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: Double update weekend! Thank you for those of you who read and reviewed Chapter 2. Thank you for all of your support!

CHAPTER THREE: The Room

An hour later, as promised, Ron returned. Hermione was sitting on the edge of her hospital bed, her overnight bag resting on her lap. She smiled cheerfully at Ron as he stepped into the room. His hair was slightly damp and he was dressed in a pair of faded jeans and an orange t-shirt. The Chudley Cannons was written across the front of the shirt in simple black lettering.

"What are the Chudley Cannons?" she asked, standing to greet him.

"There a Quidditch team; my favorite in fact."

"Quid—what?"

Ron blushed. "Sorry, I keep forgetting."

"Forgetting what?" Hermione snapped. "That I can't bloody remember anything?" She had not meant to sound so harsh. She knew it was not his fault, and she was truthfully more aggravated with her situation than with him.

"I really am sorry." He reached for her hand, but she denied him. He sighed. "Quidditch," he said instead, "is our sport. Like, soccer is for muggles." He paused. Hermione felt her face twist in aggravation again. "Muggles are non-magical people," he added quickly for clarification, anticipating her upset. "Yeah, as I was saying, it's our sport, played on broomsticks."

"Broomsticks?" She gave a half smile, torn between amusement and confusion. She still could not believe that this was real. You don't know that for sure, she reminded herself. She only had Ron's word to go on; she had not actually witnessed anything to suggest she was a witch and had magical powers.

Ron laughed and took her bag. "There's a cab waiting for us downstairs."

Hermione followed him out, deep in thought. A cab, she thought. Well, that certainly sounds normal. She closed her eyes for a moment as Ron stopped at a large desk, informing the healers they were leaving.

A black car. The girl, much older than three, sat in the back, sandwiched between her parents. Her father was talking to a man in the front seat behind the steering wheel. Outside the window, there were several other cars travelling around them, the streets crowded with people looking in shop windows.

"Do you suppose there are cars at school, Mum?" the girl asked.

"I'm not sure."

"How do you suppose they get around?"

"Shh," her mother chastised suddenly, the man in the front looking back at them through the window. His brow was furrowed, trying to determine what the girl was asking.

"Hermione. Earth to Hermione."

"Huh?" She blinked her eyes a couple of times, trying to focus on the man in front her. She glared at him angrily, upset that he had torn her from this memory.

"Is everything okay?" he asked, sending her a worried look. She debated for a moment about telling him about the newest memory. She decided against it, not wanting to give him false hope. After all, she was not remembering much, and each time she did, it was of the young girl. While she felt sure it was her, there was not any proof.

"Yeah, fine," she said, forcing a smile. "Are we ready?"

"Yes." He held out his hand slowly and she took it as he led them down the stairs. Hermione tried to take in her surroundings, curious about the different wards of the magical hospital. But, Ron moved quickly and Hermione had to jog to keep up with his long strides. When they reached the bottom floor, Ron practically dragged her to the waiting car.

"Are you okay?" she asked after catching her breath.

He turned to look at her. "Yeah," he said simply. "Why?"

"You walk too fast!"

He looked down at their joined hands and blushed. "Sorry," he mumbled.

"You also apologize too much!" she chastised again.

"Sor—"

"Don't!" Hermione wondered briefly if this was normal for their relationship. If it was, she couldn't imagine how either one of them could be happy if all he ever did was apologize. She looked at his reddened cheeks and realized he was probably as nervous around her as she was around him. She remembered what he had told her earlier that morning, that he would love her always. She felt the heat coming to her own cheeks then. When she caught his eye, they both began laughing for no apparent reason.

"Shall we?" he offered, opening the door to the cab. She nodded and slid in. Ron gave their address to the driver and Hermione relaxed into the seat. She watched the various buildings and people pass by and then said: "Ron, can I ask you something?"

"Sure."

"Is this—well, is this usually the way we travel?" It came out barely above a whisper. Ron leaned in.

"What?" he whispered back.

"This cab," she clarified. "Is this usually the way we get around?"

Ron looked to the driver to ensure he was not paying any attention. Then, he shook his head. "No. I've only been in a car a handful of times in my life. And that was mainly back and forth to the train station. And that time Harry and I stole Dad's Ford in second year."

"You what!" Her voice was louder now and the driver eyed them from the window.

"Shhhh! I'll explain later."

Emitting an annoyed huff, Hermione fell back against the seat, ignoring Ron the rest of the journey. Twenty minutes later, the cab pulled into a large neighborhood, with quaint little homes and large front yards. Hermione noticed small children playing in one of the yards and she was reminded of the little girl in her memories. The driver pulled alongside a small brick home with dark red shutters and stopped. Hermione gaped at the house. It certainly was nothing spectacular, but somehow, it was beautiful. There was a large tree in the front and well-manicured bushes along the front. As Ron paid the driver, Hermione got out, following the path to the front door.

