Chapter 1: Who Am I?

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Still blocking on Weaponized Cuteness. I have a few movies to watch, and I can't afford the streams. So, I'm writing a few short stories until I can.

This should be a short one, unless my muse takes over. She's been known to do that from time to time.

If you recognize it, it's not mine.

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"Hermione." She heard the voice call to her, but she didn't understand who it was. It was like it came to her from very far away. Like she was floating on the clouds, and it was coming from the ground.

"Hermione," the voice called again, and it was closer now. She was descending from her dreamlike state and coming back to reality. But who was Hermione? She gradually opened her eyes and looked into a face that she didn't know.

"Who are you?" she asked with a weak voice that she didn't recognize.

"It's me. Harry. You don't know me?" the boy said. He was a skinny boy with messy dark hair and glasses. He had a lightning-shaped scar on his forehead that was quite distinctive. There was concern on his face that was endearing.

"I don't think so," she said as she sat up on the bed. She looked around the room and noted that she was in a hospital of a sorts. It was old-fashioned, like something out of World War I. There were beds and curtains, and jars with liquids and potions everywhere, but no machines or equipment that one would find in a modern hospital.

"We've been best friends ever since our first year," the boy protested, alarm in his voice.

"First year of what?" she asked, still looking around the room trying to remember where she was. Nothing looked familiar to her.

"Of Hogwarts," Harry said, getting more and more frantic the more he talked to her. She just kept looking at him with a blank or confused face. It was as if she didn't know him or where she was. That couldn't be possible, could it? What had Malfoy done to her?

They had been running after being caught teaching the DA club and Malfoy had almost caught up to them. They ran around the corner to get away, but he had cast a spell on them and Hermione had hit her head on the wall. She had passed out and Harry had carried her to the Hospital Wing after he gave Malfoy the slip.

"What is Hogwarts?" she asked, looking at him at the unfamiliar word. That wasn't in the English dictionary. She should know, she's pretty sure she knows the entire book. For some reason, she thinks she swallowed the thing.

"Madame Pomfrey, something's wrong with Hermione!" yelled the boy named Harry, backing up a bit and calling around the curtain like he would be heard better. As if the piece of cloth would bar the sound.

"Oh dear," said the woman who came bustling in. "What's the matter, dear? All your spells came back fine. I don't understand." She started waving a stick around and muttering under her breath. She was dressed like a nurse from World War I, fitting the settings of the room. If not for Harry, Hermione would have thought she would have been transported back in time. It was ridiculous, no one could go back in time. She was in the 20th century; she was sure of this. All evidence to the contrary.

"She doesn't know what Hogwarts is," said Harry, tapping his stick on his leg. Why were they carrying sticks? Was there some significance to this?

"Oh dear," said the woman, who Hermione assumed was Madam Pomfrey. "Do you know where you are, dear?" she asked, once more waving the stick around, this time over her head. There were flashes of light and then nothing.

"No," said the girl, slowly as if she had to think about it really hard. She got a look of fright on her face and then a dawning realization that she did not know her name.

"Do you know who you are?" asked the nurse, taking her hand and checking her pulse manually.

"No," said the girl, a bit more afraid.

"Oh dear," said the woman again.

"What has happened to me?" said the young teenage girl, looking at both of the other people in the room. She had no recollection of who she was, let alone what had happened to her to wind her up in the hospital. For all she knew she wasn't in the 20th century and her memories of that was incorrect. No, that can't be right. She was sure of that much.

Harry gripped his stick so tight she feared he might break it. "You were attacked," said the teenage boy, all but spitting the words.

That didn't help her memory at all. She scrunched her brow trying to recall anything, but it was a complete blank. "Attacked by what?" she asked.

"By Malfoy," spat the boy.

"Who, or what, is a Malfoy?"

"He's one of the boys that goes to school here at Hogwarts," Harry said, trying to reconcile the fact that Hermione didn't know anything. He was too used to her knowing everything.

"You still haven't told me what a Hogwarts is," she said, tilting her head in confusion. Though going from context, she was guessing it was a school of some sort. Harry had said as much, but what kind of school was it that had a Hospital Wing like this?

"It's only the finest school of witchcraft and wizardry there is," said Madame Pomfrey, beaming proudly.

"There's no such thing as witchcraft," said Hermione, shaking her head emphatically. She was too logical of a person to believe such nonsense. If there was such a thing, science would have discovered it ages ago. She would have remembered that. Wouldn't she? She remembered all the other sciences she ever learned. Yes, she would have remembered if there was magic.

"Oh dear," said Harry, fretting over the fact that Hermione, the greatest witch of her age, didn't remember magic. This was going to complicate things.

"You are one of the best witches we have at the school," said Madame Pomfrey, patting her hand.

"That's ridiculous," said Hermione, snatching her hand away. She wouldn't be coddled into believing such nonsense. "There's no such thing as witches." She was quite certain that they were trying to trick her. To what purpose, she didn't know.

