Forgotten Lights

Author’s note-This started as a response to Beautiful Disaster's Portkey challenge # million and a half. The final version ended up an amnesia-type fic, cannibalized from the similar/better ones I've read over the years. It takes place post-Hogwarts, post-Voldemort.

I’d like to thank Mycha kk, Erika, Emma3503, BD, and Hopeless Romantic for their comments/encouragement.

Disclaimer: I own none of the characters. I own nothing, so don’t sue.

Forgotten Lights

Three years ago today would be the last time I slept next to him. The last of many times. During the war I stayed on his couch, ready to wake him if the nightmares became too much. I spent the better part of a year watching him sleep, memorizing the way his face looked in the firelight, the moonlight, and the sunlight.

I remember the way he looked when he first woke up. Well, strike that. He didn’t have just one “look.” There were many different expressions, each with their own cause and complaint. One for chilly mornings. One for sweet dreams. One for when he was just glad to get through the night. I couldn’t count them all. There was this one though, that I saw more than most. I couldn’t place it, try as I might, and it took me months to figure it out.

One day I realized it wasn’t his look, it was mine. The one he got when I was the first thing he saw when he opened his eyes.

I loved him for that. Note how I use the word ‘loved,’ past tense. I never think about ‘us’ and ‘love’ in terms of the present or the future. I used to though, every day, but not any more.

So, yeah, I ran from him. I ran away as fast and as far as I could, somehow ending up in goddess’s-green-nowhere Ireland. Matterly is a nice enough town though. Here, I’m the quiet Englishwoman with the rosebushes that bloom the year round. I have my own little picturesque cottage, complete with clinging vines and a vegetable garden.

Yes, now I’m an expatriate with a marrow fetish. Laugh if you dare.

I’m happy though. Not happy-happy, but, definitely not unhappy. That’s all I can hope for really. Mostly because I can’t mourn for him properly, what with his not being dead. Well, not really. The part that was mine, the part of him that belonged to me, is gone. Long gone. I understand that now, and I accept it. Maybe that’s what I should be mourning: my moving on. On to a much less grand, but no less important, chapter in my life. The one without Harry.

(Three years ago, “The Accident”)

Harry was hurt.

Those were the only words I could wrap my mind around while Ron prattled on in the seat next to me. He was hurt. Harry. My Harry. I remember holding his lifeless hand in the MM hospital as the healers explained the curse he’d been hit with. Some old crony of Voldemort’s, so strung out on dark magic he couldn’t remember his own name. Ironically, that’s pretty much the way he’d left Harry: spell-boy had used a memory curse.

I didn’t believe them until Harry opened his eyes two days later. That’s when I started crying. ‘My look’ was gone.

Happily enough for the Wizarding World, his memories ended up fairly-well intact. Up until the last year that is. The last eleven months were gone. Nine months before he proposed. Six months before we started sharing the same room. Two months before we’d even begun to date. Ha. “Date.” We didn’t date. Not really. Our relationship went from being ‘Harry and Hermione’ to being ‘Harry and Hermione with Snogging.’ Great snogging. Lots of touching and kisses that lasted for days. Our first time was nearly an accident, and gods, what an accident.

We were sitting on the couch in the apartment. Our apartment. We’d lived together since Hogwarts. Together, but in separate rooms. So we were sitting on the couch, talking about who knows what, when Harry, in his ever-existent bad luck, split his drink on the end table. I reached over him with a napkin, innocently enough, trying to keep the wine from getting on the carpet, when I lost my balance and fell into his lap. It was a harmless fall really. One that could’ve been laughed off and swept under that ever-growing rug of repression. Then, of course, I twisted around and found myself gazing into a sea of green.

That’s when I realized our bodies were flush against each other. His nose was brushing against mine, and our legs were hopelessly tangled. He gathered me tightly to him, cradling me in his arms and staring at my mouth. He swore I made the first move. Liar. He leaned in first. Clever witch I was, I merely took the hint, gripping his collar and pulling him to me.

