A/N: Thanks for the fantastic reaction! It's one of the best reactions to a first chapter I've ever got, so I was extremely pleased. I hope this chapter doesn't disappoint- I've been working on it for a week, at almost every chance I've got, which wasn't much. First, to respond to a few points: Snape's eye rolling was overly focused on, but that's because Harry doesn't remember much of the hate between them and he was picking up on it more often- he's learned to tune it out. And Snape's seen more than enough of H/Hr to last him a lifetime- you'll see what I mean later on in the fic. And to the reviewer who offered to beta- that'd be great, but I haven't had time to email you- if you could do so, then that'd get the ball rolling. Thanks either way.
And other questions are either answered in here, or not allowed to be answered yet because I'm trying to be secretive, so read on! I really hope it's not a disappointment… and apologies for the lack of Hermione, but being comatose, she's not very active.
Love Will Come Through
Chapter Two: Ain't No Sunshine
Harry sat in stunned silence as the door swung shut behind Tonks' retreating back. He felt a single tear run slowly down his cheek, hitting a crevice in his skin and sliding sideward, before continuing toward his chin, where it fell and hit the sheet. He watched it, his gaze moving onto Hermione, who looked exactly as she had half an hour ago. Her eyes still closed, her hands still lying on the sheet, smooth as before.
Ron watched him from the corner of his eye, strangely compelled to see what Harry was doing. He remembered watching him just twelve hours ago; the difference in him was so different. You could see it in Harry's eyes, in his very movements. As he ran a hand over Hermione's cheek, it was not the loving caress Ron had studied so well, as he had felt the jealously coursing through him; it was the confused touch of someone who was almost a complete stranger. Ron had yearned to be the one who touched Hermione like this, but as he watched Harry sit slowly down again, he felt the unmistakable feeling of sadness. After a year of watching Harry's loving gaze, this stark change brought on feelings in Ron that he did not understand.
He stood abruptly, but Harry did not look up. For a moment Ron regarded Harry, but still there was no movement; and Ron pulled his robes up from the floor and ran to the door, looking back one last time; but Harry had still not moved, and Ron closed the door with a quiet click.
*~*~*
"Mr. Potter. Mr. Potter."
Harry's eyes creaked open, and he saw the outline of a blurred woman. He rubbed his eyes, but things were still out of focus. Faintly, he saw the woman before him smile, and felt her hand him his glasses. He slid them on, and Madam Pomfrey came into view.
"Ah, Mr. Potter, awake finally, are we?" she smiled, as Harry straightened up in the chair. He looked around; Hermione was still lying still in her bed, rays on sunlight streaked across her face.
"What time is it?" he groaned, shuffling uncomfortably in his seat.
Madam Pomfrey looked up at the wall. "Ten minutes past ten," she answered. "Lessons have begun. The headmistress said that you were not to be disturbed, however; and she said that Ginevra would be coming to see you at quarter past, which is why I woke you now. Would you like any breakfast?" she asked, smiling gently.
Harry blinked. "Er… no, no thank you," he stuttered, and she nodded and walked into her office.
Harry's thoughts immediately turned to Ginny. He seemed to remember her quite well, he thought- did he see her more when Hermione wasn't around? His most vivid memory of her was a dark one. Her bright red hair stood out in the stone cold, dank room, where snakes were carved into the walls with strangely lifelike eyes, and water fell into the silence. He saw her face, marble white, as he turned her over in his arms; and the voice, the voice dripped with evil, behind him.
"Harry!"
His world came back in a flash of brilliant colour; and there she was, her face slightly flushed, her hairs still the violent red, and a small smile on her face, though her eyes were dark and troubled.
"Hi, Ginny," he said, slightly muffled as she engulfed him in a hug.
"Oh, Harry, you have no idea how worried we were!" she cried, still with her arms tightly around him. "When Ron came back saying you'd all vanished, we thought it was the end… we thought you'd gone…"
Harry patted her back gently, still trying to recover from his memory. He felt sure he hadn't thought about that time in years. "Shh, I'm okay," he whispered, and she leaned back, an enormous frown on her face.