"Well?" Ron asked, coming up behind her. "What do you think?"

"I like it," she whispered.

"We live in a muggle neighborhood," he began to explain. "We are fairly close to your parents' place—about 10 minutes or so. That's what you wanted, when we got married, was to be close to them." Hermione nodded. It made sense to want to be close to her parents, but the tone in Ron's voice alerted her to the fact that there was more to the story. She wanted to ask him, but he pulled a key from his pocket and unlocked the door. "It took a lot of adjustments for me, living here," he explained. "Have to watch how much magic you're doing and all."

He stepped aside and allowed her entrance into the home. Ron shut the door behind her and said, "Suppose I should give you the tour, eh?" Hermione nodded and he took the lead.

Immediately to their right was the sitting room. There was a large window which allowed the room to be filled with light. There was a fireplace along the far wall, surrounded by floor to ceiling bookshelves, filled to capacity with books. "They're all yours," Ron said, noticing her awed expression. "I reckon you've read all of them at least three times over, if not more."

He then led her to the kitchen, which was rectangular in shape and had dark wood cabinets. She noticed immediately the counters were bare, and something inside her told her that definitely was not normal. Although she could not remember anything specifically, she knew kitchens had appliances and this kitchen was seriously lacking. But, she supposed wizards did not need a variety of gadgets to make their food and drink. Shrugging it off, she turned her attention to the next room Ron was showing her. A dining room was immediately off the kitchen, and the small table made the room look much larger than it should.

"We bought this house two weeks before we got married," Ron explained. "We did not have much furniture and your parents helped us with deposit." He blushed. "Took a bit of my pride, asking for that," he admitted. Hermione did not know why, but she extended a comforting hand. "Anyway, we've slowly been working up our collection of furniture. We recently bought the couch that was in the sitting room. Next thing on the list is outfitting the dining room. It's been quite nice living in this neighborhood. Our neighbors are quiet and they don't bother us. We have four bedrooms, although it only had two when we purchased it." He smiled mischievously. "Your parents were very shocked the first time they visited after the remodel. Could not believe we had added two more bedrooms without contractors."

"We did?"

"Well, yes!" he exclaimed. "Otherwise, where would we have kept all your books?" He laughed and squeezed her hand. "Our bedroom is nice; we bought a new bedroom set last year, for your birthday. You did all the decorating, so there is no orange. I quite miss it, if I am being honest."

"Why would you miss orange?" she inquired.

"My bedroom, at home, was orange."

She looked at him in disbelief. But, then she looked at his shirt again and realized. It was all for that team of his he liked so much. "Well, I'm glad you let me chose," she said, smiling. "I don't think my eyes could have taken orange!" They both laughed and Hermione said, "Shall I see the rest of the house? I would like to see those bedrooms added with magic!"

Ron looked nervous for a moment and then said, "How about we have a cup of tea first? I'm actually really thirsty."

Hermione could not understand his erratic behavior. He had seemed very excited to have her come home. Surely he wanted to help her relive her memories. She was also a bit disappointed. She had thought coming here would help, but so far, nothing had come to her. Sighing, she nodded, following Ron back into the kitchen as he prepared tea. She watched him closely as he took out a stick and starting waving it. Immediately, a kettle began steaming and two mugs flew to him from the cabinets.

"How—how are you doing that?" she whispered.

Ron looked at her as if she had no common sense. "With my wand…" he trailed off, raising his eyebrows. When he saw how upset she looked though, he added sadly, "You really don't remember anything about our world, do you?" Hermione shook her head and Ron said, "I'll be right back."

He headed back into the sitting room, Hermione assumed, and a moment later reappeared, holding another stick.

"This is yours."

He handed her the stick and Hermione tentatively took it into her hands. She did not know what to do with it and looked at Ron in anticipation.

"Give it a wave," he urged. Feeling quite silly, Hermione took one end of the wand into her right hand. Ron stepped forward and took the wand from her, turning it over. "Like this." She could not help but send him a loathsome look for correcting her. It was bad enough that she could not remember, especially when it seemed as if she was not only very smart, but knew much more than he did.

Gripping it tightly, Hermione flicked the wand to the right. Nothing happened and Hermione narrowed her eyes at Ron. This is a trick! They have been playing me this entire time! She poised to tell him as much, flicking the wand back to the left when suddenly the two mugs Ron had retrieved shattered on the counter. Her eyes widened in fear and she dropped the wand. Ron too, seemed as if he had not expected something to break, and he slowly reached down to pick up the fallen wand.

