Disclaimer: Still don't own Harry Potter.
"Like I Lived My Life Again"
Chapter 4
At breakfast the next morning, Harry was reacquainted with the Wizarding mail system. Ron's little owl swooped into the Great Hall and dropped a small piece of parchment in Hermione's hair. She laughed and unrolled the message.
"What does it say?" Harry asked, trying to read the words through the parchment. He gave up and waited for Hermione to tell him.
"Ron's coming to visit us today," Hermione said happily, rolling the parchment up again and setting it on the table. "He says we're supposed to meet him down by the gate at ten o'clock and let him in. What time is it now? Quarter after nine? Good, we'll have plenty of time to finish breakfast before we head down there."
Harry was pleased to hear the news, but his stomach did a little flip nonetheless. He was a bit nervous about meeting this other best friend that he still didn't remember.
At a quarter to ten, they trekked down the grounds in the pleasant midmorning air. When they were about fifteen feet from the front gate, Hermione stopped and sat down in the grass, holding the keys McGonagall had given her securely in her hand. Harry stood next to her. His apprehension was growing as time crawled on, but he tried his best to conceal his nerves from Hermione.
At 10:02, they heard a loud cracking sound. Hermione stood up quickly and began walking the short distance that still remained between her and the gate. Harry remained where he was, as if rooted to the spot. He could see a tall redhead smiling at them from the other side of the gate. The newcomer was holding a long, skinny object wrapped in brown paper.
"You've gotta be impressed that I remembered I couldn't Apparate into the grounds themselves, Hermione," Ron said good-naturedly.
"Sure, after the twenty or so times I told you," Hermione laughed, unlocking the gate. As Ron passed through, she leaned close and whispered, "Don't mention Ginny or Bill yet, or that any of our classmates are dead. He still doesn't remember any of it."
Ron nodded. As Hermione closed the gate and locked it again, Ron walked toward Harry, his new battle-earned limp slowing his pace considerably. Ron held the long package out in front of him. "I brought you something, mate," he said with a smile as he closed the gap between himself and his disoriented friend. Harry didn't reply. He was too busy staring at Ron, trying to decide if he remembered the face at all. Ron felt slightly disconcerted, but he didn't miss a beat. "I hope Hermione told you about me. I'm Ron Weasley."
Now Harry nodded. "Yes, yes. She told me about you. She told me the three of us are best friends."
"Right, but you've always liked me better," Ron joked.
"Hey!" Hermione protested as she joined the two young men.
"Well, if you didn't like me better before, you'll like me better now, thanks to what's in this package." Ron held the strange-looking wrapped object out to Harry again. This time, Harry took it.
"What is it?" Harry asked.
"What else could it be, with a shape like that? It's your Firebolt, of course," Ron said. When there was no reaction at all out of Harry, Ron turned to Hermione with a questioning look.
"He doesn't remember," Hermione mouthed.
"You haven't told him about Quidditch yet?" Ron mouthed back, appalled. Hermione rolled her eyes.
Harry hadn't noticed this little exchange because he had been busy tearing the paper off the Firebolt. Now he was staring at the broomstick, a strange expression on his face. Ron cleared his throat, and Harry tore his gaze away from the object in his hands to look at him.
"Well, mate, it comes to my attention that Hermione hasn't talked to you about Quidditch yet," Ron said.
Harry shook his head.
"I'll have to do it, then. Which is probably better, because Hermione's not exactly a Quidditch expert, anyway," Ron said, motioning for Harry to turn around and putting an arm around his shoulders. Ron then started walking up to the castle, taking Harry with him. Hermione noticed that when Ron was leaning on Harry, his limp was much less noticeable. She walked a little behind them, enjoying the sight of her two boys together at Hogwarts once more.
Ron chattered away about Quidditch the whole way up to the Gryffindor common room, explaining the game and telling story after story about legendary matches. Harry listened raptly, especially to the stories Ron told about matches they'd played in, or times when Harry's brilliant Seeking ability had saved the day.
They took their usual places in the plush chairs, the Firebolt occupying the couch. As Hermione sat near the fire and listened to Ron and Harry talk about Quidditch, things almost felt normal. Almost.
The topic finally turned to other aspects of life at Hogwarts. Ron told Harry about some of the professors, making Harry laugh with his descriptions. Even Hermione joined in when Ron got to Professor Trelawney. They were laughing as they made their way down to the Great Hall to eat lunch.
As they ate, Harry reflected on the fact that though Ron was laughing and joking, he also seemed to be plagued by whatever it was that was making Hermione sad. Harry was almost sure now that something terrible had happened to both of them. That almost certainly meant that he, Harry, had been affected by it too. He was torn between not wanting to ruin the nice time they were having and wanting to know what had happened. In the end, he decided not to broach the subject. He didn't want to admit it, but even though he felt he had the right to know, he wasn't sure he was quite ready yet.
