A/N: I'm sure you've all forgotten who I am. That's okay, even people who've known me for years have trouble remembering my name. Anyway, some of you might remember that I began writing this story like… years ago, and, after two chapters, apparently forgot all about it. Well… that's all true. But, a few weeks ago I found the urge to write again, and so picked up a quill- sorry, keyboard- and wrote this. Of course, then my life became hectic again and publishing got shelved. But, it's here now, so I suppose I should be quiet and let those who are still interested read. Thanks to Nissi for her opinion, Frances for her brilliant proofing abilities, and to all of you who have or will review. Reviews are… well, every writer wants them, so I guess you've heard this all before.
Now that you've heard my life story, read on if you will. And I swear, the next chapter will not take… 5 and a half months. Good god.
Love Will Come Through
Chapter Three: Progression and Regression
Harry, lost in thoughts of what he'd just witnessed, wandered mindlessly around the castle, somehow avoiding the cold stone walls, and not hearing the calls of all the paintings on the wall. Once he almost fell off a set of stairs, but the moving staircase worked like clockwork and he stepped onto it without a blink. The castle seemed pretty much deserted now that everyone was at lunch, and, apart from the few stragglers who ran hungrily past him, Harry met no one.
When his foot inadvertently hit a suit of armor and made a reverberating clanging noise, Harry was jolted out of his dazed mind and looked down at the ground, ignoring the griping, wheezing moans of the metal shell before him.
He desperately tried to identify the feelings within him. He still couldn't remember Hermione, remember what she'd meant to him, remember who she'd been... and yet, seeing Ron crying over her silent body had left him with a incomparable feeling of devastation.
He stood, solitary, alone in the halls, for more than fifteen minutes, a diluted sound of chatter floating up the halls from below. When the chimes rang out for the next lesson, and pupils began to clatter up the staircases, his legs still made no movement, his eyes fixated on the opposite wall. Students reached his floor and some started to congregate around him, wishing quiet congratulations, adulations, and thanks, but most giving up because, as one whispered to her friends, "I think he just wants to be left alone".
Harry still didn't move, and, eventually, even Colin Creevy gave up, and the hallways were deserted again. His face was immobile, flat, silent... his eyes had no sparkle, his figure had no life.
From above, a silent Ginny looked down at him, waiting for anything to happen. After five minutes had passed and the final warning bell rang, she sighed, turned, and walked down the dark hallway behind her.
*~*~*
The next day was a Tuesday, and Ginny woke up with a plan. As her friends chattered around her, not really noticing her indifferent "hmms" and "ahs", she could almost hear the cogs in her head working as hard as they could. She quickly dressed, had a shower, and left the others to their lazy chat as she literally raced down to the hospital wing. As she neared it, her legs instinctively slowed, and she pushed the door open, slipping inside. The hum of life in the castle was immediately dulled, and replaced by the melancholic silence in the cold, starkly light room.
Ginny slowly moved down the ward, seeing the shadow of Madam Pomfrey in her office as she approached Harry's bed. He was still in slumber, so she quietly sat down, glancing sadly towards the still figure of Hermione.
Hermione's skin was almost piano-ivory white, and Ginny flinched at the touch of her cold skin. Madam Pomfrey had explained how the hex upon Hermione would make her seem so, but it still disturbed Ginny to see Hermione like this.
She looked back at Harry, who was curled up under his sheets, clutched in his hands over his chin. His mouth was turned downward in a sad, desperate way, and his eyes were red with tears. Ginny frowned slightly. A sobbing Harry seemed a far cry from the immobile one she'd seem yesterday afternoon, and this worried her. Bottling up emotions was something she'd seen Harry do before, perfect evidence that it was unhealthy behavior.
She was impatient to start her plan, but, although Harry didn't look like he was enjoying his sleep very much, she knew it was best to let him slumber. She rose, quietly walked to Madam Pomfrey's office, and asked the matron to call her when Harry awoke. A tired looking Pomfrey nodded, smiled briefly, and looked back at her work. Unsatisfied but resigned, Ginny looked back at Harry's sleeping form, and the look of sheer sadness on his face made a tear form in her eye.