"I—I—I—" Hermione stammered. She could not form any other words, let another complete a thought. Ron handed her the wand again.

"Let's try something a little more… structured," he suggested. He held his own wand out in front of him and said, "Lumos." Her jaw dropped when the tip of the wand was illuminated brightly. "Go on," he said, "you try."

Shaking, Hermione held out her own wand in front of her and said, "Lumos." Sure enough, a light identical to Ron's wand appeared at the tip of hers.

"Do you believe me now?" Ron asked smugly.

"Hmph," Hermione said, torn between awe and spite.

"Nox," Ron whispered and his wand went out and he nodded to Hermione to do the same. With both wands sans light, Ron summoned two more mugs and finished preparing the tea. Hermione leaned against the counter. She felt dizzy and overwhelmed, and she gripped the edge of the granite for support. Breathing deeply, she closed her eyes again.

A classroom. The curly haired girl was sitting next to a boy with bright red hair. Both had frowns upon their faces; the boy had his arms crossed tightly across his chest.

"Swish and flick, remember, swish and flick," a short man was saying at the front of the classroom.

The red haired boy sat up and held out his wand. He pointed it at a feather that sat on the table in front of him. "Windgardium Leviosa," he was shouting and he waved his arms around in large circles.

The brown haired girl, the girl from the train station, leaned up then and snapped, "You're saying it wrong! It's Wing-gar-dium Levi-o-sa."

"You do it, then, if you're so clever," the boy snarled.

The girl smiled widely and with one solid flick of her wand said, "Wingardium Leviosa!" The feather rose from the table with ease, floating about the couple's heads.

"Hermione?" She sucked in a breath—again he was interrupting her memories. But she could not be angry with him this time, for this had been a new memory, a new memory in which she was sure had contained Ron!

"Ron!" she shouted. "I saw you! I saw us!" If Ron had been holding the mugs of tea, they too, would have shattered much in the same way as the first two. His eyes grew and he opened and closed his mouth several times.

"You—you did?" he breathed.

"Yeah, I dunno where we were. A classroom maybe. At—at—"

"Hogwarts?" Ron supplied.

"Yeah, and we were young. Maybe twelve? I'm not sure. But, we were learning a spell." She tried to retrieve the memory again. "What was it? Wing-gar-something or another. I made a feather hover in the air!"

Ron's eyes lit up and he smiled knowingly. "First year," he muttered. "We were eleven."

"I don't think we liked each other much," she told him.

Ron shook his head and smirked. "No, not much."

"I could tell. You weren't doing the spell right and I corrected you."

"That happened a lot actually," Ron shared. "In fact, today might be the first time I have ever had to show you how to do a spell properly. It's been the other way around for years." He handed her the mug then and she drank from it gratefully. She had not realized she was thirsty. "Was there anything else?" he questioned.

"No. They are always so short." She thought for a moment before adding, "You kind of keep interrupting them."

"Oh. Well, it's a start, yeah?" he said hopefully. Hermione nodded in agreement. They sipped their tea in silence for several minutes before Hermione spoke.

"What do I do—at the Ministry? You said I work with magical creatures? That must be exciting!"

Ron snorted into his tea and Hermione glared. "You don't always work with them directly. You're, well, you're more of an advocate for their rights. You fight against those who treat them unfairly. You're quite good at what you do. Won several cases, actually."

"I have?"

"Yeah." He smiled proudly. "In fact, you've recently created a law to give House Elves the same rights as others who work—wages, time off, holidays. Most of them still are quite appalled by what you have done, but I think most are appreciative."

"House Elves?" Hermione asked. Ron just stared at her. Hermione repeated herself, thinking Ron had simply not heard her.

"I know what you said," Ron answered. "I guess I thought that maybe, if you remembered nothing else, you would remember the house elves. You've only been trying to get them a 'better quality life' since you were thirteen!"

"I'm sorry," Hermione whispered, although she knew she had not done anything wrong.

Ron shook his head. "No, no. I need to stop being so insensitive. Sensitivity was never my best quality," he joked. "House Elves are elves who are—were—enslaved to work in wealthy wizarding homes. They did all the basic chores and such for free and frankly were treated worse than dirt. But now, they still do all the chores, but they are paid. Mind you, it's not much, but it is an improvement."

Wow. I've done something worthwhile, Hermione thought and she laughed along with Ron.

"This isn't going to be easy, is it?" she asked after a moment, changing the mood.

Ron shook his head sadly. "No, I don't think so."

"Is there a lot?" she asked. "I mean, is there a lot that I have to remember?"

"Everything," Ron said. He took a deep breath. "It seems like basic things, everyday things, might come easy. I mean, you still can walk and talk and you know what a car is. But, we've lived such full lives. There's a lot. Too much. You have accomplished a lot, and I guess I should go ahead and tell you now, you're pretty well known in our world."

