A/N: thanks to everyone who reviewed!
Rangerprincess: you wrote: "… this fic is turning me into a Harry and Ginny supporter… are you happy now?" – OH YES, I'M VERY HAPPY!!! *chuckles madly*
Heidi: you were right – it IS going to be long. (And I envy you very much that you get to see the HP movie in about two weeks – I'll only get to see it on 13th December – in Hungary we'll have to wait that long for the film. *sigh.* It's not fair!)
amaia riddle: I'm glad that you find the characters believable.
Kibibi: the best? *blushes* thanks.
Emylyn: why couldn't Muggles use floo powder? I believe it to be something that anyone could do: you just need a nice fireplace and a handful of floo powder. Rowling never wrote that you had to have magic skills to shout "The Burrow!" or "Diagon Alley!" into the flames. IMHO anyone could do that – in the HP world, of course.
myr_halcyon: you wrote: "why was Dumbledore acting the way he was? Will that resolve or are you just letting it kind of disappear?" – Do you really, really think that I'm letting it disappear??? Of course I'm gonna explain his behaviour (in fact he will explain it in person), but only at the end of the story – so have patience!
rebeccagrace: a certain charm, huh? I'm happy that you think I've written something "charming".
Okay, on to the show!
Chapter 13
Oblivion
"Professor Trelawney?"
"Yes, Ron, dear?" the old Divination teacher turned to him.
"Um, Harry sent me his composition to hand it to you."
"Oh, how thoughtful." Sybill smiled, taking the paper from Ron. "Sit down, please. Everyone, in the remaining part of the lesson study the crystal balls, please. I am going to read through your essays, so I can give them back to you at the end of the lesson. I'm sure you are on tenter-hooks to get to know your grades. So, please, work silently.
Ron sat down to Dean and Seamus, who were playing cards under the table. "May I join?" he asked.
"Sure." Dean grinned. "If you don't mind that we are playing a Muggle game."
"Oh, not at all." Ron whispered. "We cannot play exploding snap in a class. So, would you explain me the rules?"
At the neighbouring table Parvati and Lavender were desperately trying to figure out what the pinkish violet mist in Parvati's crystal could mean.
"I think it is a good sign, Parvati." Lavender said. "Pink and violet are nice colours."
"Too Barbie-like, aren't they?"
"Barbie-like? What do you mean?"
"Have you never heard of the Muggle girls' favourite toy, the Barbie doll?" Parvati raised an eyebrow.
"Nope." her friend shrugged. "Should I have? My favourite toy was a four inch-tall vampire doll that told me the exact time in every hour, and his two fangs were shining in the darkness. I liked it so much that I couldn't sleep and didn't feel safe at night without it."
"Uh-oh, I can't imagine myself sleeping with a vampire doll." Parvati shook her head. "But let's continue analysing this mist, shall we?"
While the students were entertaining themselves and each other – this way or that – Trelawney was absorbed in reading their essays. Sometimes she let out small noises that sounded like chuckling, other times they heard her tutting her disapproval.
"Okay, guys, I've won." Dean smirked at Seamus and Ron. The latter mumbled something like 'of course you won, you're Muggle-born', then looked up to see that the Professor had just taken his essay in the hand.
"Another game?" Seamus asked.
"Sssh! She's reading mine!" Ron whispered, never diverting his eyes from Sybill's face. The professor looked quite indifferent at first, but when she reached the second paragraph, her countenance changed into something indescribable. Confusion and fury mingled on her face, then suddenly she turned red and started to giggle.
"She likes your composition." Dean remarked with a grin. "Mine wasn't too interesting – I had to write about my future job, and wrote that I'd be football player in West Ham… but I kind of forgot to add that I'd use some magic to boost my team."
The three boys exchanged grins, then turned back to Sybill who just finished Ron's essay (with a rather rosy complexion.)
She reached out for the next one.
"It's Harry's." Ron told his friends.
"And? Is it any good?" Dean asked.
"Do you suppose that I've read it?" Ron knitted his eyebrows, trying to look deeply hurt, but couldn't help bursting out laughing. "And well, you should. 'Course I've read it…" he lowered his voice. "I think poor Harry really had no idea what to write, because he wrote the most incredible story I've ever read. Full of angst, and totally silly. It was cool."
"Well, we'll see what the professor thinks of it." Seamus replied, and they all focused their attention on Trelawney.
The professor wasn't wearing a nice crimson colour anymore. She was as white as a sheet.
Voldemort is standing at the end of Hogwarts' Great Hall, his wand held at the ready, wanting to strike me down with the Avada Kedavra.
