"You've always been a resilient young woman, Hermione," were Arthur's parting words to her the night before.

They faintly echoed around in her head all morning until an owl pecked at the front glass window. Hermione tried opening the latch, finding it stubborn and she grunted as she put her back into it. The catch gave a mighty squeal before opening and the small owl hopped in and settled on her window sill.

The bird offered her his leg and she removed a small scroll.

Who would be writing her?

The little ball of feathers gave a squawk and dropped out of sight again.

Hermione popped the seal and spread it out, a glass vial with a cork stopper tumbling out unexpectedly. She bent to pick it up, frowning deeply when she realised the silvery wisps and swirls of mercury inside were a memory.

'Dear Hermione,

I don't know how much these will help, but it's something.

Dennis Creevey'

Hermione wrinkled her nose in confusion and glanced back outside to see if she could spot the bird and call it over to take it back. It wasn't there.

She was just tentatively poking around in the kitchen for something to eat when she heard another tap tap tap at the window and another owl was there, this time large and imperiously regal.

'Hermione-

I hold you in the very fondest of memories and I hope these may provide you with something you might be looking for.

-Kingsley'

As the morning progressed, more and more owls tapped at her front window, forms distorted by the poured glass pane until they hopped into the front room. Notes and letters from a wide range of people poured in and soon her small dining table was covered in folded slips of paper and phials of memories. All her windows were open now to accept any more birds that might show up and Hermione occupied herself with sorting through her closet until any new visitors screeched for her attention.

When the late afternoon sun slanted hotly through her bedroom window, there was a slow knock at the door.

Harry stood on the landing the top of the stairs with a large shallow stone basin balanced between his palms.

"So you're the reason I've been receiving owls all morning," she accused, turning and leaving the door open for him to enter.

"No actually," he started. "Well, initially, yeah but you can blame Ron for not being clear about waiting until I had a chance to warn you."

He laughed and kicked the door shut. There was a thud as he set the pensieve down on some surface behind her and she continued wandering back to the bedroom. The sound of his trainers padded along after her socked feet as he chuckled.

"I'm not used to you yet," he said absently.

When she craned her head to look at him, he was giving her a perplexed look, his head cocked to the side slightly.

"What do you mean?" she asked. "You didn't lose your memory too, did you?"

Harry laughed loudly again, the sound of it filling the space of the quiet apartment.

"No," he considered her seriously again for a moment. "Just little things I guess. Like you always wear your hair back. I'd forgotten you used to do that. You look different."

Hermione hummed noncommittally, acknowledging his statement without commenting.

"So," Harry switched the subject. "Anyway, I didn't think it would spread this fast but I asked people last night to send you memories they have of you, just in case you want to see…"

Hermione trailed her fingertips over the uneven surface of the dresser, avoiding his eyes for a moment before looking up.

He was trying to help her regain things.

She wouldn't cry.

But did she really want to see the other Hermione living her life? Would it become a big game of comparisons, a reminder of the part of her that was lost?

"Thank you, Harry."

"Errr, Hermione, why is all your underwear in the garbage?"

She huffed out a laugh at the pink on Harry's cheeks as his eyes landed on the garbage bin in the middle of the floor, boxes off to the side filled with gauzy dresses and holey sweaters.

"It, ah," Hermione shrugged. "It feels weird wearing someone else's clothes, especially the underwear."

"Ew," Harry grimaced. "I didn't think of it that way."

"Neither did I until yesterday," she remarked.

The next day, Hermione rose early and watched the little village come alive.

Shopkeepers arrived from the residential area or, like her, descended into their shops to open for the day. Buckets of flowers floated out of the florist's across from her as if on a lilting breeze, and the sharp smell of freshly cut stems and foliage floated up to her on the second floor. The front door of the bakery was propped open and Hermione nearly fell out of her chair when there was a great, resounding thud and a puff of flour flew into the open air. A white-covered cat danced out a moment later, streaking up the street. The ice-cream shop owner was out cleaning his storefront, the magiked rag dipping into the soapy water and wringed itself out before scrubbing at the colourfully striped awning.

Hermione set her coffee mug down.

She wouldn't be opening the store today because she was in desperate need of new clothes and groceries as well.

She looked out the window again.

There was nothing stopping her from getting out there. It was the same world. She still knew her way around. It was the people she wished would disappear for a bit.

This was confirmed when she ran into someone she vaguely recognized as Tracey Davis.

"Oh – my – gosh, you didn't owl me about my last date with Thomas!" the small dark-haired beauty latched onto Hermione's arm in the bakery and gave it an enthusiastic shake.

"Oh! – Hello," she startled, not wanting to seem unkind.

"You'll never guess, you'll never guess, you'll never guess!" she prompted.

"I'll never guess what?" she asked automatically, still taken off guard.

"Here you are," the baker announced, handing Hermione a newly-sliced loaf of bread.

"Thank you!" she reached for it, looking away from Tracey for a moment.

"He kissed me – Hermione, he kissed me!" she gave a little squeal, her blue eyes twinkling happily.

"Oh, that's – that's lovely, right?" she offered, wondering where to slip into the conversation that she had no idea who Thomas was, that she barely knew the woman in front of her when she had clearly been friendly up to a week ago.

"Yes, I should think so," Tracey rolled her eyes. "Is something wrong?"

"No," Hermione shook her head gently. "Just – I had an accident."

"Are you alright?" Tracey looked her up and down quickly.

"Yes, I just – this is awkward, I'm so sorry – I lost some memory and I don't really remember you?" she finished lamely with a shrug.

Tracey's jaw dropped open and her eyes were wide.

"I – I – what – I'm so sorry -" she took a step back and let her hand drop from Hermione's arm.

"You're just the first person I've spoken to that doesn't already know," Hermione wanted to hide.

"Daphne didn't say anything! Oh, well I was in America all week – maybe that's why," she said thoughtfully. "How much – I mean, what do you remember?"

"Almost the end of seventh year," Hermione informed her.

"Oh, wow," Tracey continued to stare, wide-eyed, until she realized what she was doing and shook herself out of it. "I don't even know what to say because I'm trying to think if we even spoke then and I don't think it was until after graduation that we…"

Hermione shook her head.

"But maybe you could come over for tea sometime? Maybe we could have Daphne and… And anyone else I don't remember over one afternoon," she suggested, hoping it might ease the sting of a friend completely forgetting about her. She didn't really want to have a bunch of strangers in her sitting room but she supposed any friends the old Hermione had made deserved at least an answer to why she'd fallen off the face of the planet.

"Yeah, of course! Yeah, just get Daph to let me know, she knows how to get a hold of me."

A/N: I've had a LOT of really lovely feedback from you guys and your messages make my day.

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