Harry wakes up in St. Mungos' hospital to find that he can't remember anything. Will his friends be able to get his memory back? HHr
Who am I?
Chapter 1
He could see white light shining through his closed eyelids. He opened them, thinking that it was time to…to do what? He couldn't remember. Light hit his eyes and shot a quick jolt of pain through his head. What was that? he thought as he covered his eyes with one hand and put the other to massage his temple. When he felt his hair, he also felt…cloth? He uncovered his eyes when they adjusted to the bright light in a white room. He had no idea why he was there, and the thought scared him. How did I get here? He sat up, and more pain came to his head. He looked around franticly trying to find something familiar, but his head ached with pain when he snapped his head around.
He was surprised to find the white room fuzzy and hazy. He was frightened, for he couldn't see much of anything. He looked around as a dull pain came to his head. He saw a little wooden table next to his bed and could see two things glisten in the bright light: glasses and a mirror. He reached over, and was surprised to find a fair-colored hand reach out. He didn't know that he was fair skinned…or remember anything for that matter. He grabbed the round-framed glasses and set them onto his nose. Instantly, the room came into view.
It looked like he was in some sort of hospital with the rows of white, empty beds along the white walls. He found a door to his right on one side of the wall, and little windows up high, almost touching the ceiling, which brought bright sunlight into the room. He looked over to the little table, and picked up the hand mirror to look at his reflection. He saw a surprising image appear through his…green eyes?
Indeed, emerald green eyes looked back at him. He appeared to be in his late teens, and could see black stubble on his chin and cheeks. He saw that he had a patch of messy black hair that poked out of the top of a white cloth wrapped around his head; a bandage. He also saw a thin scar in the shape of a lightning bolt on his fair-skinned forehead. How did I get that? he thought as he ran a finger slowly over the old and unusual wound.
Then, the door to his right opened silently. A woman of about 50 wearing a white robe poked her head into the ward. She looked in to find him awake, so she entered. As she got closer, he could see her expression was saddened by some type of news, or by possibly him.
"Hello," she said, "I'm Healer Jones. I have a few questions for you. Are you ready?"
He was suspicious, which his features showed, but he nodded.
"What is your name?"
He thought about that…and couldn't think of what it was; there was just a blank spot in his empty mind. His heart started to beat faster; he couldn't remember something as important as his name. He shook his head, which made him wince as his head hurt again.
"No, please try to stay still," she said quickly. She moved his pillows up vertically next to the backboard of the bed. She then pushed his shoulders backward, so he would be resting on the pillows.
"Do you know why you are here?"
Again, he had no answer; just a blank spot in his brain.
"No," he said simply.
Just then, a girl poked her head into the room from the open door. She had bushy, curly brunette hair and was wearing a black robe; what's up with robes? he thought as the girl walked in. The woman called 'Healer Jones' looked at the girl and started to walk toward her. Jones then leaned over to whisper into her ear. He could not hear what was being said, but he could tell that it was about him. The girl looked sadder and sadder as Jones continued with her whispering. Jones then looked back at him and gave him a small, sad smile and left. Now, he was alone with this girl that looked on the verge of tears as she looked at him.
He felt rather uncomfortable as she looked at him, but some, small part of him felt warmth come from somewhere inside. Then, the girl walked closer with quick, nervous steps and sat on the bed next to his. She looked at her hands as her eyes started to leak tears.
He could see her face clearly now that she was closer; she was pretty. She was around his age, with teary, cinnamon eyes. He looked at her with his brow frowned; do I know her? he thought. He thought that he had seen her in a long-forgotten dream that just appeared in a flash of remembrance, although, everything is a long-forgotten now.
"Do you know who I am?" said the girl in a shaky voice. She finally looked up at him and locked eyes. He just stared back, hoping to remember her face.
"No," he said in a disappointed and saddened voice; he wanted to remember this pretty girl, for she knew him. "But you know me. Who am I?"
"You are Harry James Potter; the Boy-Who-Lived-and-Conquered," she said with a hint of pride and pleading in her voice, as if that would help him remember.
"Conquered what?" he asked with growing suspicion, curiosity, and wonder.