See what happens when I get a three day weekend? You guys get a quick chapter. And who says teachers don't do anything on their days off?
History is a recording of the past, whether large or small, global or personal. It can be painted as pictures on walls of caves, buried as treasures in burial chambers, or recorded as words with quill and parchment. Or, it can simply be images we remember from our own pasts. History, by definition, is memory. Yet when history is forgotten, does a civilization cease to exist? Of course not. We do not know the history, but we know the impact on the present. The present is changed by it, even, perhaps, without understanding why. Change is an inevitability of the passage of time, whether or not the history is recorded. The same can be said of memory. We are molded by our past experiences, even those we do not remember. What then of those who do not remember, not a past experience, but themselves? Should they feel loss? Pain? Fear? Are they any longer themselves? No. Without memory, we are pure. We do not remember our sins, nor those who have sinned against us. We regain what we have lost: innocence, for innocence is but a figment of our memory.
Hermione Granger sat cross-legged on the floor in the small bedroom way up on the third floor. In front of her lay a chess board, halfway through a game, and across that, Harry Potter, mirroring her own position on the floor, watching as his pawn was badly pummeled by Hermione's knight. She had only to explain the rules once, and Harry seemed to remember them, or to internalize them quickly enough to put up quite a fight.
"So, I was on this Quidditch team with Ron?" he asked, as his pawn was dragged off the board in a headlock and thrown unceremoniously on a growing pile of his pieces.
"Well, you've been on the team since our first year, Harry. You are a Seeker. Or were. Ron's only just made it."
"And he's there now? At practice?" He blinked up at her through his spectacles, and Hermione felt for the first time since they had first met, a great distance between them. After all, the three of them had grown closer through the experiences they had shared. Now Harry couldn't remember those experiences.
Hermione suddenly found herself wishing Ron was back from practice, though she had the distinct feeling he was taking his time back from the pitch. When she had mentioned visiting Harry tonight, a look had crossed his face that verily suggested he was trying to think of an excuse not to. Luckily, she had caught him by surprise.
"What time is it?" Harry asked, and Hermione realized she had been looking at her watch when he asked.
"Oh, it's, uh, eight-seventeen."
"You have to be back at nine, right?" He sounded so disappointed. Hermione wondered what he did up here all day.
"Technically, yes," she said with a slight smile, "But I brought your cloak."
"My cloak?"
Oh. In her momentary excitement for the minor rule breaking she had planned, she had forgotten the current, slightly huge and unforgettable situation.
"Well, yes," she told him, standing and walking to her bag near the bed. "It was your dad's cloak, actually, but now it's yours." She found the cloak folded neatly on top and unfolded it for Harry to see. She was touched with sadness as his eyes lit up in seeing it. After all, how often had they all hidden under it together? "It's an Invisibility Cloak."
"Does it really work?"
She wrapped it around herself and heard Harry gasp.
"You really don't remember?" she asked, slipping the cloak off and sitting down across from him again. She passed the cloak over the board and Harry sat with it in his lap, letting the thin fabric slip through his fingers.
"No, I don't," he answered. "Did I use it often?"
Hermione couldn't help but laugh.
"Harry, you were notorious for being out of bed at all hours. We once snuck a dragon out of the school under that cloak!"
"Really! A real dragon?"
"By the name of Norbert." Hermione launched into the story of how they had smuggled Norbert up to the top of the astronomy tower, happy to at last do something besides play chess or talk about the weather. It felt good share this with him, and as she spoke, he expected Harry to be chipping in details she had forgotten or telling her she was exaggerating the danger.
"Wow. We really did that?"
Hermione's smile began to falter, but she saved it.
"Honestly Harry, that was just our first year!"
A tentative knock at the door, and Ron appeared, his hands stuffed in his pockets and his hair still damp from his shower.
"Hey, what'd I miss?" he asked, remaining a few feet from where they sat.
"Just a game of chess," Hermione replied. "And we were talking about some of the adventures we've had under Harry's cloak."
"How was Quidditch practice?" Harry asked.
"All right," Ron answered. "Ginny's taken over the Seeker position. She's good, but not as good as… And I've been rotten as the Keeper. Slytherin spent the entire practice distracting me, and I just couldn't concentrate." As Ron spoke, Hermione noticed he looked at her and the floor, but never at Harry, as if he wasn't even in the room with them. She motioned toward Harry with her chin when he looked up at her, but Ron's eyes just drifted to the floor.