She gulped.
I am close to fainting, leaning to a gargoyle-like statue of Professor Snape. (He dies a month before Voldemort attacks the castle, and Professor Dumbledore decides to erect a monument to his memory in the middle of the Great Hall.)
Two huge crocodile tears ran down Trelawney's face. She wiped them with her hands.
So, I am trying to get a grip – to no avail. My scar is hurting beyond imagination, and I'm sure that I'm balancing on the edge of my grave.
The class looked up at once when they heard the professor sob loudly.
Voldemort is laughing with a malicious glee, his red eyes glinting with perverse pleasure. His whole serpent-like face contorts into a spitting image of my cousin, Dudley.
A small smile appeared on Sybill's tear-soaked, wrinkled face.
No, it doesn't mean that Voldemort starts to wear a blond wig, or puts on sixty kilos - not at all. I just mean that he looks uglier than anything I have ever seen.
He is cackling, making flipping movements with his wand to threaten me, and finally he ejects a green stream of light that hits me in the stomach. In the meantime, he yells 'Avada Kedavra!' I am aware that nothing can save me now. There's nothing left between life and death, but the howling laugh of Lord Voldemort. Then everything fades… and I find myself among the clouds…
"Oh, no!" the professor whispered, reaching into her pocket for a handkerchief.
So, I'm in the clouds, flying upward, up, up, up… then a strange light surrounds me, and I almost get blind. A voice (whispering and loud at once) tells me that I'm home. Suddenly, I catch a glimpse of Lily and James Potter, my parents. I'm really home.
By this time Trelawney was truly sobbing, automatically wiping her tears and blowing her nose.
"Are you all right, Professor?" Parvati asked, worried.
"Oh, yes, dear… I'm fine." Sybill's voice trembled. "I… I just have read the most traumatic essay ever."
"Why is it so traumatic, professor?" Lavender cut in.
"Because… oh, so terrible… because it will happen exactly that way, my dear. " Trelawney blew her nose again. "I'll give Harry full marks on this… I consider it as my duty to cheer him up a bit before… for the last time, I mean. And really, he deserves it. None of my students has ever described his own future with such exactness."
"What do you mean, professor?" Ron frowned. He was getting annoyed and extremely worried as well. "You don't believe that Harry will die in such a ridiculous way, do you?"
"I am sorry to disappoint you, Mr. Weasley, but I have foreseen everything that Mr. Potter wrote. And you know, if two people have the same vision, it will surely come true. I am terribly sorry, Mr. Weasley, I know that you are going to lose your best friend… but I have told this for several times, don't you remember?"
"Oh, sure." Ron stood up, scowling. "You are referring to the fake Grim and Harry's alleged death in third class. That's utter rubbish!"
"How… dare you query my words, Mr. Weasley?" the teacher stammered.
"I'm not querying anything, professor, I'm just telling you that you are constantly having false visions and predicting the stupidest things one has ever heard. Remember that you predicted me that I'd impregnate Hermione in sixth class?"
"That was just a slip of the tongue, Mr. Weasley." Trelawney turned red. "I meant Harry impregnating Ginny, in seventh class."
"Oh, just three factors were false: the who, the whom and the when. Cool." Ron remarked sardonically. "You are an incompetent, annoying amateur who calls herself a professor! Harry won't die, but will marry my sister! And now, if you don't mind, I'm leaving. Hermione was right to quit Divination right in third year. Good-bye. Have a nice, and less-full-of-mistakes future!" he shouted and slammed the trapdoor shut behind himself.
* * * * *
When he opened his eyes, the first thing he caught a glimpse of was a swallow-shaped cloud floating on the sky. He blinked, shadowed his eyes with his hands and tried to look around. At first he found it quite difficult to move his head – it felt somehow heavy. He slowly sat up and felt cold. He was in the middle of a field of wheat, but had no idea how he'd got there. He didn't remember anything from the last twenty-four hours… no, he realised, he didn't remember anything from before that, either. He had no memories of his past, his relatives, his friends… couldn't even recall his name.
*Who am I? Where am I? Why am I here?* he thought desperately, as he rose to his feet. The wheat reached up to his waist and he had difficulty to move forward in it. He turned the spikes aside before himself, making his way out of the wheat-field.
About one hundred feet from the edge of the field, he saw a tiny hut with a small tractor and a somewhat bigger motor-lorry in front of it. On a shallow hillside sheep were grazing.
The boy approached the house and saw an old farmer come out of it. He headed directly for the man.
"Good morning, sir!" he greeted the old guy.
