Well heloo there all my lovely little reviewers, really you are so good to me. I know many of you asked questions along the line of 'will he remember?' and 'will they get together?' but it's only been one chapter and to give anything away at this point would be a shame. But I hope you keep reading! And enjoy!

This chapter is entirely dedicated to lotrox, who reviewed barely five minutes after I'd posted it! Cheers dears!

Harry sat staring desolately into the fire, his discarded trainers making the room look untidy. He held on his lap a scrap book, its pages lying open with the headline 'Victory' staring up at him. The actual newspaper was neatly folded and slipped into a paper envelope and stuck to the adjacent page. But it was the front page that held him captive. It held a photo of him, stood in what seemed like the aftermath of a chaotic battle, the background and foreground blurred and out of focus. Instead, the sole focus of the image was him. He didn't look at the camera, or even at the people who milled around him. He looked nowhere in particular but it was obvious that images were playing in his mind. He looked haunted, he looked disturbed, he looked horrified. He could make out the backsplash of blood across his face, the black and white image making it appear as though a school boy prank with a quill had been successful. But Harry knew what it was, was sick to his stomach to see an image of himself with Voldemorts blood smeared across his lips and tired face. If he held the paper close enough he could just about make out the tears welling up in his eyes. Harry could only just imagine what it had actually been like, the relief and sudden sense of utter freedom and joy. In a way he wondered how he was still standing.

He read the article again. Apparently the picture had been taken just after the final assault; an elite band of aurors had provided enough distraction in which Harry had taken his opportunity to strike. It detailed the scene and the initial comments from those in the area, but added that there were no official statements yet and that Harry Potter himself had been whisked away to the ministry to provide a witness statement and undergo questioning. Harry frowned at the sentence, it almost sounded as though he were guilty. Guilty of committing a crime that everyone had wanted him to commit. He had always thought that odd, how murder in any form was unacceptable and the highest punishments were laid out, yet there he was. Still a young man at twenty one, and they had expected it of him, it seemed as though he was the only one in the world who could blatantly get away with murder.

Harry's eyes scanned the picture again, and ruefully thought that in a way he was glad he'd forgotten that, judging by the look in his eyes, he had just witnessed some of the most horrifying events of his lifetime.

There was a knock at the door. Harry called for them to come in as he closed the book and placed it neatly on the coffee table. He looked up at the headmaster who had just crept through the door and closed it quietly behind him.

"How are you doing?" he asked, taking a seat on the end of the sofa.

"I'm not sure" Harry sighed, settling back against the soft arm, propping his head in his hand. He eyed the old man, "It's all a little odd… well, unexpected anyway."

Albus smiled in sympathy, "Yes, well, I'm not sure any of us would be quite at sorts if we woke up to find that several years had passed. We'll just have to hope that our options work out." He grinned again and handed Harry the jar he'd been carrying, "In the mean time, Severus has made you this. I think it's best if you drink it and then get to bed, you can never tell with these potions that mess with your mind."

Harry smiled weakly and accepted the jar, looking closely at the label, which had been written in block capitals. Harry frowned again, Snape had done that in his final year, when he'd had to take sleeping draughts to help him through the night. He'd made a snide comment about his reading skills and written out the label in bold writing. Harry hadn't had the nerve to tell the man at the time that it was actually his glasses and that he needed new lenses. It only served in Harry's mind to prove that Snape couldn't have changed that much.

"What am I going to do?" Harry asked flatly. "Where do I go from here." He looked up at Albus who was regarding him with a fondness in his eyes.

"I honestly can't say Harry. Of course you will stay here. Term is over in a week and a half, so there will be no problem cancelling your classes, and after that, we'll see where the summer takes us."

"But what about after, what happens if I still can't remember anything. I can't stay at Hogwarts!" Harry sounded desperate.

"Of course you can," Albus soothed, "I gave you the job without any need for extra qualifications, it was your experience that has proved most useful. Don't worry Harry, everything will be worked out. You're not alone." As he said this he lay his hand on Harry's head, mussing up his hair a little in a very paternal gesture. Harry smiled gratefully. "Now, I think you should drink that up, get yourself to bed, and we'll tackle things afresh in the morning. Hopefully by then Poppy will know when you'll be able to see this counsellor of yours."

