Harriet's eyes fluttered open. She was in bed and the room around her was pitch black. She sat up feeling uneasy, then jumped in alarm, and reached for her chest. First she felt relief, then a flustered confusion. What a strange dream that had been. Long, and vivid, and highly uncomfortable. It was detailed, true to life, and completely logically cohesive,closer to a lived experience than a was very personal and highly alienating in equal measure. It was mad, almost unbelievable. She had been a boy. The dream had imitated reality to a tee,there were no distortions she could see, but she had been a boy. For some reason. Somehow this single discrepancy turned the dream into something like a nightmare. It was like waking up in a suit made of someone else's felt out of .The body she was in felt strange. She was too large, too lanky, and too tall. Her insides were violently squirming to get out.

And there was a girl. A girl crying into her shoulder. Harriet was not sure why she had been comforting the girl, as it was not a girl she at all must have been some invention of the dream-and yet, Harriet really felt for situation had been unbelievably girl had just gotten the letter a few minutes ago. Back home, it said, there had been an accident. An explosion. Massive enough to rip a hole in the side of the house and send the living room furniture to splinters. And her father had perished. The authorities had found him in bits and pieces, when they arrived, and had no way of piecing together what happened. But the girl claimed to know. She said she had been so sure it was safe. Her father had personally assured her that everything was fine. It was difficult to understand her as she tried to get the reason out under her sobs.A horn in the living room, she had said. It had to do with a horn, in the living room, she'd said. And then Harriet woke up.

As Harriet's eyes adjusted to the dark, she grew increasingly confused. She saw that there were bandages wrapped around her arms, she saw that she was in the wrong nightgown; the one she wore now seemed like a medical one,for use by hospital patients, she saw, too, that she was in an unfamiliar bed—in a long room packed with several other such beds. At the furthest end of the room she saw a bed with a basic intravenous drip feed.

"Am I—in the Hospital Wing?" she wondered aloud.

That question was answered easily when Madam Pomfrey burst through the large oak doors at one end of the room—accompanied by an unfamiliar woman in healer's robes with a load of pouches about her waist. Before anything could be said, there was a commotion up the hall from where the two had emerged; like many hurrying feet, and right behind Madame Pomfrey and her healer friend came a mob of nearly every person Harriet considered close.

They surrounded her bed at every angle, from the head to the foot, and all them were jumping down her throat at once—hissing and shouting and sobbing and grabbing at her. Ron and Hermione and Ginny. Fred and George and Mr and Mrs Weasley. Like a beast made out of loved ones. Harriet was alarmed. What had happened, exactly?

"All of you-!" Madam Pomfrey cried "All of you! LEAVE HER ALONE!"

It took more effort than that to calm them all down, but Madam Pomfrey and her healer friend had years of experience dealing with distraught visitors, and soon it was quiet enough for them to perform their diagnostic spells in peace.

In the relative quiet that followed, while Madam Pomfrey and the healer did various checks on her, Harriet met the eyes of each person that had shown up, and was surprised by the depth of emotion in them. Madam Pomfrey checked her vitals, muttering spells under her breath, while the healer brewed a quick potion using the kit strapped to her waist. The healer leaned in towards Harriet, whispering "Drink this.", and Harriet saw a deep sadness in her eyes—even the healer pitied her, for some reason.

Harriet felt the tension mounting as she drank the potion, and Madam Pomfrey and the healer wrapped up their check-up. Something serious was happening, and Harriet had clearly missed the memo. The healer snapped up and refastened her kit and Madam Pomfrey leveled all the visitors a serious look, with the usual implied threat towards anyone who might cause her patient undue stress. They all watched the pair leave, and Harriet could almost feel a wave cresting as they all turned back to look at her-

"What's going on? she said, throwing her hands up before the shouting really started. " Why am I here?"

This was the best thing she might have opened with if she wanted to disable them, apparently. Her utter confusion stopped them all in their tracks. All of them showed various degrees of shock. Ginny was the least perturbed, her brow furrowed and mouth slightly open, Mrs Weasley was the most far gone, her eyes as wide as plates and her face splotchy. It was her who broke the silence.

