Author's Note: Thanks for the reviews, guys! I really appreciate it. I have paraphrased a portion of Book Five: Harry Potter & the Order of the Phoenix. A certain someone has another flashback. I hope you enjoy. I hope to update again real soon, so as not to leave you all hanging…
Chapter Eleven
Don't Dream It's Over
"There is freedom within, there is freedom without
Try to catch the deluge in a paper cup
There's a battle ahead, many battles are lost
But you'll never see the end of the road
While you're traveling with me"
("Don't Dream It's Over" versions by both Crowded House and by Leigh Nash of Sixpence None the Richer)
Harry spent the night at Ron and Kit's, well the rest of the morning. He'd been much too tired to argue that he really should be getting back to Chapel Hill to check on Julie. So he hadn't protested too vehemently when Kit handed him a pillow and a blanket and told him to get some rest. He planned on apparating back to Chapel Hill as soon as he woke up.
Or, at least that was what he'd planned on doing. His mobile woke him up sometime at 9 a.m. It was Sirius. He wouldn't go into much detail, but said he had important news that he had to tell Harry. Ron agreed to tag along. They both apparated outside The Leaky Cauldron a good fifteen minutes after Sirius' phone call.
It was with trepidation that Harry walked into the pub. Sirius and Lupin had settled in at a table near the back. They appeared deep in conversation, serious expressions on both their faces.
"Please tell me you have good news," Harry said, after they'd all exchanged hellos. Sirius and Lupin exchanged a look, which only made Harry more anxious.
"We were able to determine that the body in Hermione's grave is definitely not hers," Sirius said solemnly.
"How did you find out? Surely, Hermione's parents didn't consent to-", Ron began.
"No," Sirius said, shaking his head. "They aren't privy to what's going on at the moment. No, Remus, here, had some connections at the Ministry. He was able to get his hands on a device that can determine someone's identity. It's not used commonly today, but a number of aurors used them when a great lot of death eaters were using polyjuice potions and glamours to disguise themselves as others. We were able to use one to determine the identity of the body in Hermione's grave."
"Which is?" Harry asked.
"A woman named Millicent Calloway," Lupin answered. "She was a 45 year old vagrant. Our guess is that they lured her off the streets with the promise of a decent meal or some wages. She was either given an extended polyjuice potion or there was some sort of charm or spell used to make her take on the appearance of Hermione. She had no family to speak of, so her disappearance went unnoticed."
"They thought of everything, didn't they?" Ron asked amazed.
"Did you find anything on this Simon Maxwell?" Harry asked. "Any connection to Voldemort?"
"Well, Sirius and I went over the records of all known Death Eaters over the past 30 years," Lupin said. "We couldn't find anything for a Simon Maxwell."
Harry's face fell.
"But," Sirius said hastily. "We did cross reference the listings by aliases and came up with a man by the name of Maxwell Cambridge, who used the aliases of Simon Cambridge and Simon Maxwell. He was heavily involved with Voldemort at the height of his power."
"And?" Harry prompted.
"Nearly four and a half years ago, he disappeared from sight. He hadn't been seen or heard in Europe or Asia since then," Lupin finished.
"Remus has a friend in the police department in Asheville, North Carolina, who did some checking on this Simon Maxwell for us. According to his findings, Simon Maxwell bought a moderately priced home in the Asheville suburbs. The realtor who sold him the house said he mentioned a teenage daughter, but that she wasn't with him when he was shown the house or when the lease was turned over to Simon. Shortly after moving there, his daughter was rushed to the hospital as she had been in a car accident. The doctors were gobsmacked about how she arrived in the condition she was in. Apparently, her car hit a tree, but she was in a coma-like state for days. When she woke up, she had no memory of who she was or how she got there."
"He was all too willing to fill in the blanks for her, wasn't he?" Harry asked bitterly.
"Yeah," Lupin said. "Anyway, she underwent extensive therapy and tests to determine the cause of her memory loss, but no concrete explanation was ever given or found. From all appearances, he was the model father. He works as a freelance writer these days to support himself and his daughter."
"Model father?" Ron asked. "How could he do this to her?"
"That's what I intend to find out," Harry said coolly.
"It won't be easy, Harry," Sirius said. "From what you've told me, Hermione sees this man as her father. She won't be all too willing to see him as a fake and a phony who robbed her of her memories."
"I'll find a way to make her believe me," Harry said. "I'm not going to let him do any more damage to her."
"We'll help you any way we can," Sirius said. The others nodded.
"You might need to come with me," Harry said. "Hermione's always been one who needs proof. She's going to need concrete evidence."
"Let's go, then," Ron said. "I'm ready to see my best friend."