"So do you think you can win?" Harry asked.
"The Cup?" Ron looked surprised that Harry had asked about it, and for a moment hopeful. "We have a shot. We just need to practice more and get used to playing together. And if I can manage to keep my hands on the quaffle and Ginny can catch the Snitch, we have as good a chance as any."
"Wronski Feint." Harry said, studying the chess board before him.
"What was that, Harry?" Hermione said, a slight frown tugging at the corners of her mouth.
"What was what?"
"You just said, 'Wronski Feint.'"
"Oh. I don't know. It just kind of popped into my head."
"It's a Quidditch move. One that you've used during matches," Ron explained excitedly. He squatted down so he was level with the others. "We saw it at the World Cup. Do you remember? Ireland versus Bulgaria."
"No. No, I don't. I don't even know what the Wronski Feint is. The words just came to me."
"Oh." Ron straightened up and began to stare out the window. Silence settled over the trio, permeated only by the sounds of battle on the chessboard, and Hermione's eventual 'check' and 'checkmate.' She began clearing away the pieces, and from the corner of her eye, saw Harry's brow furrowed quizzically, as it often was when he was thinking something out in his head.
"What is it, Harry?"
"I was just wondering," he began slowly. "What do you know about Sirius?"
"More than you, at the moment," Ron murmured under his breath, still staring out the window.
"What do you want to know?" Hemione asked.
"Well, he's my godfather, right? But I don't live with him. And since I came here, I haven't heard from my parents. Or at least, if I have, I wasn't told they were my parents. So I guess I want to know-."
"Harry," Hermione breathed, catching Ron's eye, "nobody's told you about your parents?"
"Or about Sirius?" Ron asked.
"Or your scar?"
Each of these questions was answered with a shake of Harry's head. The last, accompanied by wide, curious eyes. Ron and Hermione exchanged another look, though this was one of wonder. Why hadn't anyone told him?
"Where do we start?" Hermione asked aloud.
"Could just hand him a history book," Ron answered blandly. "There are plenty of accounts." Hermione shot him a glare.
"Harry, do you know about You-Know-Who?"
"Who?"
"You-Know-Who."
"No, I don't know who."
"You-Know- oh, Voldemort, Harry. Lord Voldemort."
Harry appeared frozen, all color drained from his face, staring forward, though at nothing. It was as if he was caught in a waking dream, unaware of anything around him. In the ensuing silence, Ron looked over curiously, then suddenly jumped at Harry, who's face was taking on a blue tinge.
"He's not breathing!" He was slapping Harry on the cheek. "Harry? Harry, snap out of it. Breathe, mate! Hermione, what's happening?"
"I don't know. He's- he's panicking. Lean him over." They pushed Harry's head between his knees. Then, Hermione jumped to her feet, intent on finding Madame Pomfrey. Her hand was on the door knob, when she heard a deep gasp of breath, followed by another even deeper and Ron's encouragement.
"There you go. Keep breathing. Fill your lungs all the way." He looked up at Hermione, his face white with terror, then back down at Harry, slapping him hard on the back as he began coughing.
"What happened?" Hermione asked when Harry was calm again.
"I've seen him," he answered weakly. "I've seen him torture people and kill them. He enjoys-."
"Hermione, maybe you should go get Professor Dumbledore."
"No!" Harry shouted. "You have to tell me! What does he have to do with my parents?"
"He killed them, Harry. Years ago, he killed your parents." He was hesitant to continue until Harry turned his pleading eyes on him. "He tried to kill you too, when you were a baby, but he couldn't. He just- vanished. That's where you got your scar."
"Why?"
"Why?"
"Why did he kill them? Why did he want to kill me?"
"I- I don't know. You'll have to ask Dumbledore."
Harry's hands hung between his knees, his head down so his forehead brushed his fingers. Ron and Hermione couldn't tell whether or not his eyes were closed, or what he was thinking. He didn't even look up when he spoke to them again.
"Please leave."
"Harry," Hermione said, "maybe we should get Professor Dumbledore."
"No. Please, just go. I just need to think."
Silently, the pair moved toward the door, throwing worried looks back toward their friend.
"Do you want us to come again tomorrow?" Ron asked.
"Yes. Yes, I'll see you tomorrow."
Ron nodded, and they left.
"I'm worried," Hermione said as they walked down the corridor together. "Harry was acting really strangely. What if something's wrong?"
