Until You Remember – Chapter 2

“Are you sure?” She needs to hear it again because she does not believe it.

The healer, a woman named Helga Jacobs, settles in the seat next to Hermione's and looks at her sympathetically. She is about the same age as Hermione's mother and has kind blue eyes and a soothing voice. For the last three hours she has been bustling in and out of Harry's hospital room. The only link Hermione has to his condition because they will not let her see him. “I am certain.”

“Amnesia?” Hermione closes her eyes and pinches the bridge of her nose. Hard. She tells herself she should be grateful Harry didn't break his neck when he fell, or crack his head wide open. The impact of his skull against the pavement had been sickening. The memory of it makes her queasy. After she stunned their attacker she had been terrified to approach Harry's still form. Her heart had felt like it was in her throat, causing her to struggle for each panicked breath. There had been tears of relief when she found him still breathing. A lump on his head the size of a Bludger seemed a small price. But amnesia?

“He has no recollection of his life before the moment he struck his head. The loss is complete.” Healer Jacobs shifts and taps her thigh. “I cast a few charms but none were successful. He experienced some trauma when he found out I was a witch. We've managed to convince him he is a wizard, but it took some doing.”

Hermione drops her head back against the wall and releases a sigh. She imagines Harry in the hospital bed, with no memory of who he is. Is he scared? Nervous? What must he be thinking? She wants to rush to his bedside and assure him that he will fine. They will get his memory back somehow. But she is a stranger now, more likely to scare the wits out of him than reassure. Hermione pushes the thought from her mind and focuses on the woman at her side.

“What can we do for him? How long before his memory comes back?” She needs to be practical and focus on solutions. This is what she does, for Harry's sake and her own. Harry gets into a jam and she does research and gets him out of it. Repeat ad infinitum.

“Well,” the healer sets her hands on her knees and leans back in the chair, “there are a few options. But our knowledge of how the brain works is inexact at best.”

Hermione frowns. In other words, there is no guaranteed fix. Harry will remember or he won't and there may not be much medicine, science, or magic can do for him. Not that Hermione is surprised. One summer, while she was still in Hogwarts, she became fascinated by the brain's intricacies and read a select group of books on the subject. Without fail, each text insisted the brain was a marvelous creation too complex to be completely understood by any form of study. She can hardly blame the wizarding world for being no further along in unraveling its mysteries than the Muggle one. But for a scant few seconds she had hoped.

“We'll start Mr. Potter on the Retention Draught. It was originally designed for the elderly and intended to jog failing memories. He'll want to take that twice a day, but it will take several weeks for us to determine if it having an effect.” Healer Jacobs grabs a sheet of paper from her chart and scribbles on it with an extravagant owl feather. “Now, he will be able to stop by St. Mungos once a week to get a seven day's supply of the potion itself. “Or,” she looks at Hermione, “we can send him home with a month's worth of ingredients and someone skilled in making the potion can brew it for him.”

Hermione nods. “Is it a highly specialized potion?”

Healer Jacobs shakes her head. “The directions are precise and straight-forward. It takes little more than ninety minutes to brew and can be created in bulk and still retain its potency. But, of course, we understand if you're more comfortable having it brewed here.” She raises an eyebrow.

“The month supply is fine, I think. I'll brew it for him.” Hermione is not sure why she is making the decision, she has no right to determine Harry's medical care. It should be the Weasleys, probably Ginny, here to plan this. When Harry gets out of St. Mungos, Hermione doubts he will be able to live alone and it will be the Weasleys who take him in. Harry would want it that way. Hermione looks at the closed door that leads to Harry's room.

“You said we had several options?”

“Yes. It doesn't hurt to show him old pictures, remind him of specific events or stories. Take him places he's been before, to restaurants he likes. There is no telling what might bring things back.” Healer Jacobs waves a hand in the air. “A familiar smell, a ride on broom, even just the passage of time. But,” her voice becomes stern, “you cannot overwhelm him. Almost everything will be unfamiliar to him, and everyone will be a stranger. He must be treated gently, particularly now.”

“I understand.” Hermione looks again at Harry's door. “Now may I see him?”

“Of course.” Healer Jacobs gets to her feet and wipes at the front of her skirt. She hands Hermione a prescription for the Retention Draught's ingredients. Then she walks Hermione to Harry's door and pauses, one hand wrapped around the handle. “Mr. Potter does not have any immediate family listed in his charts. Will we be releasing him to your care?”

“Oh – I...” Hermione fights a grimace. The Weasleys will expect Harry to come home with them. Molly will take it as a personal insult if Harry's care is left to anyone else. “Actually it might be better if he went home with Arthur and Molly Weasley. They are close family friends, I can give you their...”

“That's alright, Miss Granger.” Healer Jacobs puts a hand on Hermione's arm and gives it a friendly squeeze. “I've known Arthur for years. I will have him contacted immediately.”

She lets go of Hermione and pokes her head into Harry's room. “Mr. Potter? How are you feeling? Is the headache better?” There is a muffled reply and Healer Jacob smiles. “Good. Are you up for a visit with Miss Granger? She is the one I told you about, the one who brought you in.”

Another indistinct reply and Healer Jacobs waves Hermione into the room. “I will speak with Arthur directly,” she reminds Hermione as she closes the door.

