Chimera – Harry Potter/Charmed.
The Modern Sorcerer's Memories challenge.
As a loud rapping echoed through the smallest bedroom of number four Privet Drive, the room's only inhabitant shifted slowly where he was splayed across his desk, emerald eyes slowly forcing themselves open at the noise.
Groaning slightly as the door was thrown open, Harry Potter pushed himself up off his desk with a muffled hiss, pain stabbing up his side as he turned to blink tiredly at his Aunt in confusion.
"Oh finally back are you?" Aunt Petunia demanded, her lips pursing into a thin line as she eyed Harry in disgust.
"I… I never went anywhere," Harry denied, rubbing his forehead as a headache made itself known.
"Never went anywhere? You were gone for two days!" the woman exclaimed unhappily as she stomped over and slapped a piece of paper and a pen down in front of him. "For a moment I thought that I'd have your lot breaking down my door asking where you were, now tell them you're fine and that we're feeding you alright".
"I'm not fine, and you're not feeding me alright," Harry countered automatically, pushing past the headache and scowling at his Aunt who just sneered at him in response.
"I'll bring your dinner up when it's ready," Petunia promised haltingly, sounding miserable for having to be polite to him, "And I don't know what you did to your head while you were gone," she added defensively.
"But I wasn't gone," Harry argued, scribbling down a basic 'I'm alive' note for the Order of the Phoenix that Petunia snatched from his hands immediately. "One minute I was…" faltering as he looked around his bedroom in confusion, Harry turned to see his Aunt impatiently holding the letter out for Hedwig to take. "It's fine Hedwig, you can take it," he assured the owl who barely missed Petunia's fingers with her sharp talons, "The last thing I remember was the car as Uncle Vernon drove us here," he confessed slowly.
Aunt Petunia paused mid-stride and shot him a startled look. "You got home and stomped up to your room, not even a 'Hello'," she began slowly, edging closer to the door with every word. "That night I gave you some money to go out to a diner while Vernon and I took Dudley to a school dinner at Smeltings. That was the last I saw of you until this morning where you shot upstairs like something was chasing you. Naturally I got Dudley out of the house in case more of those dementors showed up, and when we got back you were sleeping across your desk. That's all I know".
"Thank you," Harry mumbled as Petunia sniffed and left his room, hand coming up to rub his forehead again.
What was wrong with him? Had he really missed out on two days like that? And what could cause what was shaping up to be a huge black space in his memories? He wasn't being possessed was he? Because he remembered the way Ginny had described her black outs at the hands of Tom Riddles' diary, and even though Professor Dumbledore had assured him that Voldemort wouldn't dare risk possessing him again, it was enough of a valid fear that made Harry wish he'd told Hedwig to wait.
Slowly standing up, biting back a pained noise as he did so, Harry lifted his shirt carefully and flinched at the massive red burn on his side, almost looking like someone had held a torch (the burning fire kind, not the battery-powered ones) against his skin. Reaching down to touch it cautiously, he flinched at the stab of pain, wondering if he was allowed to mix together a simple burn slave during the summer or if that counted as underage magic.
Dropping his shirt as footsteps sounded on the stairway, Harry turned to the door in time to see Aunt Petunia stalking into his room with a curiously blank expression. "Don't say we don't do anything for you," she said bluntly as she set the plate in her hands down on her desk, "This meat was expensive".
Rolling his eyes at his Aunt's frugality when it came to him, Harry waited for her to leave before nervously sitting back down, flinching as his elbow brushed against his side. Stomach rumbling as he looked over the healthy scooping of mashed potatoes and the still steaming chicken drumsticks, Harry grinned sheepishly to himself when his stomach rumbled, shifting the plate closer to him slightly and freezing at the sight of something beneath it.
Hesitantly pulling the square out from under his plate and staring down at the written "REMEMBER" scrawled across it, Harry glanced over at the door. Did his Aunt leave this there? Or had this been sitting here waiting for him before and he just hadn't noticed it? Turning the napkin over, Harry blinked at the simple branding and the phone number written in tight neat numbers beneath it labelled "T.M".
Grabbing the napkin and darting for the door, Harry burst into the kitchen after vaulting over the staircase without a care in the world. "Where's 'Treats'?" he blurted, ignoring the looks on the Dursleys' faces as he interrupted their meal, "Treats?" he repeated as he moved forward to show them the napkin, "A café".
"Do I bloody well look like I know?" Uncle Vernon demanded, holding a huge chunk of chicken in his hands and glaring at Harry over it like a dog getting territorial over his bone. "Be gone boy and let us eat in peace!"
"Aunt Petunia?" Harry pressed, dismissing his Uncle and turning to show her the napkin properly.
When neither his Aunt nor his cousin stopped to even look at the napkin, Harry just stared down at the phone number written on it, wondering if he should risk his Uncle's wrath by calling it.
