A/N: A random story idea I just wrote up. It just sort of came to me in a dream. Yes, I know how clichéd that is, but it really is true! But yeah, I rather like this story, so don't be too evil. Of course, a little evil is good in everyone's life, so I won't be too mad. Anyway… I would appreciate critique/comments. I hope you enjoy it since it was sort of a random idea of mine. Please review and comment on its originality/suckiness/vomitrocious capabilities/other. Anyway, yeah. I may possibly continue this, but for now it's a sort of one shot thing.

Cheers!

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Disclaimer: This is really stupid, but I don't own it. Wow, go figure. All the good stuff belongs to J. K. Rowling. Well, most of it. The plot's mine, I suppose, though it ain't copyrighted. And the boy might be mine. Or he might be J. K.'s, but you'll never know now, will you? Well, maybe you will if I write another chapter, but that all depends on you, dear reader.

Oh wait… Shutting up now!

(Summary: I don't own it!)

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Where am I?

"Where am I?" I finally managed to ask in a voice I couldn't recognize as my own. My throat burned, every word ripping my throat raw. Obviously it hadn't been used in a long while.

"Hermione?" The boy looked at me the surprise clearly shown on his face. "The potion must have worked quicker than expected."

I looked up at him still rather disoriented from the potion and the sudden lurch of my stomach as the bright light assailed my eyes. "How long have I been… unconscious? And could you turn the light down?"

He smiled and got up to blow out a few of the closest candles. "Sorry. But you've been like that for nearly a week. I've been feeding you, but it's good to see you awake so you can do it yourself."

"Oh." Somehow I was embarrassed that this strange boy had taken care of me. He obviously didn't notice my discomfort and instead asked,

"How do you feel?"

"Horrible," I admitted.

He smiled. "Well at least we know that much." He placed his hand on my forehead. "No fever, that's good." He wrote something down on a piece of paper out of my sight. "Are you feeling nauseous at all?"

"A little. But not too badly."

"Okay. Any soreness anywhere?"

"In my back." I saw him wince. "What?"

"That's where you were hit."

"Hit with what?" I was confused- I didn't remember being hit. Suddenly I looked up at him realizing I had no idea who he was. Who was he?

"Are you okay?" I suppose he was referring to my screwed up face and tactfully ignoring my question. I dismissed it, but I vowed to find out soon enough.

I was trying to place him. I knew him, I should know his name but my mind just drew a blank. He looked so familiar. Younger versions of himself kept appearing in my head, snapshots of the past, but I could not place him. I heard clips of conversation and identified his voice, but could not match a name to him.

 "Are you okay?" The look of concern grew on his face as he repeated his question and waved his hand in front of my face. "Maybe I made the potion too strong. God I really don't know why they had me do it. I'm just so new at this, but with Snape gone off to…" He trailed off, realizing his mistake. Flushing, he bent down and obsessively checked the hidden paper.

"Who are you?"

The boy looked stunned as he peered searchingly into my eyes. "You don't remember me?"

I concentrated on his fair face as hard as I could, but I still drew a blank. "I know I know you, but I can't remember your name or how I know you."

"Well that's obviously why you didn't attack me or start screaming when you first woke up."

"Why? Should I?"

"I suppose you would have reason to." He shrugged. "We were never that close."

"Oh."

The boy sighed, his face growing older. He seemed to be about my age, but his demeanour seemed to radiate a maturity most people my age don't have. And his grey eyes seemed so sad. I felt like I should comfort him, but considering I didn't know his name, it might be a little out of place.

"Okay," he began, "let's start with the basics, just to make sure you're not totally screwed up, to quote a Muggle term. First, what's your name?"

"Hermione Granger."

"At least you remember that." Some of the tension in his face seemed to dissipate. "Well, where do you attend school?"

"The Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry."

"Right. What year are you?"

"Seventh."

"What's your house name?"

"Gryffindor."

His face screwed up in a mixture of confusion and sadness.

"What?" I asked, hearing my voice squeak out high with worry.. "Was that wrong?"

"No, no. It was right. But why would you remember that but not my name? Obviously your memory is clear." His eyes widened. "Perhaps…"

"What?"

He snapped back into reality, again realizing that I was there in the bed next to him. "Never mind. We'll get to that as it comes."

I shrugged causing a bolt of pain to hit my body. I began to shake, my nerves uncontrollable as waves of pain struck my body. I felt the pain course through my body, starting at my feet and crushing everything in its path until it reached my head. When it hit I felt my head split in two, only vaguely hearing my own screams mingled with the frightened shouts of the boy taking care of me.

Somewhere during that time I must have begun to cry, because the next thing I remember he was stroking my forehead with one hand and wiping away my tears with the other.

"It's okay," he murmured as I continued to cry, "it's just the aftereffects of the spell. Your body seems to have gone into shock. Thankfully your mind is still sharp." He smiled reassuringly at me as I managed to get myself under control.

"I never cry," I fiercely told myself while attempting to sit up. The boy pushed me back; good thing, my upper body felt as if a weight was resting upon it. I doubt that I could have lifted a finger if my life depended on it.