The door clicks shut and Hermione stands beside it, her eyes on Harry. He is in the bed, his hands on his stomach with his fingers laced together. He looks small, like a child who has been punished but cannot understand why. His face is pale, devoid of color except for his left eye which is ringed by a purple bruise. It looks painful and Hermione winces in sympathy. She sees the punch that caused it vividly in her mind, and she remembers the way Harry's head snapped back just before he fell to the ground. The fear for Harry's safety now gone, she feels anger simmer and boil inside her. Anger at their attacker, at her inability to stop him before he hurt Harry. She would like nothing more than to find the would-be thief and stun him again. It's a violent urge that shocks her. Ashamed, she pushes it from her mind. Harry, here in this room, is the only thing she should concentrate on. She did not help him when they were attacked, now she can go part way in making it up to him.

“Hi, Harry.” She smiles and hopes it looks friendly. She takes a few, careful steps into the room and tries not to assume a familiarity he has no recollection of.

Harry watches her movements. His gaze is locked with hers but there is no recognition in his eyes. He looks embarrassed, the hands on his stomach clench to fists. “I'm sorry, but I've forgotten your name.” His voice is quiet, sounds almost shy. Hermione's stomach lurches and she blinks back tears.

“Hermione,” she whispers. Louder she repeats, “Hermione Granger. We went to school together.”

He absorbs the name, she can practically see him commit it to memory in a catalog he is re-writing one entry at a time. Her name ingested, Harry's eyes squint and search her face with an intensity that is almost desperate. She knows he is looking for his past and hopes to find a piece of it in her face. She wishes with the same hope. It does not have to be everything, a vague suspicion of a memory will do. Because it will be a start. But his expression does not change, no dawning knowledge wipes the puzzlement from his mouth. He looks at her for long, silent minutes until Hermione wonders if she should say something. But then Harry drops his head against the pillow, as if he is exhausted. He still looks at her like she is a stranger.

“We're friends?” He asks, and in his voice there is a mixture of caution and doubt.

“Yes, Harry. We're friends.” Hermione motions toward the chair at the side of his bed. “Do you mind if I sit down?”

Harry shrugs and pushes himself backward until he is sitting up. Hermione walks slowly to the chair. Before she sits down she pulls it another foot away from the bed. Seated, Hermione clasps her hands in her lap and gives Harry another small smile. He only looks back at her.

“I'm sorry if I'm staring.” Harry pauses and licks his lips. “It's just that I don't seem to know anything about anything. I'm hoping that if I keep looking at you...” Harry blinks hard and grits his teeth. He makes a helpless sound back in his throat and Hermione wants to stand up and throw her arms around him. The urge is so strong she has to dig her fingers into the arms of the chair to keep herself seated. She stares at him and feels helpless.

“Did...did Healer Jacob talk to you about the potion?” She asks the question because she is not sure what else to say.

“Yes.” He nods his head, then shakes it. When he looks at her again his eyes are wide and pleading. “Do you know me well?”

“I know you very well.”

He takes a breath and blows out his cheeks. “Please, tell me anything. I don't care what, I just want to know.”

Hermione blinks, not sure where to start. The story of Harry's past is not an easy one. Does she start with the day she met him? Or does she start with his parents and how they were killed by an evil wizard who hunted Harry for years? Does she mention his on again off again relationship with Ginny? What about his unhappy childhood with the Dursleys? And when should she bring up Sirius? Too much of Harry's life is tinged by unpleasantness, and she does not know quite how to bring it all up.

Harry, too impatient to wait out Hermione's inner struggle, leans toward her. “How old am I?”

“You're twenty-six years old and your birthday is July 31st.

“Do I have a family?”

Hermione's stomach churns. Harry is treading down roads she has no wish to walk. She twists her fingers together and does her best to keep her voice gentle. “You were raised by your aunt and uncle. You have one cousin, who is your age. You visit them once or twice a year, but you are not particularly close.”

Harry stills and Hermione knows he heard words she did not say. His eyes drop from hers to glance at his hands. He turns them over and looks at his palms. “When did my parents die?” he asks softly.

“They were...they died when you were just a year old. I'm sorry, Harry.”

Harry purses his lips and nods his head. The absolute loneliness on his face makes her ache. She wishes she knew the words to make everything all right. Even with a memory wiped clean of the past he is not free of Voldemort's cruel reach. And she hopes he will not ask her how his parents died. She cannot bring up Voldemort, not today. She does not have the strength or the heart to explain it all. If it makes her a coward she does not care.

“So, I have no parents. No real family...”

“That's not true, Harry.” Hermione gets to her feet and takes a step toward the bed before she can think better of it. She will not let him think he is alone. “You have friends and family who love you. And there is a family, the Weasleys. They love you very much and have considered you a member of their family since you were eleven years old.”

“The Weasleys?” Once again, there is no hint of recognition.

Hermione nods. “Arthur and Molly. They have six sons and a daughter. Ron, their youngest son, is our age. The three of us were best friends at Hogwarts.” She does not bring up Ginny. Their history is complicated and, like other parts of his past, better left for another time.

“At the school for magic?”

“Yes, that's right. And, actually,” Hermione looks at her watch, “your healer was going to contact the Weasleys about your injury. I expect they will arrive shortly. They will want to make sure you're alright and probably take you -”

On cue there is a gaggle of voices outside in the hall. Hermione recognizes Ron's bellow but she can't make out who he is telling off. From the sound of their footsteps she thinks it might be the whole family. She casts a worried look at Harry who has heard the commotion.

“It sounds like they're here,” she says.