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Keeping Even The Broken Promises | ||||||
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Category: Alternate Universe, Post-Hogwarts Characters:Harry/Ginny Genres: Action/Adventure, Angst, Romance Warnings: Extreme Language, Sexual Situations Rating: R Reviews: 255 Summary: It's been four years since Harry Potter woke up in a strange city, with no memory. Harry begins an unexpected journey to uncover who he is and what he's left behind. Turns out Harry has broken a lot of promises he doesn't remember making. Will he ever regain his memories? Will he ever be able to live up to any of his promises? Hitcount: Story Total: 85011; Chapter Total: 5180 Awards: View Trophy Room Author's Notes: I just want to apologize for my extended time without an update. I’ve recently graduated school forever and have started work. But I’ve finally had time to sit down and finish this chapter. These particular chapters are very difficult to write for many, many reasons and I try to dedicate as much time as possible to do them justice. It’s been interesting reading the reviews from the last few chapters—some of which I can’t really reply to without giving anything away. Regardless if you’ve made me enemy number one for the subject matter I've chosen to wrestle with, I REALLY appreciate your taking the time to write a review. I wish you all Happy Reading!!! |
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Chapter 9: Memory Loss At precisely 8:59 a.m., Harry was standing at Hermione and Ron’s fireplace to go to Ginny’s house. He stood at the fireplace, waiting for his watch to change to 9:00, all the while ignoring Ron’s teasing comments about being too eager. He’d been ready for over an hour and had been mentally preparing to meet James since waking up this morning. Although both Ron and Hermione were alternating between light, teasing comments and support, there was also an air of tension this morning. And it wasn’t just because Harry felt nervous–Ron and Hermione were tense, too, although he had no idea why. When his watch finally changed to 9:00 a.m., Harry took a breath and said goodbye to his friends. “Good luck, Harry,” Hermione called. “Give James a hug for us.” “See you, mate,” Ron added. Without looking back, Harry tossed a handful of Floo powder at his feet and called out Ginny’s address. He arrived in Ginny’s living room, which was empty, though he could hear the sounds of Ginny doing the dishes nearby. Harry swallowed his nerves and moved toward the sounds, praying that today went well. Regardless of what happened with him and his memories, he wanted and needed James to like him. And of equal importance was that Ginny see that Harry was dedicated to being a parent. He knew that there was no chance in hell that he and Ginny could have any sort of normal relationship until she could trust in his intentions. And as much as he wanted to know Ginny and be able to see her and talk to her, he accepted and respected her need to trust him first. He felt like an intruder as he walked through the living room and he wished that wizards used the door. Doorbells were a much more polite way to announce one’s self, rather than appearing in someone’s house and awkwardly wandering about until the guest found the host. Didn’t wizards know about doorbells? The uncomfortable feeling of being out of place made Harry feel heavy-hearted. He was in the presence of his family. His family. A family that he’d abandoned; a family he’d known nothing about and a family he’d ripped apart. Harry’s stomach churned uneasily at the task ahead of him. He’d been so focused on meeting James that he’d overlooked just how terrifying this was. He was damn lucky that Ginny was even giving him the time of day. Harry forced himself to follow the sound of water and dishes clattering together in the sink, his heart pounding out an irregular rhythm in his chest. He found Ginny in the kitchen, her back to him as she stood at the sink. Harry hesitated, observing her profile. Her hair hung down her back, a shiny river of red against her black blouse. She wore a beige skirt that almost reached her knees and fluffy boots on her feet. Apparently some muggle fashions did reach women here–Sam had a pair very similar to the pair Ginny wore. “Hey,” he said by way of announcing himself. Ginny was startled and peered around at him with a bit of alarm. Her expression softened slightly and she turned around, grabbing a dishtowel to dry her hands. “Good morning,” she said, looking rather nervous herself. Neither of them spoke for a very long moment so Harry took to looking around the brightly lit kitchen with the large windows and beautiful marble countertops. Hand-drawn pictures and finger paintings were stuck up on the fridge with colourful alphabet magnets. The kitchen was warm and inviting with a coat of soft yellow paint, white trim and expensive-looking paintings on the wall. Harry found himself feeling relieved that Ginny and James lived in a nice house and that they didn’t seem to have struggled financially without the husband and father present. “This is weird,” Harry finally said, shifting uncomfortably in the doorway of the kitchen. “It’s weird, isn’t it? Me being here?” Ginny sighed and nodded, raising a hand to tuck her hair behind her ear. Harry suddenly realized that their talk last night had done very little to alleviate her feelings of uneasiness. Harry suddenly worried that she’d changed her mind and that she’d sent James somewhere so he couldn’t meet him. Ginny spoke with her eyes on the dishtowel in her hands. “It’s very weird, but we have to try and get past all this awkwardness.” Harry relaxed a little at these words. James was here. Harry forced a smile, ready to agree with her. “Yes. We just need to spend time together. We need time.” Ginny met his eyes again. Her tone was cool and formal when she spoke. “Yes,” she agreed. “You and James just need to spend some time together.” Harry didn’t like the sound of that. He didn’t want to spend the rest of his life only civilly sharing their son. He wanted to make amends with Ginny, be friends, and try to make up for whatever magic had made him do or say to her. She was the better person to be able to overlook everything and let him into her house and near her son. Harry realized he probably hadn’t made it clear that spending time with Ginny was important, too. Deciding that he didn’t have much more to lose, he decided to bring it up now. “And what about you and I? I really want to get to know you, too.” Ginny pursed her lips, fidgeting with the dishtowel. “Maybe,” she said, but Harry could tell that she really wanted to give him a firm ‘no.’ “One step at a time, okay?” she continued wearily. Harry wanted to be stubborn, but her tone made him keep his mouth shut. This was hard enough for Ginny as it was and he didn’t want her to push him away. She took a breath and looked confident when she said: “Today is about you meeting James and getting you to St. Mungo’s. That’s it.” Harry nodded, trying to ignore the sting of rejection he now felt. Before he could feel sorry for himself, he reminded himself that HE was the one who had made her so distrustful and HE was the one who had been away the last four years, living with another woman. Again he felt guilt at not yet having come clean about what his life had been like for the last four years. If he wanted Ginny to trust him, he had to tell her everything. The sound of movement upstairs startled Ginny and Harry from their all-too-formal conversation, causing them both to look up sharply at the noise. She set the dishtowel down, nervously folding it and pressing it against the counter. “So, I’ll bring him down…” she took a few steps toward him and Harry awkwardly and nervously jumped back to let her pass through the doorway. Unfortunately, it looked more like he was trying to dodge a bullet, the way he moved. His stupidity brought a small smile to her lips. “Calm down, Harry,” she murmured, her voice almost teasing. His face red, he mumbled something like ‘I am calm,’ and watched her move into the hall. She hadn’t gone far before she slowed and turned again, her expression pained. Concern snapped him out of humiliation. “What is it?” Ginny looked at him evenly, her eyes boring into his. “You swear you won’t break his heart?” she asked in a whisper that was almost threatening. “Because I swear to Merlin, Harry, if you break my son’s heart, I will break you.” Harry nodded, fully believing that she would hurt him. “I swear to you,” he said as solemnly as he could. Ginny nodded and then walked determinedly to the stairs to call James downstairs. Harry stood in the doorway of the kitchen, feeling a little nauseous. This was it. He was going to meet James. And after he did, he needed to figure out how in the hell to reassure Ginny that he would never, ever hurt her or James again. What could he say to help her understand that he wasn’t taking parenthood lightly? As he looked at her standing at the foot of the stairs, her body rigid and her eyes sad, he suddenly knew what that something was. He could move back here and make a real effort to fix this family. Ginny wanted to know that he’d “be here” for his son, but that meant two very different things. Harry could be there for his son by being supportive, by calling on the phone (if they even had a phone), and using magic to visit as often as he or James liked. But he could also physically be here. He could give up everything he knew about himself–everything he’d build for himself over the last four years and be here for James and Ginny. Would she want that? Did she want him here? And more importantly, did she want him here as her husband? Legally they were married, but he doubted that Ginny saw herself as a married woman. She probably used words like “separated” when anyone asked. Aside from that moment in the Leaky Cauldron, Harry hadn’t bothered to consider what romantic attachment Ginny might still have for him. The dream he’d had where he remembered Ginny had revealed that very deep down, he still had feelings for her. He might not remember who she was and he might not have any conscious feelings for her, but what would happen today if he got his memories back? Would all of those feelings come flooding back? As he listened to the sound of his son’s feet overhead, he imagined himself really doing it–moving here and giving up the four years of identity he had. It was scary and there were so many unknowns, but he felt in his heart that that was what would really make him happy. He hadn’t even met James yet and he felt an enormous need to be with him. As terrifying as it was, he was also sure that what he wanted most was to be the person he was supposed to be: a father to James, someone with a past, present and future, and just as importantly, he wanted Ginny’s forgiveness. And maybe, just maybe, something more? James came hurtling down the stairs at the speed of an excited four-year-old and when he came into view, Harry’s heart stopped in his chest, forgetting everything. James looked exactly like the boy in the photos that Ron and Hermione had shown him, but seeing James in person still took his breath away. As the small boy noticed him and stopped at his mother’s side, Harry’s heart wanted nothing more than to fix this. To fix everything. To be here, to be a father, to be in this family. Ginny was watching him with the same sad and worried expression, but he couldn’t take his eyes off his son to try and reassure her. James didn’t seem afraid, just shy as he stood slightly behind Ginny, staring at his father curiously with the wide and unashamed stare of a child. And then Ginny moved forward, keeping one hand on James’ back in a rather protective nature as she guided him forward. “James, this is your father,” she said in a much warmer tone than she had ever used with Harry. She lowered her gaze to James and ruffled his hair lovingly. “Can you say hello?” Harry wanted to say hello, too, but his tongue wouldn’t work. He was too busy memorizing everything about the son he didn’t know. James was so small. He had thin, knobbly knees and small fingers. His hair stuck up at all angles, just like his did, though James’ hair was a few shades lighter–more brown than black. His eyes were obviously Ginny’s, but James had inherited his general facial structure. He saw his chin, his nose, and his cheeks in the little boy. What else had James gotten from him? There must be many traits, likes and dislikes that James had gotten from him. Getting to know James would be like getting to know the person he used to be. Realizing he looked like an idiot by just standing in the doorway and staring, Harry came forward a little and then after a moment, lowered himself down to James’ level. “Hello,” he finally said, unable to cope with overwhelming love for his son. His eyes were burning like he was about to cry, but he forced the tears back. James stared back unabashedly. “Hi,” he said, so quietly that Harry would have missed it if he hadn’t been kneeling down. Harry wracked his brain for something to say. “How old are you?” He knew the answer, of course, but he felt that it was a standard question to ask a kid. “Four,” James said, still in the same little voice. “Wow. You’re old now!” Harry complimented, wishing he’d written a list of things to say to James or that he’d prepared a little more for this moment. Kids were shy and hesitant with strangers–he’d have to do most of the talking. The ghost of a smile flashed across James’ face at the compliment. Harry reveled in the interaction, desperate to see James smile more and hear him talk more, too. A moment of silence passed before James spoke again, looking even a little excited. “Mummy says that you don’t have any mem’ries,” James said, shifting his small body restlessly. Harry was pleased by James’ willingness to speak to him. Most kids that he met were very quiet and reserved around strangers. It was nice that James was only four and making a little conversation. Then again, if he had inherited his temper, it might not be a surprise that James was brave and outspoken. “No, I don’t. But I’m learning about everything.” He glanced at Ginny before adding, “and if it’s okay with you, I’m going to stay a while and work on my memories?” He could feel Ginny’s eyes boring into him, her doubt silently challenging him on this question. It made Harry sad that she felt the need to be so protective. James nodded his consent, looking at Harry curiously. There was no sign that James was happy about Harry staying, but that didn’t matter to Harry. “And your Daddy is going to St. Mungo’s today to see a healer,” Ginny chimed in, her voice calm as if there was no doubt or uneasiness in her mind. James thought about this for a moment. “Like when Uncle Ron’s hair grew really long?” James asked his mother. Ginny smiled at whatever memory James was referring to. “Yes, he’s going to St. Mungo’s, just like Uncle Ron.” She glanced at Harry and then