"I am?"

"We both are. Harry too."

Harry. "Harry sounds familiar."

"He should. He's a large part of our lives. He was there this morning, when you woke up. He's been our best friend since we started school. It's been the three of us for years, and he may as well have been our brother. He is now, brother-in-law, anyways," he laughed. "Married my sister five years ago. But, uh, yeah, as I was saying, we're well known and all. Our world has not always been such a great place. Years and years ago, there was a dark wizard who was determined to control the wizarding world." He stopped and said, "This is going to be an extremely short version, I'll warn you now."

Hermione nodded. She wanted a full story, but she knew it was not feasible to ask for the full story at this time.

"When Harry was a baby, he was targeted by the wizard—Voldemort—because of some prophecy. Harry's parents were killed, but because of the protection his mum had provided, Harry miraculously survived. He was hidden away for years, until it was time to come to Hogwarts. And every year, Voldemort tried to kill Harry, but every year, through some kind of dumb luck, Harry eluded him, with our help of course. Finally, in what would have been our seventh year, we went into hiding, looking for something called horcruxes—I'll explain this later too—that would help defeat Voldemort. So, all in all, the three of us, along with many, many others, defeated him once and for all."

"Wow," was all Hermione could manage.

"Mind you, like I said, that is an extremely condensed version. I told you this morning that I actually think it's more important for you to start remembering the present, rather than the future."

"I remember," she said. "But, I don't really understand. Doesn't it make more sense to build up to it? Wouldn't the old memories help the most recent?"

"I thought that too," Ron agreed, "until I talked to Dean—Healer Thomas, that is. He told me they've never quite seen a case like yours. You're kind of in the middle of the memory loss spectrum. Usually, it can be repaired because the memories were preserved, or the memories that were taken were so singular that it does not affect the person's daily life. Or, it is so severe, that you either die, or you go insane. You, well, you seemingly lost all of your memories, but somehow, you are remembering some things. You said they weren't long or detailed, but they are there. This probably isn't the correct way to go about things, but trust me, when I tell you what's so important, you'll understand."

"Well, then, what is so important?"

Ron opened his mouth to speak, but closed it again. His forehead was scrunched in thought. Finally he said, "Let's see the rest of the house."

"But—" Hermione started to protest, but Ron grabbed her hand, pulling her to her feet.

He walked her back out of the kitchen and down a hallway. He opened the first door to the left, revealing an office. It was simple, a large desk under the window, and more bookshelves filled with books. He told her this was her office, and she spent most of her evenings in this room, finalizing cases. The next room, almost directly across from it, was a nicely decorated guest room.

"These were the two original rooms," Ron explained. He then nodded further down the hallway. "There's a bathroom right there," he said, pointing to another door on the left. "And there, at the end of the hallway, is our addition."

He pulled her eagerly down the hall and opened the door. She immediately knew this had to be their bedroom. Ron had been right, no orange. It was painted a light blue color, and the bed clothes matched perfectly. Everything was nice and neat in its place. To the right of the room were two double doors, opened to reveal the master bathroom. There was a large tub that Hermione thought had to be extremely relaxing. Ron was not concerned with showing her the bathroom, instead pulling her towards a door to the left.

"This, Hermione, is why it is so important you remember the present." He hesitated for a moment before reaching for the doorknob. Time seemed to slow as he turned it and Hermione was quite nervous to see what was in that room. When he finally opened the door, she felt her knees go weak.

The walls were painted a pale yellow and circus wallpaper adorned the top of the walls. In the corner was a white crib, a mobile already hung. A rocking chair was in the opposite corner, a large teddy bear sitting on top.

"You're three months pregnant," Ron said at the same exact moment Hermione realized it. Her hand flew to her stomach. Shock overtook her body and suddenly, everything went black.

Author's Note #1 Well, I bet you weren't expecting that, were you? :) When I started this story, I knew I wanted a twist on the whole memory loss stories. I have also been toying with a baby fic, and I thought this was the perfect way to do both.

Additionally, if this story seems choppy, it's because it is. She lost her memory, and naturally there is no way possible to tell someone everything that has happened in their lives in perfect order. Things will be out of order and shortened, because obviously, there are more important things in Hermione's life than remembering her Hogwarts years.

Author's Note #2 I thought this was funny to point out, only because I know Hermione would appreciate it. While typing this chapter in MW, the sentence: "House elves are elves who are—were—enslaved to work in wealthy wizarding homes." MW wanted me to correct who to that. Merlin forbid I referred to house elves as "that." : )

Please don't forget to review! I hope everyone has a great week.