Disclaimer: Guess what? I didn't magically inherit the rights to Harry Potter. So I guess that means I still don't own it. Oh, and I'm still not making any money off this, either.
"Like I Lived My Life Again"
Chapter 5
The previous night's events were not discussed by Harry and Hermione the next morning. Breakfast was a bit awkward, as they both felt the strain of avoiding the topic that most occupied their minds. But as the meal wore on and each gratefully realized that the other was not going to bring up the subject, the awkwardness slowly dissolved.
After breakfast, Hermione suggested that Harry take his Firebolt down to the Quidditch pitch and try flying for a bit. Harry readily agreed.
"Are you going to fly too?" he asked as he stood and took a step away from the table.
Hermione laughed. "Goodness, no. I don't like flying very much. But I'll show you how, if you need any help." She tried not to think of the irony of her showing Harry how to fly. It would be comical, if it weren't for the tragedy of the events surrounding them.
Harry shrugged. "You sure you don't mind just sitting and watching me? That sounds pretty boring."
"Oh no, I like watching you fly." The words were out of her mouth before she could stop them. Hermione could feel herself blushing violently. Harry grinned at her in a way that made her blush even more. She cleared her throat. "Uh…let's go up to the common room and get your broom, shall we?"
"Sounds good to me," he replied, heading out of the Great Hall. Hermione followed, relieved.
OoOoOoOoOoO
"Wow," Harry breathed as he walked out to the center of the Quidditch pitch. He turned slowly in a circle, taking in the seats surrounding the pitch and the hoops at either end. Then he closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He could almost hear the distant echoes of fans' fervent cheers.
Hermione smiled as she watched him. She wanted to know what was going through his mind, but she decided not to disturb him. Instead, she looked around and remembered the countless games she had watched from the stands. It all seemed like a lifetime ago. Were they ever so young and innocent that something like a Quidditch game was so important to them?
"So, Hermione, is there anything important I should know before I try to fly?" Harry asked, drawing Hermione back to the present.
Hermione gave him a brief explanation of flying basics. (After all, she remembered flying lessons as well as any other lessons…she just happened to hate flying.) When she was finished, Harry mounted his broom tentatively and pushed off from the ground. Hermione gave him an encouraging smile and a thumbs-up. Carefully, he began to fly forward, then up, then back down.
"I'm going to go sit in the stands, Harry. Feel free to fly as long as you want. It's a nice day; I'm just going to enjoy sitting outside," Hermione said. As she made her way to the stands, Harry began flying to one end of the Quidditch pitch.
Perhaps riding a broom is like riding a bicycle. They say you don't forget that, after all, Hermione mused as she watched Harry from the stands, her hand shielding her eyes from the sun. Flying seemed to be coming back to Harry rather quickly, while nothing else had. Within twenty minutes, he was flying confidently. After forty minutes, he was acting almost like the insanely talented Seeker he used to be.
Almost an hour after he had started, Harry flew over to where Hermione was sitting in the stands. He dismounted with a grin, his eyes shining. He then sat down next to her and sighed contentedly.
"You certainly look like you remember how to fly," Hermione said, turning to look at him.
"Yeah," Harry nodded. "After I started, it came back to me."
"Well, I'm glad. You always did love flying," Hermione replied. "Do you remember playing Quidditch at all?"
Harry paused, his brow furrowed. "Maybe," he answered. "Again, I don't know if I actually remember these stands packed with cheering fans, and me chasing after the Snitch…or if I can just imagine it." He shrugged. "One thing I do remember, however, is the feeling of freedom that comes with flying."
"For you, maybe. I seem to remember feeling fear and anxiety when I flew," Hermione laughed. Then she stood up and stretched. "Well, Harry, have you had enough flying for now? Or are you going back out there?"
"I've had enough for now," Harry decided. "Let's go back to the castle."
They headed back to the Gryffindor common room. Hermione picked up the book they'd been reading together. "We're almost done, Harry. Do you want me to read the last two chapters?" she asked as she settled into her usual chair.
"Sure," Harry agreed, sitting in the chair across from her.
Hermione opened the book, cleared her throat, and began to read. At first, Harry seemed content. But as time wore on, his manner began to change. It was little things that Hermione noticed at first…the way he pressed his lips together…the troubled look that replaced the spark his eyes had held when he was flying. Then he crossed his arms over his chest, and he slouched in his chair. By the time Hermione finished the last sentence of the novel, it was obvious that Harry was brooding over something. She sighed as she closed the book.
"Harry?"
His eyes were focused on the floor. He didn't look up.