back at her son. “How about we go show your Dad all your toys? I think he’d like that, wouldn’t you, Harry?” “Yes, please!” Harry inserted quickly, smiling hopefully at James. James just nodded and then scampered up the stairs to his room. Harry and Ginny watched him go, the awkwardness between them filling up the small space of the hall now that James was gone. “He’s amazing,” Harry told Ginny in wonder, feeling so good he felt he was flying. “I just can’t believe any of this. I mean, I know he’s my son and that I love him already, but this is…” he trailed off, shaking his head in disbelief. “Thank you. I know you probably want to use that wand of yours to hurt me, but really… thank you.” Harry was surprised when Ginny smiled a small smile. “Look, as weird as this feels, I am happy that you want to be here.” She hesitated and then sighed, looking a little defeated before she reached out and placed a light hand on his shoulder. “Actually… I’m happy that you’re here.” The sincerity in her voice startled him into forgetting what he wanted to say next. The feeling of her hand on her shoulder felt weird–but good weird. It was the same sort of feeling he’d gotten at the Leaky Cauldron. They stood like that for a long moment, all the pain and distrust gone for now. “But you don’t trust me,” Harry finally said quietly. His voice wasn’t accusing, just stating a fact. Realizing she still was touching him, she dropped her hand quickly and shook her head, her expression sad and a little reluctant. “No. Not when James is involved…” At the mention of James, Ginny glanced upstairs and then gestured that they should go up. Harry followed slowly, but when she got halfway up the stairs, he called after her. “I’ll stay here,” Harry told her seriously. “I’ll do whatever I have to get you to trust me; I’d do anything to clean up the mess I made.” Ginny stared at him from her spot on the stairs, her expression closed. Harry wasn’t sure what she was thinking and that scared him a little. He realized that this woman had the power to ruin him. She could shut him out and keep him from James. She didn’t ever seem to say much, but what she didn’t say spoke volumes. Finally, she fully turned on the stairs to look directly at him. “Harry, one step at a time, okay?” she repeated calmly, her eyes beseeching him. “Please.” Fine… that was fine. He’d convince her after this. Again, he felt a little hurt that she was so resistant to that topic. He wondered what he’d expected her reaction to be. Had he thought she’d be excited? Relieved? He knew the “we’ll discuss this later,” conversation was really code for “we’ll talk about it later, but no.” If Ginny had her way, he’d never get any closer to his family. The sting of rejection made him feel even more determined to make Ginny trust him again. James was everything to him now–if his thoughts had been focused on James before, it was nothing to his heart’s sincerity now that he’d actually seen James. If he lost everything–Sam, his old life, the four years’ worth of identity that he had, it would be worth it to be able to see James every day and to earn Ginny’s trust and friendship. He now realized that he’d been an idiot to not see Ginny as such an intricate part of being around James. As he followed Ginny to James’ room, he wondered if she could ever truly forgive him. He had to hope that there was a chance he could fix it–or that St. Mungo’s could fix him. He had to believe that somehow things would be okay. This could not be how the rest of his life was going to be… If everything Dean, Ron and Hermione had told him was true– about him living a life that was constantly threatened and tainted by dark events–didn’t he deserve a happy ending? Weren’t stories supposed to end with some final line about all being well with the life of the main character? Harry didn’t have much time to feel disheartened because it was a short walk to James’ room. James was waiting for Harry, standing beside a large black and red toy chest. Ginny went in, praising James for having cleaned up like she’d asked. The room was painted a bright blue and looked pretty tidy for kid’s room. Granted, it probably wasn’t up to the standards he’d promised Ginny, but it was clean. The room was brightly lit and the large windows looked out into the backyard. There was a large bookshelf with messy stacks of books, toys and colourful framed photos. The closet door was open and Harry could see a pile of clothes and a few odd toys peeking out from the crack. The bed was haphazardly made with a fluffy red and white comforter, but the pillow was out of place, as if it had been tossed on the bed in a hurry. “This is a nice room,” Harry told James cheerily. “Thanks,” James said, avoiding Harry’s gaze and turning to open his toy chest. “What are you going to show your Dad?” Ginny asked, moving to sit on the bed to watch. Harry felt out of place again, but then decidedly sat on the floor near the toy chest. He didn’t know much about children, but he knew it was always good to get on their level. It made him seem more interested and far less intimidating. James was digging for toys, his little feet dangling off the floor as he leaned into the chest. “Do you like dragons?” he asked Harry, his voice a bit muffled. Harry smiled at being addressed directly and edged closer. “Yeah. I love dragons! Do you have a dragon in there?” He was only partly serious–even if magical children did have pet dragons, he was sure that Ginny wouldn’t let their son play with anything dangerous. James glanced back at him, looking pleased. He continued rummaging around in the chest. “What’s your favourite kind of dragon?” Kind of dragon? Harry could name several species of dinosaurs, but he didn’t know anything about dragons. “I like the ones that breathe fire,” Harry replied, deciding that he should probably like scary, manly dragons. And fire-breathing dragons sounded like a safe answer. James pulled out several miniature dragons and set them on the floor. Harry’s jaw dropped when the seemingly plastic dragons stretched, wiggled their little tails and growled at each other. James lined them up before sitting down across from Harry, watching his father’s reaction. “This one is a Welsh green,” James told him, pointing at the first dragon in the row. “Uncle Charlie says they likes to eat sheep!” The Welsh Green eyed Harry evilly, extending its wings like it was trying to seem bigger than it was. James pointed to another dragon. “And that one is a Chinese Fireball. He kinda looks like a lion; that’s how you know his kind.” The Chinese Fireball let out a small, but ferocious roar toward another dragon in the row. “Do these dragons bite?” Harry asked James worriedly as one of the other dragons growled at him, stalking toward his hand as if it were a piece of meat. James grinned, delighting in the needless viciousness of his toys. “Yep. But it doesn’t hurt. Well, one time, I bleeded because my um–” he frowned in concentration. “my Peru.. Peruvian Vipertooth bited my finger and it hurt a lot.” “James had accidentally kicked him down the stairs,” Ginny added matter-of-factly. Harry wondered at the dragons’ ability to feel and seek revenge. What kinds of toys did magical kids play with? It was like that movie Toy Story… James picked up a copper-coloured dragon that looked smaller than the rest. “This is my Vipertooth. They eat people!” Harry tried not to look distressed at James’ fascination with a dragon that ate people. “Uncle Charlie is gonna to let me see one