Lights. Bright. White.
Summary: After a case she's working goes wrong, Hermione Weasley wakes up in the hospital, her memories gone. Can she relearn the details of her life and fall in love with her husband again?
Disclaimer: I do not own, nor do I claim any rights to, Harry Potter or any associated themes, characters, places, or plots. This is for entertainment purposes only. No profit is being made from this story. Not copyright infringement is intended.
Author's Note: Thank you for those of you who reviewed Chapter One. I hope you enjoy this chapter.
CHAPTER TWO: Miss Granger
"I'm just not sure I can do this," the man said.
"It's not going to be easy," the second man agreed.
"Where do I start?"
"The basics, I suppose."
A strangled laugh. "You make it sound so simple."
"I'm sorry." A pause. "Just take it slow. You don't want to overwhelm her. Let her work at her own pace."
"Yes, but what about the—"
The woman opened her eyes, now aware that the voices were not in her dreams, but coming from the two men standing in her hospital room. She blinked several times, trying to remember when she had fallen asleep. Lights, bright and white, she thought, as she looked to the ceiling. Memories from the night before—had it been last night? she wondered—came back to her. A red-haired man, claiming to be her husband. A potion. An accident. A spell… She groaned in frustration.
"Hermione, you're awake."
Hermione. She squinted at the men, immediately recognizing the red-head from the night before. His companion, a dark-haired man she could not recall being there before, was standing close to the door. He gave her a weak smile when she looked at him. She tried to return it, but her muscles strained, and instead, she pulled herself into an upright position. As an afterthought, she turned her head several times, recalling that she had been unable to do so before.
"Where am I?" she asked, although she already knew part of the answer.
"The hospital." This was the part she had already known.
"Yes, but where?"
"St. Mungo's," the red-head replied. Ron, I think his name is.
"St. Mungo's," she repeated. She searched her brain. St. Mungo's. She had never heard of this hospital before. Was she still in London? Finally, she said, "Yes, but where is St. Mungo's?"
Ron looked to the other man, pleading with him with his eyes. When the other man merely shrugged his shoulders, Ron replied, "I thought—I thought Healer Adams told you last night?" He sounded very nervous.
The woman shook her head. "No…" she trailed, but did not elaborate. She closed her eyes for a moment. If Healer Adams was the woman from before, then perhaps she did try to tell her something last night, but she had been too concerned with the other conversation in the room. "I mean, I hadn't been listening."
The dark-haired man chuckled. "Imagine that," he murmured. The woman glared at him and Ron sat in the chair next to the bed.
"Well, okay. The basics, then, I suppose." He nodded to the man, who took his leave. The woman did not bid him goodbye. She kept her gaze on the red-haired man, waiting for him to speak. "You're Hermione Weasley," he said matter-of-factly, but added as an afterthought, "Hermione Granger, if you prefer."
The woman nodded. Mrs. Weasley, they had called her before. Hermione, had sounded more familiar, and Granger seemed to fit much more nicely.
"So, I'm Hermione Granger," she said.
"Weas—" Ron started to protest, but stopped. "Yes. And, uh, you're twenty-five years old. And you're a—" He stopped again.
"I'm a what?" Hermione asked impatiently.
"A witch."
Hermione did not immediately speak. Potions and spells and witches? This is absurd. "You're off your rocker!" she nearly shouted after a moment. "A witch! Is this some kind of bloody joke?"
"No, it's n—what a minute, did you just say 'bloody?'" He looked extremely shocked and she shot him a quizzical look. Then he gave her a smug smile. "Who are you and what have you done with my wife, eh?"
He had obviously meant it as a joke, but it was certainly not the most appropriate time. He froze as soon as the words left his mouth. She did not give him time to mull over his mistake, however.
"I may not know who I am," she directed pointedly, "but I know I most certainly am not your wife."
"Blimey, still just as insufferable," he muttered.
"I beg your pardon?"
"Nothing, nothing." He sighed heavily. "Are you interested on hearing what I have to say or not?"
"I suppose I don't have any other choice," she bit out.
