Chapter 5
On a lazy Saturday afternoon, Christopher was thumbing through one of the many books that lined the dark bookshelves in the main room. Michael was at a small desk in the corner, pen scratching away steadily while Maggie sat on a chair, her crocheting in a small pile on her lap. A sudden hurried knock sounded at the door and Maggie quickly rose to answer it. A young woman, brown hair tied messily away from her stress-lined face, entered with a blanket-wrapped bundle in her arms. She glanced at Christopher, blinked in confusion when she didn't recognise him, and pulled Maggie out into the corridor for a hurried, hushed discussion. Moments later, Maggie returned with the bundle now in her arms.
"Who was it Maggie?" asked Michael absently from the desk, pen still scratching away.
"It was young Laura from across the hall," she answered, crossing to the settee. "She had to run out for a moment and wanted to see if we might watch the baby while she's gone."
Christopher looked over where Maggie lifted the blanket from a small and serenely sleeping face.
"Michael, dear, could you go find the old bassinet so I can watch her while I crochet?"
Michael wrote a few more lines and got up to disappear briefly down the hallway. He soon emerged with the bassinet and placed it beside Maggie's chair. Tenderly, Maggie moved the sleeping infant into the basket and after a maternal smile, sat back down. The room was silent once again until Maggie rose to check on dinner.
Christopher moved to sit down in the chair when a murmur from the bassinet drew his attention. He hesitated, saw that Michael was engrossed in his writing, and went closer. He was curious despite himself. The child was small, even for a newborn, but seemed to lack no energy as the toothless pink mouth opened in a yawn while tiny arms flailed about. Christopher felt a smile curve the corner of his mouth as he watched the baby settle back down into whatever dreams one so young might dream.
By some unknown instinct, he reached in, touching the soft little palm with the tip of his finger. The baby's chubby fingers closed around it with more strength than he suspected and without warning the sleepy lids fluttered and opened.
A hard knot formed inside his stomach as the baby's blue eyes inspected the narrow face now hovering above her resting place. It was with a nearly physical shock that he realized that he might have a child somewhere just like this one. He might have a son or a daughter who, even now, might be waiting for their father to come home. His hand jerked with the surprise that followed the thought: I might be married! The thought that he might possibly have a loving family looking for him, wondering why he wasn't coming home. "Great Merlin's beard…" he whispered softly, hardly aware of what he said.
The baby yawned again and the tiny grip on his finger loosed as the child slipped back into sleep. Christopher looked down at the book still in his other hand with disgust and shelved it, stalking to his room with renewed purpose. Seething inwardly, he cursed the complacency he had been enjoying the past week as he searched for the black robes he had been found in. No longer would he sit and wait for his past to find him. He would take an active part in discovering it for himself or possibly never regain his memory at all, and that was something he refused to allow.
More colourful cursing followed Christopher's attempts to get the robes on with one good arm but eventually he triumphed. Although he did not remember anything immediately by putting on the clothes that had once been familiar like he had hoped, he felt himself truly relax in the comfortable swirling black fabric. This was what he was used to; this was part of what he had once been. But… he glanced out of the window where he saw people milling around, enjoying the fine summer day. No one else was dressed in robes… clearly he would have to resort to Muggle clothing if he were to go outside at all. Muggle? The word had appeared, like most of his precious few memories, out of nowhere and with no accompanying explanation. He turned the word around in his mind for a moment but soon set it aside to change.
* * *
Yawning mightily sometime the next morning, Harry climbed out of bed and stumbled into the lavatory. A warm shower and a clean change of clothes helped him wake up and he wondered, looking at the late hour on his watch, if the house-elves would mind whipping up a little something for his breakfast. As if in response to his thoughts, he heard a faint knocking sound at the door. Expecting to see Dumbledore's tall figure, Harry was surprised to see instead a small form with bat-like ears and a pencil-shaped nose holding a covered tray.
