Disclaimer: my words, but not my creation. I hope there are some people enjoying reading this, as I am enjoying writing it and plan to see it to its conclusion. As always, all reviews are read and appreciated.
'What happened to his memories, Professor?'
It was late, well past midnight, but they were up still, sitting around the well worn but very comfortable Weasley sitting room. Two floors above them, Harry was still unconscious, as Madam Pomfrey had advised to leave him till at least the morning. Hermione studied the Headmaster as she waited for the answer to the question she'd been dying to ask all evening. Even past that. For some reason, she didn't trust Dumbledore at the moment to give them a full answer. It made her feel uncomfortable; no longer trusting the headmaster as she once had done unquestioningly.
'I wish I knew, Miss Granger. Only a very powerful potion, taken over many weeks could have done this sort of lasting damage.'
Hermione paled. 'His aunt and uncle gave him a potion?' She asked, horrified, her mind as usual one step ahead of those around her.
'Yes, I believe they did.' Dumbledore looked very sad with the statement he had just made.
'But that's…but that's…horrible.' Hermione said.
'Yes it is. It also got two of them killed, something I believe Voldemort had always planned.'
Ron was still trying to make his mind do the leap of logic Hermione's had already done, watching as Mrs Weasley's eyes filled with tears once again. How one human could do that to another was beyond him.
'Do you think they knew?' Ginny asked into the silence.
Dumbledore fixed her with a piercing look. 'I don't know that it matters. Even if Voldemort never told them his plans regarding Harry, his Aunt Petunia would have known enough about him from the first war to deduce his plan wasn't good. They wanted Harry out of their lives for good. Voldemort, I believe, played on this for his own purpose. He couldn't touch Harry whilst he was at Privet Drive, whilst he was at his aunt's house. He could, however, once he lured Harry out of the house, and with no memory left to use to try and save himself.'
'Why was Harry so safe at his Aunt's house?' Hermione queried quietly, pinning Dumbledore with a firm gaze. 'Surely the wards could have been erected anywhere.'
Dumbledore slowly shook his head as he tried to find the words to explain why Harry had to go back to his aunts. He remembered the horrendous meeting in his office with Harry, the night that Sirius had died. Remembered trying to explain to Harry why he had sent him back to his aunt's every summer, why he had deemed it necessary to condemn him to living there while he was growing up. Telling it once to Harry, trying to make him understand had been hard enough. Now everyone sitting around The Burrow was watching him, waiting for an answer. Dumbledore felt the pressure of wanting to do everything right, the pressure that hindsight can bring on a conundrum from so long ago.
'His mother died to save him, provoking some of the most ancient and powerful of blood magic. It was his mother's protection that stopped an unstoppable killing curse from killing Harry, and it is that protection that is meant to keep him safe in his aunt's house. As long as he could call it home, his mother's blood protection, through his aunt should protect him.' He closed his eyes for a moment, feeling weary and not just from the extended dual with Voldemort. 'I certainly did not envisage Voldemort using such an elaborate plan to bypass the wards.'
Silence descended on the Burrow for a moment, the regular tick of a clock the only noise to be heard as everyone digested this news. It explained a lot, but also led to a thousand more questions.
'I think that it is time for bed.' Mr Weasley announced, breaking the silence. 'It has been a long day, and I fear tomorrow will be even longer.' The younger Weasley children and Hermione bid a good night to the adults, but Hermione stopped at the stairs. 'Professor?' Dumbledore looked up at her. 'It's going to be hard to convince Harry that we're trying to help him, isn't it?' She asked.
Dumbledore answered with a small, honest nod.
A door slammed shut, making the panes of glass in the windows of the kitchen rattle in their frames. The people sat around the kitchen table under the rouse of eating breakfast exchanged uneasy glances. Mrs Weasley made another trip to the stove, returning to the table with more sausages, more eggs, dumping them on any plate that happened to have space, regardless if the owner actually wanted more. The tension could be cut with a Diffindo. Mr Weasley sat at the head of the table, trying to look disapproving of the others eavesdropping, at the same time as not trying too hard to listen himself. Ron and Ginny sat on the side of the table closest to the stove, and had so far had to duck a total of three times to avoid low flying frying pans. Hermione sat opposite, the chair next to her conspicuously empty. Dumbledore was upstairs now, talking to Harry. And although the words were unintelligible, they all knew it wasn't going so well.
Ginny heaved a large sigh as she speared a sausage. It was kind of ironic that the summer that brought Harry to the Burrow the earliest was the one year Harry didn't want to come.
