A Memory Lost

By TwinEnigma

Blanket disclaimer: Anything you recognize, except for my OCs and the plot, I don't own. I do this for fun and absolutely no profit.

I: Shattering Again

October 31st, 1989

It was a sunny afternoon, thin ribbon-like clouds trailing over the horizon like pale fingers. A bitter wind rattled the old iron-latticed windows now and again, the only indication of just how painfully cold it was outside. This did not seem to matter to the dozen or so children playing an impromptu game of football on the field, nor did it matter to the man observing them casually from the window.

The man snorted as one of the children tripped, his lips curling slightly into a half-smile. He was reminded of his own attempts to play football and how he had constantly tripped over his then-awkward limbs. It seemed ages ago, though it had probably been only maybe ten or twelve years. His somewhat estranged cousins had loved the game – it was the only thing the two otherwise bickering sisters could agree on.

He scowled suddenly and sharply turned away from the window. The younger of his two cousins, Lily, was dead now: she and her husband were murdered exactly eight years ago today. A madman had broken into their home in the middle of the night, intending to kill the family in their sleep. It was never exactly clear what had happened after that point, but by the time the authorities had appeared, Lily and her husband were dead – along with their murderer. Oddly enough, their son, little over a year old at the time, managed to survive the attack.

Sighing, the man looked at the scant pictures that he possessed of his cousins and their respective families. He had never approved of either of his cousins' choices in husbands: James Potter was a rogue, never still for a moment, while Vernon Dursley simply unsettled him. The child, Harry, had been sent to live with Petunia and her husband and neither of them had been particularly happy about it. His remaining cousin had called him several dozen times, begging him to take care of little Harry. Still, sending Lily's son to her sister had been the wisest choice. He was a professor at a prestigious boarding school and he simply had no time to afford for the care of a small child, as he had explained to his cousin repeatedly.

The wind rattled at the window again, jolting him from his thoughts and, slowly, the man walked to his desk. He sat, sighing heavily as his eyes scanned the papers in front of him, and reached for the crystal decanter sitting on the corner of his desk. Pouring himself a glass of brandy, he picked up the first paper and started to read, sipping at the drink every now and again.

A phone rang.

Blinking, the man shook his head and started back onto the paper. It couldn't be the telephone. The number was private and no one, not even Petunia, had called it in years.

The phone rang again.

He stood and marched over to the side-table, glaring at the offending object a moment before finally picking up the receiver.

"Is this Mister Evans?" asked the voice of a young woman. The voice was completely unfamiliar and there were sounds in the background – ringing phones, muffled voices. He couldn't make them all out.

"Yes, speaking."

"This is Saint Agnes Hospital in London," the woman said rather matter-of-factly. "Do you have a cousin by the name of Petunia Dursley? Maiden name Evans?"

He had a horrible sinking feeling in his gut as he replied, "Yes. I do. What may I ask is this in regards to?"

"There's been an accident, Mister Evans," the woman – probably a nurse – answered evenly. "We need you to come to the hospital as soon as possible."

Shakily, he asked, "What happened? Is she all right?"

There was a pause on the other end of the line.

"I'm so sorry, Mister Evans, but your cousin..." the nurse paused again, as though searching for the right words. "She didn't make it. Your cousin and her husband had you listed as an emergency contact."

He bit his lip and clenched his free hand into a fist to keep from crying out. Slowly, he took a deep, calming breath and then raised the receiver again. "What about the boys? My cousin had two boys, her son and her nephew. Are they all right?"

"The boys are both in critical condition," the nurse explained. "We've managed to stabilize them for now, but we need you here – especially when they wake up."

Sighing heavily, he shot a brief look towards his desk and the stacks of uncorrected papers from his classes. "I need to make a few calls. I'll be there as soon as possible."

"I understand. Please, take your time, Mr. Evans," the nurse said and, shortly, hung up.

He put down the phone and numbly walked back to his desk, slumping into the chair. He wasn't aware of how long he sat there, staring ahead blankly – it could have been a few minutes or it could have been a half-hour, but he would never know for certain. The only thing he could think was that his world was shattering again.

Only this time, he would be alone. He was now the last.

The wind rattled at the windows again, a lamenting keen building in its howl, as though it wept for his loss.

For the first time in eight years, he allowed himself to cry.

AN: Short and weird first chapter, I know. You will learn more about the mysterious Mister Evans later on. Saint Agnes Hospital, as far as I am aware, is completely fictional. This story centres on the events after the accident and at least two survivors of it: Harry and a teenaged boy suffering from amnesia due to his injuries. The teenaged boy has no identification, save for a little black book and two odd patches bearing what appear to be coats of arms. Next chapter, we will see the first appearance of our mystery patient, as well as what's happening in the ICU with Harry and Dudley.