"'Mione, we just told him his parents were dead. Murdered, to be exact. It was hard for him before when he knew they were dead, but didn't know how. But this time-."
"He didn't know. Ron, this is terrible! Why couldn't we just wait until he has his memory back? Why did you tell him and make him go through this again?"
"What if he never does?" Ron asked softly. "He may never remember everything." He was stopped by a tug on his arm, and turned to find Hermione staring up at him, angry and scared.
"Don't say that."
"Don't say what?" He shrugged. "It's a real possibility."
"No. It's Harry. That can't happen."
Ron cupped her face with both hands, looking down into her eyes with both desperation and fear.
"Hermione, I don't want that to happen. You know that. Harry is my best friend, and I hope everything will be back to normal, but at the same time I can't help wondering… maybe you're right." The look in his eyes changed suddenly, became pensive.
"What are you talking about?"
"What if it's better for him never to remember? I mean, think about it. Harry has faced more evil and danger in real life than we have in our worst nightmares. He has had everyone taken away from him, and every day, there's someone or something trying to kill him. Maybe it is best if he doesn't know."
"Is this your 'Ignorance is Bliss' theory?" She rolled her eyes at his smile, and they continued down the corridor. "You know, that old saying, 'What you don't know can't hurt you'? It's wrong, especially in Harry's case."
"Yeah, I know. But you can't blame me for looking out for my best mate."
"Is he?"
"Of course! Come on, don't hold it against me that I was a little weirded out when we found him. I mean, he'd been dead for over three months, and then we find he doesn't know who he is. Don't tell me you were comfortable around him the whole time."
Hermione made no answer, but only smiled up at him as the turned down the last staircase to get to the entrance of the tower.
"I'm sorry, Hermione," Ron said after a long interval of silence.
"Don't be. I was a little weirded out too, to tell the truth. He was just so- different."
"I'm not talking about Harry," he said, stopping in the corridor in front of the Fat Lady's portrait. "For what I said to you yesterday morning. I didn't mean it the way it came out. It had nothing to do with… kissing you." His shoes suddenly became very interesting. "I mean, I didn't really mind that at all. Well, not unless you did."
"Huh? Oh, no. I mean, it wasn't so bad."
Both simply stood there, observing every detail of the floor and shoes, saying nothing, but stealing glances at each other.
"Look," the Fat Lady boomed, causing both Gryffindor Prefects to jump, "either kiss her or tell me the password, but don't just stand there doing nothing!"
Ron smiled nervously at the portrait, then at Hermione, who's own embarrassed look rivaled his own. Slowly, he inclined his head, watching her carefully for any sign that he would be deterred, and seeing none, inched closer, wrapping his arms around her, drawing her nearer. Much more slowly, he bent down, closing his eyes, and touched his lips to hers. She did not lean away or pull from him as he half expected her to. In fact, she leaned into him, returning the ardent fervor of the action. If either of their minds were racing going into this, both were calm now, for this was not the relaxed kiss of an old couple, but of ageless lovers, who rediscover passion each time their eyes meet. The long yearned-for first kiss of friends who had found love.
"Well!" the Fat Lady interjected, fanning herself, when they had finally separated. "If I'd have thought that was going to happen, I would never have mentioned it!"
"Aurora borealis," Ron said, not taking his eyes off Hermione.
"I should say so!" the portrait exclaimed, as it fell open, allowing them to enter. "No need for me to wish sweet dreams," she sighed. "After that, I don't know how any of us could not."
Harry lay on his bed staring up at the ceiling. Sleep would not come to him, not that he wanted it to. There was too much on his mind, too much he still needed to understand. Besides, who knew what lingered in sleep? More nightmares, most likely. Harry had enough nightmares when he was awake. He didn't need them in his sleep as well. Especially when he knew exactly what would comprise them.
"He killed them, Harry. Years ago, he killed your parents."
Voldemort. Finally, he had a name for this presence in his head. He had a name for the voices, the torture, the terror.
He killed my parents and he's in my head. Or I'm in his. Why didn't they tell me? Dumbledore and Remus and McGonagall and Snape and all the other people who've been looking in on me, they never told me. Were they hiding it? Surely they knew.
Suddenly, Harry wanted to know more than anything what else he had forgotten. He wanted his memory back. He wanted his life back! A voice in his head whispered exactly what he had to do: Legilimency.