"Me, too, Ron," Harry said, smiling. "Me, too."
Julie was finally able to make it back to her apartment. To her immense relief, the pain in her head subsided and she was able to make it home with no other flashbacks or visions or memories. She was at a loss as to what any of it was or what it all meant.
Why was she imagining herself as this girl, Hermione? The same girl that Harry had told her had been his best friend, the girl he had loved. Maybe that was it, she tried to reassure herself. He had talked so much about her, Julie felt as if she knew her. She was just picturing the stories Harry had told her in her mind. Yet, these visions had been so clear and so vivid. They felt like real, actual memories, but they couldn't be hers. Could they? She wasn't Hermione Granger. She was Julie Maxwell, only daughter of Simon and Ann Maxwell. She was just really stressed out, right? There had to be a logical explanation for it, but she was at a complete loss as to what it was, or what it could possibly be.
She took a Tylenol PM to help her get to sleep, and was thankfully able to get a few hours of peaceful, dreamless sleep. She awoke the next morning, which was a Sunday. Thankfully, she wasn't scheduled to work and being as it was the weekend, she didn't have to worry about classes.
She decided to spend the day taking it easy. Hopefully, this was all just her body's response to all the stress in her life at the moment. She managed to catch up on some reading for one of her classes. She cleaned her kitchen and bathroom. She listened to some music. The day seemed to be going well. Best of all, there were no memory flashes or visions that she couldn't explain. Maybe, it had all been a fluke, she couldn't help wondering.
At around three in the afternoon, she decided to make herself a quick cup of tea. As she stood over the stove waiting for the water to boil, she felt that familiar searing pain in her head again.
She was standing outside a huge house and she rang the doorbell. A red-haired girl answered the door. Julie could barely hear her over the incessant, loud screaming from somewhere in the house. The woman's cold, shrill voice kept hollering out, "STAINS OF DISHONOR, FILTHY HALF-BREEDS, BLOOD TRAITORS, CHILDREN OF FILTH…"
Julie and the red-haired girl rolled their eyes at the sounds coming from somewhere in the house. She gave the girl a quick hug and asked something about the girl's father.
"He's okay," the girl said bravely. "He's still at St. Mungo's. Mum's going to take us to see him tomorrow. I'm so glad you came, Hermione."
Julie nodded to the girl.
"How is Harry?" Julie heard herself ask.
"No one knows," the red-haired girl said. "He's holed himself upstairs with Buckbeak. He won't come down to talk to anyone. Mum's lit a fire in his bedroom and set out some sandwiches, but he hasn't been in there. It's really good that you've come. Maybe you can get him to come downstairs and talk to us."
"Of course," Julie heard herself say. "I'll be right back. Hopefully, I won't be alone."
"Good luck," the red-haired girl said.
Julie saw herself going quickly up the stairs, all the way trying to shake snow from her hair and her cloak.
She walked determinedly toward a door and insistently knocked hard on it with her fist.
"I know you're in there," she said. "Will you please come out? I want to talk to you."
Harry opened the door and Julie could see that he wasn't alone. This strange creature had the body of a horse and the head of an eagle. It was scratching at the floor for something.
"What are you doing here?" Harry asked her surprised. "I thought you were skiing with your mum and dad."
"Well, to tell the truth, skiing's not really my thing," she replied. "So, I've come for Christmas. But don't tell Ron that, I told him it's really good because he kept laughing so much. Anyway, Mum and Dad are a bit disappointed, but I've told them that everyone who's serious about the exams is staying at Hogwarts to study. They want me to do well, they'll understand."
"Anyway," she continued rather briskly, "let's go to your bedroom, Ron's mum's lit a fire ion there and she's sent up some sandwiches."
Julie was brought out of the flashback as she noticed the water nearly boiling over. She was losing her mind. Not only was she having flashes of another person's memories, but she was now picturing nonsensical creatures.
She went to the telephone and despite her hands shaking; she was able to dial her father's number. The answering machine picked up. She couldn't leave him a message. What was she going to say, "Hey, Dad? Julie here. Just wanted to let you know that I'm losing my mind. Take care." So, she hung up before the beep.
She turned the stove off and forgot about her tea. She wasn't thirsty. She wasn't hungry. She was scared.
There was one person who could help her. There was one person who could possibly provide answers. If anything, the sight of his face and his warm, green eyes could at least provide some comfort. She went into her bedroom and threw on a pair of jeans and a sweatshirt. Please be home, Harry, she thought as she closed her door behind her. I really need you, she whispered.