"The same to you, son." the farmer smiled. "What wind brings you here?"
The boy shook his head. "I have no idea, sir. Something must have happened to me, since I lost all my memories. I don't know how I got here, I just woke up in the middle of that field." he pointed his index finger at the wheat. "Could you help me, sir?"
"First of all, son, stop calling me sir, will you?" the old man replied. "My name is Sam McDonald, but you may call me Sam."
"Sure, Sam." the young man nodded. "Could you take me to a nearby town, or something? Or could I use your phone?"
"My phone?" the farmer laughed. "I have no phone, young man. And whom would you call if you have no memories at all? You don't remember any of your acquaintances, do you?"
"No, sir, er… Sam." the boy sighed. "If only I remembered… maybe I have an ID card with me, or something!" he slapped his forehead. Of course! Why hadn't it occurred to him before to have a look at his pockets?
He reached into the pocket on his robes. That was when the realisation struck him: what could a boy of his age be doing in robes? This kind of clothing had gone out of fashion about a century earlier!
He didn't find anything in the pocket on the left side. He started to fumble about in his right one, and pulled out a strange looking rod. It was about ten inches long, or even a bit longer. He frowned. What could he be doing with a staff in his pocket? Could he possibly be a conductor in training? Was he holding a baton? Were modern conductors wearing robes at all? He doubted that.
"Nice stick, son." Sam remarked. "Where did you get it? Oh, sorry. Forgot that you forgot everything… By the way, what's your name? Or forgot that, too?"
"'Fraid so, Sam." the boy shivered. It was cold. "What date is today?"
"20th November, 1997. Why?"
"November?" the young man gaped. "How came you still have wheat, then? Didn't you reap it in July?"
"Oh, but I did!" the old man answered. "It just grew out again."
"When?"
"Today morning, I s'pose." Sam shrugged with an 'ask-me-another'-stare. "If I wasn't sure that there was no such thing like magic, I'd say it had to do something with it." he gave the boy a grin. "You surely think I'm crazy, don't you?"
"Noooo. Not at all." the boy answered, trying not to hurt the farmer, because then Sam might not take him anywhere, and he'd be stuck in the middle of nowhere forever.
"Well, okay, you wanted me to take you to a town, right?" Sam smiled. "I have some business in Great Winging, so I'll take you there. Come on, give me a hand." he waved his hand. "We've got to pack these sheep on my lorry. I'm going to take part in the annual fair of domestic animals. Anyway, I'll have to look for people who'll help me reap the wheat again. I'm too old to do it alone… imagine, it will be a real sensation! Wheat in November!"
The boy nodded, putting a plank on the lorry. The old man drove the herd up onto the plank and into the lorry.
On their way to Great Winging, the boy was totally silent, deeply immersed in his thoughts, while Sam was humming 'Old McDonald had a farm, iya, iya-ooooo'. The sheep kept bleating behind them.
"You know, son," Sam said suddenly, "I used to own cows and sell them at the fair, but when the mad cow disease struck Great Britain, I decided to change profile and bought a herd of sheep. They have many advantages: they are smaller, need less nourishment and are so cute and fluffy… er, do you know what I've been thinking of?"
"No. How could I know it?" the boy blinked.
"I thought that the wheat growing again had something to do with you sleeping in the field."
"I don't want to offend you, sir, but it's nonsense."
"Nonsense? Maybe…" the farmer smirked. "But one thing is sure: it was freezing in the morning. Had the wheat not grown again around you, you'd have frozen, son."
"Really?" the young man gaped, having no idea what to reply. He had no idea about his past, either. He had no idea that the strange stuff in his pocket happened to be a wand, and that he was actually a wizard. Even less did he know that he was called Harry Potter.
* * * * *
In the town they told farewell to each other, Harry thanked Sam for having brought him back into civilisation, Sam thanked Harry for re-growing the wheat, and their ways parted.
The boy headed directly for the police office. He hoped that the police could identify him somehow. Maybe people had already notified the police about his disappearance. Maybe the police had been looking for him for days, weeks or more, and his desperate relatives might have got red eyes from crying over their terrible loss… how could Harry have known that the Dursleys were celebrating the whole night after having dumped him out of Vernon's car in the middle of nowhere? How could he have known that Dudley got a crimson coloured Ferrari for his 'exploit' of having got rid of Harry? Of course Dudley 'forgot' to mention to his parents that he had made a small visit into the wizarding world. Mr. and Mrs. Dursley were convinced that their very clever little son did everything on his own. It never occurred to them to ask how he had done it – they were interested in only one thing: the result of the action, not in its execution.