when I’m bigger.” Harry snuck a glance at Ginny and was relieved when she shook her head firmly no. Smiling not only with relief, but with amusement, he turned his attention back to James. “Your Uncle Charlie likes dragons, too?” Harry asked. “Uncle Charlie works with dragons!” James corrected him matter-of-factly. “Oh! Mummy told me you battled this dragon!” One of the dragons had taken flight about five inches off the ground and James snatched it out of the air. The dragon gave a small, yet almighty roar as James held it out for Harry to see. The dragon did not look happy to be captured and it snapped its jaws and wriggled in James’ grip to be freed. “What kind of dragon is this?” When the dragon began trying to bite James’ hand, James adjusted his grip and took the toy dragon by its tail and shook it a little, like it was a dead mouse instead of a pissed off dragon. “His tail is spiky. He’s a Hungry Horntail!” “Hungry?” Harry asked with a laugh. “Hungarian Horntail, luv,” Ginny corrected. “That’s what I said!” James replied, setting the poor Horntail down. “You don’t ’member him?” James asked sadly, watching the Hungarian Horntail butt his spiked head against the Welsh Green. Harry tried not to imagine how furious, dangerous and terrifying the real thing was. Even in toy form, this dragon seemed far more vicious than the others and was clearly the bully of the toy chest. “No, but I don’t think I want to remember him. He looks scary!” James grinned again, delighted that something so terrifying really existed. “Yeah. They breathe fire and stuff.” Once the subject of dragons had been exhausted, James went on to show Harry various other toys in his toy box, intermittently answering random questions that Harry asked him, such as his favorite colour and what he liked to do for fun. James had taken all of about fifteen minutes to warm up to Harry. Now he asked questions, made comments and even laughed a few times. Harry was delighted at how well this was going. And, what made it better, was the look on Ginny’s face when James became chatty and inquisitive. It seemed to ease Ginny’s worries that James was warming up to his father. And if James wanted to be around Harry, too, it might make it easier for Ginny to let that happen. “Do you play Quidditch, Mr. Harry?” James asked, digging around in his messy closet. He pulled out a plastic broom that was only a little bigger than James himself. “No,” Harry told him, wondering at how James had decided on calling him this. He was dying to hear James call him “Dad” or “Daddy. “Do you play?” James looked sad for a moment as he clutched his broom. “I’m not big enough yet. I get a big kid’s broom when I’m big enough to ride it,” he told Harry morosely. “This is a toy broom for little kids. But I’m gonna be a good flyer–just like Mummy and you.” “I was a good flyer?” Harry asked James, pleased to hear that his son had heard some good things about him over the years. He was still a little worried about just how much James knew about the scandal or how much trash talk he had been exposed to these last few years. “You played seeker for Gryffindor!” James told him. “I’m gonna be a Gryffindor, too.” “Can you fly that broom?” “Yep. I fly as good as Mummy, right?” James asked, throwing an excited look over at his mother. Ginny smiled affectionately, even looking a little proud. “Yeah, you’re a pro!” she praised him. “You’ll have to teach me,” Harry told James. “Yeah, because you were a seeker and I’m gonna be a seeker, too!” James announced, getting on his broom. The broom slowly levitated a few feet in the air, just high enough so that his toes dangled above the carpet. Harry’s heart ached with happiness. Had he just heard him right? James wanted to be a seeker, just like he used to be? It was a silly little thing, but it still made Harry feel very proud. James wanted to be like him? Around eleven, Ginny excused herself to go make lunch. She’d been fairly quiet the whole time and when she made to leave, Harry wasn’t sure if he should follow Ginny or stay with James. Ginny noticed him hesitating about whether or not to stand, but she motioned that he should stay. Harry did, surprised that she was giving him time to be alone with James. Harry ended up playing some game with an assortment of plastic toys, most of which moved or made noises. Unlike engaging in playtime with regular kids, the toys made Harry ten times more interested in make-believe than he expected himself to be. It was startling when James’ set of racecars actually raced around the room, treating the bedroom like a Daytona 500 track, including one spin-out and a few crashes. James had three Auror action figures who always fought bad guys. And by fought, they seemed to play hide-and-seek where James would tell the bad guys to hide and the Aurors would hunt them out and put them in a plastic jail. The bad guys were toy monsters or sometimes dragons. Harry was instructed to take the part of two Aurors and he did so, smiling whenever James’ imagination got really creative or his dialogue too cute. He felt a little weird giving instructions to toys, but they always did his bidding and the games were actually really entertaining. Regular kids didn’t know what they were missing. As he played with James, he realized that he didn’t want to leave for St. Mungo’s–he didn’t want this time to end. Actually, he didn’t want to leave this house at all. But he would have to, not only because St. Mungo’s might be the answer to his memory loss, but because Ginny would make him leave. It made his heart ache to think about sleeping alone in his own house, while his family was here, happy and together. Before these thoughts could get in the way of playtime, Ginny called them both down for lunch. As she set the table, Harry knew that Ginny was watching him carefully. He felt as if Ginny was judging him and the way he acted with James. It was like she was waiting for him to do something wrong so she could tell him to leave on the grounds that he’d broken his promise. Then again, maybe she was waiting for him to do something wrong because she was surprised at how well things were going. This option depressed him a little less, so he chose to believe it. Lunch was a quiet affair, though James kept up chatter between mouthfuls of pasta. His little feet swung back and forth from his chair and he often had to be reminded by Ginny not to talk with his mouth full. Harry noticed that James was pretty good with manners. He also noted that whenever he got excited about something, he’d stammer a little and talk so fast that it was hard to understand him. Ginny didn’t seem to have much trouble interpreting, but Harry longed to have the same fluency one day soon. Harry found out from James that he attended a private daycare for magical kids and that his favorite activities were painting, snack break and recess. He also had a best friend named Mike S. (there was a Mike V. but he wasn’t very nice). He was excited to go to nursery school next year, because it meant ‘real school’ and the sooner he got to go to ‘real’ school, the sooner he could go to Hogwarts. After lunch, Harry and James took the toy broom outside and played with it in the yard. It turned out that James was pretty good at flying. Although the broom didn’t go very high, James was good at turning, stopping, and his favorite activity: doing donuts. James talked about Quidditch pretty knowledgably for a little kid and told him about Ginny’s team (all girls and no boys allowed!). Being