"Hello Dobby!" grinned Harry, "Come on in. How is your summer holiday going?"
"Dobby's holiday is very well, Harry Potter, sir!" the house-elf replied cheerfully, setting the tray on the bedside cabinet. "Dobby is having the honour of bringing Harry Potter breakfast! Professor Dumbledore tells Dobby last night that Harry Potter is returned to Hogwarts for summer!" The house-elf was so excited, he couldn't seem to stand still in one place, hopping elatedly from one striped-socked foot to the next.
"Mmm hmm," Harry nodded, his mouth currently busy with eggs, bacon, and kippers. "I'm here until term starts, hopefully," he said once he had swallowed.
"Is Harry Potter needing anything else?" asked Dobby anxiously, bat-like ears perked up hopefully.
"Well…" Harry started uneasily, "I don't want to impose…."
"Oh! Harry Potter is good, kind…" the large green eyes filled with grateful tears. "But is not imposing. Dobby is doing very little during holiday. Other house-elves are busy cleaning Hogwarts and Dobby is wanting to help Harry Potter."
"Well… I suppose you could do my laundry-" No sooner had he spoken then Dobby snapped his long fingers and suddenly, his arms were full of the clothes Harry had just discarded.
"Doing laundry now, Harry Potter, sir!" Dobby squeaked and then, opening the door magically for himself, skipped out of the room. Harry finished his breakfast and was wondering what to do about the tray when it shimmered slightly, and disappeared.
Twirling his wand a bit jauntily in his good mood, Harry returned his school trunk to it's normal size and seeing nothing else needing done in the room, exited swiftly to hunt down Dumbledore's office. His good mood faded slightly as he continued to walk, not recognizing the corridor. He tried to recall the night before but remembered little except Dumbledore's steady hand on his shoulder, making sure he didn't collapse… Wait, that painting looks familiar… Without warning, something crashed into Harry from behind with the force of a good rugby tackle. Harry struggled to throw off the weight on his back and managed to look over his shoulder at his attacker. Big mistake.
On a lazy Saturday afternoon, Christopher was thumbing through one of the many books that lined the dark bookshelves in the main room. Michael was at a small desk in the corner, pen scratching away steadily while Maggie sat on a chair, her crocheting in a small pile on her lap. A sudden hurried knock sounded at the door and Maggie quickly rose to answer it. A young woman, brown hair tied messily away from her stress-lined face, entered with a blanket-wrapped bundle in her arms. She glanced at Christopher, blinked in confusion when she didn't recognise him, and pulled Maggie out into the corridor for a hurried, hushed discussion. Moments later, Maggie returned with the bundle now in her arms.
"Who was it Maggie?" asked Michael absently from the desk, pen still scratching away.
"It was young Laura from across the hall," she answered, crossing to the settee. "She had to run out for a moment and wanted to see if we might watch the baby while she's gone."
Christopher looked over where Maggie lifted the blanket from a small and serenely sleeping face.
"Michael, dear, could you go find the old bassinet so I can watch her while I crochet?"
Michael wrote a few more lines and got up to disappear briefly down the hallway. He soon emerged with the bassinet and placed it beside Maggie's chair. Tenderly, Maggie moved the sleeping infant into the basket and after a maternal smile, sat back down. The room was silent once again until Maggie rose to check on dinner.
Christopher moved to sit down in the chair when a murmur from the bassinet drew his attention. He hesitated, saw that Michael was engrossed in his writing, and went closer. He was curious despite himself. The child was small, even for a newborn, but seemed to lack no energy as the toothless pink mouth opened in a yawn while tiny arms flailed about. Christopher felt a smile curve the corner of his mouth as he watched the baby settle back down into whatever dreams one so young might dream.
By some unknown instinct, he reached in, touching the soft little palm with the tip of his finger. The baby's chubby fingers closed around it with more strength than he suspected and without warning the sleepy lids fluttered and opened.