She brushed it away, cursed herself for being so silly, and headed down to breakfast.
*~*~*
It was ten o'clock when Harry woke up. Sans glasses, he saw a blurry, redheaded form in front of his face. He grappled for his glasses and saw that it was Ron, who looked conflicted.
"Er... hi, Ron," said Harry cautiously, not knowing exactly what Ron's face might mean.
"Hi," said Ron quietly, studying Harry. Harry, wary, sat up, pushing his pillow between him and the cold, hard bed head.
"What... what are you doing here so early?" asked Harry, with a fleeting glance at Hermione.
Ron shrugged. "I just thought I might as well support my best friend," he said, voice strangely high-pitched. Harry tried not to look surprised at this statement, and, not being able to think of a response, didn't say anything. "I mean, you've just defeated the greatest wizard of all time... gotta take something out of you, hasn't it?" Ron added, trying to smile.
Harry sighed. "I'm okay, Ron. Just because I can't remember... doesn't mean I'm not okay."
Ron frowned. "Okay, Harry. Forgive me for being concerned. But Dumbledore said that I should help you remember her, so let's get that over with." Ron had gone slightly pink, and his voice was rising. Not noticing these symptoms for what they were, Harry simply heard Ron's annoyed tone and became slightly incensed.
"Okay," said Harry tightly.
Ron avoided his eyes. "Well, I guess we should… should start at the beginning," he said, glancing quickly at Hermione, as if he thought Harry was blind.
Harry took in a breath. "That'd be good," he said, unable to prevent the sarcasm.
Ron frowned. "No need to get snappy, Harry," he said. "I'm just trying to help."
"Fine," snapped Harry. He looked down, but, still, out of the corner of his eye, he saw Ron give another flashing glance at Hermione.
Harry sighed. The image of Ron sobbing over Hermione's immobile body just wouldn't leave his head, but the way Ron was behaving, Harry was wondering just what had gone on between the three of them before. Ron seemed to be bordering on obsessive with Hermione, and the jealously Ron apparently held for him radiated from his eyes every time he looked at Harry. Harry wished he could feel sympathy for the guy, but he was making it very difficult.
Ron growled slightly. "Harry, I know that tone better than anyone, and do you have any idea how annoying it is? Now just let me do what I've been told to."
Harry glared at him. "Well, Ron, if this is all a task to you, why do you even bother? You said it yourself; you're my ex-best friend. I'd obviously done something very, very wrong, so why are you even here?" He finished very calmly, but Ron looked incensed.
Ron glared back. His eyes darted around the room rather nervously, but his face was angered. "Fine. You did do something. You ignored me. Your... Hermione was so precious to you that you ignored me, your best friend, the one who sacrificed himself to a giant chess set for you! The one you left to those stupid brains! The one you forgot! But I'm still here; I'm still willing to help. So bloody let me!" he yelled, his ears literally steaming.
"Will you please watch your volume!" bellowed Madam Pomfrey.
Harry swallowed. Ron, redness fading, twitched nervously, but looked up with fiery eyes.
"So, do you want me to help you, or not?" Ron asked simply.
Harry's head was telling him that Ron was his best friend, and if he couldn't trust him, whom could he trust; but his heart was beating furiously against it, warning him off. But Harry was scared of his emotions right now; they had kept him up all night, crying for his lost memories, crying for the girl who lay next to him, who he didn't even know. So he ignored his heart, and listened to his head. He nodded.
"Okay," said Ron. "I guess I should start from the beginning," he repeated, eyes strangely avoidant of Harry's. In a strained, monotone voice, he began. "We met Hermione on the train, in our first year. She came into out compartment looking for Neville's toad, and told me I hate dirt..."
