A/N: Hiya, again. Slightly re-vamped third chapter. I hope you like it!
Disclaimer: Short and sweet-not mine!
Chapter 3: A Lapse in Memory
"Please, someone please help me!" a muffled voice begged several meters away.
"I'm going, cover me," a young woman commanded the bewildered red-headed wizard beside her. Without waiting for his reply, she tucked her wand into the back pocket of her jeans and ran out from behind the makeshift fort consisting of an overturned carriage. Every one of her senses was muted, their energy diverted to her movement as she ran toward the pleading voice. She wouldn't remember until later the wreckage on either side of her path, nor the shouts and grazing of curses around her.
She now saw why the voice had been hard to follow-its owner had suffered a deep gash in his neck, mere inches from his windpipe. When he saw Hermione, he grabbed her wrist tightly and rasped, "Please help me! I-didn't-see them-coming."
She made what she hoped were soothing noises and ripped off part of the bottom of her shirt. Holding it to the wound, it soaked through almost immediately. She ripped off another piece of fabric, pressing it to the young man's neck. It too was completely bloodied in what seemed to be only a few moments. Blood, blood, so much blood! She looked around as though the shouts of pain from other wounded and the hateful cry of curses sailed past her could provide some helpful hint on how to save someone from dying. She felt pressure on her wrist and looked down.
His eyes met hers. He was afraid. She shook her head forcefully and applied more pressure to his neck, almost angrily encouraging him to stay with her. Later she would recall the dying intensity of his gray eyes as his soul departed. It was the memory of these eyes that would help her months later to locate his name and photograph in the Ministry archives of war casualties.
Somewhere in the back of her mind, she noted shouts from the carriage. With a sort of numb detachment, she thought that she should be feeling more fear, but strangely all she felt was…cold. And all was dark.
Hermione suddenly jerked, inhaling water and spluttering as she looked wildly around. She came to by degrees, her eyes first falling on the soft peachy paint and then the slightly rusted window casement on the far wall. Slowly she realized that she had had that dream again, and that she wasn't on some battlefield but at home in her bath. Her shivering had less to do with the barely tolerable temperature of the water than with the memory of that day.
His name was Robert Henderson, he was twenty-one years old and a Magical Law Enforcement officer, he had sandy-blond hair and gray eyes, his wand was mahogany and unicorn hair. No family. That was all the archives had said. She recited it like a mantra like she had many times before.
She knew they would come next, but she still couldn't stop the sobs that escaped her. With a fleeting look at the bathroom door, she covered her mouth with her shaking hand and tried to suppress her weeping. Images of the young man's blood and gray eyes swam in her vision, taunting her. Even with everything that she had done, that she had learned, none of it was enough. She let him die. He was dead now because she couldn't save him. Because she had been weak and vulnerable. Absently, and almost to reaffirm this, her fingers traced the protrusion on her shoulder blade where the curse had hit her and further prevented her from continuing her ministrations on the fallen wizard.
"It's been almost three years, Hermione," she repeated yet again, reminding herself of a broken record, but effectively breaking the spell of the dream. Shaking her head to diffuse the remaining images, she grabbed her towel from the rack to her right and stood up from the bath to dry off.
A few minutes later, clad in a thin cotton robe, she followed the billowing clouds of steam into the hall of her flat. Heading to her room, she passed Harry's open door on the right and gave a small wave to where his prone figure lay on the bed. He raised himself up and returned her greeting.
"Is the bathroom finally free?" he asked in a falsely exasperated tone. "I was about ready to call in a search and rescue party for you, Hermione, you were in there nearly an hour!"
That elicited a slight chuckle from her, but it sounded forced and died away quickly.
"Sorry," Hermione apologized. "I fell asleep."
It was a simple sentence that hung in the air for a moment while Harry's grin fell into a concerned frown. His voice softened slightly as he asked, "Was it your dream again?"
She nodded but didn't meet his eyes, instead staring at the space where the bedpost rested on the floor. This was the part of the dreaming she hated most-knowing how fragile it made her appear when she'd already worked so hard to seem strong and capable.
"You did everything you could, Hermione," Harry assured her quietly.
As habit dictated, they remained a few paces apart. Neither made a move to close that space which represented more than just air and floor. For Hermione it was her last remaining shred of dignity, her chance to maintain some kind of composure. And for his part, Harry seemed to understand that.
She nodded and mumbled, "I know," as if on auto-pilot. They'd been through this before.
Crossing the room in two strides, he met her at the door and somewhat hesitantly placed his hands on her arms. Almost involuntarily, she raised her head, surprised at the sudden deviation from the norm. His expression matched hers, as though he too was shocked by his own behavior.
Among the pell-mell of thoughts coursing through her brain, most predominant were those spurred by the sensation of heat emanating from Harry's touch. But she was coherent enough to register that Harry had begun speaking.
