I do not own Harry Potter. This is my own idea. All rights are reserved
to JK Rowling
I am very grateful to all of those people who have reviewed my story. I am enjoying working on this plot very much and would like to know of anything that does not make sense or needs clarification. Keep me informed of how you like the way the story is heading.
PLEASE KEEP REVIEWING!!
Chapter 6: Images From Her Past
Hermione felt as if her head was about to explode. Her hands traveled up to her temples and her fingers tried desperately to massage the pain away. Slowly she opened her eyes to look around at the dimly illuminated room. It was oddly familiar. Everything around her was a bright white that reflected the few lights that were lit, though they were no ordinary lights; they were torches. There were pictures on the wall and she suddenly became aware that the figures in the portraits were moving. She blinked a couple times to make sure it was not her imagination, but they were still there and moving when she opened her eyes. The people in the portraits smiled at her and waved before walking out of the picture all together leaving only the scenery visible. She thought she was still asleep or, more than likely, she had a head injury. 'That's it!' she thought. 'I must have hit my head when I blacked out.'
She was in a strange bed and she had no recollection of how she arrived there. 'No recollection! What else is new?' she mused silently. Since she had spent awhile in a hospital, even if she was only conscious for a week, she could tell this was some sort of infirmary. The torches were confusing because everywhere she ever remembered being had electrical lighting. The sheets felt cool on her warm skin and she settled herself back down under the covers.
She started when the sound of footsteps approached the door to the ward from the other side of the wall on her right. The door creaked open to reveal a woman dressed in white. "Oh, my dear, how long have you been awake?" concern filled her voice. "I am so sorry I was not here, I had to let the headmaster know you were comfortable. It is great to see you again, although I wish it could be under different circumstances."
"Do I know you?" She knew it sounded discourteous but she had no clue as to the identity of the nurse.
"Oh, I am Madame Pomfrey," the woman said looking a little downtrodden at the lack of recognition. "I am the medi-witch here."
"Here? Where is here?" Hermione asked. "And how did I get here? The last thing I remember is being at The Leaky Cauldron."
"You are back at Hogwarts, of course," she replied as if it was the most natural conclusion. "Professor Dumbledore brought you to the hospital wing last night, you were out cold."
"Can I speak with the headmaster?" Hermione still had many questions that she wanted answered.
"Certainly, Miss. Granger," Dumbledore responded. He had entered the room without either of the women noticing. "I was hoping to have a word with you myself."
Hermione nodded and gestured for him to continue as Madame Pomfrey returned to her office to leave the two to their conversation.
"How are you feeling this afternoon? You were asleep for nearly a day," Dumbledore smiled.
"It is better than four months," was her sarcastic reply. She gave him a half smile before she mumbled the rest, "or for over twenty years of one's life."
"You were not unconscious for twenty years, Hermione. It just feels that way." He paused and looked at her with sadness in his eyes. "Do you remember anything from your past, anything at all?"
"There are certain things that sound or look familiar to me," she answered. "Like your name and your spectacles."
He smiled and his eyes sparkled at her comment. He looked the same as the previous night in the tavern. "I am truly flattered that I had that much of an impression on you."
She looked down at her lap, her right hand subconsciously lifting to clutch the charm at her throat before she continued. "I have taken to drawing things, things that seem of some importance."
Movement at the bottom of the bed caught Dumbledore's eye and he noticed she was rubbing her feet together in a nervous gesture. "What have you been drawing? Maybe I can tell you the significance of these things."
Her face brightened at his last comment. 'That would be wonderful,' she thought. "Well, I have a tendency to draw a large castle with many towers."
"That one is easy," he mused. Raising his arms he looked around the room. "Hogwarts! You are in that castle at this moment."
She smiled, baring her perfect teeth. Her heart seemed lighter already. "I also sketch two animals. One is an orange cat with yellow eyes and the other is a tiny owl in the palm of a hand." She was thoughtful for a minute. "I have the drawings at my house if you need to see them. I don't think they are very good but it might give you more of an idea of what they look like."
"There is no need," he said simply. "The cat's name is Crookshanks. You bought him as your thirteenth birthday present from your parents prior to your third year here." He snickered softly to himself. "He gave you some trying times, Crookshanks did. I remember when you were not on speaking terms with one of your best friends, Ron Weasley, because he thought Crookshanks had eaten his pet rat, Scabbers."
"Really?" she giggled prior to frowning slightly. "Is he alright? Crookshanks, I mean. I have not been around to take care of a cat. I hope he was well looked after."
"No need to fret! Your parents took him in with them."
Her eyes drifted back to her lap, "My parents," she mumbled. Lifting her eyes to meet his she posed, "And the owl? Is, er, or was he mine as well?"