He wasn't going to lie, that tight feeling in his stomach wasn't just hunger and lingering tenseness from the burn on his side. Oh no… that feeling was fear, plain and simple. Harry couldn't deny that not remembering the past two days was terrifying, and if he had the chance to figure out what happened then he wasn't going to just let it pass him by. What if it had been Death Eaters or something? What if he'd learned something important and he'd been obliviated to stop him from telling other people? What if something bad happened and he was the only person who knew. What if he had done something and obliviated himself?
Turning on his heel and heading for the door, trying not to lose himself in thoughts of fear, Harry froze as his Aunt's voice rang out suddenly.
"Wait".
Glancing over his shoulder at Aunt Petunia hopefully, Harry watched as she stared down at her plate and stubbornly refused to look up at her glaring husband.
"Surbiton Station," Petunia admitted slowly, using her fork to move things around on her plate distractedly. "It's a small little café, quaint even. I think I recall Mrs Gallacher from down the street – that coloured woman – talking about her daughter getting a position as a waitress there. It's somewhere on Surbiton Station, I don't know where though".
"Thank you," Harry exhaled when it became obvious she wasn't going to say anything else. "Thank you".
"Oh don't thank me," Petunia snapped with a guilty sniff, "It's a cheap little place, here's me hoping you'll spend most nights eating there instead of bothering me to cook for you".
Message received, Aunt Petunia, message received loud and clear.
Barely pausing to detour upstairs to grab his wand, Harry was heading out the door minutes later. His Aunt seemed to believe that he'd gone to this 'Treats' place the other night to eat when they were at Smeltings, that was good enough of a reason for Harry to go check it out just in case. Once again he wished he hadn't sent Hedwig off already, he'd have preferred to have back-up for when he went after whatever caused his memory loss, but since he had no choice at the moment he'd just have to hope they weren't expecting him to come back.
Running through countless scenarios in his head for when he got there, it took Harry half the time he thought (hoped) it would to reach the right platform, glancing around nervously before approaching the café with the cheerful neon sign declaring 'Treats' hanging above the door. He'd been here before, just walking towards the small café was enough to trigger some kind of recognition in the back of his mind.
From the way the 'S' in the sign flickered between off and on every two seconds, to the blond-haired boy sitting at the counter talking to the dark-skinned girl standing behind it, Harry knew he had definitely been here before, even if he didn't remember anything else.
Pretending not to notice the way the two teenagers near the counter went silent as Harry stepped into the café, Harry looked around curiously as the girl vanished into the backroom and the boy slid off the stool.
Crack.
Cursing as he jerked away from the blond's fist, Harry clutched at his aching arm and fought the urge to reach for his wand as the boy glared at him.
"That, is for not calling me," the teenager declared with a scowl, clearly forcing himself to lower his arm as he turned and stomped over to a random table and threw himself down with an expectant look Harry's way.
"Do… do I know you?" Harry blurted awkwardly, something telling him that he did.
The boy shot him another annoyed look, "No, I just go around vanquishing demons with complete strangers," he hissed darkly, glancing over his shoulder towards the counter as he lowered his voice. "Look, I'm not even that mad you didn't call, Harry" he assured him, "I figured something came up. But did you have to wait two days before showing up here again? I thought they'd got you first!"
"Who got me first?" Harry pressed, stumbling forward to sit opposite the boy, "The demons? And who are you? Is this you?" he asked, pulling the napkin from his pocket and slapping it down between them.
"'T.M? Yeah, Tyler Michaels," the boy re-introduced with a confused look, "What's wrong with you? You're acting like-"
"Like I don't remember?" Harry interrupted, flipping the napkin over to reveal the word written there. "Because I don't," he admitted nervously, "I remember getting back from Ho- school, and then next thing I know I'm waking up in my bedroom with that, a massive burn, and an Aunt whose pissed off that I apparently went missing for two days".
Tyler just stared at Harry for a moment, looking between the messy 'Remember' and his face with a guarded look in his eyes. "What's Quidditch?" he demanded finally, "And why do you love it so much? And yes, I know what it is," Tyler added quickly, "But I'm just making sure you do".
Blinking dumbly at the other boy, it took Harry a moment to realise Tyler was making sure it was really him, just like the pamphlets the Ministry of Magic were putting out to help combat the Death Eaters. (Because pieces of paper would really stop Voldemort).
"Uh, Quidditch is a game played on broomsticks," he explained after making sure they were alone, "I'm on one of the House teams back at my school. And I love it so much because my Dad used to play, it makes me feel closer to him".
Tyler still looked a little suspicious but he relaxed back into his chair, "You really don't remember?" he asked hesitantly. When Harry shook his head, the blond just let out a sharp breath and his relaxed posture just slumped in on itself. "I wouldn't know how to begin to explain".
"Try. Please," Harry begged, desperate to figure everything out.
Tyler stared at him for a moment before shrugging, "Long story short?"
"Sure".
"Well, long story short," Tyler began carefully, "I'm a magical being who can manipulate fire, and you're some kind of witch who can vaporise demons – evil creatures who can also manipulate fire – with a wave of your hands".
Harry blinked at the blond dumbly, "I'm a what?"