"No, you're not," she said quietly. "Ron told me. He told me- he told me you can't… can't remember…" she whispered, trailing off and glancing at Hermione. "Oh, Harry, you must remember," she said, the passion evident in her whisper.
Harry sighed. "I don't. I can't. I know it's true… but I can't."
Ginny, kneeling on the floor before him, sighed as well. "I just… you two were so…" she tried to finish, but kept breaking off with a slight sob. "I can't believe it."
Harry shrugged slightly, looking away and to the window uncomfortably.
He heard her stand up. "Well, that's why I'm here; to help you remember. So come on." He looked around sharply as she grabbed his hand, fingers curling around his palm.
"Wh- Where are we going?" he stammered, as she dragged him towards the door.
She turned, stopping in the doorway. "McGonagall gave us half an hour with the Pensieve. So we better use it, because we won't get it often. Come on." She turned on her heel and led him through the door, and he let her pull him towards the headmistress' office.
Harry looked around at the corridors as they walked, hearing distant chatter from classrooms, birds chirping outside, as brilliant sun streamed in through the windows. Wind rattled the panes of glass, and he pulled his robes tighter to protect himself from the chilling breeze. As Ginny stopped to re-tie her shoelace, he gazed out of the window; the ground was still frosty, and he saw Hagrid stomping along toward the castle, a giant fir tree hanging behind him. It was Christmas time.
"Is it Christmas?" he asked, as Ginny straightened up. She stared at him, then sighed sadly.
"God, you don't even remember that…" she murmured to herself. "Come on," she said again, taking his hand again and walking quicker down the corridor.
"So… wait," Harry said, as she marched him along. "What's the date?"
"3rd December," she replied quietly.
"And how long was I in the hospital wing for?"
"You fought Voldemort on November 31st… and you woke up yesterday, as I'm sure you remember," she said, still dragging him along. "So that's…. two days, you were in there for. And they wouldn't let us in at all. Damn McGonagall," she grumbled, as they turned the corner and the giant griffin came into view.
Ginny let Harry's hand go and walked up to the griffin. "Canary Cream," she said clearly, and the griffin moved upwards as the staircase came into view.
"I wouldn't have thought McGonagall would have kept up having sweets as the password," Harry commented, remembering standing by the Griffin saying every sweet he'd been able to think of.
Ginny smiled. "She said she keeps it up as some sort of honour to Dumbledore. I think she's a secret sweet addict, but I've never found any evidence," she winked, as the staircase circled upward, so that the stone floor of the corridor below was soon out of sight.
They rose to the top in silence, and the office door came quickly into sight. Ginny looked around at him and smiled, before pushing down on the handle and opening the door.
Harry glanced around, taking in all the portraits on the walls, all the whirring instruments on the tables, all the books piled neatly on the shelves. It was tidier than it had been in the day of Dumbledore, as Harry would have expected, but most of the belongings were still present, and all the portraits smiled down at him.
"Harry," said a soft, deep voice from behind him. He whirled around, and immediately saw the man who had helped him so much over the years- and who's death he couldn't remember.
"Professor Dumbledore!"
Dumbledore smiled, and looked calmly at Harry over the top of his half moon glasses. "How are you, Harry?" he said kindly. Ginny shuffled slightly as she looked over, stroking the plumes of Fawkes the Phoenix as she waited silently.
Harry shrugged his shoulders slightly. "I feel okay," he said. "But my memory feels like a piece of that cheese with holes in," he said, trying to laugh, but Dumbledore's expression was quite serious.
"I feared that Voldemort would do something as his final revenge… if only I had known what. I saw you and Miss. Granger in this office many times, Harry, when you thought no one was watching you… I'm sure this has been said, Harry, but that is an awful thing for you to forget." Dumbledore pushed his glasses up his crooked nose and sighed. "I only wish there was something I could do."