So, while the Dursley family painted the town red, Harry entered the police office.
"Uh… hello." he said. There were no policemen in sight. "Hello?"
About three minutes later a rather furious looking guy entered the office, holding a sandwich in his hand. "Whaddaya want?" he grumbled. "I was watchin' Dexter's lab, so be short, cos I wanna see the end. Wouldn't miss Deedee exploding the whole lab."
"Uh, sure." the boy nodded. "Well, a very strange thing happened to me… I lost all my memories, and found myself in the middle of a wheat field this morning."
"Wheat? In November?" the police officer raised his eyebrows. "Are ya kiddin'?'
"No, sir. I don't know how I got there, and I have no idea who I am. Can you help me?"
"Arggh…" the officer groaned. "Another lunatic… okay, kid, that way." he pointed his finger at a door. "Go in there and wait until my colleague comes back from the fair. He wants to buy sheep, ya know. Don't worry, you'll have company: there's another lunatic like ya in there… he also lost his memories." he bit into the sandwich. "We're constantly surrounded by madmen." and with a snort he turned his back on Harry and left to see the end of Dexter's lab.
The boy heaved a deep sigh. *This will be even more difficult than I expected.*
He entered the adjacent room where a blonde guy was sitting with an abnormal grin on his quite handsome face. "Oh, at last, company!" he yelled. "Come, my friend, sit down to us."
"To us?" Harry knitted his eyebrows. "I don't see anyone here besides you, sir."
"Oh, just my usual game, you know… I imagine people sitting here with me, and I'm talking to them… not to get bored, you know."
"Sure." Harry rolled his eyes. The police officer must have been right about this guy: he really seemed to be out of his mind.
Harry sat down to the table, hoping that he'd be able to avoid chatting with this madman. No such luck. As he started to fumble with his 'stick', the other man's eyes suddenly lit up. "You are also one!"
"Huh?" the boy was startled. "One what?"
The blonde man sat somewhat closer to him, looking carefully around, as if making sure that no one else heard them, then whispered: "A wizard."
"A what?" Harry frowned. This guy was really lunatic. Then his eyes wandered down to his hands that were still holding the rod. "Oh, I see… you think this is a wand, right?" he grinned. What a ridiculous idea!
"This IS a wand." the other man pointed at Harry's staff. "I recognise it if I see one, believe me."
"Why? Are you also a… wizard?" the boy stifled a guffaw.
"Exactly." the man nodded his blonde head. "Shame that I don't remember how I became one."
Harry raised an eyebrow. "Don't remember?"
"Yeah… quite awkward story… I have selective amnesia."
"Selective amnesia? What does it mean?"
"Sometimes I remember things, sometimes I don't. To my greatest regret always when I manage to recall something, I usually forget it not much later, so I don't remember what I recalled. Later I forget that I remembered anything at all."
"I don't understand." the boy shook his head. The guy was getting on his nerves. "If you forget things that you sometimes remember of, how have you um, realised, that you are a… magician? Didn't you forget that, too?"
"Oh, yes, sometimes I forget it, sometimes I remember it again… at the moment I'm in the remembering stage of my selective amnesia. I clearly remember that I'm a wizard, but I have no idea what my name is, where I came from, who my relatives are, what my job is… sad, isn't it?"
"Sad." Harry nodded. He also knew what it meant to lose all his memories. He tried to think of something to console the lunatic, when the other guy abruptly slapped his forehead and yelled: "Another memory has just come back!"
"What memory?"
"My… my name! I remember my name! Quick, get me a piece of paper and a pen. I have to write it down before I forget it again!"
Harry ran into the office, grabbed the first piece of paper he caught a glimpse of and hurried back into the room. "Here. Paper and pen."
The blonde guy ripped the paper out of his hand and jotted down two words. "There…" he stood up, shaking Harry's hand fervently, then hugging him so close that he almost choked. "Thank you, my dear friend. From now on, I am in your debt." a sudden shake of sobs stifled his voice, and he buried his face into Harry's shoulder. Harry knew that the madman was crying for joy. He looked over the man's shoulders, on the table, to see the name he'd written down: Gilderoy Lockhart.
A/N2: sorry for repeating Harry's composition – I hope I didn't bore you to death. I just felt I needed to show Sybill's reaction to it.
All right, now be a responsive reader and drop a line. If you'll be nice, folks, (and send lots of reviews), I'll be nice too – and upload chapter 14 right on Friday. (Never think I'm blackmailing you, lol… I just want feedback!)