"Why—why are you here?" she trilled, "Why are you here?" she looked around, like needing reassurance of her sanity "She—she's really asking why she's—good lord-!"

"Don't you dare joke about this Harriet." Hermione hissed. "Don't you dare joke about-!"

"Joke—about what…?" Harriet said, shocked by the tears in the other girl's eyes

Harriet looked around at all of them, taking in the shock and anger, feeling like they had blindsided her with an intervention of some sort. Nothing that had happened so far had made any sense to her.

"What am I not supposed to joke about—?"

Harriet looked down at her bandaged wrists. She wrapped her left hand around her right wrist and squeezed, wincing at the pain that came. The pain had been numbed quite a lot, but she was hurt. How—?

"What is this? Did I get hurt?"

All of them exchanged glances, apparently alarmed by her continued bewilderment.

"Harriet, this isn't funny." Ron said, looking angrier than she'd ever seen him.

"What's not funny? I don't know what any of you are talking about—"

"We're talking about your attempted suicide." Mr Weasley bit out.

Harriet stared at him.

"My—attempted—my—?"

She ran her hand over her face and through her hair. Was she still dreaming?

"What do you mean my attempted—?"

Mr Weasley leaned in, his eyes looking harsh.

"Harriet, I was the first one to arrive at your house earlier tonight. When I got there you were lying on the kitchen floor in a pool of your own blood. Your wrists were cut to ribbons—even the knife was still in your hands, passed out as you were! What do you think this is about-?"

"W-Why did you come to my house-?"Harriet asked, wanting to start with the part of the story that might be feasibly explained.

"Shut up!" Mrs Weasley burst out "You shut up! I think we've had quite enough of this silly joke of yours! Is it that you did all this for a little bit of attention? Is that it?"

Harriet was shocked. Mrs Weasley could be strict with her children, but she had never shouted at Harriet before.

"No—look—I—I—really don't know what's happening here…"

"What's going on here is an alarm of some sort went off in your house. An alarm which informed Dumbledore you were in danger. What's going on here is Arthur and all the rest of us got up in the middle of the night because we got word that you'd tried to kill yourself! What's—going—on—here—is that they had to rush an emergency healer—out from St Mungo's so you could be immediately treated, or else—you would've—!"

"You-" Harriet was floored "You're not saying I tried to kill myself—?"

"If they say they found you in a pool of blood with a knife in your hands, what do you think they're saying?" Fred asked.

"But that's not possible." Harriet laughed, feeling faint. "I'm not suicidal."

"Not suicidal maybe," Fred said, "but stressed…"

"I didn't try to kill myself."

"Of course you did!" Ron spat "What else would you call it? The proof is right there on your wrists! The wounds were so deep they had to close them with spells, and they pumped you full of Blood Replenishing Potion, and even after that they said we'd have to "wait and see"!"

"If you were a Muggle girl, you never would have survived…" Ginny said.

"If the Order hadn't been keeping an eye on her, she never would have survived." Mrs Weasley said

"You were spying on me?" Harriet said, numbly. There was more to sort out about this story every second.

Mrs Weasley looked for a moment like she had slipped-up, but pushed on with the same righteous indignation.

"Yes, we had members of The Order of The Phoenix keep an eye on you—it was a bit invasive perhaps, but I think you can see why it was necessary—"

"No, I can't, because I never tried to kill myself."

All of them exchanged glances at her perfectly reasonable assertion. How many time would they do that before the night was over?

"Harriet." Hermione said, her voice high and beseeching "Why are you doing this?"

"I'm not doing anything-!"

"Yes you are! You're messing with us! Pre—pretending—lying that you never—It's some kind of sick joke—!"

"I'm not lying, I'm not joking, and I never tried to kill myself!"