¤¤¤¤
"Sirius?" Lupin called as loudly as he dared without waking Mrs. Black. "Sirius, where are you?"
"I'm in here, Remus." Lupin stopped in his tracks and walked back in the direction he had come from to find Sirius standing in the doorway of his father's office.
"What are you doing in there?"
"Cleaning," he answered blandly. He moved aside to afford Lupin a view of a room that had not been cleaned, but gutted. The only items that remained were a large oak desk and a shelf of books, which, as Lupin leaned closer, he discovered to be books on the Dark Arts.
"Sirius, half of these books you can't find anywhere. And this one isn't even supposed to exist," he said, taking one book into his hands and examining the spine.
"Want it? Take it. The only reason I haven't destroyed them yet was so you could take what you wanted." Remus made an inarticulate noise in his throat and placed the book back on the shelf.
"Somehow, I get the feeling that just reading one of these would seriously maim me."
"Who says I never give you anything." Sirius ran a hand through his hair. "So what did you need me for?"
"Nothing, really. Just seeing how you are." He blinked up at his friend. "How are you?"
"Let me think. My godson is at Hogwarts with amnesia, being tutored by Snivellus. I'm stuck here in a house I detest. And all the while, Voldemort is planning how to destroy Harry and Dumbledore and pretty much anyone else he doesn't like, which means everyone I care about. I'd say I'm not doing too badly."
"Ah, sarcasm. The language of a frustrated Sirius Black."
"And it only took you twenty-five years to figure that out."
"I've always been a quick learner." He was smiling, though the smile did not extend to his eyes. "Albus said that Ron and Hermione are working with Harry now. He expects he'll be making progress with them helping."
"That's good."
"Ron told him this morning that Harry remembered something last night. The name of a move he used to do in Quidditch."
"That's it?"
"It's something. And apparently you've been spotted in the South of France. Been out tanning?"
"Wouldn't know. You'll have to ask Kingsley. He's my travel agent these days."
This time, the smile did include Lupin's eyes.
"I've been asked to train Harry to defend himself again."
"I figured as much," Sirius answered, opening a cupboard and pulling out scrolls to place in the dust bin. "You're a good teacher. Harry trusts you."
"He doesn't know me anymore."
"He trusted you before. He will again."
"You're taking this much better than I thought you would," Remus commented, looking both amused and surprised.
"If it helps, I'm absolutely furious I can't do it, and will smash a great many things as soon as your back is turned."
"Definitely much better than I thought you would."
¤¤¤¤
Ron paced the Quidditch pitch, glancing down at his watch every two minutes. For nearly a month, he and Hermione had been making their way up to Harry's room nearly every night to play chess and talk. Talk generally went one of two ways: their past adventures and Quidditch. Ron and Hermione always tried to steer the conversation back toward Quidditch whenever Harry began asking questions about his parents or You-Know-Who, until finally, Harry stopped bringing it up and began asking more and more questions about classes and classmates.
It seemed that just talking to him was helping. Every time they visited, Harry excitedly told them about what he was learning from the different professors who had been dropping by his room, reteaching him the spells and information he should already know. Often, Harry was able to master the spell as soon as it was taught to him, as if he needed only a reminder. This was especially true with his Defense lessons. He most looked forward to Remus Lupin visiting the school on Tuesdays, as his lessons were the most fun for Harry. He was refilling his brain faster than ever, and with this knowledge, came more memories, usually disjointed and confusing, but after a long talk with his friends, he could understand what the memories were.
Ron couldn't hide his smile as Hermione stepped onto the pitch, though it took more self-control than he ever suspected he possessed to restrain himself from throwing his arms around her then and there. Unfortunately, they needed to impress the familiar on Harry, and he and Hermione snogging was certainly not the familiar.
"Is it all clear?" Hermione asked as she drew nearer.
"Yeah. You can come out now, Harry." The Invisibility Cloak was torn away and Harry was suddenly standing amid them. Ron bent down and plucked the two broomsticks from the grass: his own new Cleansweep and Harry's Firebolt, which had taken up residence in the school storage shed.
"Are you sure about this, Harry?" Hermione asked, watching him ogle the shiny broomstick.
"Are you kidding? I've been dying to try this!"