"Not many people would leave the safety of cover to plug the wound of a stranger. That alone makes you a better person than the rest of us," he said sincerely. His words were serious and brooked no argument. Not that she had the energy to do so.
She smiled wanly. "When did you become so wise? Aren't I supposed to be the one worrying about you?"
His face broke out into a genuine grin. "I figured I'd be magnanimous and give you a break," he said, adopting a pompous expression and putting his hands on his hips.
Hermione quirked an eyebrow. "Hanging out with Ernie lately or using Ron's Word of the Day toilet paper again?" she asked, laughing for the first time all day.
"Toilet paper," Harry replied, crestfallen that he'd been found out. She laughed and playfully swatted his arm. Still chuckling, she turned to leave, but Harry stopped her. Her gaze briefly flitted from his firm grip on her arm to his furrowed brow. "Are you going to be all right?"
She regarded him for a moment and then smiled. "I will be. Thanks, Harry," she replied sincerely, losing herself his green gaze. It was more of a promise to herself than him. Suddenly she realized that she was staring and tore her eyes away from his face, a faint blush creeping up her cheeks. She continued speaking, the words tumbling out in a rush and she tried to hurry her retreat. "I just think that if I could get past this, I'd be better at helping others do the same. How am I supposed to counsel people through their grief if I can't even deal with my own?"
Nodding to himself, Harry contemplated her question. "I reckon it's hard because everyone is different. I mean, you were fine until a year ago or so. You can't really compare yourself to others, Hermione," he answered quietly.
"I wouldn't say that mentally blocking a traumatic event is `fine,' but I suppose you're right," she said as though from a distance. "For once," she added, coming back to herself and earning a phony pout from Harry. "There's no use prolonging the inevitable."
She thanked him again and explained that she had to go get dressed. This was her last day in the two weeks' compulsory leave she had been forced into after the news of Charlotte, and she intended to make the most of it. To be honest, she hadn't wanted the time off but her boss who was nothing if not an even more frugal version of Ebenezer Scrooge, was not sympathetic to her many plights.
It was customary that the therapist of a dead patient be put on some administrative leave if the death was unnatural, and until now Hermione hadn't really considered that it might be as much of a punishment as a treatment. See that your patients don't die, it seemed to scream at her.
She hid her wince at the thought as she turned around and headed back to her room. When she reached the threshold she looked back at Harry and noticed the return of his concerned gaze. She tried to give him a reassuring nod, but was distracted by the screech of an owl as it flew into her room, a scroll attached to one of its legs.
Closing the door behind her, she cinched her robe tighter and hurried to untie the letter. Without even waiting to pay the bird, she immediately tore the seal on the parchment and unfolded the unexpected piece of post.
The script was of the official Ministry sort and she hastily skimmed the letter's contents, ignoring the insistent chirps of the post owl. She looked up when finished and stared at her bedcover dazedly. A particularly piercing cry and a rather sharp peck on her finger broke her reverie, and she quickly retrieved a few knuts from the coin jar from her desk.
Having finally received due payment, the delivery owl hopped to Hermione's windowsill and took off. She kept her eyes trained on the course of flight until it was far out of sight, frowning thoughtfully at the letter from her boss.
Crossing back to where she had dropped the letter in her haste to assuage the owl's screeching, she picked it back up and again studied the parchment more carefully.
Dear Healer Granger,
The following is in accordance with section 38.C.ii of the St. Mungo's Hopsital for Magical Maladies and Injuries Decree:
You are hereby placed on probationary status following your return to employment. This applies to any and all involvement with patients until the time designated by your head supervisor. Regular appointments are to be indefinitely postponed and your are prohibited from accepting new patients until your probation term has been completed.
Should you wish contest the material in this letter, please see Head Receptionist Christine Phillips within the next two week-although we advise against it, because the appeal process takes even longer than that. Good day.
Ministry Staff Member, Constance Briggs Constance Briggs Healer Ebenezer H. Powell, EbenezerH. Powell
Hermione looked up in shock. So what was the point of going back to work if she wouldn't be allowed to continue cases with her current clients? Again the feeling that the Ministry was in some way holding her responsible returned full force, leaving a bitter taste on her tongue. Slowly she sank onto her bed, allowing herself to finally consider those thoughts that she had been trying so diligently to banish.
Charlotte poisoned herself. Even Hermione had to admit that the physical evidence of this was overwhelming-Harry had said that they'd recovered Charlotte's fingerprints on the vial of poison, not to mention the eye-witness accounts. Though somewhere deep in her mind, Hermione was sure that it wasn't true. It was partly due to her influence that she had gotten Harry to convince the head of the Auror department that his team should at least investigate the case a little further, despite its being out of their jurisdiction.
