Disclaimer: all characters belong to J K Rowling and Warner brothers.

a/n Revised

Persistence of Memory

By neutral

Chapter three - persistence of misfortune

What happens to you after you die?

Cynthia asked me that question today. I wanted to tell her: 'you die…

'People are sad. They look away. They become silent. Sometimes, they might even cry. Then, they stop talking about you and begin to forget…

'You start to fade in their memories, and they begin to subconsciously add details to your blurring face that weren't there before, substitute phrases into your fragmenting sentences that wasn't what you said before. They cut and paste to your image, until you are no longer you but the person they perceived you as.

'People remember you not as who you are but who you appear to be, after all.'

But it's not really fair, is it? What if the person you appeared to be was not you at all? What if you wanted to be remembered for something different, but no one remembered that aspect of you?

If people cannot forget me after I die, then I wish that no one will ever think of me. They will lock every memory of me away. They will never speak my name, look at my picture, or visit my grave. That way, I will always be me, right?

I didn't know what to say to her. I wonder if she was upset I left.

- James [July 1st ] [ St. MaryAnn's Hospital ]

What? James watched the stranger blankly. The man bore a strangled expression of incredulity, as if he half expected to be dreaming but half fearing it at the same time. His face had completely drained of color, and he looked slightly unsteady on his feet. Did he just call me Harry?

"You again!"

The shout caught James' attention, and he turned from the stranger to see a fleshy woman storming from the café's front doors.

"Always making trouble… Just wait until Elaine hears of this!" she shrieked, her face flushed in anger.

James inwardly cringed, wondering just how many pitfalls that day had planned for him. But the café owner passed him without a glance and strode directly to Will.

"This is the last time you create a disturbance here, young man!" she barked out shortly. Heaving Will back by the scruff of his shirt, she held him firm by a none too gentle pinch on the ear. The older teen scrambled back when Will was pried away, straightening with an air of someone with bruised pride.

"That rat…" the teen spat out the word as if it was distasteful. "attacked me without a reason. I was simply standing here and…"

"Shut up, shut up!" Will hissed brokenly, trashing to free himself. "I'm going to break your arm next time I see you, I swear…!"

The idiot! Shut up! James felt like screaming at him. They were already cornered, and Will was still taking the last ditch effort for some vengeance. It was a hell of an impression they were making. They already alerted half the street, the idiot…

"Another one of you, and I might just go out of business! Always up to no good!" the woman snapped irritably. But her angry glower was transformed into a expression of concern when she turned towards the older teen. "Run along now, I'll make sure this is taken care of."

The boy straightened his clothes and scrubbed at the blood on his face with one last lingering glare on Will. Will made a sound that sounded distinctly like a snarl as if he wanted to pound him again, but the woman had him tight. James hurriedly tried sit up but his side was aching terribly.

The stout woman wrenched with her hand painfully. Will visibly flinched as she grabbed a few locks of dark hair. "Letting children like you on the streets," she huffed as she hauled him towards the store. "What is this place coming too?"

"Wait!" James shouted after her, but she slammed the door without a backward glance.

The café had gone silent; every eye seemed to be turned disapprovingly in his direction. James subconsciously shrank towards the floor, feeling painfully insecure with his soaked shirt and oversized jeans. Keeping his gaze trained on the wet tiles, James slowly sat up.

A rippling ache shot up his back when James tried to stand, and he sank back against the ground a second time. His side was throbbing like it was on fire; he could feel his back protest when he drew a breath. James gingerly prodded his side and flinched when he touched a patch of bruised skin.

"Harry?" the stranger whispered, his tone more strained than before.

That man… James had forgotten about him for a moment. After a soaked boy slammed into his table and knocked over his breakfast, James imagined he probably wouldn't be delighted. But why had he been calling him that name?

Stiffly, James forced himself to his feet and tried to avoid the stranger's oddly pale eyes. He leaned against the table for balance.

"I'm very sorry about what happened, sir," James said softly. "I really didn't mean to knock into your table like that."

Silence. James stared at the stranger's shoes, noting how they were still glued to the ground.

James uneasily gulped and tried again. "Umm… if I knocked anything over, I'll try to reimburse you for it. I don't have very much money though, how much…?"

James trailed off when the man still failed to make any acknowledgement of his words. The entire situation was beginning to feel alarmingly awkward. Had he really been that furious when James tripped into his table? But that had hurt him more, James noted somewhat exasperatedly as he rubbed his abused ribs.

A hand tentatively lifted his chin, and James flinched back at the unexpected contact. But the stranger with the strange eyes still had his arm outstretched like he was going to touch him again. Apprehensively, James tried to distance himself. There was another man, James abruptly noticed, with graying fawn hair and blue-gray eyes that was standing beside the dark-haired man, watching James fixedly. When James turned to look at him, the other stranger paled and fell still.