Harry looked down. "I can't even remember you… dying," he whispered. "They said I was there, but I…"
Dumbledore smiled gently. "I'm sure, dear boy, that there are more important memories that you have lost than that."
Harry regarded him silently. Dumbledore's gaze never left Harry, and Harry felt as though such a piercing look had never been put upon him before. He felt in going through his very soul, seeing every inch of his thoughts and feelings; as though, somehow, the portrait was searching him. After a minute, Dumbledore sighed again.
"Well, Harry, I must let you get on… and I need to go to one of my other portraits; I hope to speak again with you soon." Harry nodded politely, and Dumbledore sailed serenely from the frame.
Harry turned around slowly to face Ginny again; she looked up and smiled, her hand trailing off Fawkes' golden feathers as she walked over.
"Okay… you ready for this?" she asked with a slight grimace as she took the Pensieve from the desk and placed it on the table before Harry.
Harry nodded. "It'll be a bit weird, you know, watching myself… but yeah, I'm, ready. Are you coming in too?"
"Wouldn't miss it for the world," smiled Ginny. "I think I'll start with a simple memory… don't want to get you into the deeper ones straight away," she said, and took her wand out from inside her robes.
Harry watched her as she held it to her head, eyes screwed up in concentration, and he knew she was focusing on the memory she needed, the memory he would see, the memory he would be in… He heard, through the total silence of the office, chatter below, doors banging open, teachers yelling out instructions…
"Ready." Ginny's voice, unwavering, cut through his thoughts, and he looked at her. Her eyes were burning, defiance and hope clearly etched into them… and he hoped that he wouldn't make that burn out.
Harry took a deep breath, and Ginny took his hand. "Ready?" she said again, and he nodded. Together, they bent their heads towards the surface; and were both whirled head-first into the swirling white liquid, which, a moment before, had turned clear, and Harry had glanced a sight of a quiet, burning fire in a room full of people, all chattering and laughing.
Harry felt his feet hit the ground, and felt a tug on his hand. Looking down, he saw Ginny sitting on the floor. She smiled quirkily up at him, and he sat down next to her.
"Just watch from here," she said, pointing over to the fire; and Harry saw the weirdest sight he'd ever laid eyes on.
It was him, sitting on the soft armchair he remembered to be his favourite. It was red and gold, like most of the chairs in the room, with a seat that he found not too saggy but not too hard. Being the famous Harry Potter, everyone always seemed to leave that seat to him; and he had to admit, he secretly liked that. But he wasn't the only one sitting in the chair.
His legs were curled up onto the seat too, and Hermione, her legs hanging over the arm of the chair, was sitting on his lap, her head resting against his shoulder. Ron sat in the chair opposite him, leaning forward to move a chess piece, and Ginny was sitting with her legs curled under her on the floor, looking up at them.
"That's… that's me," whispered Harry, and Ginny, who had been gazing at herself with wonderment, smiled and nodded.
"Just watch," she whispered, her gaze moving to Harry and Hermione, as did the Ginny in the memory.
Hermione's eyes closed for a moment, and Harry watched her taking a deep breath; a smile broke out on her face, and her eyes opened, staring up at the Harry in the memory. As Harry's brow furrowed in concentration, staring at the chessboard, Hermione's hand starting to run through his hair. No one else could see it; she ran it through the locks cascading down the back of his head, so Ginny and Ron, both focused on Harry's hand as he moved his remaining castle, were oblivious. Harry and Ginny, staring up at themselves, could see, and Harry was transfixed, wondering how his counterpart wasn't noticing.
As the Harry in the memory leant back, Hermione, her hand still running through his messy black hair, reached up and kissed his cheek softly. Ginny looked up from the chessboard, but Ron was staring at the pieces and noticed nothing.
Harry looked at her. "What was that for?" he asked, with a lopsided smile.