Choosing his words carefully he responded, "No, my dear, he is not your owl." Taking a breath he continued, "He belongs to Ron. The owl arrived at the end of your third year on the train ride home. He delivered a letter to Harry, your other best friend, from his godfather, Sirius. Sirius gave the minute owl to Ron to make up for the loss of his pet rat."
"Oh," she sighed. Listening to him speak about friends she did not remember was difficult to handle. "So Crookshanks did eat Scabbers then?"
Dumbledore indicated no by shaking his head somewhat. "It is complicated. Scabbers was actually an animagus, which means a human that can take the form of a particular animal. In this case, Peter Pettigrew could turn into a rat and had been living in fear as such. Sirius and Crookshanks were the only two who knew his identity and Sirius was the real reason Ron lost Scabbers. Peter returned to the Dark Lord when he was discovered."
Hermione looked reflective for a minute, her brow scrunched up in concentration. "The Dark Lord? The one that the three of us defeated, the reason that man attacked me?"
"Yes," simple and to the point. "Did you draw anything else?" he inquired, reverting back to the original topic of discussion.
"Hmmm, I liked to draw broomsticks but I guess being a witch means that I can fly." She rolled her eyes at the words that she spoke. They sounded absurd. She released her grasp on her charm as she had become more at ease with the situation.
He snickered softly, "I think that was the only course you had trouble with here. You were top of every class except that one. Harry had the uncanny ability of making flying on a broom look easy. I think he is the reason you sketched the broomsticks."
"Now that I have those figured out, what about lightning bolts? Why in the world would I be concerned with lightning bolts?" This one was utterly confusing. 'Did I get caught in a thunderstorm and get struck by lightning?' she questioned herself silently. 'It is the only logical answer.'
"No you did not get struck by lightning," he grinned at her once again. "And might I add that the most logical answer does not necessarily mean it is the correct one."
She was shocked! 'I didn't say that out loud, how could he possibly have known that was what I was thinking.'
He answered her thoughts for a second time, "I have my own abilities, my dear. As for the real reason you sketch lightning bolts it is fairly simple. Your friend Harry, Harry Potter, has a lightning bolt scar on his forehead from an encounter he had with the Dark Lord at the mere age of one. He lost his parents that night and when the Dark Lord tried to rid the world of him, the curse backfired leaving Harry with the scar as an ever-present reminder."
"How horrible! To lose your entire family, especially at such a young age." Tears were welling up in Hermione's eyes. Although she could not remember these people, her heart still ached for them. 'After all,' she thought, 'these people had been my friends.'
"Yes it is," his eyes seemed to dim to some extent. "But after the three of you defeated Voldemort, that was his name, in your seventh year here he has been like any normal wizard." He snickered once again. "Well, any normal wizard who is the hero of the wizarding world."
She smiled despite herself and the moisture vanished from her eyes. "I also have a strange obsession with the game of chess, especially the knights. I tend to draw them more than anything else. Did I like to play chess?" She leaned back on the raised pillows of the bed to get more comfortable. The talk was a good one and it seemed like it could go on forever.
"It began your first year here," he started. "You were eleven then. Towards the end of the year you and the two boys discovered the presence of the sorcerer's stone here in the castle." Her eyebrows lifted questioningly at the mention of the stone. Understanding her need for clarity, he explained the purpose of the stone. "The sorcerer's stone has the ability to turn any object into pure gold and produces the elixir of life that makes anyone who drinks it immortal." Now she was definitely intrigued.
"The three of you also learned of a plan Voldemort had to steal the stone and you decided it was your duty to stop it from happening. There were many obstacles you had to face including a large three-headed dog and Devil's Snare, which is a plant that wraps itself tightly around a person in a death grip. The one I think you remember most is the life size game of wizard's chess. The three of you had to play your way across the board and since Ron was the best at the game he called the moves. Harry took the position of a bishop, you were a castle and Ron was a knight."
Hermione's eyes widened as those words left Dumbledore's mouth. She pondered, 'I was focusing on a knight; Ron was the knight; I was focusing on Ron!'
"The game of Wizard's Chess is a little different from the chess to which you are familiar," Dumbledore carried on. "The chess pieces are alive and when one moves to take an opposing piece it shows no mercy. This life size game was no different and towards the end of the match Ron had to sacrifice himself to allow you and Harry to continue on to get the stone."
Hermione let out a small gasp. "He sacrificed himself! But he survived, you told me things about him in his third year and at graduation. Was he hurt badly?" Concern was written across her face.
"He ended up just being badly bruised once he regained consciousness. The three of you enjoyed playing chess together whenever you were not working on your studies, although I believe both you and Harry have yet to beat Ron."
Dumbledore noticed that Hermione began to bite her bottom lip and nervously twirled her hair around her finger. "Am I correct in the assumption that there is a question you wish to pose?" He could tell there was something pressing on her mind and he wanted to do everything in his power to help her recall her past as quickly as possible.