"Harry…" he breathed.

What the hell was going on? James took a wary step back, feeling trapped and outnumbered.

"I only have four pounds," James muttered cautiously as he groped for his deflated wallet. Very warily, he stepped forward and laid the coins on the table. "I'm really sorry if… umm… I knocked over something worth more. I don't have anymore money on me at the moment, I'm sorry…"

No one moved. James felt completely out of place; he was soaked to the skin and dripping water all over the café floor. He wished he could disappear just so he could escape the two strangers' piercing eyes. It was awful being stared at. It always brought back the images of the hospital and the blurred faces hovering over him. James rubbed his arm out of habit and discreetly tried to slink away.

"Harry!" The dark haired man suddenly tore out of his daze. He sprang forward; the emotion in his face was frightening in its intensity.

Before James could leap backwards, the man had caught his shoulders in a bone crushing grip. He tightened his arms on him, burying James' face against his shirt. The grip the man had on him was so tight that it was painful, and James was completely trapped.

"Harry, Harry, Harry…" the stranger's voice was strangled. He had flung his weight completely over James, and James was having a hard time staying upright.

"Sir, no you… I'm not…" James stuttered as he caught the table for support. "You've made a mistake…"

He broke off when the man with the graying hair stepped beside him. He was stunned beyond words, but James didn't feel much better than the stranger looked. Smiling weakly, he took off his coat and slipped it over James' shoulders.

"Wait, you don't have to…" James began helplessly. He wasn't sure whether to be surprised or embarrassed, and settled on being utterly confused.

Did they think he was someone else? Or… what was going on? James wanted to shout out in confusion, but his mind had completely blanked. He tried to drop to the floor just so he could side from under the stranger's arms, but the stranger's grasp tightened.

"It's really you, isn't it?" The stranger buried his face against James' hair. "I'm not dreaming, am I?"

James was growing increasingly agitated as he unsuccessfully tried to twist out of the man's grip. "Sir, I think you have the wrong person…"

The stranger's arms tightened around him, and James' words were smothered against the man's shirt. No one ever touched him in the orphanage or in school, and to be hugged by a stranger was frighteningly unnerving. James pried at the man's hands, fighting the urge to panic.

Almost by its own volition, James' hand slammed itself against the stranger's shoulder hard. The man's grip slipped in surprise and James scrambled back, pale and trembling.

"This… there is some mistake…" James struggled to sound reasonably coherent as he backed away.

It had been a bad day. It was raining, he was soaked, he ran into that annoying rich boy, the newspaper he had to deliver was piled in a mushy heap on the ground, and to top that all off, he was starving. And now two strangers were calling him Harry, but he was too tired, too annoyed, too stressed to speak logically. James just wanted to sink to the floor and hide…

Remus felt as if all coherent thought had frozen in his mind at the sight of Harry's face staring up uncomprehendingly from the floor. The curve of the cheek, the small arch of his eyebrows… his features were the mirror of James' from fifth year, except for the brilliant green eyes peering out at them. He could recognize that face anywhere…

He stared at the boy disbelievingly, half afraid that it was a dream and the other afraid that it wasn't. The entire situation felt like something out of an image solidified from a desperate wish; everything from the thick aroma of coffee to the rumbling sound of rain seemed surreal. He could only stare speechlessly as Sirius enveloped the boy into a bone crushing embrace that completely hid Harry's face against his shirt.

Harry was soaked to the skin from rain; His hair was plastered to his head, and his tattered shirt was waterlogged. Remus had slid the coat off his shoulders and spread over the younger boy, but the oddest expression crossed Harry's face. Remus had been too distracted to contemplate what it had meant.

This couldn't be happening. He had dreamed of this, everyone had… but dreams were notorious for never coming true.

Sirius suddenly jerked back, and Harry darted away from his grasp like a frightened animal escaping a cage. Sirius opened his mouth and shut it without a word, looking oddly hurt and confused.

"This… there is some mistake…" the boy stumbled over his words as he tried to explain. He was alarmingly agitated, shifting back and forth on his feet as if ready to bolt in an instant.

On any normal circumstance when Remus was calm and thinking smoothly, he would have wondered why Harry looked so wary. He would have wondered why Harry was never found if he had been alive and intact, and running through the busy streets on Friday mornings. He would have wondered why Harry was dressed in tattered hand-me-downs, or why he was dragging that bag of newspaper at a street corner, or why he was involved with a street brawl. But at that moment, all he could focus on was the boy standing nervously in front of them.

Remus took a small, tentative step forward. "Harry?"