The teenage boy looked at her like she was crazy and sighed. "This is going to take some getting used to," said Harry, rubbing the scar on his forehead. "She's right, you know, you are one of the finest students the school has." He beamed at her, like she was the greatest thing since sliced bread.

"Look, I'm telling you, there's no such thing as magic," Hermione stated, trying once more for them to give up this folly. She wasn't going to believe them.

Harry sighed, knowing how stubborn the girl could be. However, it was so easy to prove, so he said, "Hermione. You've been one of the best witches that the school has seen in many years. I've seen you do magic for five years now. I wouldn't lie to you. Here's your wand, just hold it and you'll feel it yourself." He reached over, grabbed her wand off the nightstand and handed it to her.

She took the wand, and she did feel a surge of warmth go through her hand when she held it. It surged up her arm and into her heart. Sparks flew from the wand and floated onto the blanket. "Whoa," she said, enjoying the rush. "That does feel different. What can I do with this magic?" she asked, knowing that what she felt was real.

"Loads of things," said Harry, taking his own wand out and changing the blanket into a puppy.

"That's brilliant," Hermione stated, petting the puppy and believing more and more that magic was real. "Can I do that?" she asked.

Madam Pomfrey turned the dog back into a cover and said, "You can do that and more, but this is not the place. This is a place of healing."

"That still doesn't tell me who I am," the girl said with a sigh. She was still wracking her brain trying to remember her full name, where she was, or just anything about her life.

"Your name is Hermione Granger. You are a fifth-year student here at Hogwarts. You were attacked by Draco Malfoy," Harry supplied, hitting the highlights. "I'm your best friend, along with Ron Weasley."

She filed the other name away, but noted the other boy wasn't here. If he were such a good friend, he would be here with Harry. "But why was I attacked by Draco Malfoy?" she asked, hoping she wasn't a naughty student.

"We were trying to get away from him, when we were hiding from Umbridge," Harry explained, looking around the hospital wing, like they might be listened to.

Hermione noticed this and dropped her voice and asked, "Who is Umbridge?"

"She is our DADA teacher."

"What is a DADA teacher?"

"That's the Defense Against the Dark Arts."

"Oh," said Hermione, scrunching her forehead in thought. "That sounds like it's a very important class. Why were we running from her?" she asked in a whisper. She noted that Madam Pomfrey seemed to be keeping an eye on the door for them.

Harry leaned forward and got really close to her, his mouth near her ear. It tickled her to the point she almost backed off. "We were doing a secret class that we're not supposed to be doing. You see, she's not teaching us what we need to learn, so we're teaching ourselves. We're not supposed to be doing that. It was your idea," he explained in quick hushed whispers.

Hermione leaned back a bit and looked him in the face and said, "So I'm a rebel then? That doesn't sound much like me. Then again, I really wouldn't know, would I? I don't seem to remember much of anything." Her face made that scrunching motion where she tried to remember something and couldn't. It was starting to give her a headache.

"How much do you remember?" Harry asked, curiously. He'd never been around an amnesiac before. He'd only seen them on the telly, and had always wondered how much was true.

"Well, I remember the English language. I know who the Prime Minister is and the Queen of England. I know what century I'm in, but I do not know who my mother and father are. I don't know my own name. I don't know who you are. I don't know where I am. I can't remember anything of my childhood or anything of my own circumstances," she rambled on, her voice getting higher and higher with each sentence. Like she was getting more and more hysterical with each proclamation.

"That's quite common for amnesia, dear," said Madam Pomfrey, patting her on the knee. She was trying to calm her down. It wasn't quite working the way she hoped.

Harry was confused. "That doesn't make a lick of sense. How could she know who the Queen of England is but not know who her mother is?" he asked, trying to reason that one out.

"Nobody understands how amnesia works, dear. The mind is a mysterious thing, much like magic," the mediwitch stated, making a vague gesture.

Harry still looked confused. "Still, it doesn't make any sense to me," he stated, like he was trying to work it out.

Just then, a short, squat, pink dressed woman came marching into the Hospital Wing. Right behind her came a tall man wearing flamboyant orange and purple robes.

"I demand this girl be expelled immediately," said the pink woman as she stomped right up to Hermione's bed and pointed a finger at her.

"On what charges?" inquired the flamboyant man. He was tall and had a long white beard with hair to match. He looked like he was a hundred years old, if he was a day.

"She is conducting secret classes that I have banned," said the pink woman imperiously. She was smug in her accusations.

The old man ran a hand down his beard and there was a twinkle in his eyes that said he knew something no one else did. "I am sure you have proof of this, Professor Umbridge," said the flamboyant man, looking at Harry, like he was about to perform a trick.

"Professor Dumbledore, something's wrong with Hermione," said Harry right on cue.