We basically snogged each other senseless, somehow managing to roll off the couch and end up on the floor. I was straddling him and he was gripping my hips as I lifted my shirt and fell back against him, our tongues dueling, his hands on my thighs, my hand reaching between us to the latch of his trousers and…

Anyway, it was an accident. An accident, not a mistake. Sure, I’d been wanting to do something like that for months. Especially those times he came down to the breakfast table, all shirtless and spiky haired. I remember spending the next several weeks punishing him for being such a lickable little tease. Several of our meals actually ended with us on that damn table. My back hated me for a long time, but the other parts were more than satisfied.

Then, of course, came the curse. He was still Harry. In fact, to other people, there was no apparent difference. He went back to work, bought season tickets to his favorite Quidditch teams, and even came down to breakfast with spiky hair. However, our plates ended up in the sink instead of on the floor. Because I’d decided not to tell him.

It’s not that I didn’t want to, I’ve always wanted to. I still do. Just so he’d know that at one point I loved him. Loved him more than I thought possible. But it’s not that simple. The healers said he wouldn’t get his memory back, and I didn’t want him to feel, I don’t know, obligated. I guess I just didn’t want to force it.

Hiding an “us” wasn’t hard. I just gathered the few items that had that We-Are-More-Than-Friends air about them. A few photos, some vacation videos, two or three pensieves Harry’d tucked away….

Not that I gave up trying to rekindle the romantic tension. I was playing fair, not hard-to-get. I tried dropping hints. Even went into seduction mode during that second month. Needless to say, it didn’t work. He just thought I was sick, or drunk, or I don’t know what.

It was when he started dating that I moved out.

Her name was ‘Ashley.’ Nice enough girl. Nothing really wrong with her, nothing that a little Prosaic and a polo mallet couldn’t fix. The night I saw them kissing on the couch, our couch, was the night I left. Three weeks later I set off for parts unknown. Because there was something else Harry couldn’t know about: I was pregnant.

I remember staring at the results. I was sitting on the tub in my parent’s bathroom, still pining over the lost love of my life, determined to live and die alone. So when the strip turned pink, I did the only thing I could do: I started laughing. I laughed until my eyes watered and my parents came running to the door. I laughed as they looked at each other and debated on whom to call for help. I laughed, and I didn’t stop for a good twenty minutes.

Wow, I thought. Life certainly likes its little curve balls. I get Harry. I lose Harry. I have Harry’s love child.

It was too much. All I could do was laugh, because if I started to cry, I’d never stop.

So I came to Matterly to live on my own. The pregnancy was simple enough. No complications, and I gave birth to Gillian Perdita Granger two years ago on May 1st. I named her ‘Gillian’ after Harry’s mom. I thought it a clever tribute. I like to think Lily would agree.

Gillian, Gill, Gilly-bean. She’s, well, she’s perfect. She has my accursed hair though, and I know some day that girl will resent me for it. But she has Harry’s eyes. Everyone thinks so. They don’t say it, of course, but they would if Harry were here with us. I can only imagine his face on hearing it. It breaks my heart and makes me incredibly happy at the same time.

I still see him sometimes. I apparated down to London until my third term and then started again after the birth. I’m always alone though. Harry hasn’t met my Gilly-bean. As soon as he saw her, he’d realize who the father is, and, somehow, I don’t think it would mean as much to this Harry. This Harry, whose only thought in life is dating young, amorous witches and traveling round the world after rogue wizards. My Harry would…well, any way, things are fine the way they are.

Harry and I are still friends. We’re not close, but we’re friendly. We have lunch sometimes. He even surprised me, showing up at one of my book signings. I wrote “piss off” on the copy he handed me. He laughed when he read it, and for a split-second, I was treated to a screwed-up version of ‘my look.’

I don’t spend time at the Grove either. Mostly I just work on my writing and tend to Gill. She’s brilliant of course. Shiny-as-a-button bright. She’s also a very inquisitive little girl who likes to tear apart anything she gets her hands on. It’ll be years before we can get a pet.

And she’s so small. Tiny really. I can’t imagine her growing up, playing sports, going to Hogwarts. I would love to see Snape’s face when he finds another Granger in his classroom, raising her hand and bothering the living hezpah out of him.