He made a great deal of fuss about getting up and gathering his robes around himself before he bade Harry a good night, leaving him alone in his rooms.

Harry peered again at the jar in his hands, still suspicious of anything given to him by Snape. He walked through to the other room. His bedroom, which itself was the size of his old dormitory. His large bed was framed by a window on either side, which he was sure let in a lot of light in the evenings. Although he wasn't high up in the castle, he was on the side that fell precipitously toward the lake and as such had astounding views. Right now the moon was casting it's pale light over the nearby mountains and glassy surface of the water, it hung low in the sky indicating the late hour. He threw the jar onto the bed and pulled his t-shirt over his head, casting it into the corner of the room and undoing his jeans. He slipped under the cover and stared up at the ceiling for a moment. He hoped and prayed about the morning, wishing with all his might that somehow, in dreams he would remember, would sort this all out. He reached out with his hand and retrieved the cool jar and unscrewed the lid. He smelt the liquid experimentally, it smelt of nothing, and tasted of nothing. Harry downed the oddly slimy liquid, licking his lips and trying to get it all out of his mouth. He carelessly placed the empty vessel on the bedside table as he slumped back amongst the pillows.

Harry was glad that he followed the headmasters advice because almost as soon as he had taken it he felt a sort of numb tingling sensation rushing through his head. His eyes fluttered, just as they had earlier this evening, but this time he closed them, and slept.

IVIVIVIVI

He was disappointed the next morning to find that his mind was still as blank as the night before, although he felt a lot clearer and cognisant. The shower had helped and had given him opportunity to examine himself with more scrutiny. His body hadn't changed much but he had gained more definition and had obviously spent some time in the sun recently judging by his tan.

He'd noticed the note shoved under his door on his second perusal of his living room, hoping to somehow jog any memories. It was from the headmaster asking him to come to breakfast. He must have assumed that Harry would have been nervous about such a thing. He glanced at his watch and decided he had enough time to get ready with leisure before making his way down.

His stomach roiled as he heard the low rumble of hundreds of voices talking and gossiping over breakfast, he hung back a little unsure what to do and not wanting to draw attention to himself. He started chewing at a fingernail as he decided what to do when he heard voices behind him. He turned to see Snape and a seventh year ravenclaw speaking in hushed voices as they neared the door. Harry looked about himself but found that there was no where to go and hoped that they would just walk past. But he was in no such luck, Snape slowed his steps as he noticed Harry, his focus leaving the student who was still speaking to him.

They looked at each other, completely unsure what to say to one another. The Ravenclaw finally noticed that his teacher's attention had escaped him and tapered off, looking between the two of them.

"Um…Sir?" he asked.

Snape seemed to snap out of his daze. "Sorry, why don't you get to breakfast, come down to my office later and I'll see what I can do to help." The young boy smiled and thanked him, passing Harry and offering a polite good morning. They stood in silence for a little while.

"Are you not going in?" He asked eventually when it became aware that Harry wasn't going to.

"The headmaster invited me down," Harry replied, a little embarrassed, "But I don't…" he finished. He didn't want to reveal to Snape just how nervous he was of simply walking into a room. He stood with his eyes riveted to the floor. Any second now would come the scathing retort.

"You don't know where to go."

It was the comment that Harry had waited for, but the deliverance wasn't the one he had expected. He chanced a glance up at the man before him. He wasn't looking at him in derision or distain. Harry shook his head.

Severus considered the man before him, they way he kept his eyes lowered. It twisted at him to see Harry acting like this, it reminded him of those days when he was hated. "Maybe you should just follow me." He said, keeping all inflection from his voice. In a way Harry was grateful, that he didn't have to go in alone and that at least Snape would tell him where he was supposed to sit.

The great hall hadn't changed a bit, and for a second Harry was in his seventh year looking down along the Gryffindor table to find Ron and Hermione so that he could sit with them. His attention was grounded by a small girl, probably a second year waving at him, and beaming a smile. He smiled and waved back unsure whether his smile was genuine as he followed Snape down between two tables. He noticed that no one turned to stare at the sight of both of them together.