"No, I'm not," Harry burst out, visibly distraught as he twisted his soaked sleeve between his fingers. "I don't know who you're looking for, but I'm afraid I'm not…"

"What?" Sirius hoarsely asked.

"I'm not Harry!" the boy repeated firmly, backing away as if trying to place some distance between them. "I've never met you before. You have the wrong person!"

A suffocating silence followed his words. Remus caught his breath, blind to the stares directed in their direction. Remus almost believed the boy for a second when he realized how flustered and perplexed the Harry look-alike was, but then, the boy ran a nervous hand through his hair.

And a jagged scar glared back at them.

Abruptly, Sirius lunged forward, snagging the boy by the wrist before he could even react and squirm out of the way. Harry made an indiscernible sound of surprise, staring up at his godfather fearfully.

"What are you talking about?" Sirius' voice rose into a shout as his grip tightened over Harry's arm. "You are Harry! You even have that scar! You…!"

Sirius' entire demeanor had transformed from the stagnant apathy to outright frenzy within minutes. For the first time, Remus saw just how close to the edge his friend truly was.

"My name is not Harry! Sir, let go," the boy shrank back. "I… I'm not Harry. You have the wrong… ow!"

"Stop! Sirius, you're hurting him!" Remus cut in anxiously.

Sirius dropped Harry's wrist as if burned at those words, but he was still trembling, whether in frustration, shock, and hurt Remus wasn't sure.

Trembling and deathly white, Harry took one glance at Sirius and bolted.

James collapsed on the floor in a secluded alleyway, clutching his side and trying to breathe through the snitch in his gut. The desperate run through the streets with bruised ribs that were crooked to begin with left James nauseous from the lack of air. He struggled to calm his breathing enough to listen.

Steady drumming of rain interspersed with the screech of tires against wet roads met his ears. The shouts were finally silent.

James released a small sigh of relief, and nearly choked when another coughing fit overtook him. The two strangers had chased him all the way down the block, and James had to take refuge behind a bin to hide.

He crinkled his nose at the stench that wafted from the bin behind his back. Inwardly groaning, he sluggishly tried to drag himself back up, but his legs had completely melted into water. He could only slouch against the wall and hug his knees wearily.

Will was going to be worried, not to mention furious, when he came out and found him gone. And… oh no… the newspaper. All their stash must be a mushy heap on the ground by now, if no one had taken them. That was over twenty pounds worth of merchandise that James had to reimburse, but he didn't have nearly that much money in his savings. And those duffle bags that he carried the paper in belonged to St. MaryAnn's headmistress. How was he going to explain to her that he lost them? James mentally slapped himself. Like a nice carton of eggs, when something slips, everything decides to break all at once.

This had been such a miserable day…

And why did he have a feeling that things were only going to get worse?

Who were those two people? James remembered the dilating pupils in the dark haired man's eyes and inwardly shuddered. That man seemed treading the line. And, James felt like slamming his head against the wall when he realized he still had the brown-haired man's coat. Now, not only had he lost his entire bag of newspaper, dragged Will into a fistfight, he had ripped someone off too.

James dropped his head on his knees with a low groan.

He should have listened to them explain before he ran, but the stranger had reacted so violently and he was so startled, James wasn't sure what else to do. Still, he should never have punched him and should never have fled.

What if…?

"James!" was the general chorus of voices that greeted him when he passed through the second level of St. MaryAnn's Orphanage (nicknamed 'crazy horse' for no other reason than the rocking horse that stood by the stairs).

In the middle of the narrow whitewashed hallway—liberally decorated with finger-paint and crayons—, James was assaulted on all sides by miniature people with arms. That successfully knocked all his ominous thoughts of those two strangers out of his mind, and James stumbled when a particularly insistent little girl—Nicole, the seven year old girl whose hair he was forced to braid every morning over breakfast—latched onto his arm and proceeded to drag him down. Grinning, James weaseled away and tried to dodge the group of children seemingly determined to play the role of goose imprinting.

"Where were you? What happened…?"

"Will came in alone and said…"

"You should have seen Elaine steam! She…"

"She was angry?" James asked, somewhat worriedly. The concept of incurring the pump, middle aged administrator's wrath was rather unsettling—not that she was mean and bitter and spiteful, but because she was… well, Big Mama Elaine, the lady could chew out fifty year old men and make them feel like toddlers again.

"She was furious!" David dragged him down so that James' ear was the level of his head. "She said you'd be doing that duty with Will again."

James slapped his hand over his face in dismay. That usually implied washing underclothes for the all of St. MaryAnn's.

Grinning, David patted James' head and directed at him a look that just oozed innocent evilness, if that was even possible.