"You have been through a lot," the boy said sympathetically stroking my undoubtedly tangled mass of hair. He smiled down at me and didn't pull back in revulsion. I was surprised- I must have looked a mess. But he didn't seem like the kind of boy who would care that much about such things. He was kind, as well as stunning. Silently I berated myself- I couldn't fall for this guy. I don't know who he is. For all I know he could be some murderer just waiting to fatten me up in order to kill.

"What? What have I been through?"

He looked at me. "Ah, and therein lies the problem. You don't remember what happened, do you?"

I shook my head and braced myself for the pain, but none came this time. Apparently my body was going to be finicky and pick and choose when it delivered pain. "Bloody hell that's going to be annoying," I muttered. In a louder voice I asked, "what did happen?"

The boy tightly shut his eyes as his face contorted. The pain on his face was clearly evident. Whatever had happened, it had hurt him. And it had been my fault.

"I'm sorry." I reached over and took the hand that was not lying on my forehead. "Sorry for whatever I did."

His eyes snapped open, and suddenly he had regained his composure. "Thank you, but you really have nothing to be sorry for. You were perfectly right to do what you did. It was the best thing to do; you were very brave. Simply brilliant." His smile was forced and I could still see the hurt in his eyes as he feebly tried to assuage my sense of guilt.

"I did something to hurt you, obviously." I closed my eyes, trying to remember. I let out a sigh of frustration. "I can't remember anything about it. All I remember is being at Hogwarts and talking to an old man, but that's it."

His eyes shot open. "An old man? What did he tell you? Did he give you any instructions?"

"I-I can't remember. All I remember is that he told me to take the situation into my own hands. I'm sorry," I added at the faint trace of disappointment on his face.

"It's okay. It'll be harder this way, but hopefully I'll be able to prompt your memory." He sighed and tilted his head back until he was staring at the ceiling. "Does the word panic trigger anything?"

I waited for a moment, still thinking. "No."

His face contorted into thought. "What about attack?"

---

Fire. Green light. His frightened eyes.

"Get out of here Hermione." She stood and stared at him, unable to move, the fear coursing through her veins chilled her blood and froze her to the spot. She never realized how beautiful he was before. And he was beautiful, achingly beautiful despite the sweat and blood pouring down his face at an alarming rate.

She moved her mouth, but no sound emanated.

"God damn it! This is no time for courage! Don't try to be the hero! Get out of here while you still can. I'll be able to handle it. Hermione, please go!"

His begging stunned her. In the face of death she knew people would do strange things, but this was too strange. Even with death so close she could taste it.

Green light again. The faint sound of screams, screams of the dying, screams of the freshly dead. She shuddered at the thought. Very soon she would be one of the nameless corpses strew about the bloodied halls. As would he.

"They're getting closer. Please save yourself. You're more use to the cause. You," his voice cracked and she was fairly certain that tears now mingled with the blood as well, "you have something to live for. You have people who love you."

Her eyes filled with tears as she listened to his desperate pleas, his voice strained as he struggled against the panic welling within him.

"NO!" The single word ripped from her throat, conveying all of her emotions at once. It was too late for her. They were all condemned to die anyway. At least she would have a hero's death, rather than caught fleeing.

And she could share her death with someone she honoured enough to call a friend.

Her tears spilled over. Too soon had they realized themselves and gotten past their petty quarrels. Too many years they had spent fighting each other. Why had they not focused on the real enemy? Why hadn't they become friends?

It didn't matter now. They were as good as dead.

"Go." His eyes reflected something she had never seen before- hope.

His dying wish. How could she refuse? But it was already too late for them. She'd rather die with him. She wished for the gift of human companionship as her last comfort. She wished she could voice her thoughts to him.

Green light. It was accompanied by voices this time. The voices, putting a sound and a face to the nameless horror closing in on them much too quickly.

Suddenly the door burst open. The monster was revealed and she knew what she had to do.

"Avada Kedavra." Calm and cool she ignored the ten odd curses thrown at her simultaneously. She ignored her impending doom and the horrible moan coming from the boy in the corner. She ignored death itself.

She took life into her own hands.

---

"Hermione! Focus. Focus. It's okay, just look at me. Focus on my face- you're going to be okay."

My eyes snapped open. "The Death Eaters, they attacked us."

He nodded grimly. "You were lucky to make it out of there alive. You k-killed about half of the Death Eaters yourself before I got to the rest. I estimate you were hit by nine curses. By all means you really ought not to be alive."

I grinned. "I'm just a medical miracle."

He smiled as well. "That you are. And we're lucky to have you. I mean, you're very bright and very talented and obviously a threat to the enemy."

I smiled softly, blushing all the while at his compliments. However my mind was quickly drawn back to my new found memories. I had been running over the events I had just recalled as he sat there and stared into space, thoughtfully giving me time to become acquaintanced with my past again. It was like speaking a language you knew well but had not used in a long time- awkward, but at the same time hauntingly familiar.