"Harry, look at me," Hermione said quietly. He obeyed, but reluctantly. "What's wrong, Harry? What's bothering you?"
"It's time that I…I need to know…some of the things you won't tell me," Harry said. His eyes were now locked on hers, his gaze intense. "I need to know about Voldemort."
Hermione maintained eye contact, but her voice faltered. "Voldemort, Harry? Are you sure you're ready…we don't have to talk about that yet, it's rather--"
"I need to know," Harry said simply. "What did he do? How did we defeat him? And…and why, if we won, is everyone so sad?"
"Everyone is sad? What do you mean, Harry? You haven't really had contact with very many people," Hermione pointed out, hoping to misdirect him a bit.
"Well, okay, you and Ron. Why are you and Ron sad all the time? What happened that you're not telling me? If it involves you, it involves me. Don't you think I have a right to know?"
"Well, yes, Harry. If you really think you're ready," Hermione said uncertainly.
"I'm ready," he replied, trying to sound confident and failing miserably.
If Hermione noticed his fear, she didn't comment on it. Instead, she took a moment to gather her thoughts. Then, in a quiet, even voice, she began to tell Harry about his encounters with Voldemort, beginning with their first year. She kept the details as sparse as possible, and omitted as many other people as possible. Finally, she explained about Horcruxes and their year-long search to find and destroy them, culminating in Harry's final defeat of Lord Voldemort.
Harry stared pensively at the floor as Hermione's voice filled the air around him, weaving through his brain and creating its own kind of spell. At last, she fell silent. She leaned back into her chair, emotionally drained.
"Did I really do all that?" Harry asked, his voice barely above a whisper.
"Yes, Harry. You really did all that, and more," Hermione replied, her own voice soft. "And you survived. Voldemort is gone, and you're not. You can…you can live now, Harry, without his shadow hanging over you."
"Yeah, well, did I really survive?" Harry asked, his voice growing louder. Hermione could see his anger surfacing again. "I mean, it seems like that Harry Potter is dead. The Harry Potter that could do all those things…Voldemort killed him after all, didn't he?" He gave a bitter laugh.
"Harry, what--"
"Don't you see, Hermione? I'm a completely different person. I can't do any of that anymore. I don't even remember doing it! I may be living, but I can't remember my own life! The Harry Potter you knew might as well have died." Harry stood up and faced the fireplace.
Hermione's eyes flashed dangerously. Now she was mad, too. She stood up and marched over to Harry, grabbing his arm and spinning him around to face her. "Don't you dare say that, Harry Potter!"
"And why not, Hermione?" Harry demanded, anger bubbling beneath his words. "It's true, and you should just accept that." He began to turn away from her again, but her arm caught his.
"DON'T turn away from me, Harry," she said fiercely. "Don't you ever turn away from me." She took a step forward, closing the distance between them to mere inches. Adjusting for the height difference, she tilted her head up slightly and looked him directly in the eye. They engaged in a sort of stare-down for an indeterminable amount of time. Then, never breaking eye contact, Hermione spoke. "Harry, listen to me. You may not remember how to do the things you used to be able to do. I firmly believe that you will remember, in time--"
"C'mon, Hermione, you don't know that, so stop acting like you do!" Harry yelled. His breathing was labored.
Hermione was not daunted. "Do not interrupt me!" she yelled back. Then, dropping her voice, she continued. "All right, so you don't remember how to do fancy magic tricks anymore. So what? 'The Harry Potter I knew,' as you described yourself, was not just a bunch of fancy magic tricks, and he wasn't just a famous name or a handsome face. That's how some people saw him, people who didn't know him. But never, NEVER, was that the Harry Potter I knew. The Harry Potter I knew was my brave, trustworthy, kind, and self-sacrificing friend. And Voldemort didn't—couldn't—take that from you!"
"Even so, I…I may never be the same person I used to be, Hermione," Harry said. His anger was subsiding, and now he sounded regretful. He dropped his head and stared at the floor.
"No one is the same, Harry," Hermione said emphatically. "Do you hear me? We've all changed because of this. But that doesn't mean Voldemort might as well have killed us!" Hermione paused. Then, with a sigh, she placed a hand under Harry's chin and forced him to meet her gaze once more. When she spoke again, her voice had a much softer tone. "You don't realize just how glad we are to have you here with us, Harry. We had all given so much…and for awhile they weren't sure if you were going to live. Did you know that? I sat in that room of yours for almost two days straight, afraid that here at the end, after we'd won, after everything we'd survived, I was going to lose you, after all. And the thought nearly destroyed me, Harry, and so many others who love you. Don't you ever say that Voldemort might as well have killed you. I—I can't—just the thought…" Hermione drew a shuddery breath, on the verge of tears.