Feeling incredibly childish, James blew him a raspberry and rumpled his hair. "I hope you aren't going to wet your bed again—"

David glared. "I do not!"

Laughter ran out, and James almost grew dizzy when the children spun around him in small circles.

"David wets his bed! David wets his bed!"

"I do not! James—"

"Okay, okay," laughing, James dodged the furious fist that came flying his way. "David doesn't. I'm only teasing." He glanced around the small group, mentally counting heads. "Where's Thomas?"

A sudden hush fell over them. James looked from face to face worriedly.

"You didn't say anything to him, did you?" James asked sternly.

"We didn't," David muttered, looking put out all of a sudden. "Someone else did though and he's sitting in the closet again."

"Oh, he didn't," James sighed. "Cynthia, go find Elaine."

"Aren't you going to go?" Nicole tailed him closely.

"I need to check in first. Now run along before Elaine decides to blame me for taking you out of class. Another reason for her to skin me alive."

"She's going to skin you alive anyway!"

"Oh, shut up you," teasingly, James ruffled David's hair again, and the boy responded by attempting to pinch his cheek. Bah, sassy boy.

Shaking his head in amusement—well out of sight from the children—, James continued down the corridor. It was so much more comforting to be home. It was good to be around people he knew and trusted. He understood how life worked here, the only life he knew, and he had grown completely attached to it.

Business that was not your business was to be ignored. Things that were not your things were yours to share anyway, unless when it came to things like money and homework. Everyone watched out for each other, in public anyway. In the small, four storied institution, the eighty-seven children of St. MaryAnn's Children's Home were autonomous little buggers who ganged up together on weekdays, then fought among themselves on weekends. Life followed such a simple set formula…

But everyone was stubborn to a fault sometimes, James noted quietly. That's why they were always in trouble at school. James tired to steer away from those matters, but it was still difficult considering his general home and location.

Especially after the first speech and the derisive people from the board of education gave him when he transferred into the school…

'True values are set by family. Without family, children become dysfunctional. It is an inevitable cycle…'

James gritted his teeth. He really wished they would open their eyes and see for just one moment. Their lack of tolerance was infuriating sometimes, but then again, they often made the same mistake. Everyone who wore clean shoes was lumped into one big category entitled 'annoying, rich brats.'

James drew a deep breath and released it in a slow sigh.

But beyond that, everything was simple here. Familiar environment, all the privacy (though not really silence) he needed, and some very loyal friends. James' life, which had been tilted off balance by the stranger hours ago, rightened itself again. Walking down the whitewashed (somewhat, ignoring the finger paints and scribbles on the walls) hallway, James habitually counted the number of flickering neon lights overhead.

The door abruptly burst open, and a tall girl of sixteen stomped huffily out. James leaped back at the sight, before blushing and quickly turning his eyes away.

That was one thing he never got used to, but then again, he was the only boy in the orphanage who never paraded around without his shirt on. James never gave his reasons, but they, with their vivid and often times disturbing imaginations, always substituted their own. He couldn't count the number of times he had been teased because of it. Their sense of humor really grated his nerves sometimes…

"Does anyone have a pad?" she shouted, crossing her bare arms over her bra exasperatedly. "If I don't get one soon, I'll be leaking all over the floor!"

James blushed even more and kept his eyes fixed on the wall.

From behind a door, someone groaned. "I did not have to know that, Angela."

"Just use toilet paper for Chrissake!" shouted someone from down the hall.

"No way! I actually want to keep my underwear clean," Angela retorted with an angry grimace, stamping her feet irritably.

"Angela, that's a disgusting concept."

Angela kicked at the closed door. "Oh, you shut up, Will Lestrange!"

James discreetly cleared his throat, keeping his gaze resolutely downcast. "Umm… Angela, could you put on some clothes?"

"I do have clothes on!" Angela snapped back indignantly. But when the name and his voice finally clicked in her mind, she spun around to face him with a large smile. "James, you're back!"

The door to the dorms was thrown open, and James flinched when it slammed loudly against the wall. Will rushed out of the dormitory so quickly he skidded on the wooden floors.

"James, what the hell happened to you?" Will shouted as he pointed an accusing finger at his friend.

If it was at all possible, James blushed even more. "Umm… I met two people who tried to call me Harry…"

Will choked, his black eyes widening to an impossible size. "What?!"

As he watched the rapidly darkening expression on Will's face, James found himself thinking back on the two stranger's words. They hadn't said much, but they had seemed so certain that they knew him. The dark haired man looked almost betrayed when James knocked him back. It was like they knew and knew him well; those emotions couldn't be falsified. James could pass it off as a misunderstanding if it was just one person who recognized him, but two? James chewed the inside of his cheek worriedly.

What if they did know something about me?

*