Now I knew the scenario, but still the question running through my head remained. How had I hurt him? Vaguely there was something… My eyes widened as he checked my pulse. "I-"

---

The slap stung and the boy could almost hear the buzzing sound of the bee that had done it. Of course it had been a bee. It had not been the man he looked  up to for as long as he could remember. He was above that. Only a stupid insect would do something that cruel to him; the man loved him. At seven he had much to understand about human nature and its occasional bouts of severe cruelty.

The man's voice shattered the young boy's convoluted thoughts. "You will behave. You are nearly a man now and I expect you to behave as one."

"I am only seven." He managed to keep his voice normal, eve respectful. He was proud of his self control, even through the anger and hurt. The man would be proud too- he would be a good grown up, he just knew it.

The man sneered. "Well grow up. You will not cry. That is a sign of weakness. You will not be weak. You must be strong."

"Why?"

The man glared at him and raised his open palm- not an empty threat after years of the boy's "training".

"Why must I though?" The small boy's eyes were wide as he sought to understand the man's words. He was too young to hold prejudices, too young to understand the world, too caring and unmolded to the darkness the man wished him to harbor. He was pristine, yet already knew much about pain and suffering.

Why he could still remember the day when he was forced to watch his favourite dog die, ensnared in one of the rabbit traps on the grounds. He remembered watching the dusty ground slowly turn crimson as the dog's life blood left his body. The summer sun beat down cheerily on his young head as he mourned his first friend. He remembered the unshed tears and the bird cheerful song mingled with the moans of his faithful dog.

"There is a reputation at stake," the man said harshly. "You are the one that must carry it on." Such a heavy burden for one so young and innocent. Even he realized that it was too much for him, but that feeling was overridden by the sense of loyalty he felt to this man. He chose love,  but for all the wrong reasons.

Hermione felt an acute sadness, knowing how this burden would forever twist and mangle the boy's spirit in the future. Too bad the boy could not, would not, hold out longer until he entered the real world. But by the time he had learned the ways of the world he was too far gone to save.

The boy's eyes watered at the harsh tone, but he consoled himself with the fact that this man loved him. "I will try, but I'm not sure how."

"You will. You must if you wish to remain where you stand."

The boy's eyes grew even larger in fear, if that was even possible. "I do not want that. I will keep the reputation pristine. I will not let you down."

The man smiled coldly and stalked away, leaving the boy with his unshed tears and the desperation of a person much older than himself. The man left, leaving the young boy in the center of the large room feeling immensely lonely and unloved.

---

I opened my eyes again, but this time slowly, in no hurry to face the undoubtedly horrified visage of my caretaker.

"How did you do that?" His voice came out low and quiet.

"I have no idea," I replied truthfully. But I felt dirty. That had not been my memory to take. I knew I had violated something that he had never shared.

"Don't ever do it again!" His voice was harsh, sounding nearly identical to the man that had lectured him in his memory.

"I'm sorry," I said, half sorry and half angry, "but I didn't do it on purpose!"

"I know, I'm sorry for blowing up at you." He sighed and I caught sight of something of the fearful little boy in his eyes once again. "Well, we should probably continue with the procedure."

I nodded, but this time did not smile or meet his eye. I had seen a side of him I did not like and was afraid to provoke it once again.

He sighed, as if reading my thoughts, but nonetheless continued. "Let me see, can you remember who your close friends were?"

"A tall redhead. And a boy with unruly black hair."

He nodded, encouraging me to continue.

"One was Ron. The other was…" By accident our fingers brushed together, and with a jolt I had again entered his memories.

---

"Is it true? They're saying all down the train that Harry Potter's in this compartment. So it's you then?" He seemed nice enough, if not bewildered by the unwanted attention. Inside he mentally shrugged and tried to dispel the feeling of pity washing through him. It wasn't his problem; the boy better get used to it. He was an international wizarding hero.

But he couldn't help but feel odd about the whole situation. This was the Harry Potter? He was the one he had been warned of? So far the situation was anything but clear to him, as it had seemed before. Before he had actually met the boy.

How very queer.

"I can help you there," he heard himself saying. Truth be told, he really wouldn't mind a friendship with this boy. He did get awfully lonely at the house. But of course that thought in itself was dangerous and utterly taboo. Perfectly sinful.

Then Hermione entered. "What has been going on?"

Hermione suddenly realized that these, again, were not her memories. They were not hers to think and moreover not hers to experience. As if on another planet she hear the boy above her trying to pull her away from the past.

Reluctantly she returned.

---

I opened my eyes again.

The boy smiled guiltily, this time not bothering to look angry. "That's so very odd. But I guess you know my secrets now, don't you? I used to be horrible. I mean, deep down I was good, but I just forced the good thoughts away…"

I nodded, not really paying attention to his words. Instead I focused on his face. I willed myself to bring all the still shots of him out of my memory and recall who he was. Slowly, like the pieces of a puzzle being placed together, they fit together comfortably until I came to my conclusion.

I gasped.

What I had been expecting, I do not now. What I got was not it.