At the moment, Harry was sitting in his rented room with Ron, Sirius, and Lupin going over old photo albums and papers. They were discussing the best course of action to take with the Hermione situation. Ron had wanted to immediately go and see his friend, but Harry had nixed that idea right away.
"She doesn't need to be bombarded with this information right away," Harry said. "It'll scare her off. She doesn't need that."
"Harry's right," Sirius said. "He should be the one to present the information to her and then we can come in and corroborate his story."
"This isn't a bloody investigation, Sirius," Ron snapped. "This is my friend. This is Harry's girlfriend. You're acting as if you're presenting a case to the Wizengamot!"
"I'm sorry," Sirius said. "I just think it would be a good idea if Harry presented the information to her. How would you feel if someone came up to you and started calling you by another name and told you everything you thought about yourself was a lie?"
Ron looked thoughtful. "You're right. It doesn't mean I have to like it, but you're right."
Sirius nodded.
"This could all backfire on me," Harry said. "I could lose her forever."
"Don't think like that, Harry," Lupin said.
"Easy for you to say," Harry said sullenly.
There was a knock on the door and the sound of it startled everyone.
"Who is that?" Ron asked, looking at Harry.
"I don't know," Harry said, getting up from his seat on the sofa and walking over to the door. "It could be the landlady. She's always coming up here offering me muffins and pastries."
"Sweet," Ron said.
"Do you ever think of anything besides your stomach?" Lupin asked, laughing.
"You sound like Kit," Ron said, joining in the laughter.
"Well, she's eating for two now," Lupin said. "What's your excuse?"
Ron was about to answer when Harry opened the door to reveal…Hermione.
"Oh," she said, embarrassed. "You have company. I shouldn't have dropped by unannounced."
"It's, um, okay," Harry said quickly. "Really, Julie."
Ron felt his mouth drop as he took in the sight of this girl. She was exactly as Neville and Harry had described her. She was a little older, the hair was a little shorter and the voice was not as heavily accented, but this was Hermione. There was no doubt in his mind as he gaped at her.
"Hi," she said, looking over Harry's shoulder at the three men, who were strangers to her. Her eyes lingered on Ron, and a momentary flutter of recognition flashed in her eyes.
"I have to go," she said quickly and turned around. Harry grabbed her arm.
"Please don't go," Harry said.
She reluctantly turned around.
"What happened?" he asked her.
"Can we talk in private?" she asked.
"Of course,' he said. He gave his friends a look that clearly said, "I'll handle this" and closed the door softly behind him. They took a seat on the steps.
"What is it?" he asked concerned.
"I need you to tell me the truth," she said.
"Okay," he said, worried. "What do you want to know?"
"Why am I having these flashbacks of you, me and that man in there-the red-haired one," she asked. Her eyes were red and puffy as if she had been crying.
"You've had flashbacks?" Harry asked, hopefully.
"I don't know what the hell they are," she said. "Last night, I went to Trey's to apologize to him about how I'd hurt him. As you can imagine, he didn't take it too well."
"Did he hurt you?" Harry asked, clenching his fists.
Julie touched his arm.
"No," she said. "He would never hit me. He just wasn't too happy with me. We didn't part on the best terms. Anyway, as I was leaving, I had this sharp pain in my head. I saw you and me in the woods. We were running from something. These dark, cloaked figures were closing in around us. You pointed something at them to try and get them to go away, but they kept closing in around us. You wanted me to help you, but it was so cold. The next thing I know, everything went dark."
Harry felt an overwhelming sense of hope rising in him. She was remembering. He didn't care how or why. The important thing was she was remembering.
"The other one I had was meeting you and that man in there on a train. We were all kids. He was trying to turn a rat yellow," she said.
"And I've had these strange dreams," she continued, when Harry didn't say anything. "There was this one where I was running away from a three-headed dog. I was with these two other boys, but I couldn't see their faces."
"Then, I dreamed the other night of you and I in this cozy looking room. It was Christmas. You were trying to push me away for some reason, but I wasn't going to let you. You told me you loved me."
Tears were welling up in her eyes as she related these flashbacks to Harry. He grabbed her hand and reassuringly stroked it softly.
"You called me Hermione in these flashbacks," she said softly. "What's going on? Can you help me? Can you explain to me what's going on?"
He took a deep breath.
"I think so," he said.
"You don't think I'm going crazy, do you?" she asked, a tear falling down her cheek. He took his hand to her face and gently wiped the tear away.
"You're not crazy," he whispered. "There's a perfectly logical explanation for what you've experienced and what you've seen."
"Okay," she said, looking at him expectantly. "And this would be?"
"Those visions you've been having? Those flashbacks?" he asked.
She nodded.
"Those are your memories," he said with conviction. "Those are your memories, Hermione."