Hermione shrugged. "Just because," she said, resting her head back on his shoulder. Harry smiled, kissed her hair softly, then turned back to look at the chessboard.
Harry looked sideward at Ginny. "Is that it?"
Ginny blinked. "You still don't remember anything? Well, it was kind of a futile hope on my part after only one memory, I guess," she sighed, standing up. "And yes, that's it. Well, it's not, but unless you want to see Ron do his celebratory winning dance, I suggest we get out of here," she added, and he smiled.
"Okay, let's go, then," he answered. Ginny waved her wand, and they floated upwards. Before they knew it, they were back in McGonagall's office.
"Anything, Miss. Weasley?" said a voice, and both Ginny and Harry jumped.
Ginny whirled around. "Professor McGonagall!" she said breathlessly.
The headmistress smiled. "Sorry, Ginevra," she said, making Ginny cringe. McGonagall sat down behind her desk. "Well?"
Ginny shook her head. "I wasn't really expecting anything yet, though, Professor," she said, sighing.
McGonagall nodded. "Neither was I," she said. "How are you feeling today, Harry?" she asked, turning to Harry with a kinder expression on her face than Harry was used to seeing there.
He shuffled slightly, and shrugged. "Fine, I guess," he said, his mind still on the memory he had just witnessed.
She nodded. "I understand," she said, as though responding to an unsaid statement. "Now, the Pensieve is not suitable for overuse, but you may have it again at this time next week. Oh, and Mr. Potter?" she called, as they started to move towards the door. "I know this is a difficult time for you, but this is your NEWT year, and I'm sure Miss. Granger would be rather upset if she found out you were ignoring your studies. I'll expect you back in normal classes on Monday," she said, and looked down at the parchment on her desk.
Harry stared at her, but Ginny pushed him out the door. "Don't," she said out of the corner of the mouth. "Besides, she's right. You might not remember Hermione, but trust me, she'd go insane if she found out you weren't studying because of her."
*~*~*
They made their way down the staircase again in silence, and both knew that the other's mind was reliving the memory they had just witnessed. To Ginny, it was almost surreal watching herself, seeing the memory that had somehow latched onto her brain and been frequently revisited, even though it was such a simple, quiet time. There were many times totally similar, but that was the only one that Ginny remembered clearly; and now she was puzzled, confused as to why that memory had stayed with her while others had not.
Harry, on the other hand, had a mind whirring in complete confusion. Seeing himself sitting there, with her, hearing her voice for the first time, watching himself in such a comfortable, easy position with her, as though they'd been doing it for years. Adjusting to seeing himself like that was hard enough; seeing himself with this girl, this girl who he apparently… loved, was even more difficult.
He had a fleeting thought of giving up altogether, of saying it wasn't worth it; but his thoughts were cut off when he walked into Ginny's arm, which was outstretched before him.
"What?" he said. Wind was rattling through the windows, and the chatter he had heard from the office was magnified.
She turned around. "Malfoy's down here; we shouldn't go this way."
Harry looked at her. "Malfoy? Draco Malfoy? Why should we stay away from him?"
Ginny looked at him incredulously. "You hate him? Have done for years? He's the spawn of a Death Eater? Your mortal enemy? The epitome of evil? Any of this striking a cord?" she said, waving a hand in front of Harry's face.
Harry shrugged. "I remember him, kind of… but what's he done wrong?"
Ginny rolled her eyes. "Oh, brother. Come on," she said, seizing his arm and pulling him away.
"Well, well, well," said a drawling voice, and Ginny whirled around.
"Shove off, Malfoy," she said viciously, spitting at him.
Malfoy's eyes gleamed. "Finally traded in the Mudblood for the flaming fire-head, Potter?" he smirked, looking Ginny up and down. "Well, I'd say good one, but…" he snorted. Ginny glared at him, but his eyes were fixed on Harry, who hadn't flinched. "Are you alright, Potter?" he said, frowning. Evidently the lack of a reaction was rather disconcerting for Malfoy.