His face twisted and she could see he was fighting his urge to snap at her. "As I was saying," he said through his teeth. "You. Are. A. Witch." He enunciated each word, staring her straight into her eyes. "Believe what you will," he added quickly, fearing she would interrupt again, "but you are. One of the brightest of our age, in fact. You graduated with top marks on your N.E.W.T.s from Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardary. You work for the Ministry of Magic now, in the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. Trying to give rights to those precious house elves of yours." He rolled his eyes at this admission, but she detected a sense of admiration in his voice.
"As far as you and I are concerned," he continued, using his fingers to motion between the two of them, "we have been unofficially dating since you were seventeen. We were married two years ago, although if Mum had her way, it would have been eight years ago." This time, the smile did form on his lips, although he tried to repress it.
He's certainly a character, Hermione thought, and then spoke aloud, "I find all of this highly unlikely."
Ron snorted. "And why, exactly, is that?"
"Because I—" She closed her mouth. She did not have an answer for him, and wondered if she had only spoke up to spite him. Ron must have found her situation amusing, because he laughed and once again continued.
"Anyways, you're an only child, but my family more than makes up for that. You're extremely close with your parents. In fact, I'm fairly sure I will not be in your father's good graces for quite a while. They wanted to come home from holiday early, but I told him absolutely not." Hermione thought she should be upset that Ron had told her parents not to come see her, but the fact remained she could not remember her parents either. "So while it is usually extremely quiet at your Mum and Dad's, my parents' house is a different story. You have five brother-in-laws, four sister-in-laws, and as of right now four nieces and two nephews." His grin was very big as he narrated his—her—family. It was apparent he was extremely proud of the bunch and Hermione tried to share in his sentiment. But she just could not remember…
"Hermione, are you all right?"
"Hm?" she said.
Ron laughed again. "Your mouth is hanging open."
"Oh," she said, embarrassed. She closed her mouth quickly and then did her best to glare at him. But, he was smiling at her goofily and she found it difficult not to laugh at his bemused expression. Trying to hide her amusement, she asked, "Well, is that it for the basics then? Sounds like I am rather boring."
Ron laughed. "Hardly. Hermione, you didn't exactly live a normal childhood." He paused. "Well I suppose you may have before you were eleven, but once you started at Hogwarts, you were far from it."
"Well, how can I be normal if I was a witch?"
"You are a witch," Ron said. "But, even by wizarding standards, you were far from normal." Hermione scuffed, still unconvinced. "Besides, it would be impossible to tell you about the basics of your past in a day, especially when I feel like it's more important to know about your present first."
"Is that what you think, then?" she questioned forcefully. "What if I don't agree?"
Ron's smile wavered for a moment, before jokingly saying, "It wouldn't be the first time you've disagreed with me."
She giggled and then quickly threw her hand over her mouth. Why am I laughing? I don't know this man! She felt rather conflicted by the emotions she was feeling. While she could not remember anything about herself, and while she was determined to hold her own, she involuntarily felt herself drawn to Ron. Perhaps, I did marry him. Maybe he's not so awful, huh? She did not answer herself though, instead studying Ron's features again. The more she looked at him, the more she liked to look at him. She could not remember feeling so conflicted in her life. Then again, you idiot, you can't remember anything.
The door opened and the dark-skinned man from the day before entered, Healer Adams trailing behind.
"Good morning, Mrs. Weasley," the man greeted, as Ron interjected, "Miss Granger."
The two men exchanged a look and the dark-skinned man nodded in understanding. "Miss Granger," he repeated. "I do not believe I have formally introduced myself. I am Healer Thomas." He extended his hand and Hermione took it. "I have been in charge of your care since your admittance into the hospital." Hermione nodded, but did not offer any other response or greeting. Healer Adams remained close to the door, scribbling away on a clipboard.
"Given your circumstances, Miss Granger," Healer Thomas continued, "we have done everything we can possibly do. Unfortunately, while we can ensure you are healthy and capable of caring for yourself, we cannot restore your lost memories."
"What are the chances," Ron spoke up, "that she'll regain them at all?" Hermione looked at him carefully, and she could see in his eyes that he already knew the answer. Healer Thomas addressed Hermione first.