After lunch, Ron challenged Harry to a game of Wizard's chess. Of course, Ron had to explain that game too, but Harry caught on quickly. He was delighted with the moving pieces. Hermione watched, as she had done so many times before. She could hardly believe that less than a week ago, they had been helping Harry defeat the most evil wizard of all time…and now they were playing chess. It seemed surreal.
Ron easily won. Hermione had helped Harry occasionally, but as Harry had just been reintroduced to the game and Hermione had never been very good, they were no match for Ron's skill.
"Don't worry though, mate. You usually lost to me anyway, even when you'd had years of experience," Ron assured Harry with a grin, giving him a cheerful pat on the back. Then, his face and tone growing serious, he continued, "Well, this has been nice, but I have to be heading back. Mum is worried because I 'still tire easily,' as she says, and she'll be mad if I'm not home soon."
Harry and Hermione accompanied him back to the gate and let him out. With a wave, he Apparated and was gone. Hermione closed the gate after him and locked it. Then she turned to face Harry.
"So, Harry, what did you think of Ron?" she asked with a smile.
"He was funny," Harry said slowly, gathering his thoughts. "And…and he seems familiar. When he was telling me all those things we used to do together…and when we were playing chess…it was like I almost remembered it. But then I didn't know if I really remembered anything, or if I just pictured what I thought were memories based on what Ron was telling me." Harry rubbed his eyes, as if trying to clear his head. "It was so…so frustrating. I wanted to remember…to remember the people we used to be. And I—I couldn't…I couldn't, Hermione! I don't know who I am! I don't want to live through other people's memories forever!" His voice was getting steadily louder, until he was yelling.
Hermione could see that he was finally getting angry about his condition. Knowing Harry as she did, she was actually surprised that it had taken him this long. "You won't have to, Harry. You're going to get better, I know it." Somehow, saying it out loud made it easier to believe.
"You can't know that, Hermione. Not for sure." Harry's face was stony.
Rather than respond to Harry's gloomy sentiments, Hermione linked her arm through his and began walking. He didn't resist, but he said, "Hermione, where are we going? This isn't the way to the castle."
"I know. We're going to the lake. What you need right now is a nice walk around the lake," Hermione responded cheerfully. Harry looked down at their linked arms, his anger fading. A suspicion that had been prowling in his mind since the previous day began to grow a little more.
They walked around the lake at a comfortable, leisurely pace. Harry did begin to feel much better, much more relaxed. Hermione had been right again. He marveled at her ability to understand him. And then a strange thing happened. As he turned his head to look at the remarkable young woman next to him, she was once again replaced by a shorter, younger Hermione—but it wasn't the same one he had seen before. This one was a mid-size, somewhat younger Hermione. And somewhere in his mind, the mid-size, somewhat younger Hermione was listening to a mid-size, somewhat younger Harry talk about something…something important. And there was something about…toast? But just as he was trying to grasp what he was remembering, it was gone. Regular, fully-grown Hermione was once again walking beside him.
"H-Hermione?" Harry asked uncertainly.
"Yes, Harry?" Hermione replied, turning her head in his direction. The afternoon sun glinted off her face and hair, enveloping her in a reddish-golden haze.
The questioning look she gave him made him realize he was staring at her. He cleared his throat and started talking. "Is it possible that you and I took walks around this lake before, when we were younger? I feel like we did…and there was a time when we were talking about something really important and…and something about…toast?" It sounded ridiculous as he said it, but thankfully, Hermione didn't laugh.
"Oh Harry," she said happily. "You may be remembering several years ago, when you and Ron had a fight, and I came and got you and we took a walk around the lake and talked over all sorts of things."
"And the toast?"
Hermione smiled. "I brought you toast from the Great Hall for breakfast. I didn't think you'd feel like going down and being with all those people. You were pretty upset."
"What…what did Ron and I fight about?" Harry asked.
Hermione paused. How much detail should she go into about the TriWizard Tournament? "Well, um…there was this contest, and people our age weren't supposed to enter. But your name was drawn to compete. You didn't put your name in the drawing, but Ron didn't believe you. He thought you wanted fame and glory…of course, you already had that, whether you wanted it or not."
"So who did put my name in?"
"A…an enemy," Hermione said, hoping that answer would be enough to satisfy his curiosity.
"And Ron didn't believe me that I didn't do it?"
"No. Well, most people didn't believe you, Harry."
"Except you." It wasn't a question; it was a statement.
Hermione nodded. "Yes, I believed you."
"Thank you," Harry said softly, after a brief pause.
"No problem," Hermione whispered. Why was she close to tears? She blinked them back furiously, hoping Harry wouldn't notice.