Harriet and Hermione launched into a heated argument, which gradually mounted to a shouting match between her and nearly everyone at her bedside. It was ridiculous .Everything about this situation was driving Harriet up the wall. To ignore her for months, send replies full of bullshit to all her letters, to constantly extend her stay with her clodpole relatives, then suddenly show so much concern over something she didn't remember happening. Her rage grew, panning out from Hermione to encompass all of them.

At the same time, she felt desperate. When everybody insisted on an event's happening, and you insisted that it never did, didn't that make you insane? Some kind of fool, or conspiracy theorist? Harriet's eyes jumped wildly between all of them, looking for the slightest hint that this was all some strange joke, or at least the slightest hint that someone believed she was telling the truth. Sitting at the very end of her bed, almost opposite her, Ginny caught Harriet's eye. Harriet looked her hard in the eye, sending a silent appeal for the younger girl to believe her.

"Wait!" Ginny cried, cutting through the uproar "But—what if she didn't try to—off herself?"

Now their ire fell on Ginny.

"What?" Mrs Weasley said, "Ginny you're not seriously siding with—"

"Siding with who? Some suicidal lunatic—?" Harriet cut in.

"I think it's possible—" Ginny said, looking Harriet in the eye "I think it's possible that—maybe someone Imperiused her or something—"

"There's no way that's possible. Dumbledore told us…he—he didn't explain how exactly, but he assured us that none of Harriet's enemies can reach her as long as she's at her relative's house—and even if she got too far away, we had people tailing her round the clock—"

"Well something happened!" Harriet insisted "I'm not the type of girl to just go and—and slit my wrists!"

"Well nobody does that kind of thing for no reason," George said. "And last year was rough for you..."

"Not enough for me to try and kill myself!"

"No, but maybe you realized how hard things are going to be." Fred said, eyes downcast. "For you in particular."

"I'm not that kind of person."

"Harriet." said Hermione "You can't just say you're "not that kind of person"—no one can tell how trauma will affect them—and you've had something very traumatizing happen to you—"

"I didn't try to kill myself! The last thing I remember before waking up here is going to bed after another shit day—"

"Harriet—!"

"After another shit day at my relatives house, cleaning the kitchen and mopping the floors and reading all your nonsense replies to my letters, and guessing how the Daily Prophet would in insult me next—"

"It's our fault." said Ron," We left you alone too long. And right after…"

"No I'm trying to tell you that at no point in the past day did I try to kill myself, or even think about it. I don't know why I'm here. I don't know what happened to me. I don't know how I got injured!"

There was a long silence, and several of the most skeptical looks Harriet had ever seen.

"I didn't! You can search my memories, in the Pensieve! You could read my mind! Wizards do that, don't they? Reading minds?"

The silence continued. Harriet sighed. She would probably be committed to a mental ward at this rate.

"I still think something happened to her." Ginny insisted, "That made her…"she gestured broadly, "You know…"

"Well…" Mr Weasley said, looking somewhat put-upon "If she's telling the truth…I suppose we ought to go to Dumbledore about it. He might know how to deal with this…"

"Amnesia…?" Mrs Weasley suggested, searching Harriet's eyes for any sign of deception. Harriet met her gaze firmly.

"I guess that could be the working name…"

Conversation was sparse after that. The ice was hard to break—so instead of casual conversation, Harriet got something of a war report, from Mr and Mrs Weasley. Dumbledore had been moving very quickly to recruit new blood, pull old friends out of retirement, and generally secure a support base for their side. He'd helped create or re-activate safehouses up and down the country. He'd used the little clout he had left at the Ministry to swing some recent policies their way. Apparently, Dumbledore had also made them all hold out on any information in their letters, for fears of interception. Dumbledore had reformed his secret society for defeating Voldemort, known as The Order of The Phoenix, and had it operating out of 12 Grimmauld Place; Sirius' family home. The Order kept watch on her in shifts, and also kept watch on other possible Death Eater targets, though she wasn't told who or what those other targets were.