Harry was silent for a moment, trying to imagine what Hermione must have gone through, what everyone must have gone through. No wonder Hermione and Ron were sad. "I—I'm sorry, Hermione. I didn't mean that. I'm just so frustrated, I…"
Hermione flung her arms around him and gave him a fierce hug. "I know, Harry. It's okay to be angry. Just don't give up, okay?"
"I won't," Harry replied, his voice muffled by her hair.
"It's also okay to be scared, Harry," Hermione said quietly into his shoulder. She ended the hug and stepped back to study his face.
"I'm not--" Harry began to protest.
"It's just me, Harry. You don't have to be a hero right now. I know you must be scared."
Harry sighed. How did she know everything? "It's just…the 'what-ifs'…I don't like thinking about them," he confessed.
Hermione nodded. "Yes, those can be rather frightening."
There was a tense pause in which time seemed to stand still. Finally, Harry broke the silence. "Hermione?" He asked, tentatively.
"Yes, Harry?"
"Do you think…maybe…you could start teaching me some more spells? Maybe the more I re-learn, the more I'll remember. And if that's not true…well, I'll need to start somewhere if I want to be able to do magic again, right?"
Hermione smiled. "Of course, Harry. We can start right now, if you want."
Harry nodded. "Yes, I'd like that."
Hermione pulled out her wand, and Harry followed suit. "Now then," Hermione began. "We already covered Wingardium Leviosa at St. Mungo's. Let me think of some more spells we learned in our first year; those should be pretty easy for you to re-learn."
And so the lessons began. Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived and one of the most powerful wizards of all time, was being taught beginning-level spells. Hermione threw herself into the lessons so she wouldn't have to think about the how sad the situation was.
Harry was a much better student the second time around than he had been in his Hogwarts days. Hermione hoped it was because somewhere in the back of his brain, he still remembered magic. Perhaps that was why he had accepted most of what he had been told about the Wizarding world almost without question.
By the time they took a break for lunch, Harry had re-learned almost all of the spells they had learned during their first year. Harry's mood was greatly improved, and as a result, Hermione was in a better mood as well. After they finished eating, they headed back up to the common room to continue the lessons, at Harry's request. Soon, the setting sun's rays were slanting in through the windows, painting the room red-orange. And then, the sun set completely. And still the lessons continued…
Several Hours Later
"You're making wonderful progress, Harry," Hermione said. "Why don't we call it a night?" Harry really had made remarkable progress. He sometimes got upset when a certain spell gave him trouble, and Hermione had had to repair a few things that he had broken, either accidentally or out of frustration. But on the whole, he was catching on very well.
And he didn't want to stop. At Hermione's suggestion to quit for the day, Harry shook his head stubbornly. "Not until I get this Summoning Charm. I've almost got it, I can feel it."
"That one was particularly hard for you the first time around, Harry. I don't know if you'll be able to get it as easily as some of the others we've gone over today."
"No, I'm going to get it," Harry insisted.
Hermione could see he was determined. She sighed. "All right, Harry. Watch me again. Accio!" A pillow from the couch flew across the room and landed at Hermione's feet. "You've got to think about what you're trying to Summon."
Harry nodded. He pointed his wand at another pillow on the couch. "Accio!" he cried. The pillow didn't budge. He tried again. And again. After twenty more unsuccessful attempts, he was finally able to Summon the pillow.
"That's it, Harry!" Hermione exclaimed. She looked tired, but Harry could tell she was pleased. Suddenly, as Harry looked to her for approval, he once again saw that mid-size, somewhat younger Hermione. The mid-size, somewhat younger Hermione had the exact same expression as regular Hermione had had. And it seemed to him…that she had been doing the same thing…teaching mid-size, somewhat younger Harry the Summoning Charm.
"Hermione," Harry began, "have we done this before?"
"Done what before, Harry?"
"This…you teaching me the Summoning Charm," Harry clarified.
"Yes," Hermione said. "Remember that contest I told you that you competed in? The one that Ron was mad about? Well, you needed to know the Summoning Charm for that, and as I said, it was particularly difficult for you. So we stayed up all night and I taught you how to do it. You finally got it. I guess it's kind of ironic, how we're doing it again…just like three years ago...hmm." She paused, a thoughtful look on her face.
Harry sank into one of the plush chairs, rather pleased with himself. "So, what was this contest? What did we compete in? Who was my competition?"