A hard knot formed inside his stomach as the baby's blue eyes inspected the narrow face now hovering above her resting place. It was with a nearly physical shock that he realized that he might have a child somewhere just like this one. He might have a son or a daughter who, even now, might be waiting for their father to come home. His hand jerked with the surprise that followed the thought: I might be married! The thought that he might possibly have a loving family looking for him, wondering why he wasn't coming home. "Great Merlin's beard…" he whispered softly, hardly aware of what he said.
The baby yawned again and the tiny grip on his finger loosed as the child slipped back into sleep. Christopher looked down at the book still in his other hand with disgust and shelved it, stalking to his room with renewed purpose. Seething inwardly, he cursed the complacency he had been enjoying the past week as he searched for the black robes he had been found in. No longer would he sit and wait for his past to find him. He would take an active part in discovering it for himself or possibly never regain his memory at all, and that was something he refused to allow.
More colourful cursing followed Christopher's attempts to get the robes on with one good arm but eventually he triumphed. Although he did not remember anything immediately by putting on the clothes that had once been familiar like he had hoped, he felt himself truly relax in the comfortable swirling black fabric. This was what he was used to; this was part of what he had once been. But… he glanced out of the window where he saw people milling around, enjoying the fine summer day. No one else was dressed in robes… clearly he would have to resort to Muggle clothing if he were to go outside at all. Muggle? The word had appeared, like most of his precious few memories, out of nowhere and with no accompanying explanation. He turned the word around in his mind for a moment but soon set it aside to change.
Yawning mightily sometime the next morning, Harry climbed out of bed and stumbled into the lavatory. A warm shower and a clean change of clothes helped him wake up and he wondered, looking at the late hour on his watch, if the house-elves would mind whipping up a little something for his breakfast. As if in response to his thoughts, he heard a faint knocking sound at the door. Expecting to see Dumbledore's tall figure, Harry was surprised to see instead a small form with bat-like ears and a pencil-shaped nose holding a covered tray.
"Hello Dobby!" grinned Harry, "Come on in. How is your summer holiday going?"
"Dobby's holiday is very well, Harry Potter, sir!" the house-elf replied cheerfully, setting the tray on the bedside cabinet. "Dobby is having the honour of bringing Harry Potter breakfast! Professor Dumbledore tells Dobby last night that Harry Potter is returned to Hogwarts for summer!" The house-elf was so excited, he couldn't seem to stand still in one place, hopping elatedly from one striped-socked foot to the next.
"Mmm hmm," Harry nodded, his mouth currently busy with eggs, bacon, and kippers. "I'm here until term starts, hopefully," he said once he had swallowed.
"Is Harry Potter needing anything else?" asked Dobby anxiously, bat-like ears perked up hopefully.
"Well…" Harry started uneasily, "I don't want to impose…."
"Oh! Harry Potter is good, kind…" the large green eyes filled with grateful tears. "But is not imposing. Dobby is doing very little during holiday. Other house-elves are busy cleaning Hogwarts and Dobby is wanting to help Harry Potter."
"Well… I suppose you could do my laundry-" No sooner had he spoken then Dobby snapped his long fingers and suddenly, his arms were full of the clothes Harry had just discarded.
"Doing laundry now, Harry Potter, sir!" Dobby squeaked and then, opening the door magically for himself, skipped out of the room. Harry finished his breakfast and was wondering what to do about the tray when it shimmered slightly, and disappeared.
Twirling his wand a bit jauntily in his good mood, Harry returned his school trunk to it's normal size and seeing nothing else needing done in the room, exited swiftly to hunt down Dumbledore's office. His good mood faded slightly as he continued to walk, not recognizing the corridor. He tried to recall the night before but remembered little except Dumbledore's steady hand on his shoulder, making sure he didn't collapse… Wait, that painting looks familiar… Without warning, something crashed into Harry from behind with the force of a good rugby tackle. Harry struggled to throw off the weight on his back and managed to look over his shoulder at his attacker. Big mistake.