That was all she got out of them. She tried everything for a bit more information, from direct questioning to mind tricks she'd seen on the telly, but invariably came up against "That's not your concern" or "Dumbledore said not to tell". She shot covert glances at Ron and Hermione, even Ginny and the twins, hoping for some quiet reassurance of "you'll get the details later" but they looked as uninformed as the adults looked reticent.

Eventually things quietened down completely. Everyone sat in a slight fidget. Though none of them were especially looking at her, she knew they all had her on her mind. She felt uncomfortable, and focused her gaze out the window, even though, at this time of night, she could see nothing in it except her face darkly reflected. She jumped slightly as she felt warm fingers glide over her own, and she turned and saw it was Hermione. Her eyes were wet and her face was red, and Harriet felt a strange tightening in her chest. She felt sort of guilty, despite everything… She didn't know what had happened, but it had scared the hell out of Hermione. It had scared the hell out of Hermione and it had scared the hell out of all of her friends, who had become like family to her. She honestly had no idea how to take any of this or what to do, but she squeezed Hermione's hand in reassurance nonetheless.

Soon after, Madam Pomfrey returned. She had allowed them to stay for quite a while, she had even allowed a bit of shouting, because they certainly had something to work through, but it was late, and Harriet had to sleep. Hermione and The Weasleys gathered themselves up reluctantly, and made to leave, all of them sending goodbyes and doubtful reassurances Harriet's way. Ron ruffled her hair, still looking perturbed and asked, "What am I supposed to say here—"I hope your amnesia gets better."?"

"Or your suicidal tendencies…"Harriet said wryly, pushing his hand away.

Ron winced.

Harriet spent her last few days before school opened already on campus.

Madam Pomfrey kept her under observation, and for Madame Pomfrey "observation" was a very serious thing. It was a few days before Harriet was allowed to even leave the Hospital Wing. She'd refused to believe the Nurse about the effects of blood loss at first, but came around when she realized that standing up for too long made her woozy. Her visitors came frequently, but were rather few. Apparently Dumbledore had given instructions that Harriet's "crisis" as it was called, was to remain private knowledge. No one could say why, but Harriet read between the lines. Whether it was suicidal tendencies or something stranger, it would not look good for news of her suicide attempt to trickle out, what with all the rumours already out there about her fragile mental state.

Eventually Harriet was allowed to move more freely and was able to enjoy the novelty of the castle while empty—it was not actually that exciting, most of the usually interesting places were locked, but it was nice to have free run of the castle and grounds otherwise—an area twice as large and many times more interesting than the neighbourhood of Privet Drive. Sometimes, she, Ron and Hermione would set up by the lake for a sleepy afternoon. Sometimes she wanted to try Quidditch-it would be greater than any usual summer Quidditch match, since they could actually use the school Quidditch Pitch—but they said she needed to heal first—as if a few games of Quidditch would tear her wrists back open. She noticed, unhappily, that things were slightly easier when she was alone than with her friends. They were fastidiously avoiding any discussion of her mysterious suicide attempt, at her request—but they were clearly bursting to talk about it. The desire was plain in every worried line of their faces, in every hesitation before they spoke, in every stolen glance at her wrists that they thought went unnoticed.

Harriet's initial remorse had dimmed, in light of the fact that she had as little idea bout what had happened to her as anyone else. She could make Ron and Hermione avoid it, and Ginny and the twins seemed to have a natural aversion to the topic, but Mr and Mrs Weasley grilled her at every turn, alternatively trying to get to the bottom of her memory loss and trying to see if maybe she was lying and if they could get the truth out of her. She was half glad that Sirius wasn't allowed to leave 12 Grimmauld Place, she'd hate to see the kind of knot he'd twist himself into trying to play the responsible adult, helping her, the Teen In Crisis.

It was still great to finally get away from her relatives, and be with her friends, but not as great as usual. She felt rather put upon by all their quiet sympathy. She felt like the center of everyone's attention, in a bad way. She was just thankful that Dumbledore had yet to call her into his office. She didn't know if she could deal with disappointment and pity radiating from those usually twinkling eyes.