a sports journalist, Harry wished that James knew about regular sports so that they could have something else to bond over. James thought the idea of a sport that only involved one ball and no flying was absolutely boring. All too soon, Ginny came to tell them that Harry had to go for his appointment. Harry tried not to look as disappointed as James so blatantly did. Instead, he smiled bravely and told James that he would come back to play again. “Can I go, too?” James pleaded to his mother as he raced inside, broom in hand. Ginny ruffled his hair affectionately. “Jamie, Grandma was all excited about your visit! She’s made cookies and everything!” Harry could see that James’ resolve to accompany them to St. Mungo’s was quickly disappearing with the promise of cookies. James sighed but nodded, dutifully marching toward the fireplace. Ginny gestured that Harry should follow. “Ready?” she asked him. “Not really. I hate hospitals,” Harry admitted, following after James. “Don’t worry… this isn’t your average hospital,” Ginny promised him, though Harry couldn’t tell by her tone if this was a good thing or a bad thing. “How do you mean?” “Oh, you know… muggle hospitals don’t treat people for the types of injuries we get. You know, spells gone bad, dragon bites,” she smiled and Harry wasn’t sure if she was kidding or not. Harry remembered his concerns. “He doesn’t go hang out with real dragons, does he? This Uncle Charlie doesn’t take him to a zoo for dragons?” “No!” Ginny laughed. “Why would you think that?” “Just checking… I mean, apparently I did a lot of stupid and dangerous things as a kid and I just wanted to make sure that James wasn’t doing anything dangerous…” Ginny smirked and shook her head. “I do take care of him. And no, Harry. James has not inherited your talent for getting into trouble.” She paused and made a face. “Yet…” Harry chuckled at her joke, feeling a little more relaxed. These little moments where she acted at ease with him made him feel… good. Much like hanging out with Ron and Hermione, he found there was a natural rhythm that came easy. It was very comforting to think that after four years and despite what had happened, they could still get along. Well, sometimes. James was waiting at the fireplace for them. Ginny handed James the jaw of powder and waited while he took a handful. “Are you gonna come back after you get fixed up, Mr. Harry?” James asked, looking up at him with big eyes. Harry smiled back and nodded. “You bet. See you later, James.” Satisfied with the answer, James went into the grate. “See you!” James tossed the powder at his feet and called out “The Burrow!” Harry watched him disappear in a whirl of green flames, feeling a little strange about letting James go by himself. “Don’t you worry about him ending up in the wrong fireplace?” Harry asked, unable to stop himself from voicing his concern. He was amazed at how quickly he was turning into a worried parent. Amazed, but pleased. Ginny held up a hand, her eyes on the fireplace. Harry followed her gaze and waited for whatever it was she was waiting for. Quite suddenly, the fireplace burst into flames again and the face of Molly Weasley appeared. “He’s here, Ginny!” “Thanks, Mum.” Molly noticed Harry and she smiled warmly. “Good luck at St. Mungo’s, Harry!” “Thank you.” And with that, Molly’s head disappeared. Ginny held out the jar toward him, her eyebrows raised. “She knows you’re back?” Harry nodded and quickly explained about her parents coming over last night. For some reason, Ginny didn’t seem pleased about this piece of news, or about the invitation to a family dinner. “What’s wrong with that?” Harry asked curiously. Ginny grimaced but all she said was: “You don’t remember how chaotic my family is.” “Maybe after this appointment I will,” Harry said dryly, hoping to make her smile again. But Ginny didn’t smile. Instead she just looked at him, her expression conflicted once more. “Yeah,” she said distractedly. Ginny walked directly into the fireplace and after calling out her destination, disappeared. Harry followed after, feeling like an idiot again. It was almost amazing how Ginny had the power to make him feel stupid, even by something as little as not smiling when he wanted her to. One moment it was as if they were friends and then the next, she was back to being awkward, uncomfortable, and anxious. When Harry appeared at St. Mungo’s hospital, he forgot about all of this and found himself in a place that was different from the hospitals he’d visited. St. Mungo’s was an extremely odd place. As they walked toward the receptionist, Ginny chattered uncomfortably, explaining that in the wizarding world, they had “healers” instead of “doctors” and that they used potions and magic instead of pills and needles. At first, Harry thought she was uncomfortable about being with him, but it took all of about fifteen seconds to realize that many people were staring, pointing and whispering. Harry tried his best to focus on what Ginny was saying, trying to ignore the amount of curious eyes on them. “Do they have a lot of success at St. Mungo’s?” Harry asked, feeling hopeful. “Depends on what ails you. But yes, I suppose they do have more success than muggle hospitals.” It was a good thing that Ginny was so chatty and that there was so much to look at in St. Mungo’s because it kept his mind from dwelling on the what-ifs about treatment. Harry was embarrassed and guilty when two people, on separate occasions, loudly exclaimed: “It’s HARRY POTTER!” Even Ginny had trouble keeping up a conversation after that. Still, the distractions were good. The sick in St. Mungo’s were very different from those you might see in a muggle Emergency Room. Many of the patients seemed to be suffering from strange ailments and conditions that Harry never would have dreamt up. No one seemed to have the flu and no one was holding broken or dislocated limbs. There were no paramedics wheeling in gurneys and no concerned parents holding crying children. One young man was sitting in a chair, clutching a handful of hay. Every few seconds, he would take a large bite of hay and chew it slowly, much like a cow. When he started mooing, Harry looked away before he could laugh. One woman was turning a vivid orange on her arms, her chest, and her neck. Another older woman was hiccoughing loudly and so hard that she kept popping several inches off her seat. One man had a bucket on his head, but was having a lively conversation with his friend. And another young girl’s legs were fused together in a way that suspiciously resembled a mermaid. Ginny seemed to see where he was looking. “Partial transfiguration. She probably can’t change it back.” “This is strange,” Harry said as they waited to be helped by the receptionist. “So where are the normal people with the broken arms and all the sick kids?” Ginny had been looking very uncomfortable again, but seemed to relax at the question. Maybe she needed a distraction just as badly as he needed one. “That’s simple stuff that most witches and wizards can cure at home. People come to St. Mungo’s for much more serious magical injuries and illnesses, like curses, jinxes, poisonous plants and attacks by dangerous creatures.” Ginny led him to the front desk where she signed him in with a grumpy-looking wizard, who told them to head up to the fourth floor. Harry did a double-take at the hospital floor plan, realizing that Ginny was right about what people came to St. Mungo’s for. If regular people had this sort of home-health