Harry shrugged. "Fine," he answered flatly. "And I haven't traded anyone in," he said with a frown. "What's a Mudblood?" he added to Ginny in a whisper, but Malfoy heard, and gave a high laugh.
"Oh, my father told me this might happen, but I didn't actually believe it could be true!" he said with glee, grinning.
"Malfoy…" said Ginny, gritting her teeth. "I'm warning you…"
Malfoy looked down at her. "And you'll do what?" he said with a snort. "Hex me?"
"I know some good ones," she snapped, hand still tightly gripping Harry's arm.
Malfoy regarded her silently, but her look of furious defiance was obviously warning enough, and he turned away. "Oh, Potter," he called over his shoulder, "I'd get back to the Mudblood if I were you. Weasley's probably salivating over her right now…"
Ginny watched him leave with a glare, then turned to Harry, who was staring bewildered after Malfoy.
"What's a Mudblood?" he asked immediately, as she pulled him into the nearest room, which was thankfully deserted. "Who was he talking about? And what's his problem?"
Ginny sighed deeply. "This is gonna take some time. I don't think I stopped to consider just how much you'd've forgotten! Harry, he was talking about Hermione. A Mudblood's a really foul name for a muggle-born wizard or witch- which Hermione is, before you ask," she said quickly, as Harry opened his mouth. "And you and Malfoy have hated each other since pretty much the day you met… he's a Slytherin and you're a Gryffindor, for one. Bottom line, Harry, he's a bastard who does whatever he can to provoke you, and unfortunately, you usually rise to it. Probably because it's usually Hermione he insults, or sometimes me or Ron. But Harry, whatever he says is just to annoy you, provoke you, and… well, just ignore him," she said pleadingly.
Harry stared at her. "Right. Anyone else I hate and don't know about?"
Ginny smiled. "Well, now that you mention it…"
*~*~*
As the rest of the school streamed down to the Great Hall for lunch, Ginny spotted a group of her friends, and, after several minutes of being torn between them and Harry, he had insisted she go, and that he could make it to the hospital wing himself. She nodded with a smile, kissed his cheek quickly, and ran off with a yell to the sixth years.
Harry sighed, ignoring the stares from the few students who were still making their way to where the rest of the school was congregated, and silently made his way back up to the hospital wing. After a while, he was wandering the corridors alone, looking up at the carvings in the snow, the cobwebs at the top of the delicately paned windows, the candles silent in their brackets.
He turned the corner and saw the door to the hospital wing slightly open. He could hear no noise inside, and immediately gathered that Madam Pomfrey had gone to lunch. He put his hand on the door, ready to push it open… but then the sound of a faint voice reached his ears, and he froze, straining his ear to listen.
"… And I know you don't, Hermione, but I do, I do…"
The voice faded, but Harry had recognised it- it was unmistakably Ron's whisper, and, well, obviously, he was talking to Hermione. He inched closer, trying to slide in through the gap silently. Slowly, he made it through, and breathed quietly, resting against the wall for a minute, before moving closer, Hermione's bed hidden from view by a screen.
"… am I supposed to do, huh? I can't let go, I tried, I really did, but it's just too strong, Hermione. And painful. Do you realise how painful it is for me? Seeing you with… with him? Well, he doesn't know you now, you know that? He doesn't remember. And I'm supposed to help him. And I…"
Ron's voice faded again, and no matter how much Harry leaned closer, he couldn't hear anything more. Slowly, as slow as he could, Harry moved his head to peek around the screen.
Ron's head was laid upon Hermione's sheet, buried in his hand. His red hair was splayed out before him, and strands of it were brushing Hermione's soft white hand as Ron moved slightly.
Harry, almost stunned, turned quietly on his heel and retraced his steps out of the hospital wing, turning the corner of the corridor just as Ron started to sob silently, his hand linked with Hermione's frozen one.