They all immediately took up eating when footsteps were heard on the stairs, deliberately keeping their attention on their plates as someone entered the kitchen. The chair at the head of the table creaked, and they all looked up at Dumbledore's face. The ancient wizard looked round at them all, the weariness in his usually twinkling eyes betraying how hard the meeting was.
'Do you want me to try?' Mr Weasley asked.
Before Dumbledore could say anything, there was a clatter of a frying pan on the stove and they all turned to find Mrs Weasley wiping her hands on a teacloth, a determined look on her face. 'I'll go.'
'Molly…' Dumbledore started, sounding wary.
'I'll go.' She said, much more fiercely this time, and no one else dared question her.
They all listened with apprehension, but there was no slamming doors, no muffled thumps, and rather sooner than they would have expected there were two sets of footsteps on the stairs.
Ginny tried hard not to stare; looking up briefly when Harry first accompanied Mrs Weasley into the kitchen before going back to the comprehensive study of her breakfast plate. What shocked her the most, made her take a second look was how normal he looked. Same messy black hair, same lightening bolt scar, right down to the intense green eyes. The only sign of meeting Voldemort head on was a few scratches on his face, a single visible bruise. It didn't seem enough, really, after what he had faced.
'Sit down, dear.' Mrs Weasley urged, pushing Harry gently into the seat next to Hermione.
'Hi Harry.' Hermione greeted him, smiling brightly till Harry visibly flinched at the familiar use of his name. Mrs Weasley, scooping up the frying pan and dumping the contents on Harry's plate, broke the uncomfortable silence.
'I'm really not that hungry.' Harry started, before his stomach betrayed him with a loud rumble. A small rueful smile came to his face as he picked up his knife and fork and started eating without another word.
'Harry, you remember I was telling you about the Weasleys?' Dumbledore spoke into the silence. 'Mr Weasley.' He nodded towards the opposite head of the table, where Mr Weasley gave a tight smile in greeting. 'Mrs Weasley you've already met. Ron who's in your year at school.' Ron managed a smile that might as well have been a grimace at the sound of his name. 'And Ginny. She's a year below you.' Ginny, for her part, managed a bright smile in greeting, meeting Harry's eye and nodding. 'And this is Hermione Granger- she's also in your year at school.' Dumbledore was about to say she was a friend, but realised this wasn't going to help someone with no memory.
Harry was saved the possible embarrassment of having to find the words to greet them by the large breakfast on the plate in front of him. He nodded in general at the table, briefly meeting the girl's- Ginny's- eye before he looked down at the table. He wondered if anyone else thought this conversation was as bizarre as he did- not knowing that all in the kitchen mirrored the thought at that moment.
Harry finished the large breakfast, more out of intense hunger than wanting to eat. Although the fry up was one of the best he'd tasted. Aunt Petunia really didn't like cooking that much. He was trying not to look around the kitchen too much. At the washing up that seemed to be doing itself. At the clock on the wall that seemed to have about nine hands rather than the usual three, and with none of them moving very far.
'You're a wizard, Harry.'
The words, told to him by Dumbledore that morning made absolutely no sense. How could he be a wizard? Without knowing? How could any of the people in this room be wizards, or witches? These things weren't real! They only existed in fairy tales, or in fantasy TV programmes.
'Your memories- all your memories- are false, Harry. The evil man that killed your Uncle and cousin last night to get you out of your aunt's house made them up. He was trying to kill you.'
Why would anyone want to kill him? Why would anyone spend any length of time bothering to make up a whole lifetime of memories just to get him out of a house? Did Dumbledore really think he was that stupid.
But then his thoughts turned to what he had seen yesterday. The flashes of green spells that had killed his uncle, his cousin in a single heartbeat. His sudden ability to walk through solid oak doors. The fact that his broken arm had somehow mended itself while he spoke. The fact that the bloody washing up was bloody doing itself.
Harry felt his head start to throb as anger, and grief, and terror all tried to push themselves to the surface. He knew what he had to do. He had to go and see his aunt. She would tell him what was going on. She would tell him that the old man was a fool, that wizards weren't real, that magic didn't exist, that his uncle and cousin weren't really dead but sitting at home waiting for him.
'I want to see my aunt.' He spoke to the kindly woman, Mrs Weasley. 'I need to see my aunt.' He corrected himself a moment later.
Mrs Weasley glanced towards Dumbledore. 'I understand you want to see your aunt, Harry. But-'
'Please! I need to see her, I need to-'
'You can't Harry. Not at the moment. Your aunt is safe.' Dumbledore spoke quietly, firmly.