"Do you want the answer to that question, Miss Granger?"
Hermione was not sure. She had overheard the conversation the two men had shared before, and she felt as if she too, knew the answer. However, she had remembered something. The little girl. That girl had to be her.
"I suppose so," she finally answered.
"The chances are not good, I'm afraid. When a person is inflicted with a memory charm, it erases their memories permanently. The only known way of restoring them is when the appropriate steps are taken to preserve them. Additionally, most memory charms are intended to remove single memories, or a small series of events of connected memories. The one that you were subjected to was extremely powerful and extremely rare. I have to tell you, you are extremely lucky."
"Lucky!" Ron snorted. Healer Thomas glared at him for a moment before continuing, his eyes focused on Hermione.
"In most cases, those inflicted with this spell do not survive. Our minds are not designed to be completely void. In fact, there is only one other person alive that has survived a spell of this magnitude." Healer Thomas directed his attention to Ron again, conveying a silent message. Hermione watched as Ron's forehead wrinkled in confusion, thinking. Finally, his muscles relaxed at the realization.
"Lockhart!" he exclaimed. Healer Thomas nodded.
"Who is Lockhart?" Hermione asked.
"He was, well, I guess the simplest explanation was he was an author, and at one point, a professor at Hogwarts," Ron started. "You fancied him," he added as an afterthought, chuckling. Hermione huffed.
"Regardless," Healer Thomas interrupted, continuing, "when he was hit with this memory charm, like you, it wiped all of his memories. However, unlike you, he went insane, and has spent the last twelve years in our long-term spell damage ward. So, yes, Mr. Weasley, I would consider Miss Granger very lucky." Ron had slumped in his chair and had gone pale.
"Yes," he whispered quietly, "I suppose she is."
The room grew quiet and Hermione reflected on this new information she had been given. She was in agreement with Healer Thomas that she was, indeed, very lucky. Being told that you could possibly be dead was not something she had expected to hear. And knowing that another man was insane was quite scary. But, it prompted her to wonder how she was different. Why had people died and gone insane while she was alive and clearly all right?
"I—I remember some things," Hermione whispered after a moment of reflection.
The other three adults in the room stared at her in disbelief. Healer Adams began to scribble away again, this time much more excitedly.
"What?" Ron finally breathed, breaking the silence. Hermione suddenly felt nervous.
"What do you remember?" Healer Thomas inquired.
"Well, it isn't much," she admitted sheepishly. "I remember a little girl, with her parents. She's playing in the yard when she's younger, and then when she's older, at school where the boys are making fun of her. And then, there's a train station."
"Anything else?" It was Healer Adams who had spoken this time. She had a wide smile on her face, eager to record more of the memories Hermione remembered.
"Well, no," Hermione whispered. She saw Ron deflate.
"That's wonderful!" Healer Thomas said. His demeanor was the opposite of Ron's.
"Does that mean I will be able to remember more?" she asked hopefully.
Healer Thomas's excitement dissipated. He looked to her sadly and said, "I honestly do not know."
The room fell into silence again. Ron had buried his face in his hands, Healer Thomas and Hermione continued to stare at one another and Healer Adams held her quill tightly in her hand, desperate for more. Hermione was the first to break away from Healer Thomas's gaze. She closed her eyes, willing herself to remember something else. She needed to give the group hope. She needed to give herself hope. She may have been lucky, and as quickly as the happiness at this revelation of her luck had come, it was gone again. Surely remembering something else would mean she had not actually lost her memory. It was a long shot, she knew. Maybe all she needed was a trigger to help get her memories back.
With her mind made up, Hermione blurted, "Well, if that's all then, I would quite like it if I could go home."
Ron shot out of his chair so quickly it fell over, perhaps startling Hermione more than her statement. "Are you serious?" he asked in disbelief. "You want to come home?"
"I don't really have a choice, do I?" she replied. She really did not want him thinking she was excited to go home with him. However, she did not like the sadness in his eyes. "But, yes, I do want to. But only because it might help my memories."
"I'll get the discharge papers," Healer Adams offered, and she quickly left the room. Healer Thomas nodded to her as well, bidding his goodbye as he followed.