They reached the head table and Harry faltered, unsure where to sit. But Snape merely motioned for him to the seat next to his own. He sat down and glanced around. Professor Flitwick sat beside him on his mound of pillows tucking into a large pile of syrup covered pancakes. He'd stopped as Harry had sat down and offered a smile. "I heard about what happened," he whispered as he leaned over, mindful of the students that were seated close by, "so sorry dear boy". Harry nodded and turned to his own plate. He could see the headmaster looking at him out of the corner of his eye. He leaned forward to catch what the man had to say.

"Poppy wishes to see you after breakfast if that's okay, she's already spoken to somebody at St Mungo's this morning and she says she needs to fill you in on some details."

Harry nodded in understanding and settled back into his chair as the headmaster continued to talk with Snape. Harry felt very lonely up here, he didn't know these people and his appetite had completely escaped him. He noticed that Flitwick was eying him covertly and sullenly pulled a slice of toast onto his plate. Suddenly Harry sat up straighter his eyes wide. Hagrid! He searched around, twisting wildly in his seat to find the half giant. He looked up and down both sides of the teachers table but could find no trace of him.

"Where's Hagrid?" Harry whispered to the dwarf beside him. Flitwick looked up at him as he swallowed thickly around a large mouthful of pancakes, his eyes conveyed his surprise and then fell back to understanding. He cleared his throat.

"He's on a sabbatical." Flitwick explained, "Has been this whole year, he's on a peace keeping mission on the continent. Not sure when he'll be back really." He looked contemplatively at his plate and tucked back in leaving Harry deflated. The only friend he actually had in the place had left. Sure there were people he knew, but to him they were still his teachers, people who had a moral obligation to him. He felt isolation setting in. he was surrounded by people but he was utterly alone.

"You really should eat something."

Harry turned to look at Snape, regarding him with a cool air.

"I'm not hungry." He replied, hating the way he sounded like a petulant child.

"It won't do you any good." He responded, sounding far too much like he knew things about Harry that Harry himself didn't know.

"Yeah, well I don't feel too well. I'm sure you could understand!" he snapped. Those sitting around him stopped eating and looked at him. Except Snape, who stared resolutely at his plate. Harry felt his cheeks redden, clearly he'd done something out of the ordinary, but how was he supposed to know any better. He sighed in irritation. "I think I'll head up to the infirmary." He said shortly and scraped back the chair so he could leave, students watching as he took the side door out.

"So he doesn't remember a thing?" Flitwick asked as the door closed behind him.

"Not a thing." Severus replied, "Not a bloody thing."

Flitwick sat back wide eyed, "It just doesn't seem possible does it. To just lose everything." He looked up at Severus, "What are they going to do about it."

"I don't know," Snape replied softly, pushing the rest of his breakfast around his plate. "He'll find out today."

"Well, at least he has some good friends around him." Flitwick said, motioning towards Severus with his fork.

Severus pushed his chair back, abandoning his meal. "He lost seven years Filius." He said quietly, leaving the same way as Harry. Flitwick pondered at what he'd said, thinking back seven years and realising that Severus and Harry were far from the best of friends.

IVIVIVIVIVI

Harry sat restlessly outside the offices of Dr. Mary Aldritch, an appointment card in his hand. He had spoken to her earlier that morning through the fire and she had asked him to bring some photos and mementos from around his rooms. So he'd gone around the living room and bedroom at home placing things in a small bag hoping that with each one he put in he may find a little enlightenment on.

The office door opened and a petite blonde stuck her head round the frame.

"Harry Potter?" she enquired, looking at him. It was odd for Harry to be asked, usually people recognized him instantly, whether he wanted to or not. Maybe a lot had changed over the years. He stood and lifted his small bag of possessions with him. Her office was a modest affair, done out in warm comforting tones. The corner in which the classic psychiatrists couch sat was walled entirely with glass so that as you lay you could look out on the surrounding gardens. An illusion Harry knew, because they were in the middle of London and there was no way that a garden that size could fit any where in the surrounding district.