"Right," Ron coughed out. "Uh, Hermione, take Harry's cloak and keep an eye out for, well, anyone. I'll take Harry up for a few minutes." She began to walk back in the direction when whence they came, wrapping the cloak around herself as she went, and disappearing suddenly before their eyes. "All right then, Harry. Shall we?" He mounted his broom, saw Harry do the same, then quickly explained how to push off. Harry listened eagerly, and within just a few minutes, both were in the air, zipping back and forth across the pitch. Ron stopped and simply watched Harry for a long time. He knew he was a natural, having seen the display he had put on his very first time in the air, but this? Harry was flying as if he had never forgotten how, executing complicated rolls and steep dives, and for the longest time, Ron forgot everything Harry had been through. He was just Harry, zooming about on his broom.
Ron motioned Harry down after twenty minutes, and when he touched down, his green eyes were glowing and his face was flushed. Harry shouldered his broom and walked over to Ron as if they had just finished a regularly scheduled practice.
"What?" he grinned, noticing that Ron was gaping at him.
"Nothing," he answered. "It's just so weird. I mean, you're you, but you're not you."
"Huh?"
"I don't know. It's like- it's hard to explain. You just, you do things that are so obviously Harry, but at the same time, you don't even remember Harry."
"Ron, I am Harry."
"I know that-."
"-But you don't believe it." Harry sighed heavily, then looked up at the boy he knew was his friend, even if he couldn't remember how they met until the story had been told to him. "Look Ron, I am Harry, even if I can't remember everything. It's coming back to me in bits and pieces. Sometimes it's a word that just pops randomly into my head. Sometimes it's an image, like looking into a mirror and seeing a bunch of people standing around me I know aren't there. But I know who I am. I am Harry Potter. I just wish you would realize that too."
Ron opened his mouth to answer, but before he could, Hermione appeared before them.
"Your brothers are coming, Ron. Harry, you'd better put this on." She held out his cloak, but Harry didn't take it. He was staring at Ron.
"I'm sorry," Ron told him.
Harry smiled, then looked over at Hermione.
"Is it Fred and George? The one's you said were on the Quidditch team with me?"
"Yes."
"Then I think I'd like to meet them- again."
"But Professor Dumbledore said-."
"Ron? Hermione?" Two identical red heads were walking toward them across the darkened pitch, each with a broomstick leaning on their shoulder.
"Who's with-? Fred, it's Harry!" Both boys broke into a run, practically running into Ron in their haste to see their long lost Seeker.
"What the hell?" Fred exclaimed. "How-?"
"When-?"
"What-?"
Harry was laughing as both boys struggled to ask their questions.
"How long have you two known?" George demanded, rounding on Ron and Hermione.
"For about a month," Ron answered.
"Professor Dumbledore made us promise not to tell," Hermione added.
"And you didn't tell us?" Fred said, sounding hurt.
"Wait, are you in hiding, Harry? Why haven't you been to the tower? Or to practice?"
"We all thought you were dead!"
Harry's smile broadened.
"I've heard that a lot lately."
"So where were you?"
"Wait! Ginny should be here soon. Wait for her."
"Ginny's coming?" Ron asked. "Why? What are you guys doing out here?"
"Extra practice," Fred answered with a grin. "We figure we can't count on your stellar skills to win the Cup this year, so we wanted to make sure the rest of the Weasley's were up to snuff."
"But now that Harry's back, I guess we don't need to worry about it," George added, slapping Harry on the back.
Suddenly, a red-headed girl, Ginny, appeared behind the twins and froze, staring up at Harry with her mouth hanging open. A momentary image of a much younger Ginny staring up at him in a similar fashion, almost afraid to speak, flitted into his mind before disappearing again. This one, however, spoke.
"Harry?" The confusion was apparent as she tried to form her thoughts into actual sentences. "What-? How-?"
"Surprisingly," Fred said, "we just asked those exact same questions. Well Harry? What? And How?"
"I'm not exactly sure about all of it," Harry said, suddenly wondering how to explain this without Professor Dumbledore there.
"Come on, Harry. Just tell us what you remember," George said helpfully.
"That is kind of the problem."
Ron and Hermione took turns retelling the story as they had heard it from Professor Dumbledore, while the other Weasley siblings took turns staring at Harry open-mouthed and asking questions. Fred laughed out loud when they were told where Harry had been found, at which George handed him a single sickle, grumbling something about Luna Lovegood.
"So you don't remember anything?" Ginny asked when the story had been told.
"It comes to me," Harry answered. "Like, just now, when you walked up here, I remembered you being really shy around me once. You were peeking out at me from… from behind a door. Ron had told me it was your bedroom."