Hermione mused on these things for moment until Harry's worried voice broke through her thoughts. After a few seconds of pseudo-eavesdropping, she surmised that he must be on a Floo call and was content to leave it at that when she accidentally overheard her own name.
Quietly, she crossed the room and squeezed open the door, wincing as it creaked loudly. She paused briefly but continued tip-toeing toward the living room when the conversation hadn't halted. The voices were much clearer in the hall, though she could tell Harry was making an effort to be quiet while he talked to his partner, Persephone.
"-nothing new. No leads at all," Persephone was saying.
Hermione daringly peeked around the corner and noticed that Harry was pacing, wearing a pattern in the rug by the fireplace in which his partner's head was suspended in the flames.
He glanced at Persephone mid-stride and dropped his shoulders somewhat defeatedly, lowering his voice further. "Is there anything to go on?" he asked with the barest trace of hope.
In the hallway Hermione almost involuntarily leaned toward Persephone as she answered, her feelings of guilt for intentionally eavesdropping on her best friend's conversation momentarily forgotten.
"Well, it still looks like suicide if that's what you mean," she replied indifferently.
Hermione supposed that Harry hadn't told his partner the real reasons why he was
pushing for an in depth investigation of what appeared to be a very clear-cut case. Again she fought down the guilt that accompanied the reminder that she was using her Ministry connections to further her own causes. There was no reason to assume this was anything other than a suicide, except for Hermione's intuition that Charlotte wouldn't have taken such a drastic measure-especially when she remembered their parting comments only a little more than two weeks before. It just didn't make sense that a woman so determined to only remember her husband with love instead of grief would go to that extreme.
Hermione's thoughts were going in such circles that she almost missed what
Persephone said next.
"Odd thing though," said the Auror with a crinkled brow, "The witnesses are changing their testimony. Those who before claimed that they had not seen Mrs. Fairclough for the past week are now admitting that they'd seen her the night in question. It's strange, I've never seen anything like it. Of course, it may be nothing-most of them are quite old, but still. Some are even going as far as to say that they remembered hearing that Mrs. Fairclough went bankrupt and couldn't support herself any longer."
Harry nodded his head pensively. "We'll look in on that, if the goblins will let us see Char-Mrs. Fairclough's financial records. In the meantime, have any of the witnesses testified to seeing any intruders that night? Or company of any kind?"
Persephone shook her head with a curious expression on her face. Hermione guessed that maybe the Auror was picking up on Harry's over-average emotional involvement in this particular case. Harry seemed not to notice Persephone's intense gaze, which immediately rearranged itself into a polite inquisitiveness when he ceased his pacing and turned to face her.
"Thanks, Persephone, that helps a lot," he told her sincerely. She took her cue to leave and made her goodbyes, though Hermione suspected that Persephone's eyes had flitted over to where she was partially hidden in the hall. Hermione forgot to be worried that she'd been discovered, however, when she saw the sagging shoulders of her best friend as he leaned against the mantelpiece.
She was just about to announce her presence when he said quietly, "You can come out now, Hermione."
Emerging somewhat ashamedly from the dimness of the hall into the well-lit living room, Hermione realized it was useless to act as though she hadn't been eavesdropping and opened her mouth to admit her espionage. Harry once again beat her to the punch.
"I know you were listening," he stated calmly. He turned to face her and gave her worried expression a small smile. "I'm not mad," he told her and she visibly relaxed. "I was going to tell you all of this anyway, so it was probably better that you hear Persephone's reports word for word."
They didn't speak for a moment until Hermione said, "So do you think it's a coincidence that the witnesses are changing their stories?"
Harry glanced at her briefly before turning and resuming the pacing which Hermione considered to be the source of the faded path on the hearthrug. She seated herself comfortably on the couch, pulling one leg beneath her and discreetly rearranging her robe for modesty's sake.
With a deep breath, Harry tossed up his hands and conceded, "It could be. I can't think of why they would want to though. We've always checked out all of the neighbors and none of them have anything to gain by Charlotte's death. Sorry," he said at Hermione's grimace.
She shrugged with forced unaffectedness. "Maybe they aren't changing them on purpose," she suggested. Harry looked at her a little uncertainly. She continued uninterrupted, "It sounded to me like maybe they're just remembering things differently."
Harry's eyes met her swiftly in wordless communication. "Memory charms?" he asked sharply. Anyone other than a Ministry-trained official placing memory charms was a serious offence, and one that might complicate matters.
Hermione shrugged again, feeling a little helpless even as her pulse raced with the thought that perhaps she had been right about Charlotte after all. "I'd have to look into it. I've never heard of a type of memory charm that was this complex-causing someone to completely forget something is one thing, but causing them to confuse exactly what they remember is something else altogether."