I am very grateful to all of those people who have reviewed my story. I am enjoying working on this plot very much and would like to know of anything that does not make sense or needs clarification. Keep me informed of how you like the way the story is heading.
PLEASE KEEP REVIEWING!!
Chapter 6: Images From Her Past
Hermione felt as if her head was about to explode. Her hands traveled up to her temples and her fingers tried desperately to massage the pain away. Slowly she opened her eyes to look around at the dimly illuminated room. It was oddly familiar. Everything around her was a bright white that reflected the few lights that were lit, though they were no ordinary lights; they were torches. There were pictures on the wall and she suddenly became aware that the figures in the portraits were moving. She blinked a couple times to make sure it was not her imagination, but they were still there and moving when she opened her eyes. The people in the portraits smiled at her and waved before walking out of the picture all together leaving only the scenery visible. She thought she was still asleep or, more than likely, she had a head injury. 'That's it!' she thought. 'I must have hit my head when I blacked out.'
She was in a strange bed and she had no recollection of how she arrived there. 'No recollection! What else is new?' she mused silently. Since she had spent awhile in a hospital, even if she was only conscious for a week, she could tell this was some sort of infirmary. The torches were confusing because everywhere she ever remembered being had electrical lighting. The sheets felt cool on her warm skin and she settled herself back down under the covers.
She started when the sound of footsteps approached the door to the ward from the other side of the wall on her right. The door creaked open to reveal a woman dressed in white. "Oh, my dear, how long have you been awake?" concern filled her voice. "I am so sorry I was not here, I had to let the headmaster know you were comfortable. It is great to see you again, although I wish it could be under different circumstances."
"Do I know you?" She knew it sounded discourteous but she had no clue as to the identity of the nurse.
"Oh, I am Madame Pomfrey," the woman said looking a little downtrodden at the lack of recognition. "I am the medi-witch here."
"Here? Where is here?" Hermione asked. "And how did I get here? The last thing I remember is being at The Leaky Cauldron."
"You are back at Hogwarts, of course," she replied as if it was the most natural conclusion. "Professor Dumbledore brought you to the hospital wing last night, you were out cold."
"Can I speak with the headmaster?" Hermione still had many questions that she wanted answered.
"Certainly, Miss. Granger," Dumbledore responded. He had entered the room without either of the women noticing. "I was hoping to have a word with you myself."
Hermione nodded and gestured for him to continue as Madame Pomfrey returned to her office to leave the two to their conversation.
"How are you feeling this afternoon? You were asleep for nearly a day," Dumbledore smiled.
"It is better than four months," was her sarcastic reply. She gave him a half smile before she mumbled the rest, "or for over twenty years of one's life."
"You were not unconscious for twenty years, Hermione. It just feels that way." He paused and looked at her with sadness in his eyes. "Do you remember anything from your past, anything at all?"
"There are certain things that sound or look familiar to me," she answered. "Like your name and your spectacles."
He smiled and his eyes sparkled at her comment. He looked the same as the previous night in the tavern. "I am truly flattered that I had that much of an impression on you."
She looked down at her lap, her right hand subconsciously lifting to clutch the charm at her throat before she continued. "I have taken to drawing things, things that seem of some importance."
Movement at the bottom of the bed caught Dumbledore's eye and he noticed she was rubbing her feet together in a nervous gesture. "What have you been drawing? Maybe I can tell you the significance of these things."
Her face brightened at his last comment. 'That would be wonderful,' she thought. "Well, I have a tendency to draw a large castle with many towers."
"That one is easy," he mused. Raising his arms he looked around the room. "Hogwarts! You are in that castle at this moment."
She smiled, baring her perfect teeth. Her heart seemed lighter already. "I also sketch two animals. One is an orange cat with yellow eyes and the other is a tiny owl in the palm of a hand." She was thoughtful for a minute. "I have the drawings at my house if you need to see them. I don't think they are very good but it might give you more of an idea of what they look like."
"There is no need," he said simply. "The cat's name is Crookshanks. You bought him as your thirteenth birthday present from your parents prior to your third year here." He snickered softly to himself. "He gave you some trying times, Crookshanks did. I remember when you were not on speaking terms with one of your best friends, Ron Weasley, because he thought Crookshanks had eaten his pet rat, Scabbers."
"Really?" she giggled prior to frowning slightly. "Is he alright? Crookshanks, I mean. I have not been around to take care of a cat. I hope he was well looked after."
"No need to fret! Your parents took him in with them."
Her eyes drifted back to her lap, "My parents," she mumbled. Lifting her eyes to meet his she posed, "And the owl? Is, er, or was he mine as well?"