"You remembered that just now?" Ron asked.
"Yeah, but I can't remember why I was at your house, or how long ago it was, except that you looked much younger," he said to Ginny.
"Summer between our first and second years," Ron answered. "Fred, George, and I picked you up in Dad's car and brought you to The Burrow until school started. That's when Ginny was all weird for the summer."
"That's really good, Harry," Hermione told him in an excited voice. "That's a really specific memory."
¤¤¤¤
"All right, Harry," Remus Lupin said, removing his cloak from his shabby robes, "we're going to work on your shielding spell tonight."
Harry nodded, holding his wand loosely in his fingers, and walked to the center of the transfiguration classroom. He was watching his instructor carefully.
"Remus, why are you teaching me and not a professor?"
"I was a professor here, Harry, year before last. I taught you Defense Against the Dark Arts."
"But you're not anymore."
"No, I'm not. I resigned that same year."
"So, why isn't the current professor teaching me?"
"Perhaps because Professor Dumbledore feels that you trusted me once. It may help your memory to work with me rather than someone you don't know." He looked at Harry quizzically. "What's wrong, Harry?"
"Nothing. I'm just trying to remember, that's all."
"You look like there's something more you'd like to ask."
"Harry, don't trust him, he's been helping Black get into the castle, he wants you dead too- he's a werewolf!"
"Harry?"
"How long have you known Sirius?"
"We went to school together with your father."
"You killed my parents."
"I don't deny it."
Harry's head was swimming. What did this mean? Why was he suddenly remembering it now? He felt very cold, as if he had just been doused with cold water.
"Harry, are you all right? You look ill." Harry swayed on his feet, but Remus caught him and led him to a chair to sit down. "Harry, what is it? Are you remembering something?"
Harry looked up into those pale green eyes, wondering whether or not he could trust this man. But he had trusted him before. He knew he had. He could feel it just being in the room with him.
"Get away from me, werewolf!"
"Remus, is Sirius Voldemort?"
"What?" A look of horror crossed Lupin's face, and he seemed unable to speak for a few seconds. "Tell me why you ask."
"Ron told me that Voldemort killed my parents. But just now… Sirius told me once that he killed them. Is he Voldemort?"
"Oh." He appeared thoughtful for a few moments. "Harry, though I don't think Ron aught to have told you yet about your parents, yes, they were killed by Voldemort many years ago, but Sirius did not. They are not the same person. It is a very complicated story to tell, and I myself only learned the truth of it about a year ago."
"Then why did he tell me that?"
"Sirius blamed himself for years for your parents' deaths, and was even sent to prison for it, but Harry, he committed no crime. Your parents went into hiding and your father and Sirius trusted someone with that secret who should not have been trusted. That someone told Voldemort where they were, and your parents were killed. If Sirius told you he killed your parents, he was referring to that trust, which ultimately led to their deaths."
"Who was it?"
"Not tonight, Harry. You seem rather worked up as it is." He eyed the boy warily. "Perhaps we should cancel the lesson tonight?"
"No, no, I'm all right." He slid off the chair and stood in the middle of the room again. "Shielding, right? Protego?"
Lupin nodded.
"Expelliarmus!"
"Prote- oh!" Harry's wand was pulled from his grasp and landed deftly in Remus' outstretched hand.
"You must be faster, Harry. Try again." He threw the wand back.
"You're armed- we're not. Now will you listen?"
"Ready?"
"Yeah."
"Expelliarmus!"
"Protego!"
"Excellent, Harry! Well done." His smile faded as Harry looked up at him with another question in his eyes.
"Remus, I'm not sure how to ask this-."
"Yes, Harry."
"Are you a werewolf?"
"Allow me to repeat, 'Yes, Harry.' I must say, I've been expecting that question since you began questioning me on Sirius' guilt. You did, afterall, learn the truth of both matters in the same evening." He sighed and slipped his wand up his sleeve. "Tell you what, let's put off tonight's lesson and just a have a talk. You may ask me anything you like, within reason, of course, without being interrupted with a lesson." Harry's face lit up at the prospect. None of the other adults had promised to answer questions like this.
"You're really a werewolf?"
"For the third time now, yes, Harry," Remus told him, trying not to laugh at Harry's sudden renewal of energy.
"And I knew before?"
"If you didn't, what made you ask tonight?"
"Good point."