care available, the government could invest more money into things like cancer research. They took an old-fashioned metal lift up to the fourth floor with a gentleman who was wheeling his son on a dolly. The man’s son seemed to be immobilized or frozen solid. Harry tried not to stare, but he was curious and he found it hard not to keep looking at the poor kid. “You got kids?” the man barked toward Harry and Ginny. “A son,” Ginny replied calmly, though she looked as if she wished he wasn’t speaking to her. The man grumbled under his breath. “The problem is when you have two boys. This is the third time this year I’m bringing one of mine to this floor for a hex-gone-wrong. Unbelievable!” “What’s wrong with him?” Harry asked before he could help himself. The man looked at Harry as if he were quite daft. “Leg-locker curse. What’s it look like?” He shook his head as the lift’s gates opened and the man pushed his son out and down the hall. “Leg-locker curse?” Harry asked Ginny curiously. “It immobilizes you, but it’s a pretty simple curse. I’ve never seen it done wrong before.” On the fourth floor, there was another desk where Ginny led Harry. The witch working this desk told them to wait in room 415 and that a healer would be with them shortly. There was less to look at up here and the floor was a lot quieter than downstairs. Unfortunately, the silence gave him time to think, or more specifically, to worry. As they walked down the long and winding hallway, Ginny began to look more nervous, too. He was desperate to know what she was thinking and why she was so nervous. There were fewer people up here to notice them, so very people were staring or pointing. “Here it is,” Ginny said with undisguised relief as they reached room 415. She opened the door for him and gestured for him to enter. Harry hesitated at the door, suddenly very depressed to be back in a hospital. Seriously, how many times did he need to visit one before he’d had enough bad luck? Harry shut the door behind them and took a seat at one of the three chairs in the small room. There wasn’t much in here except for the chairs, a single bed and a large cupboard with lots of shelves and drawers of different sizes. Sitting next to Ginny, he watched as one of her legs began to jiggle nervously. He waited several seconds before finally getting up the nerve to ask what was bugging her. “You seem nervous,” Harry said, trying to sound calmer than he felt. Ginny bit her lip and shrugged, trying to seem nonchalant. “A little.” “It’d be nice if this whole memory loss thing was behind us,” Harry agreed sadly. “So we can start moving on.” “Memory charms can be difficult,” she said, her voice soft. “I mean… they’ve got a whole ward for people who have had their brains affected by powerful memory charms and who don’t have hope of recovery.” Harry stared in horror. “I don’t think I need to be taken to any special ward. I’m fine aside from the fact that I can’t remember anything about my life, you, or my friends.” He hadn’t meant to sound offended or act insulted, but his nerves were really getting to him. Ginny immediately looked guilty for having said this. “Harry, I’m sorry,” she said, her voice heavy. “I didn’t mean to say that there’s anything wrong with your brain. I only meant that memory charms can be really complicated. But don’t worry… it’ll work itself out.” Harry searched her expression desperately. He couldn’t wait for a day when he wasn’t walking on eggshells and when he would know what to say to her. It was hard to imagine that Ginny had once been someone he’d loved and cared for when she spent so much of her energy being suspicious of him and not saying what she was really thinking. “But how do you know? What if this is it for me? What if I was meant to live like this?” “Harry, you weren’t destined for this,” she disagreed. “Maybe I was. You, Ron, Hermione… none of you are one hundred percent confident in St. Mungo’s being able to get my memories back. There is a real possibility that I’ll never get better, isn’t there?” “Harry, it’ll be okay,” Ginny said calmly, but she still looked concerned. Why couldn’t she just be honest with him? Well, he knew why but he didn’t know how to repair the damage that had been done. At this rate, he wasn’t sure that Ginny would ever forgive him. “I wish people would stop sugar-coating everything,” he sighed. “I can handle the truth. I’ve come through a lot and I came here to find out who I am. I’m ready for anything.” Ginny looked at him, seeming to debate whether or not she wanted to tell him the truth–whatever that may be. Harry ran a frustrated hand through his hair and stared at the opposite wall, his anxiety about today, about hospitals, and his general discomfort about this whole trip so far was really working on his nerves. “The last four years of not knowing where I belong and never really feeling at home, have really sucked. When I found out that I had a home here, I had hope for the first time that I could really be happy with my life. But I don’t feel at home here, either. I don’t belong in New York and I sure as hell don’t belong here.” Ginny was looking at him with such pity that he started to remember where he was and that others could probably hear him. He didn’t want to make a scene and risk ending up in the newspapers again. Ginny reached out and put her hand on his shoulder as she had earlier. “I just… I need this to work,” he muttered, embarrassed that he’d just had another pity-party. Ginny didn’t need to hear about his problems–she’d had her own over the years, thanks to him. He needed to calm down. He really hated hospitals. “You were meant for so much more,” Ginny said quietly. “You’ve come through so many terrible things that it’s impossible that this is how your life was meant to be. Have faith, Harry.” She removed her hand after a moment and went back to folding her arms tightly across her chest. Harry watched her for a moment, studying her profile. “Thank you,” he told her, really meaning it. “I know it must be hard for you to be near me and to be nice to me.” He actually laughed at the truth of these words, which made her smile sadly in return. “Harry, in spite of everything… you know that I want to be here with you, right? That I want you to get better?” At this moment, Harry felt like he was really talking to Ginny. He could hear the sincerity in her words and see it in her eyes. He felt like he was having a real conversation with someone who cared about him, and who was speaking the whole truth and not hiding what she really wanted to say. Harry wanted to tell her how much it meant to him that she’d come here with him. Ginny was so strong and such a wonderful person–he was very, very lucky. Just then his cellphone began to vibrate in his pocket and when it didn’t stop, he realized someone was calling him. He pulled it out and glanced at the caller ID, trying not to grimace to see Sam’s name on the screen. He pressed the button to ignore the call, slipping his phone back in his pocket quickly. “Your girlfriend?” Ginny guessed, her voice soft. He glanced at her in surprise, but found that she didn’t look upset or angry, or even that she was hiding either of these emotions. “Yeah.” His surprise must have been really obvious on his face because she explained: “Hermione told me this morning.” Harry’s mind tried to pinpoint at what point Hermione had spoken to Ginny and he guessed it was when he was showering. Harry wasn’t sure if he was mad at Hermione for telling Ginny before he could, or