Hermione sat up straighter in her bed and realized she was still wearing a hospital gown. Ron must have noticed as well, because before she could ask about proper clothing, he was handing her an overnight bag. "I had Ginny—my sister—go over and get some things yesterday."
"Thank you." Hermione gave him a small smile as she gratefully took the bag.
"I think I might head home while you get ready. I should probably freshen up myself."
She eyed him suspiciously. "You haven't been home?" she asked in disbelief.
The tips of Ron's ears reddened and he said, "Well, no. I was worried about you. I couldn't leave."
"You were worried about me?"
"Well, of course." He rubbed the back of his neck. "Look, Hermione, I know this isn't going to be easy for you. Hell, it's not going to be easy for me either, if I am being completely honest. It's rough, knowing your wife doesn't remember you." Hermione began to feel the guilt. After all, it was not Ron's fault she could not remember him, and she had not exactly treated him with kindness.
"I'm sorry," she said softly.
Ron shook his head and came closer to the bed. He motioned to the bed, asking permission to sit. Hermione nodded and felt as the bed sank from his weight. Daringly, he took her hands in to his. When she did not protest, Ron relaxed.
"Hermione, I've known you since we were eleven years old. Naturally, I didn't know it at the time, but I loved you immediately. You were a know-it-all and insufferable at the best of times. But you have always been brilliant and if it weren't for you, well, frankly, I dunno where I would be. It took us years to finally get together. Do you really think I am going to throw away everything we had—everything we still have—because you don't remember me?"
Hermione stared at him, unsure of what to say. She felt his thumbs moving back and forth across her hands lovingly. The way he was looking at her made her slightly uncomfortable, but she was afraid of how she would feel if she did break the contact.
"I love you Hermione Granger, I always have and I always will."
His eyes were clouding and Hermione knew he was trying not to cry. The surge of emotion she felt was shocking. This can't be all bad, she told herself firmly. He obviously cares about you very much. It isn't fair to take this man's life away from him just because you had yours taken from you.
"Ron?" Hermione whispered.
"Yes?"
"If you don't mind, I think I might like trying to be Hermione Weasley." The words had barely left her mouth when she felt Ron's weight on top of her, his arms wrapped tightly around her shoulders. Her immediate reaction had been to stiffen up, but she willed herself to relax. She tentatively returned his hug, patting his back awkwardly.
If Ron had noticed her hesitation at the hug, he gave her no indication. He had a wide smile on his face as he pulled away from her.
"Well, then," he said, standing. "I suppose I better make everything presentable. I'll be back in an hour to get you, yeah?" Hermione nodded and watched as he left her room. She fell back onto the pillow and sighed heavily.
This isn't going to be simple, she told herself. Ron said you were brilliant though. It shouldn't be so hard, should it? She felt the tears run down her cheeks as she sobbed silently. She closed her eyes, trying to focus on something happy. The little girl's giggles filled her mind, her curls coming into view.
There was a large blanket spread across the grass. The man and the woman were still holding the laughing little girl. The man was tickling her, inciting her giggles. The girl squirmed under her parents' grasps and the older woman could be heard laughing as well.
"Mummy—make—him—stop!" the girl squealed through her laughter, but it was apparent she was enjoying being tickled. Another fit of giggles overtook her and she finally managed to wiggle from her parents' arms. "My turn!" she yelled, suddenly attacking her father. He fell backwards onto the blanket, taking his daughter down with him. Her small fingers were attempting to tickle him, and although she was not successful, the man chuckled, appeasing his daughter. "I win," she replied smugly.
"That you do," the man said, taking her into his arms and kissing her forehead. He pulled his wife into the embrace then, and the three lay contently on the blanket, together.
Hermione opened her eyes, a smile on her lips. That is home, she thought and began to prepare for Ron's return.
Author's Note: Please review. I am trying to get Chapter 8 of I Never Knew You up today as well, but I have been on a roll with this story. If I get enough reviews, I may be more motivated to finish Chapter 3 and post it before Tuesday, instead of waiting the entire week. Thank you for reading!