So, in other words, life is good, and I’m not just saying that to convince myself. I’ve found happiness after Harry. For a while, I didn’t think I could, but I was wrong. I was wrong. Write that down because it’s probably the first and only time I’ll say it. Won’t be the only time I’ll hear it though. Gillian will start talking soon, and with all that Granger blood in her, she’s sure to be as hard-headed as her mum. Hopefully she’ll have enough of her father’s good humor to balance it out.

I don’t know what I’ll tell Gill when she asks about him. Her Daddy. Hopefully, that day won’t come for some time. I don’t know if I’ll be able to tell her the truth, and I’m less likely to lie to her. I guess I’ll just wait and see. So, back to that strange state of limbo. But it’s not so bad here, I’m getting used to it.

(Harry’s narrative)

It was a day like any other. Wake up, eat, get dressed, etc. I remember digging through my closet, looking for a clean shirt. Never was one for cleansing charms. Everything came out smelling like burnt rubber and banana peels.

Times like these I missed Hermes. She always made sure my clothes were clean enough. Funny that, because I’d been thinking about her a lot lately. Well, not thinking so much as dreaming. There was this one dream where we’re eating eggs one minute then on top of the table the next, pawing at each other like a couple of randy teenagers. Not that I mind dreaming about Hermes. Not that it hadn’t happened before. But these were strange. Her hair was different for one. Shorter than it is now, more like it used to be when we lived together. And the dreams were always set around the house, beginning in perfectly plausible exchanges and ending with perfectly packed ones.

Anyhow, I was looking for a shirt, tossing out old winter clothes from the closet, when I felt something in the pocket of an overcoat. Reaching inside, I pulled out a pensieve.

As I sat there puzzled, it opened, and my life changed forever. Again.

- - - - - -

Hermione and I were by the pond outside her parent’s house. It was Christmas, and everything was white and silver, shining with moonlight and covered with frost. The night sky was clear, and we were just sitting there. Enjoy it. Enjoying each other. Gods she looked gorgeous. Her cheeks were rosy and her eyes were bright. Her lips were just begging to be kissed, though they looked like that’d had enough of that already. My arm snaked around her waist, and my mouth found her neck. I nibbled and licked, reveling in her delicious coos and sighs. Her eyes were hazy as she turned towards me, my name on her lips, her arm around my shoulders, and her hand, suddenly, on a small ring box.

Her eyes widened with her realization. She didn’t say a word as she opened it. I missed her face though, as I was too busy tugging on her ear to take in her reaction. What can I say? Ring or no ring, it was still Hermione, and it was still hard as hell to keep my hands off her. She gasped and threw her arms around me, knocking us both off the bench as she kissed me two feet into the snow.

“Harry I don’t believe this. Yes, oh yes.” She planted several more kisses on my face and neck.

“Yeah, love,” I said with a smirk and a wistful sigh, “I figured it was time I made an honest woman of you.”

She paused and looked at me with raised eyebrows. “An honest woman? Just who are you planning on marrying?”

I propped myself up and stared into her lovely cinnamon eyes, tracing her cheeks with my finger. “Only you love…”

- - - - - -

Ok, yeah, it was a bit hokey. But it was heartfelt. Besides, if a bloke can’t be a bit mushy when he’s proposing to his girl, then dammit, life just isn’t worth living.

Anyway, that’s when the memory ended. I just sat on the edge of my bed for a few minutes trying to suss it out. Not minutes, hours actually. Several hours. Only I didn’t know it was hours, because that’s when the rest of my memories came flooding back.

I remember waking up with clothes all over my bed and the pensieve in my hand. It was bright outside, and sunrise was creeping over the windowsill. I patted the space next to me, expecting to find a sleeping Hermione, maybe do a bit more after finding her.

Needless to say, she wasn’t next to me. Next to me? Ha. We weren’t in the same time zone.

Gods, what a blind panic I felt then. Realizing what I had done, how I’d hurt her. Merlin, I’d even asked her for relationship advise. Advise about a relationship with a woman who wasn’t her! I threw on some clothes, determined to find her, and, if need be, chase away whatever wanker she was with. I’d be damned if I lived to see her with anyone else, which was a tad unreasonable since she’d seen me with women enough. She’d even joked about how I’d have to move to Bath since I’d gone through London’s witch population.