"Oh," said the old man, still twinkling at the teenage boy like he did his job well.

Harry nodded and looked at Hermione with some pity and regret. "She's got amnesia," he said.

"She's just trying to get out of trouble," said Umbridge, glaring at Harry like it was his fault that the girl was sick.

Harry just glared back and said, "No, she's really got it. She has no idea who she is." He gripped his wand and tapped it on his leg so fast it was beating out a rhythm.

"I can vouch for that," said Madame Pomfrey, standing to her full height. "She has dissociative amnesia." She produced a report and handed it to Dumbledore to read.

"Oh dear," said Professor Dumbledore as he read the report.

"Who are you people?" asked Hermione, upset that they were getting her private medical information without her consent. She was sure that it was illegal. She knew that only her parents were supposed to get that information. Maybe she should get legal help. She wasn't sure how to go about that though. "Why are you looking at my medical reports? You are not my parents," she voiced loudly.

"Don't speak to me that way, young lady," said Umbridge, snapping at her, like a toad would a fly. She really was a vile woman.

"But I don't know who you are," protested Hermione, staring at her blankly. She didn't like this woman at all. She felt that she would never like this toad. If she could remember magic, she would turn her into the animal she resembles.

"Oh, you're just faking it to get out of trouble," said the pink woman, waving her hand dismissively.

"No, I really don't know who you are, and I don't like the way you're speaking to me. Is this the way most teachers speak to their students? If it is, I don't think I'll be staying in this school. I'm sure my parents would not approve, if I knew who my parents were. Do I even have parents?" she asked Professor Dumbledore. He seemed to be in charge of the school. Well, sort of. This Umbridge woman is trying to be in charge, but she appears to defer to Dumbledore, kind of.

"Yes, my dear, you have two very lovely parents and no, they would not approve. They are dentists," the old man stated, like he was giving her a boon.

"Dentists? Huh," Hermione said, not sure what to make of that. It was a decent enough profession, she supposed. There was money to be had in it, but to put your hands in someone's mouth all day, every day, that was just… icky.

"Yes, dear, they are dentists, and they are very lovely," said Professor Dumbledore with that twinkle in his eyes, like he was laughing at her. Could he read her mind?

"I think I would like to go home now," said Hermione, suddenly not wanting to be here around all these strangers. She didn't like the old man, the pink woman and the thought of someone attacking her. What kind of school was this?

"I do not think that this is a good time for you to leave," said the old man, running his hand down his beard in a 'I know better than you' manner. He was giving off a grandfatherly vibe, but Hermione found him creepy.

"Whyever not? I am ill," Hermione asked, pointing out the most logical thing. If a child is unwell at school, you send them home. It was simple.

"Technically you're not ill, dear," said Madame Pomfrey, fretting her hands. "You are just mentally… weakened, for lack of a better term. You are still able to attend classes," she added, looking at the headmaster.

"So, I'm to be held a prisoner here?" asked Hermione, wrinkling her brow, not liking that idea at all. Why wouldn't they let her go home? That didn't make any sense at all.

"I do not think that I like that term very much," said Professor Dumbledore, frowning. "I merely think it would be better served that you remain here," he reiterated, smiling like he had solved the problem.

"But you won't let me go home," said Hermione, returning his frown. "Therefore, I am a prisoner," she stated, folding her arms.

Dumbledore stood to his full height and looked down his crooked nose at her. "I just do not think now is the correct time," said the old man in his best authoritative tone.

"But I want to go home. I'm ill," said Hermione again.

Seeing he was getting nowhere in being bossy, he tried a different tactic. "Now dear, there is nothing wrong with you physically and you are mentally capable of going to classes. Therefore, I think you should be fine staying here," Dumbledore said, gently patting her on the hand.

"Bugger this," said Hermione, getting out of the bed and going to the chair where her clothes were. She yanked on her trousers and started putting on her shirt under her gown.

"Hermione!" said Harry completely dumbstruck. He couldn't believe she cussed and was getting dressed in front of people. That wasn't like Hermione at all.

"I think you should be expelled anyway," said Umbridge in her simpering voice that made most people cringe just hearing.

"Fine, expel me then," Hermione said, finally dressed, she pulled off the hospital gown and threw it on the bed. She picked up her wand and tucked it in her back pocket. She might need that, though she didn't know how to use it.

"Hermione, you don't mean that. You think that being expelled is the worst thing on this earth," said Harry, following her as she made her way out of the room. "You once said it was worse than death," he added with a smile.

"Did I really? I must be some sort of fuddy-duddy," said Hermione, looking up and down the hall, then back into the room at the three adults that were waiting to see what she'd do. She didn't know where to go, but Harry was there. Maybe he'd help her.

"No, you're just very studious," said Harry, putting a hand on her shoulder.

"I don't feel very studious," said Hermione, glaring at the Umbridge woman. "I feel very… rebellious."