"Mr Potter," Dr Aldritch held out her hand which Harry shook, "Do sit down wherever you find most comfortable." She said, motioning the room. Harry chose the two facing chairs on the other side of the room, feeling a little cliché at the thought of the couch. Dr Aldritch sat down opposite. "Now do you mind if I call you Harry in our meetings?" She asked politely, Harry shook his head, "Great, and you can call me Mary if you wish, whatever makes you comfortable." Harry was still in an irritable mood and her over cheeriness was getting to him. He nodded.

"Now, the purpose of these meetings is not to over stimulate you, I understand that you've gone through some pretty deep trauma and that you have no recollection of the past few years, am I right?"

"Seven." Harry supplied, getting her facts straight.

"Seven." She repeated, making a little note on a pad of paper. "Now, I asked you this morning to bring along some personal items. Did you do this for me?" Harry nodded, and brought them out onto the table when she motioned for him to do so. "Right." she muttered slowly as she looked through the items, picking some up and looking at them assesingly. Harry felt a little embarrassed at having his personal things look at in such a criticising manner, even if he didn't know what significance they each held.

"Okay then, let's start with some objects then," she reached over the table and picked something up, "What is this?"

Harry looked at it, "It's a snitch." He replied casually. She nodded.

"Uh huh, and where do you keep it?"

"On my bookshelf."

"So what do you think it might represent?"

There were a hundred and one answers to that question, Harry thought. "I don't know, I teach quidditch, I could be the snitch from the first game I ever refereed." Dr Aldritch nodded and made another note in her book.

"But it seems as though this game may hold a lot of feelings for you, for you to keep something like this on personal display."

"Well yes," Harry muttered, almost affronted, "Playing quidditch for the first time was when I first started to feel like a wizard, it was like freedom for me. I loved the game, I still do." But this bore no relevance to the missing years, thought Harry, this was just telling himself something he already knew.

Aldritch clearly sensed Harry's tension. She made a note, "What about this?" She asked, moving on and picking something else up. It was a test tube, plain with nothing inside and a cork stop.

Harry shrugged, "I don't know what that is. I found it next to the snitch, it looked as though it had been there some time, not left, but purposely kept there, because there was no dust on it."

She made a note.

"And what do you think this means."

Harry shrugged again, "I really have no ideas." He said snappishly, "I thought this was supposed to be jogging my memories, " He asked. Dr Aldritch just smiled at him, no doubt used to people being a little demanding and upset.

"Yes," she said smoothly, "But at the moment Harry, you may as well be looking through my things and trying to make sense of them. These things take time."

Harry conceded the point and hunkered down in his chair.

They went through each item in turn, Harry listing what each item was, where he found it and what possible significance it could have in his life, after all he had a reason for keeping each and every one of them, he just had to find out why.

Next they moved on to photos, she made Harry look at each one and detail everything he could see within the picture, who was there, where he thought they were. Some were more difficult than others, there were a couple of pictures of himself and somebody he couldn't recognize for the life of him. With these he had to reasonably suppose they must be a new acquaintance or a friend of a friend, or maybe wife or husband. He looked at the photo of himself posing in his uniform, mad grin still on face. He had supposed that this was taken shortly after receiving the job, maybe taken by Ron who would have no doubt found the whole scenario very entertaining. He was asked to imagine himself in the photo, to go back and imagine himself in that pose, to feel the sun and the breeze, to imagine Ron goading him into poses. Harry smiled, entertaining the notion that he could remember, could see themselves mucking about like they had always done, could almost hear the laughter.

With each photo he was asked to place himself in the scene, to mentally look around himself as though he would if he were in a pensieve, imagine what he would be feeling at the time, would say to the people around him if he could. But with each photo they passed, with each memory that he had forgotten he grew more desolate, aching for it all to just come back. It was enough to imagine himself in these places, at these times, but he wanted to remember. He wanted to remember what had caused the scandalised look on Hermione's face, an event that had occurred out of the frame but had caused every one else to laugh. He wanted to remember how it was that Neville came to be unconscious and covered in pen and shaving cream. And more than anything, he wanted to remember what he had said to Snape in the school photo that had caused the man to bite down a smile while his picture was taken. But all of this had eluded him, and even though he tried with all his might, eyes screwed up as though it would help, none of it seemed to have the slightest inclination to come back to him.