Harry stared blankly at Ron for almost three hours of story, hearing Ron's dull tones but never really listening. Ron was presenting the facts, but even Harry knew that behind memories were not figures, but emotions. Ron seemed almost indifferent to everything that had happened, even when he tried to describe his discovery of Harry and Hermione's romantic attachment. Ron didn't seem to care at all, an idea that dulled Harry's heart. He had no idea what he had done to Ron to cause this rift, and, conveniently, Ron had omitted this event from his story. Upon finishing, Ron's voice fell silent and he simply stared out of the window.
"Thanks, Ron," said Harry, voice as flat as Ron's. "Is that everything?"
Ron swallowed nervously, and closed his eyes, fidgeting, before he answered. "No."
Harry didn't say anything.
Ron sighed, almost apprehensively. "Something... something happened between you and Hermione before you went off to fight Voldemort," he said, nervously.
Harry frowned. "Yes?"
Ron inhaled. "I heard... I wasn't supposed to, but I did... she... she told you-" Ron swallowed again- "she told you that she didn't love you, because you'd always have... the specter of Voldemort hanging over you both, and she couldn't live with that."
"So she..." Harry whispered.
"She broke up with you," finished Ron, eyes piercing.
Harry breathed. "So she doesn't want to know me," he realized. Ron didn't move. "I'm trying to remember how I loved someone who didn't even want to know me anymore."
"I guess," Ron said avoidantly. "Look, it's lunchtime, I gotta go eat, Harry... I'll see you later," he said, already at the door.
"Bye," said Harry vaguely, still thinking about what Ron had said. How could Ron not have told him this before? He's spent hours trying to remember someone who wanted to forget all about him. The fact that all this had been for nothing filled him with more emotion than he'd been able to feel before, and he quickly got dressed and left to find Ginny.
*~*~*
Unable to find Ginny anywhere, Harry spent the afternoon outside in the snow- away from the courtyard, where the rest of school was engaging in snowball fights. He kicked half-heartedly at the snow, his hair becoming dusted with snow that fell from the sky, and sat sadly on the pile of logs by the pumpkin patch. The remnants of pumpkins were shriveled and black, and slugs, kept at bay by Hagrid's powerful repellent before, crawled over them, leaving trails in the white.
As the sun began to set, he heard the noise of the students digressing, but he couldn't face the cold harshness of the hospital wing yet. He shivered slightly, pulled his coat further around him, and closed his eyes. He screwed them up, trying to remember her- but all that came into his head was her white, immobile body lying in the cold, hard hospital bed. He shook his head in frustration and opened his eyes.
He yelped. In front of him stood a rather dazed-looking girl, with a long head of blonde hair and a vague smile.
"Hello, Harry," she said serenely. If Harry hadn't remembered before, the voice did it- it was Luna Lovegood. She sat down next to him. "Are you alright?" she asked, with uncharacteristic concern.
"Hi, Luna," Harry said, heart calming down again. "Aren't you a little cold?" he asked, looking at her short-sleeved t-shirt and frowning.
"I'm fine, Harry, but how sweet of you to notice," she smiled, putting a hand on his shoulder. "Have you been out here long?" she asked.
Harry deliberated between a lie and the truth, but Luna was someone he knew he could trust, having spent hours with her, just talking. He remembered her being surprisingly tender and understanding during their talks, never being nosy, insensitive or uncaring. He knew Luna cared, and he knew she could help.
"All afternoon," he finally said. "I've just been thinking."
"About Hermione," said Luna. It was not a question; it was a statement.
Harry looked at her. That was another good thing about Luna- she always went straight to the point.
"Yes," he said. "Luna... what do you remember about me and her?"
Luna mused. "You were always close to each other. Even when you fought, you were always right next to each other. I remember seeing you in The Three Broomsticks, snuggled up against each other... I always saw the other couples around, but they were never as... comfortable as you two seemed. You were never secretive about your relationship... it was like you wanted everyone to know, even though you knew everyone would want to know. You were so... happy, all the time. You were always smiling. It was like you were so proud of her, and you wanted to show the world."
Harry looked taken aback. Luna brushed her hair back and smiled gently.
"Look, Harry, I'm sorry for what happened," she said, sincerely, and all trace of weirdness had momentarily vanished. "I can't image forgetting about... well, you know," she flushed, "and I'm sorry you're going through this. I hope Ginevra is helping you to remember well," she said. She took an already shocked Harry by surprise as she gave him a tight hug.
