of changing his mind. Hogwarts started next week, and Harry Potter was going to be there, with all his memories, and the Wizarding World would see that Harry was fine.
The doorbell rang, once, in a very polite Dumbledore-esque way, and Harry got up to answer it.
"Good afternoon, Harry," said Dumbledore.
After that, everything seemed to have sped up; Harry couldn't keep track of what was going on, and he kept finding himself in the way while space was cleared in the middle of the dining room. At last, a large oblong packaged object was floated in and landed in the exact middle of the floor. With a whisk of Dumbledore's wand, the packaging flew off, to reveal a tall, rather ornate, full-length frame that looked like it was a mirror, facing away from everyone assembled.
"Now, everyone, please be careful not to step in front of the mirror," warned Dumbledore with his usual cheerful formality. He turned to Harry. "We were rather lucky to obtain one of these," he told him. "They're quite highly valued. Luckily, I was able to find a private auction by a family in Denmark."
"Then--it's a magical mirror?" asked Harry.
"Quite right," said Dumbledore. "Mirrors have an entire class of magic devoted to them, ranging from the friendly speaking mirrors you've encountered here to mirrors that show you, let's say, your heart's desire. The higher end of those magics can be extremely powerful."
"What does this mirror show you?" asked Harry, feeling the question was rather required of him.
"Your true self," said Dumbledore gently. "Combined with a somewhat ancient spell, the mirror can be used to restore people to their true selves in various ways, as long as a modicum of the real self remains--which, in your case, it does. For example, the spell can reverse certain potent love potions for which there would otherwise be no antidote. For you, the spell can bring back your old self, meaning your old memories, as they are not gone--only hidden."
"All right," said Harry, breathing out slowly.
"However," said Dumbledore more solemnly, "as I cast the spell, it is extremely important that you attempt to accept the other self you see in the mirror. Recognize it as yourself."
"I will," said Harry with determination. Recognize it as yourself? Did that mean it wouldn't look like him?
In any case, he told himself, he would accept it. Even if it was something he didn't like. Or a stranger.
"Do you have any questions?" Dumbledore asked him. "You're certain you want to go through with it?"
"Yes," said Harry. "I definitely do want to do it, and I don't have any questions."
"Very well," said Dumbledore. "Please cross the room and stand in front of the mirror."
"Good luck, Harry," said Lupin.
"You'll be all right," Sirius told him.
The dining room had never felt so large. Walking over the now bare floorboards to the mirror was worse than trekking to the North Pole. At last, steeling himself, Harry turned to look in the mirror.
The reflection was . . . him. It looked just like him, but now, as he continued to look in it, he saw the background changing, although his own reflection stayed in the middle of the mirror.
He saw a far younger version of himself, walking into a pub with an enormous black-bearded man (Hagrid?). A smaller man in a top hat darted forward and shook his hand, and the whole pub craned to stare, as though he were a celebrity . . .
He saw himself diving on a broom, and a classful of faces looking up, amazed . . . and he was shouting with joy . . .
He saw himself screwing up his face and downing what must have been a horrible drink; then, his body was changing, growing thicker. Harry desperately wanted to know what this memory was about, but it faded . . .
He saw himself with Lupin, and Lupin seemed to be telling him off! He took a piece of parchment from Harry, and Harry--slightly older now--stared at his feet, looking deeply despondent.
He saw himself in what seemed to be a dirt tunnel, talking with--was that Sirius? A man with long, dirty hair--yes, that was Sirius. It was the man he'd seen on television--and Harry was saying something to him, and suddenly Sirius was his Sirius again, and Harry was smiling . . .
He saw himself ushered into a room with three far older students, if they were students. One was a beautiful girl with long, blonde hair . . . but now there was an argument going on, and the blonde girl was scoffing at Harry.
That's me, Harry told himself. That's me. I recognize myself. I see me. He felt a deep pull on himself, not on his body but on the self he felt return to his body when he woke, his mind, and repeated faster, It's me. It's me in the mirror.
He saw himself, spattered with mud and weeping, being dragged away from a crowd by what looked like the terrifying old man Harry had seen once in the kitchen.
That's me, Harry thought. It's me.
But the mirror was cracking, first a tiny crack at the edge and then a widening gash heading for its other side, in a shape Harry hazily thought seemed like his own lightning scar.
"Harry!" shouted Sirius from behind the mirror, but it was too late.
With a dull, reverberating sound, the mirror snapped, and Harry felt himself falling, with perhaps, at the last spark of consciousness, a pair of arms closing around him.
Author's note:
1. Thanks to DeliaDee for her always helpful crit. Chapter 9 has now been edited and is hopefully less entirely dreadful! : )
2. Did you like the Harry/Ginny ship time? (Incidentally, I don't actually ship Harry/Ginny. When I read, I'll generally accept anything written well, unless it's really heinous like Hagrid/Fleur's Tiny Sister or something. So I tried to cater to my own tastes, which was . . . writing it well. Well, I did say tried.)
3. Reviews are heaven.