Harry slumped next to her on the couch and she dimly noted that they were in almost the exact same positions as they were the night they had fallen asleep together. That night seemed to have been years ago after everything that had transpired in the past few weeks. Unconsciously it seemed, Harry shifted toward her and her pulse raced again, but for an entire different reason. She found that she had been holding her breath, and had to remind herself to breathe.
"Do you think you could look into that?" Harry asked her. She nodded and he continued, "It's just that the head of Auror department is breathing down my neck for continuing this investigation in the first place with so little evidence of foul play."
He tilted his head from where it was resting on the back of the couch and Hemione felt him regarding her profile as her mind went back and forth from thinking about how close Harry's arm was to hers to the thought that there may have been some "foul play" if someone had gone through the trouble to obliviate potential witness. The present material evidence indicated that if it was indeed a suicide, there was no reason to suppose that it was premeditated.
She again thought about how lucky it was that she had a friend like Harry, who would take her on faith and even manipulate the head of his department so that the Ministry wouldn't close the investigation.
Turning to him with a soft smile, she met his anxious expression and said, "Thank you, Harry, for everything. I know this isn't exactly protocol for a case like this."
Harry smiled just as softly, his gaze lingering somewhere just below her eyes. The moment was stretching on and on, and Hermione could feel her cheeks growing warmer, but she couldn't tear her eyes from his. And then she did what she would normally do to keep him from reading her expression-she threw her arms around him. Harry was so accustomed to her embracing him that he hardly spluttered at all as the air left his lungs. Over his shoulder, Hermione rolled her eyes at her behavior and then pulled back, surprised to see that Harry too was blushing.
They looked away from one another awkwardly and Hermione watched out of the corner of her eye as Harry became increasingly interested in the threading on his arm of the couch. Hermione cast about for something to alleviate the sudden tension in the room, but Harry beat her to it.
Clearing his throat, he asked in voice somewhat higher than usual, "So, I better head in to the office then."
Hermione nodded mutely as he pushed himself off the couch and began to walk to his bedroom. She almost immediately missed the heat his body provided. Pulling a blanket off of the nearby ottoman and wrapping it around her shoulders, she allowed her thoughts to steer her in two directions.
What kind of memory charm could perform the kind of spellwork necessary to not erase, but repeatedly modify a person's memories?
Why was Harry blushing so vividly when we hugged? She smacked herself on the forehead for that one. It was obvious-the only thing between her naked body and his robes was a thing layer of cotton. And Harry was only a warm-blooded male. It would be silly for her think past that.
Would Charlotte really have given herself poison? She seemed so earnest about just exorcising her demons in regards to her husband's death. And she specifically stated that she wasn't eager to join him just yet!
I'm surprised Harry hasn't asked Persephone out. She's beautiful and, Harry says, good at what she does. Lovely brown hair that probably doesn't expand in volume exponentially when it's humid, and pretty blue eyes that brings out her pale complexion. And not even pale like my skin in the dead of winter, but the English rose sort of pale. I'm just surprised it's taken him this long is all.
But Charlotte was planning to continue sessions with me! I don't see why she would've, unless maybe she didn't, perhaps she was-NO, Hermione told herself firmly, not even noticing the tears that had begun coursing down her cheeks as she thought of her former client. She couldn't possibly have been murdered.
"Hermione!" shouted Harry from where he stood in the corner of her vision. She turned toward him abruptly only just noticing him and swiped at her cheeks with the backs of her hands.
"Sorry," he apologized from where he stood in his Auror uniform, "I'd called you a couple of times," he explained. He did not mention her tears, for which Hermione was grateful. The constant weeping during the past weeks, most of it in secret, was exhausting. Plus, see wasn't even sure why she couldn't recover from her grief-even right after war, she was able to focus enough on a goal to ease her pain a little.
That was it! The more distracted she was by other things, the less time she had to dwell on images of Charlotte feeding herself poison, or the light going out in a dying man's eyes….
"It's all right," she said suddenly, shooting up from the couch and heading back to her bedroom. She stopped before she entered the hall and looked back at where Harry stood, nonplussed at her abrupt moodswing. "And Harry," she said, a relieved smile playing at her lips, "I'll see what I can dig up on memory charms."
He nodded and gave her a little salute before digging in the small pot by the fireplace for Floo powder. Harry looked back as if to say something, but Hermione had already vanished down the hall, her thoughts laden with ideas on where to look first.
My researching skills could do with a good dusting, she thought with some apprehension. Still, what better way to spend my last day off? It's the only holiday I've had in years…
An hour later she was preparing to Apparate to her first stop, the most expansive and encompassing collection of books in the UK-the Hogwarts library. And what's even better, she thought to herself with a fond smile as she pictured the Hogsmeade Apparition point, This time I don't need a teacher's note to look in the Restricted Section!
A/N: Psst, review!
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