"Let me know if you need anything, Harry," finished Luna softly, and she rose, gliding away across the snow towards the castle.
*~*~*
Harry approached the hospital wing with resignation in his steps, hearing nothing but silence around him. Still not comfortable with being stared at by the entire school, he hadn't eaten all day, and he was quite ravenous. He slipped into the hospital wing, quickly noting that all the beds were empty, bar Hermione's. Looking towards his own, he saw that Ginny sat facing the window, and made a small noise of surprise.
She immediately flashed around. "Harry!" she shouted, running toward him. "Where have you been all day? I had something we could have done, to help you... where were you?" she demanded, steering him towards his bed. Harry heard Madam Pomfrey rustling inside her office, humming lightly.
"I was..." he began, slightly intimidated, "...outside. Thinking."
Ginny immediately realized what "thinking" signified and softened. "Oh, Harry, I'm sorry I yelled just now. I just... I had this idea this morning and have wanted to try it out all day, but I could never find you." She reached down to the ground and retrieved a thick, bound book.
"What's that?" asked Harry.
Ginny smiled. "A photo album. Hermione's. And she was always showing it off, I didn't steal it," she added, cracking it open to the first page. "I thought looking at some photos might stir some memories..." Ginny said, looking up at Harry, who was running a finger over his scar.
Harry sighed. "I suppose it's worth a shot," he said.
Ginny nodded. "Okay," she said, pointing to the first picture. Harry watched it. He only saw a figure he remembered vaguely as being a Professor Lockhart, who was smiling smarmily and trying to pull what looked like Harry's arm into the picture.
Harry frowned. "But Hermione's not even in this picture," he said, pointing.
Ginny smiled. "Hermione was infatuated with Lockhart in second year. So this picture combines her first two loves- him and you," she laughed. "She said she got over him, though, especially when he got that jail sentence for drunk-flying."
Harry raised an eyebrow, and looked at the next page. Ron was in this one, along with him and Hermione, all smiling as they stood outside Hagrid's hut, Fang the dog barking at Ron's heels, and getting drool over them. Harry smiled at this, which made Ginny momentarily put a hand on his.
Harry studied Hermione. She looked young- they all did, it was obviously first year- and she was leaning against Harry's shoulder, her bushy hair draped across his lapel. Ron stood slightly apart on Harry's other side, distracted by Fang.
Ginny turned the page. "Ah, here's one of you as a couple," she smiled, pointing towards the bottom of the page.
Harry looked. They were sat together by the glistening blue lake; sheets of parchment were lazily scattered before them, and were kissing gently, with butterflies fluttering on the flowers around them. Something in Harry's heart jolted as he watched Hermione run a hand down picture-Harry's back, and he winced. Ginny's head snapped up.
"What's wrong, Harry?" she said, with a tiny sliver of hope in her voice.
"Nothing, I..." Harry said, confused. "I just had a little jolt, is all," he said, shaking his head.
He felt Ginny's piercing eyes looking at him, but she didn't say anything. She turned the page and he looked down. The photo at the top of the page showed what Luna had described- he and Hermione snuggled comfortably in a corner of the Three Broomsticks, both with eyes closed, as people chattered around them.
"I took this picture," said Ginny quietly. Harry looked up at her and was surprised to see a glistening of tears in her eyes. "I'd just come in, and you just looked so... natural, and comfortable... I had to take a photo," she sniffed, wiping her eyes. Harry watched her, her eyes filling with yet more tears. She sniffled, and, when he put a hand on her arm, she flung herself around him and started sobbing. "Oh, Harry!" she wailed. He uncomfortably patted her back, waving Madam Pomfrey away when she came to see what was going on.
But when the door of the hospital wing opened and Ron's face peeked in, Harry did nothing as Ron's face turned to shock, and the door was soon closed, leaving a sobbing Ginny in Harry's arms, the wind tauntingly whispering names that Harry had forgotten.