I started to apparate to her house when I realized I didn’t know where she lived. I didn’t know where she lived! Gods, old-me was an arse. Anyway, I went to Ron’s and explained everything. Funny thing though, he didn’t want to tell me. I thought he was joking. Ha. Ha. I said, giving him a playful punch. Now give me her address you git. But he prattled on about needing to tell her and not to surprise her and some such nonsense. So I did the only thing I could do. I snuck a peek in his address book when he wasn’t looking.

Next thing I know, I’m in the middle of goddess’s-green-nowhere. I seemed to be in someone’s yard, and I just stand there, transfixed, studying the little vine-covered cottage in front of me.

Suddenly, she’s right beside me.

----------------

I was in the backyard with Gillian when I heard the familiar crack. It wasn’t unusual for Ginny or Luna to pop by, so I didn’t get up right away. Gillian was in the flower beds with her little gardening tools, helping me plant bulbs for the spring season. Well, not so much as helping as throwing dirt on herself and hitting the ground with her play shovel. She obviously got her green thumb from her father.

I went round to find a very disheveled Harry standing in the front yard, staring in disbelief at my cottage. I remember looking back toward Gillian, my mind reeling as I wordlessly approached him. I was smiling my big fake, happy-to-see-you Harry smile when he caught my hand and roughly pulled me to him. I patted his back gingerly, waiting for him to tell me the bad news. Gods, it felt good in his arms though. Cruel that. Like offering a starving man a thimble full of broth.

I pulled away, a dozen questions on my lips, and found myself staring into a sea of green. That’s when I nearly sank to the ground.

‘My look’ was shining back at me.

My knees buckled, and he held me by the waist as I wrapped my arms around him. A dozen questions had quickly turned to a hundred, and I gripped his collar to keep upright. He tried to calm me, cupping my cheek and tracing my features with his fingertips as he shushed my teary utterances about how and where and what had happened. Gods he was here. My Harry had come back. He’d come back to me. He closed the distance between us and I closed my eyes and waited for our lips to meet for the first time in a million hours.

That’s when Gillian decided to make herself known.

“Mama,” her sweet little voice rang out behind us.

————

So I had her in my arms. My Hermes. My girl. Guess some other bloke hadn’t snatched my treasure up. Apparently it was my good luck that the male population of England was deaf, dumb, and blind. Which was fine. Saved me the trouble of having to curse some poor sod into oblivion. She wrapped her arms around me, and dear gods I was home. My hands were shaking as I tried to keep from just attacking her mouth. I had gone three years without her and didn’t think I could go on a minute more.

I leaned in, barely brushing her perfect lips, when I heard a little voice behind me.

“Mama.”

I turned, and I nearly sank to my knees.

————

“Mama”

Harry looked like he was about to pass out. He leaned against me for support, just when I needed it myself. Guess it didn’t take him long to figure out what had happened during his, um, absence. Gillian, forward little thing she was, toddled right up to him and began tugging on his trousers. Guess she wasn’t used to men being around.

He turned back to me. Confusion clouded his features as he silently pleaded for answers. Answers I wasn’t about to provide, because I’d apparently forgotten how to talk or move of my own free will. Instead I pulled away from him, gathered up Gill, and went inside, not bothering to close the door behind me. I took her to her room and decided to dress her for her nap. Dressing Gilly-bean was simple. It required no cognitive effort, which was fine, since I couldn’t manage any at the moment anyway.

With Gill in bed, I shut her door behind me, readying myself for The Talk. I went into the drawing room, hoping to find Harry there. He wasn’t though. My thoughts were along the lines of oh gods, he’s left, he’s gone, he’s angry and hurt and…which was just silly since he was still outside.

He hadn’t moved and was staring at the same patch of ground where Gillian had left him. I walked over and put my hand on his shoulder.

”Harry,” I said gently.

He didn’t answer right away. After a minute he shrugged off my hand and turned to me. “Why didn’t you…” he trailed off despairingly. He didn’t need to finish.

I took a step back, my eyes downcast as I toyed with my hands. “You know why,” I answered softly.