if he was relieved. “It’s okay, you know,” Ginny added, noticing his expression. She even offered him a small, teasing smile as she nudged him with her elbow. “It’s been four years, Harry. I didn’t expect you to become a monk. I figured you’d moved on with your life, just as I did.” For some reason, her nonchalance irked him. It wasn’t like he left voluntarily. Didn’t she care at all? And what did she mean by moving on? Was she seeing someone? “I’m really sorry, Ginny.” “It’s okay, Harry.” But it didn’t feel okay at all. “No, I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner. This is just all so messed up–I don’t cheat. If I’d known I was married–if I’d known I had a wife I loved and a son, I would never have stayed away.” Ginny waved away his apology, starting to look uncomfortable again. “Don’t worry, I know.” Harry looked at her for a long time, trying to figure out how she really felt. He wanted her to yell at him or lecture him or something. Yelling was better than her just being okay with the fact that her husband was living with another woman. “You’re really not upset? I feel like you deserve to be upset.” Ginny looked at him with a bemused expression before shrugging her slender shoulders. “What’s the point? It’s not like it surprises me… and it’s been four years. Besides, raising James has kept me busy. Being a mum comes first.” One part of him hated that he was arguing with her about this, but the other part felt guilty about getting off too easily. “But we’re married!” Harry protested. “And I’ve been seeing someone, living with someone… and all this time I’ve been married to you and we have a child together? You should definitely be angry with me. Hit me or something. Hard… maybe it’ll help get my memories back.” “If Ron couldn’t knock your memories back into you, I doubt I could,” Ginny replied wryly. He couldn’t believe that she wasn’t demanding to know what he was going to do about this situation. Unlike Sam, Ginny didn’t seem to care and she wasn’t asking him to keep his wedding vows. But instead of acting upset, she was curious. “Hermione says that she knows about me and James?” Harry swallowed his confusion, reminding himself that this was not the time or place to have a lengthy conversation about right and wrong. “Yeah, she knows.” Ginny smiled slightly and folded her legs, still looking rather relaxed. Harry stared at her, perplexed about her reaction and frustrated that he couldn’t read her. Was she always this difficult to read? Had the old Harry been able to figure out her thought process and read her emotions? “I bet she’s not happy,” Ginny said darkly. “I don’t blame her. None of this is fair. And it’s certainly not fair for your girlfriend. Whoever did this to you has fucked up a lot of lives…” Harry was startled to hear her curse like that–so casually, yet sincerely. He also noted that when she used the word “girlfriend” there was no hint of bitterness or jealousy. “She must be worried about you… why didn’t you answer your phone?” Harry tried not to let his guilt show. He didn’t exactly want to admit to Ginny just how afraid he was about talking to Sam. The next conversation he had with her had to be one where he ended things. He didn’t want to pretend or lie to her anymore than he already had. “I dunno. We’re here… waiting to see a healer… I’ll talk to her later.” He was a coward and he knew it, but as Ginny said, ‘one step at a time.’ They were at St. Mungo’s and right now was not the time to deal with the Sam-issue. “Don’t make her wait too long, Harry,” Ginny told him gently. “If I were her, I’d be going crazy not knowing what was going on. And if she knows about me and James, I’m sure she’s not too thrilled about you being around me…” Didn’t Ginny understand before when he said he was going to stay here? Didn’t she understand that as terrible as he felt about Sam and about this whole situation, that he had already made up his mind? His delaying of talking to Sam was only delaying a break-up–not a reconciliation, or to fill her in about what was going on. “Ginny, I meant what I said,” Harry told her quickly. “When?” Harry had a feeling she knew exactly what he was talking about, but wanted to avoid the issue. But before Harry could elaborate, the door opened and Harry and Ginny both stared at the healer who entered the room. The healer was a middle-aged woman with mousy brown hair that was pulled back into a neat ponytail. She was dressed in strange lime green robes and she had a kindly face. Ginny sat up straighter and folded her hands in her lap, very carefully shifting her whole body away from Harry. Harry wondered at Ginny’s change in attitude, trying to imagine a time she wouldn’t shift away from him or act defensive or distant in the presence of others. He thought it might be because her relationship with him had been smeared across the wizarding world in a scandal fit for Hollywood tabloids. Ginny probably wanted to keep a low profile. “Harry Potter?” the woman asked, her eyes scanning a chart in her hand before she looked at Harry with a polite smile. Harry stared, wondering why healers didn’t wear white, like normal doctors. Why lime green? It was such a terrible colour–not at all reassuring. The healer held out her hand politely. “Hello, my name is Miranda Goffick. I see from your chart that you’ve been exposed to some powerful memory charms?” “Yes,” Harry responded, hoping he didn’t look as nervous as he felt. Miranda nodded and took out a quill from her pocket, jotting something down on his chart. She took a seat across from Harry and Ginny, her quill ready to take notes “Well, why don’t you tell me the story right from the beginning. Please remember to include any odd side effects, including any partial transfigurations, loss of consciousness, any strange or erratic behaviour, and/or severe cases of accidental magic.” Trying not to let himself think about being partial transfigured, he told the healer everything, including his previous head injury and how he came to be here. When he was finished, Miranda went over to the cabinet and began pulling out various phials and a very tall, white goblet with measurement markings all over it. She mixed several of the phials together, stirred it with a wave of her hand and then brought it back over. She sat down again, setting the cup down on the desk. “And Mrs. Potter, could you explain to me what Mr. Potter was like when he left?” Harry turned to look at Ginny, curious to hear himself. He already knew that he had said mean things, but he was curious to hear how he had acted. He especially wanted to know why Ginny had been sure he had willingly left in the first place. Harry was still a little hurt that Ginny hadn’t questioned his desire to leave, no matter what things he’d said to her. He imagined that true love should have mean never giving up on the other person. “The week before he left, Harry was coming home and acting oddly–he was reserved, tired, and unwilling to talk about what was bothering him. He’d been like that before, though–usually if the Aurors had been on a dangerous raid or if something bad had happened. I didn’t question it, because he’d been so busy at work. The last three days before he left were the worst.” Ginny swallowed hard, keeping her eyes glued on the healer. Miranda was making notes again. She glanced up, her gaze resting on Ginny and Ginny alone. “What sort of behaviour was Harry displaying?” Ginny looked extremely uncomfortable at this question, but she answered, careful to