The chair clattered against the stone floor as Harry abruptly rose to his feet, hands planted on the table. 'You don't understand! This can't be real! This can't be happening! I need to speak to my aunt.' He cried.
'Harry, calm down.' Mrs Weasley told him.
'You can't go. Not yet. I will take you to see her as soon as it is safe.'
Harry looked down on the seated old man, feeling the anger surging in him. He pushed off from the table, turning round and stalking up the stairs, the anger powering his steps, once again the slamming door rattling the windows in their panes.
'Well, nice to see his temper hasn't changed.' Ginny eventually said into the silence, just to break it. She saw a flicker of a smile from Ron before nothing. She shook her head, her own thoughts turning more maudlin. 'I don't understand. How can he not even remember…' She trailed off, knowing everyone else was probably thinking along the same line.
'I have to go to Headquarters, see if they have any fix on where Voldemort fled to last night.' Dumbledore said. 'I'm sorry to leave, Molly.'
Mrs Weasley shook her head. 'I understand. And don't worry, headmaster, it will just take time, but I'm sure he'll settle down eventually.'
Dumbledore nodded, and with a quick goodbye, disappeared outside.
The Weasleys and Hermione surveyed each other around the table as they each contemplated what fate, or at least Voldemort, had brought to their lives. Ron was the first to speak. 'Uh, don't you have to be at work, Dad?' He asked.
Mr Weasley shook his head. 'No, I've taken the day off to be here.'
No one had to ask why.
'What's the plan, then?' Hermione asked.
'Well dear, for now, I think we need to give Harry some space. He's grieving. While we wait for Dumbledore to find the cure.' Mrs Weasley told her.
'And if there is none…?' Ginny asked.
'Then we do our best, dear. We do our best.' Mrs Weasley answered with a sigh.
Unfortunately, Harry had other ideas. Mrs Weasley gave him an hour to cool off before venturing upstairs to see if he wanted a drink, only to find an empty room. She searched through all the rooms upstairs, all of them showing no sign of an occupant. She literally ran down the stairs, calling at the top of her lungs for her husband. 'He's gone! Gone!' She yelled, startling the rest of the occupants of the lounge, who were on their feet immediately.
'What do you mean, gone?' Mr Weasley asked.
'He's GONE! The window's open, he must have climbed out of it.' Mrs Weasley told him.
'But how could he? He doesn't even know where he is!' Mr Weasley exclaimed.
'He's gone to find his aunt.' Ginny said quietly.
Mr Weasley looked at her for a moment, before nodding abruptly and turning to the fireplace. A moment later he had disappeared into the fireplace, his destination Grimmauld Place. A minute later he was back, shaking soot off his robes, a grim expression on his face.
'Dumbledore said to search the property, but if he's managed to get past the wards, to not worry, stay put and he'd go and find him.'
It didn't take long to search the house top to bottom, just in case, and the grounds. They collected back in the lounge, wondering how this could possibly get any worse. Hermione was the first to speak up. 'But how did he get past the wards?'
No one could answer her.
Harry stood in Privet Drive, staring at his home, trying to not to think too hard about how he'd got here. It had been a long journey, made more difficult because he hadn't known where he was, and had very little money on him. He'd made it, determination and adrenaline getting him there, and now stood watching the silent house for at least the last ten minutes, trying to get the courage to walk in. He knew why he was nervous. He wanted someone to tell him that everything that had happened in the last few days was a product of his over active imagination. He wanted to walk in and find his uncle, buried behind his paper, and to find Dudley, sitting before the telly, engrossed in Eastenders. He wanted his family back, his normal life back. He wanted someone to take away this grief that had a tight, painful grip on his insides. He wanted, however childishly, for someone to tell him that it would be all right. He tried not to think of the old man, Dumbledore, and the nonsense of his being a wizard. How could he be, there was no such thing.
He squared his shoulders, willing Dumbledore's voice away, and took a step towards the house. When nothing untoward happened, he took another step, and another. The house seemed quieter than usual, more brooding, as if it too was in mourning. Harry hoped this was just a projection of his own mood. He inserted his key into the lock, and slowly opened the door, stepping into the silent hallway.
He walked into the lounge, immediately feeling relieved to find his aunt, sitting stiffly upright in an armchair, one thin hand clasping a handkerchief. His aunt was safe; they hadn't been lying about that, anyway. And uninjured, from first glance. 'I thought I'd lost you too.' He whispered.