“No, I don’t.” His eyes narrowed as they sought mine. “I really don’t know why you lied to me for THREE YEARS.” He shouted that last part. Wow he was angry. But, then again, so was I.

“I didn’t lie to you Harry.” I said calmly. “I just…”

“You just hid her from me.” He interrupted grimly. “Just let me go on, thinking she didn’t exist, not…”

I didn’t let him finish. Good thing I put my trowel down earlier. I might have thrown it at him.

---------------

“Harry,” she interrupted me firmly, leveling her Head Girl gaze at me. I hated that she was calm. That she had so casually lied to me about her, no, our child.

“Harry…Yes, I did keep her from you, but I…”

“You bitch,” I said bitterly.

Her formerly soft expression closed off then. I didn’t immediately regret saying it though. It took a whole two seconds. She began taking long breaths, her whole body tensing as she stepped forward, looking like she was going to slap me. I almost wish she had. Anything would’ve been better than that damn, blank look of hers.

“Just tell me one thing Harry,” she said at last.

“What?” I asked carefully, wondering if I should apologize now or let her retaliate first.

“Would it have mattered?” She asked simply.

What?” I asked incredulously.

“Would it have mattered? To you, I mean. Not the way you are now but to the old you. The one who barely remembered my address. The one who I had lunch with twice a month. The one who I thought I was helping in letting live his own life by not forcing YOURS on him.” She jabbed me sharply at that last bit. I tried to think of an answer, failing miserably of course.

She looked pale and weary as she took a step back. “It hasn’t been easy for me either Harry.” Her eyes were pooling as she fought back her tears. Gods I’d made her cry. Again. That’s all I ever seemed to do. “I missed you.” She wiped away a few tears that were running down her cheek. She gave a half-hearted chuckle. “Missed you? Ha. Mourned you more like. I guess it was my mucked up way of coping. Maybe it was wrong but…”

I didn’t let her finish. After all, it was my Hermes standing there, teary-eyed and weak-kneed, her little body barely holding her up. I’m surprised I’d kept more than a foot and a half away for that long. I crushed her to me, kissing away her tears and telling her I was sorry and that it was alright. Because it was. Not in the overall, things-aren’t-complicated, all-trust-issues-are-resolved kind of way, but in our way. We were alright. Because I understood. She had been keeping ‘us’ alive by keeping Gillian to herself. She didn’t want other-me to look at, gods I didn’t even know her name, with that bachelor’s paternity-suit, deer-in-the-headlights look. She wanted Gillian to be my daughter. Not his.

I rained kisses down on her as she gripped my collar, pulling me closer (as though I needed her help). Germanus she could’ve been married with six kids and I wouldn’t have been able to keep my hands off her. Not that she was trying to stop me now. Her little fists ran up and down my back as she said my name over and over again. I realized then that I hadn’t given her a proper kiss. Little minx she was though, she beat me to it, claiming my mouth with her own, knocking me backwards onto the soft grass under us.

I couldn’t say how long the kisses lasted. There, under her rosebushes, we held each other, promising with touches what we couldn’t with words. She pulled away first, but with great effort, much to my pride.

“We (gasp) better go in. Gillian will be up by now.” She stood on shaky legs and helped me up.

“Gillian? Who’s Gillian…” I asked dizzily. Wait. Right. Nice name that, sounds like my mum’s…oh.

She smiled shyly at me as I grinned. Male pride and all. “Gillian, huh?” I asked. Family man that I was, I gave my ineffectual approval. “I like it.”

”Really?” She asked, looking pleased.

“It’s perfect.”

”Yeah, well, it went well with Granger,” she shrugged.

“It’ll go better with Potter,” I said. She started and slowly looked up at me.

”What?” She whispered with wide, watery eyes.

I took a step forward and wrapped my arms around her, something I intended to do as often as I could for as long as she’d let me. “It. Will. Be. Perfect. With. Potter.” I punctuated each word with a kiss. “Because,” I added, “if you’re thinking about giving her some other man’s name, I’ll have to brush up on my crucio curses.”

She smiled at me then. Her turn-me-to-jelly-every-time smile. She took my hand in hers and led me towards the front door.

“Come inside Harry. There’s someone I want you to meet.”

End