Choosing his words carefully he responded, "No, my dear, he is not your owl." Taking a breath he continued, "He belongs to Ron. The owl arrived at the end of your third year on the train ride home. He delivered a letter to Harry, your other best friend, from his godfather, Sirius. Sirius gave the minute owl to Ron to make up for the loss of his pet rat."
"Oh," she sighed. Listening to him speak about friends she did not remember was difficult to handle. "So Crookshanks did eat Scabbers then?"
Dumbledore indicated no by shaking his head somewhat. "It is complicated. Scabbers was actually an animagus, which means a human that can take the form of a particular animal. In this case, Peter Pettigrew could turn into a rat and had been living in fear as such. Sirius and Crookshanks were the only two who knew his identity and Sirius was the real reason Ron lost Scabbers. Peter returned to the Dark Lord when he was discovered."
Hermione looked reflective for a minute, her brow scrunched up in concentration. "The Dark Lord? The one that the three of us defeated, the reason that man attacked me?"
"Yes," simple and to the point. "Did you draw anything else?" he inquired, reverting back to the original topic of discussion.
"Hmmm, I liked to draw broomsticks but I guess being a witch means that I can fly." She rolled her eyes at the words that she spoke. They sounded absurd. She released her grasp on her charm as she had become more at ease with the situation.
He snickered softly, "I think that was the only course you had trouble with here. You were top of every class except that one. Harry had the uncanny ability of making flying on a broom look easy. I think he is the reason you sketched the broomsticks."
"Now that I have those figured out, what about lightning bolts? Why in the world would I be concerned with lightning bolts?" This one was utterly confusing. 'Did I get caught in a thunderstorm and get struck by lightning?' she questioned herself silently. 'It is the only logical answer.'
"No you did not get struck by lightning," he grinned at her once again. "And might I add that the most logical answer does not necessarily mean it is the correct one."
She was shocked! 'I didn't say that out loud, how could he possibly have known that was what I was thinking.'
He answered her thoughts for a second time, "I have my own abilities, my dear. As for the real reason you sketch lightning bolts it is fairly simple. Your friend Harry, Harry Potter, has a lightning bolt scar on his forehead from an encounter he had with the Dark Lord at the mere age of one. He lost his parents that night and when the Dark Lord tried to rid the world of him, the curse backfired leaving Harry with the scar as an ever-present reminder."
"How horrible! To lose your entire family, especially at such a young age." Tears were welling up in Hermione's eyes. Although she could not remember these people, her heart still ached for them. 'After all,' she thought, 'these people had been my friends.'
"Yes it is," his eyes seemed to dim to some extent. "But after the three of you defeated Voldemort, that was his name, in your seventh year here he has been like any normal wizard." He snickered once again. "Well, any normal wizard who is the hero of the wizarding world."
She smiled despite herself and the moisture vanished from her eyes. "I also have a strange obsession with the game of chess, especially the knights. I tend to draw them more than anything else. Did I like to play chess?" She leaned back on the raised pillows of the bed to get more comfortable. The talk was a good one and it seemed like it could go on forever.
"It began your first year here," he started. "You were eleven then. Towards the end of the year you and the two boys discovered the presence of the sorcerer's stone here in the castle." Her eyebrows lifted questioningly at the mention of the stone. Understanding her need for clarity, he explained the purpose of the stone. "The sorcerer's stone has the ability to turn any object into pure gold and produces the elixir of life that makes anyone who drinks it immortal." Now she was definitely intrigued.
"The three of you also learned of a plan Voldemort had to steal the stone and you decided it was your duty to stop it from happening. There were many obstacles you had to face including a large three-headed dog and Devil's Snare, which is a plant that wraps itself tightly around a person in a death grip. The one I think you remember most is the life size game of wizard's chess. The three of you had to play your way across the board and since Ron was the best at the game he called the moves. Harry took the position of a bishop, you were a castle and Ron was a knight."
Hermione's eyes widened as those words left Dumbledore's mouth. She pondered, 'I was focusing on a knight; Ron was the knight; I was focusing on Ron!'
"The game of Wizard's Chess is a little different from the chess to which you are familiar," Dumbledore carried on. "The chess pieces are alive and when one moves to take an opposing piece it shows no mercy. This life size game was no different and towards the end of the match Ron had to sacrifice himself to allow you and Harry to continue on to get the stone."
Hermione let out a small gasp. "He sacrificed himself! But he survived, you told me things about him in his third year and at graduation. Was he hurt badly?" Concern was written across her face.
"He ended up just being badly bruised once he regained consciousness. The three of you enjoyed playing chess together whenever you were not working on your studies, although I believe both you and Harry have yet to beat Ron."
Dumbledore noticed that Hermione began to bite her bottom lip and nervously twirled her hair around her finger. "Am I correct in the assumption that there is a question you wish to pose?" He could tell there was something pressing on her mind and he wanted to do everything in his power to help her recall her past as quickly as possible.