Hermione sat in the chair across from him, stifling a yawn. She was very tired, but as Harry showed no signs of wanting to go to sleep, she began to explain the TriWizard Tournament. When she was describing Viktor Krum, however, Harry heard a strange voice in his head—a gruff voice. "I vont to know what there is between you and Herm-own-ninny," the voice said. Somehow—he wasn't sure how—he knew the voice belonged to Viktor Krum.
"He was a famous Quidditch player, and he--" Hermione was saying.
"And he called you 'Herm-own-ninny,'" Harry interrupted with a chuckle. Hermione stared at him, her mouth slightly open. "What?" Harry demanded. "He did, didn't he? I think it's funny."
"I never told you that, Harry. You just remembered something else!" Hermione said happily.
"Really?" Harry was pleased. "Well, go on. Finish telling me about the Tournament."
Hermione continued, but Harry found that he wasn't fully concentrating on her words. He couldn't stop thinking about his newly-recovered memory of Viktor's words. It seemed like Viktor had been jealous of his and Hermione's relationship. The suspicion that had been lurking in the back of Harry's mind was now becoming a full-blown theory. The only memories he had fully recovered involved Hermione…Hermione had believed him when no one else had, not even Ron…Viktor had been jealous of him…Hermione had clammed up when he had asked her if he'd had a girlfriend. Of course, Harry thought, she wouldn't want me to feel forced back into a relationship with her. She wanted to wait until I remembered for myself!
He was feeling very pleased with his deducing. In fact, he was so confident with his theory that he decided to bring it up when Hermione finished talking about the TriWizard Tournament. "Hermione, I think I figured something out," he began. "The other day, when I asked you if I had a girlfriend, and you didn't want to talk about it?"
"Yes?" Hermione asked tersely. Obviously, she still didn't want to talk about it.
"Well, I think I know why. It's because you were my girlfriend, isn't it." It wasn't even a question, he was so sure of himself.
"No, Harry."
"No, that's not why? Or…or no, you weren't my girlfriend?" Harry asked, slightly confused.
"No, I was not your girlfriend, nor was I ever your girlfriend." Not that I didn't want to be for a long time, Hermione added in her head.
So his brilliant theory was wrong? "Well, if you weren't my girlfriend, who was? Why won't you tell me?"
"Do we have to talk about this now, Harry? It's late..." Hermione said, sounding annoyed.
"Yes, we have to talk about this now. I want to know," Harry demanded.
Hermione gave an exasperated sigh. "Fine. Your first girlfriend was a girl named Cho Chang, but that didn't last long. It wasn't really a relationship. Your first real girlfriend was Ginny Weasley. Ron's little sister. Happy now? Can we go to bed?"
"Did we break up or something? Why hasn't she visited me?" Harry asked.
"Well, you did break up, but only because you were going to leave to search for the Horcruxes." Here it comes, Hermione thought. I won't be able to avoid it, it'll be a direct question…
"Well then, why hasn't she visited me? Why didn't she come with Ron?"
And there it is. "Because she's dead." It came out a lot harsher than she had intended.
"Oh," was all Harry said.
Hermione sighed. "That's where I went that morning before you were released from St. Mungo's. I was at the funeral for Ginny and her brother Bill. They were both killed in the…well, you know, in the conflict, the whole Voldemort thing. I—I didn't want to tell you because…well, because I wasn't sure how you'd feel…knowing you were supposed to be grieving for a girlfriend you couldn't even remember. Maybe it wasn't the right decision, I don't know. But no matter, you know now. Are you all right?"
Harry's mind was whirling. He didn't know what to make of what he'd just learned. He had obviously liked this girl very much, if she had been his girlfriend…and she was dead. He should feel grief, or anger, or loss. But he didn't feel anything—couldn't feel anything—because he couldn't even remember the girl he'd lost. He dropped his head into his hands, frustration growing once again.
Hermione walked over to him and placed a gentle hand on his shoulder. "C'mon, Harry. Let's go to bed. You need to sleep."
Wordlessly, Harry stood and followed Hermione up to the bedroom. He changed into his pajamas and climbed into bed, feeling numb. At Hermione's knock on the door, he called, "Yeah, Hermione, come in." Hermione's pajama-clad form appeared in the doorway. But instead of climbing into her own bed after placing her clothes in her bag, she crossed the room and stood at Harry's bedside.
"Harry," she began, "if…if you want to talk about Ginny…I'll tell you anything you want to know. I'm sorry I was so short with you before."
"I'm tired, Hermione," Harry said, turning away from her.
"All right. Well, when you're ready to talk, let me know," Hermione said softly, giving his shoulder a gentle pat. Then she returned to her bed.
Neither of them slept very well that night.