avoid Harry’s gaze. “He was irritable, distracted, and he had some trouble sleeping.” “Any violent behavior or accidental magic?” Ginny hung her head and Harry felt his heart drop somewhere to the vicinity of his feet. Had he hurt her? No! He refused to believe that he would ever physically hurt anyone, especially someone he loved. Harry felt sick as Ginny nodded very slightly. There was a pause as Miranda ticked off a few boxes on her chart. “I’m sorry to ask,” Miranda said gently. “But I do need to know if it was one or the other, or perhaps both. And I’ll need to know the details of these instances.” Ginny took several long moments before answering the question. Her face was flushed with embarrassment and Harry could see that her eyes were quickly welling with tears. “Once he shattered a glass in his hand and during an argument, he got so angry that the bathroom mirror broke. He was just angry and it made his magic unpredictable. My brother said that on a mission, he was having trouble with his spells.” Ginny said, barely above a whisper, squeezing her hands in her lap so hard that her knuckles had turned very white. “And he… displayed some violent behaviour.” Harry couldn’t help himself. He reached over and touched her shoulder to comfort her, desperate to apologize over and over again. What he didn’t expect was for Ginny to jerk away from his hand as if she’d been stung. Harry’s hand froze and Ginny glanced at him, two tears dropping onto her pink cheeks. She immediately looked apologetic at her response and she deliberately slowly lowered her rigid shoulders. What the hell had he done? Miranda nodded, wordlessly handing Ginny a box of tissues before making more notes on her clipboard. Harry stared down at his lap, feeling ashamed at his past and ashamed that Ginny was tearing up now as she relived it for him and a stranger. Harry hated himself–more than he’d ever hated himself before. In his mind, he was picturing all sorts of terrible scenarios where he acted like a violent drunk, breaking glass, throwing things, and yelling a lot. He wondered how he could have turned into his person. He knew in his heart that he would never, ever raise a hand to his wife, or anyone else. And knowing that he’d not only broke Ginny’s heart by abandoning her and James, but to know that he had also physically hurt her was unbearable. No wonder she doesn’t trust me, Harry thought miserably. Ginny, I will spend the rest of my life trying to make up for what I’ve done, he told her silently. Miranda looked up from her notes, her expression gentle. “And can you describe for me what sort of behaviour that Mr. Potter exhibited?” Ginny began to cry now, squeezing her eyes tightly together. Harry reached out again, but this time she didn’t jerk away. His hand rubbed her back soothingly, wishing there was something that these people could do to get rid of those memories for her. “I’m sorry to press, but the severity of Mr. Potter’s behaviour can be an indication of the types of magic used on him.” Ginny took a shaky breath. “I tried to stop him from leaving… I stood in his way.” Miranda made some more notes. “So he made me move–not with magic.” Ginny whispered. “And he drew his wand, but he didn’t use magic then.” Miranda finished her notes and then settled a sympathetic look on Harry. Harry swallowed the lump that had formed in his throat, trying to get images of himself hurting Ginny out of his head. He knew that he’d have nightmares and this terrible guilt in his stomach for the rest of his life. “Well, Mr. Potter, first thing is first, we’re going to try and lift whatever magic was used with this potion. Just to forewarn you, it is very bitter and smells a bit like cleaning solvent. We find it very effective in helping to loosen powerful charms and even some poisons and potions.” Harry didn’t care if she’d given him Drain-o to drink. Harry took the goblet and didn’t give himself a moment to hesitate. He drained the goblet in one motion, managing to swallow the contents before coughing violently, his throat and stomach burning as the potion travelled through his system. Miranda took the empty goblet and set it down on the table again. “Spells that do not cause severe physical or mental harm are usually never permanent, which means that there is a chance that without treatment, whatever magic was used on Mr. Potter would wear off on its own.” “But how long would it take?” Harry managed to ask, massaging his chest to try and soothe the burning sensation. “It’s difficult to say,” Miranda replied. “Sometimes five or ten years… sometimes the charm never fully goes away, it just weakens. It really depends on what spells were used and how much exposure the victim had.” “I don’t want to wait ten years to get my memories back,” Harry exclaimed in a panic. “Please, I can’t keep living like this! Look at what this has done to Ginny–to her life and to my son. I have to get my memories back.” “And how do you feel right now, Mr. Potter? Any change?” Harry searched his brain for any information about his past, but he came up blank. “It burns, but I don’t feel any different.” Miranda was not discouraged. Instead she stood and gestured toward the bed at the back of the room. “I’ll need you to lie down and relax. I’ll try removing some of these spells.” Harry did as he was told, feeling grateful when Ginny went with him instead of staying far away. They made eye contact and Harry thought his expression probably mirrored the sad, fearful look on her face. She stood by his head at first, but then took a step forward and slid her hand into his. Harry stared at their intertwined hands for a moment, feeling very grateful that Ginny was here with him. Although he trusted the healer, magical medical practice was far more intimidating than needles, IV-drips and taking plastic cups of colourful pills. At least in a regular hospital, he knew what to expect. The healer took out her wand and began muttering all sorts of strange incantations, which made him feel a wide range of symptoms. Some made him feel as if the room was spinning, some made him feel sleepy, some made him feel tingly, and some had no reaction at all. All through the process, Ginny held his hand. The feeling of her hand in his was comforting as his heart beat fast in his chest. He had no idea how long he had been on the bed before Miranda told him she was finished, and asked him how he felt. “Okay,” he said, not really sure how he felt. The last spell made his feet a little tingly and he was a bit lightheaded, but other than that, he felt no different. No memories. No past. No identity. “Let’s try a simple question. Can you tell me the name of your third year Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher?” Miranda asked. Harry didn’t need to think hard–his mind was still blank. Disappointment hit him like a ton of bricks and perhaps it was because he’d just had a lot of magic used on him, perhaps he was just tired, but Harry found himself fighting back tears. A glance at Ginny made the feelings of hopelessness even worse. He thought back to her words when she said he wasn’t meant for this fate and he wondered if she’d really believed that. The look on her face was one of sharp disappointment, breaking the mask of repressed emotions at last. The look on her face made it clear that Ginny had had a lot of hope in treatment at St. Mungo’s, too. “I don’t know,” Harry said simply. Ginny’s hand gently tugged free from his. |
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