His aunt slowly looked up at him. He'd always thought she looked beautiful, his aunt. Her blond hair was always neat, her blue eyes friendly. But her features, however striking were now marred by a sallow colour, her eyes red rimmed where she'd recently been crying. For a moment, she just regarded him in silence. He wanted to ask about Uncle Vernon, and Dudley, but the cold tightening grip of grief was back, one look at her face telling him all that he didn't dare ask.
'I thought I'd lost all my family.' He said without thinking, his voice still unconsciously quiet.
'Family? FAMILY!' Suddenly the beautiful blond women sat before him morphed before his eyes. Her lips pulled back in a snarl, a little bit of spittle collecting at the corner of her mouth. Her blue eyes, once so warm towards him now flashed with anger, cold as steel. Her very features suddenly seemed much older than before. The grieving woman was gone in a flash.
'You were never family! You were dumped on us when you were a baby. We never wanted you- we certainly didn't care for you. All because of my sister and her abnormality. And of course, you had that abnormality as well. Family? You should never have been part of my family- we should have drowned you as a baby.'
Confused now, Harry gripped the doorjamb, recoiling from his normally loving aunt's hatred towards him. 'But I don't understand.' He stammered out. 'It wasn't my fault.'
'Not your fault?' His aunt snarled at him. 'Vernon and Dudley are dead because of you! All because we took you in all those years ago.' At the thought of her husband and her son, her face suddenly seemed to collapse, tears spilling from her eyes. For a moment Harry thought she was going to dissolve into tears, but she suddenly looked back at him, the lost look gone, a renewed anger turning her face to granite. 'Go! Go away. I can't stand the sight of you any longer.'
'But I want to come back here. I need to come back here. This is my home. I don't belong anywhere else.'
'You don't belong here either. I never want to see you again.' She growled out.
Harry turned from her, feeling physically sick at the words that had been thrown at him. He looked back once, from the door, looking at the aunt he believed had loved him as a mother, looking at him now with nothing short of hatred. Harry didn't look back again. Didn't look back at the house he grew up in as he walked up Privet Drive. A part of him knew he'd never be back there again. But mostly the tears fell for the loss of everything he had believed true. The sudden renewed grief- the loss of the only family he'd ever known, the only home he'd ever known. As he walked down Privet Drive, away from the house where his aunt sat weeping, Harry let the tears fall, feeling alone in a world that seemed to hold nothing but hate for him.
He didn't know how long it had taken Dumbledore to find him. Wasn't really that surprised that he had been found, unaware that Dumbledore had been watching over him. He'd been sitting, watching the stream at his feet, as behind him the sun set on another day. The tears had long since grown dry on his face, an exhaustion with life numbing him deep to his bones.
At first, no words passed between them. Dumbledore stood in respectful silence, his expression grim, till Harry finally acknowledged his presence with a fleeting glance.
'I'm sorry you had to find out this way.' Dumbledore finally spoke.
Harry looked around at him again, waiting. The man stood next to him looked older than when he'd met him yesterday. Deep lines scarred his face, his eyes no longer seemed to have a life of their own: they looked dull and expressionless suddenly. Harry looked at him and waited for the old man to tell him what he had to do now, how he was meant to go on. He felt anger flash through him, hot and sudden, and he wanted to shout and scream at everything that had happened, at what his Aunt Petunia had said. He wanted to blame the man in front of him for the collapse of his life. The childish part of him wanted to demand that Dumbledore make it all better again. Unknown to Harry, but felt by Dumbledore, the very air around him crackled with the anger, the emotion fighting within Harry for a release. The stream running past Harry's feet suddenly started to run faster, whilst all around them the grass covering the field stood to attention, every blade reaching it's full height as the sky suddenly filled with thunderous clouds, blocking out the sun so suddenly that the very air seemed to drop ten degrees.
But just as suddenly, the boy who was fit to burst deflated in front of him, the air calming suddenly, letting the grass lie flat once again, calming the stream back to a slow trickle, the thunder clouds disappearing as suddenly as they had appeared. The young man before him suddenly looked like a lost little boy, and Dumbledore, found himself for the first time in a long time lost for words. What do you say to make up for the loss of a family, for the betrayal of everything you trusted to be true, for the knowledge that all your memories are, are lies?
'I'm very sorry, Harry.' Dumbledore apologised once more but this time he was apologising in advance as he whispered a spell, hitting Harry before he even had a chance to acknowledge the apology, catching him before he slumped fully to the ground.
Dumbledore apparated the unconscious boy to The Burrow, delivering him into the safe hands of an extremely relieved Mrs Weasley, relating the details of what had transpired that afternoon.