They walked in silence for a little longer, lost in thought. Then they made their way back to the castle for dinner. After another pleasant evening spent by the fire in the Gryffindor common room—they had almost finished the book Hermione had been reading to Harry—they headed up to bed.
"Good-night, Harry," Hermione said with a yawn as she climbed into the four poster that she had adopted.
"Good-night," Harry returned, settling himself into his own bed. With a sigh, he closed his eyes and drifted off to sleep…
All of Harry's nerves were on edge; his blood was pulsing through his veins. He could only watch in terror as some dark figure cursed Hermione and she fell to the ground.
"HERMIONE!" he cried. He couldn't breathe. He couldn't think. He had to know that she wasn't dead.
There was some other boy who was saying something about a pulse. A pulse…a pulse would be good, that would mean she was alive.
"Harry! Harry!" cried an urgent voice, from somewhere. It sounded like…Hermione? But it couldn't be. Hermione had collapsed on the floor in front of him and was frighteningly lifeless at the moment.
There was a hand shaking his shoulder…there was…
Harry opened his eyes and saw…Hermione.
Hermione's concerned face was staring down at him. Hermione's warm hand was on his shoulder. Hermione was looking decidedly alive. But then what had he just seen? It had seemed so real…
"Harry? Are you all right?" Hermione asked, her eyes troubled.
"Y-yeah. I think so. I—what just happened?" Harry asked, still trying to shake the feelings of terror and panic that had so recently filled his mind.
"I don't know, Harry. I was asleep, and then I heard you yell my name. It was frightening, really. You sounded positively terrified," Hermione replied.
"I—I guess I was dreaming. But it seemed so real…"
Hermione perched herself on the edge of Harry's bed. "Tell me about it, Harry. Maybe you were remembering something. What did you see?"
"Well, we were somewhere very strange. I don't know where…but it wasn't here, I know. And there was some figure…I couldn't make it out, but I knew that it was someone evil. And he…he cursed you. And you fell to the floor…and it looked like you were dead. I thought you were dead. And I was so scared…I heard someone saying something about a pulse…and then I woke up." Harry blinked his eyes and took a deep breath, trying to calm his racing heart.
Hermione appeared to be in deep thought. "Well, Harry, I can't be sure…but I think you remembered something from our fifth year at Hogwarts. It…we were at the Department of Mysteries, at the Ministry of Magic. There were Death Eaters—those are Voldemort's minions—and we fought and—and one of them cursed me. It was pretty bad, but I came out of it all right in the end."
Harry didn't look satisfied. "Hermione…why where we in this Department of…of Mysteries?" He looked to her for confirmation that he'd gotten the name right.
Oh boy. "W-well, Harry…we thought we needed to rescue someone."
"Did we rescue them?"
"No. No, we didn't. He wasn't there, after all. He didn't need rescuing." Hermione picked at an imaginary ball of lint on the sheets, avoiding Harry's eyes.
"So you nearly got killed over someone that didn't need rescuing?"
"Well…yes." Hermione sighed. "It wasn't exactly…we didn't…well, it's not something that we talked about much." Truth be told, it wasn't something that she wanted to talk about now. "Look, Harry, why don't you try to go back to sleep?" she asked, hoping to end the conversation.
Harry murmured something inaudible. Hermione leaned closer. "Harry, I couldn't understand you. What was that?"
"How many more of those kinds of memories do I have?" Harry asked, just loud enough for her to hear.
Too many, Hermione thought. But instead she said, "Well…more than some people, Harry. But don't worry about that one right now. I'm all right, see? I don't even have any side effects from that curse. And I'm right here, in case you remember something else that troubles you."
Harry noticed her skilled diplomacy. She had managed to say "I'll be here in case you have another nightmare and you're scared," without saying it in such a way as to make him feel like a little kid. She was nursing his ego, he knew, but he appreciated it.
"Thank you," he said for the second time that day. And he meant it, with everything he had.
Hermione patted his shoulder reassuringly and gave him a subdued smile. Then she returned to her bed. She felt a torrent of emotions fighting for prominence in her mind. While she was relieved that Harry seemed to be remembering more things, she had hated seeing the look in his eyes as he remembered that fateful day in the Department of Mysteries. And he hadn't even remembered the worst part, the part about Sirius dying. And so many of his memories, especially from the last year, were just as bad, if not worse. She had no choice but to watch as he remembered it all, reliving all the pain, reopening too many old wounds, and feeling the pain from new wounds that he'd barely received before he lost his memory. It was going to be hard, Hermione knew. But she would be there for him. She would be strong for him, as she always had.
Somewhere, in the back of her mind, a nagging little voice reminded her that she herself was grieving and her mental state was not what it usually was. The voice told her that she wasn't strong enough to handle both her own pain and Harry's.
Well, maybe that was true. But she was sure going to try.