¤¤¤¤
The first Occulmency lesson had most certainly not gone as the Potions Master had planned. He had been more than distracted by the memories he had found in Potter's head. Memories that could in no way be his own. One in particular had thrown him.
So Potter had seen his torture at the hands of the Dark Lord. He had been in his head even then, watching as he had writhed on the ground in immense pain. These images, watching himself through another's eyes, had distracted him, momentarily drawing the memory back into his own mind, allowing Potter to, quite forcibly, purge him from his head so powerfully that Snape had been thrown across the room. Then the boy had run.
Snape hadn't been surprised when Dumbledore came to him the next morning with the news that Weasley and Granger had discovered Potter the previous evening. As soon as he had seen Weasley in the dungeon, he knew it would only be a matter of time.
Very well. The lessons had to continue. Dumbledore began attending many of the lessons, always sitting in a chair well behind Potter where he could not be seen, always with his head lowered and his eyes closed, as if asleep. But, Snape knew the Headmaster was not asleep. He was observing Potter's thoughts as Snape poked about in his mind, watching without interference unless his help was needed.
"Potter, you have not been successful in your attempts since our first lesson," Snape told him, pulling him up from the ground for what seemed the dozenth time in the last hour. "You are not concentrating."
The boy made no reply.
Snape leaned back against a table and pinched the bridge of his nose irritably. These lessons were taking their toll on him. They would wear on his energy under normal circumstances, but the added strain of trying to interpret the disconnected memories of an amnesiac was draining, even with Dumbledore's assistance.
Snape opened his eyes and glanced over Potter's shoulder at the Headmaster, who in turn, was watching him.
"Last time, Potter," Snape said at last. "Concentrate. Legilimens!"
Stop. Stop. Stop. Stop.
Come Potter, push harder than that.
His thoughts were streaming through, almost too quickly for Snape to interpret them and place them together in the right order. Pain, fear, wonder.
A white room with no furniture but a bed and a nightstand.
A large dormitory room containing five beds, each with a trunk at the foot.
Dormitory? Does he remember this? As quickly as the image came, it was gone, and Snape wondered for a moment if it had been real.
A small bedroom with a bed and wardrobe. Pain. Fear. A large man with a red face staring down at him, his lips moving angrily, but no words to be heard.
Potter's room at the Dursley house. His uncle.
"Severus."
Potter was grabbed and dragged from the room. A long staircase appeared before him.
"Severus!"
"Get out of my house!" A rough shove. Falling. Screaming. Mum? Stairs rushed up at him.
A deluge of images shot at Snape too quickly. They were jumbled, confused.
His own head felt like it was going to burst open. Pain laced every new thought that forced itself on him.
A flash of green light.
Screaming.
"I said get up!"
Cedric Diggory's dead eyes staring up at him.
A large fang pierced his arm. Poison spreading through his body.
"You're dead, Harry Potter. Dead."
"Crucio!"
"I wouldn't know. I have never died."
"Avada Kedav-!"
Darkness.
Dumbledore had been so relieved to see memories from before Harry's injuries, he had not discerned until too late what was happening until the other memories began to come through, each laced with all of Harry's pains and torture, as if triggered by this one memory. Severus staggered, dropping his wand and grabbing his head with both hands. Both he and Harry screamed.
"Finite Incantatum!" Dumbledore cried, shooting up from the chair.
Severus collapsed. Harry was huddled on the floor, holding his head and rocking himself back and forth, but appeared uninjured, physically, at least. Dumbledore knelt next to the Potions Master.
"Severus? Severus, can you hear me?"
He made no movement. His half-closed eyelids revealed two black, unfocused half-moons, staring eerily, but seeing nothing. With his thumb, Dumbledore lifted one of the eyelids open. His pupils were fully dilated.
"Harry, are you all right?" Dumbledore called from beside Snape.
A whimper was his answer.
"It wasn't me… it wasn't me…"
It begins…
* * *
Ooh, what a cliffie! Most of this chapter is marking the passage of time, giving you an idea of the memories Harry is regaining, how he's regaining them, and some of the confusion over what he's remembering (I think the Harry / Remus scene covers that one). And just in case it wasn't clear from all the way at the beginning of the chapter, Harry's not even trying in Occulmency, because he's hoping the Legilimency will help him regain what he has lost (his memory, for those of you who haven't been paying attention).
Yea! The Weasleys know!
Ooh, what happened to Snape? Hiss!
Toodles!