"You cannot do this!" he roared at the pompous looking man who sat rigidly behind his desk.
"I am the Head of Security in these offices. Last night there was a break in and nobody was here to stop it. You were supposed to be on duty and you failed to stop the break in?" he asked with an air of amusement but the accused knew that underneath the calm exterior his boss was absolutely fuming.
"I need this job," he pleaded suddenly feeling very desperate.
"Mr. Smith, you were a risk when I hired you having no previous experience in this field," the Head of Security said dangerously. "You are now a risk that has failed. Clear out your things and get out of the building."
"But I need this money…" he begged.
"Remove yourself from these offices or I will have you escorted by your former colleagues and thrown out on your ass." His boss' moustache seemed to bristle with fury and his beady little eyes dilated with anger. Even then he could not just give in. He did not want to think of what would happen if he lost this job. How would he fund his rent?
"Listen., I'm really sorry about what happened last night. But as far as I know nobody was hurt and nothing was stolen. They were just a group of thugs. And anyway I wasn't' the only one here at the time," he argued defensively.
"Your colleague at the time, Mr. Enfield," he said reading it off a file placed on his desk, "was on his break. You were to patrol the east corridor and you were nowhere to be found. So tell me Mr. Smith, where were you?" The question was blatantly rhetorical. His boss knew perfectly well that he had a tendency to just sleep through his night shifts.
Clearing his throat he tried once again to defend himself but found that it was a lost cause. He doubted the Head of Security had any sense of mercy or forgiveness, his mother obviously forgot to take him to church as a child. As if things could not get worse his boss extracted two clear Ziploc bags from the inside pocket of his pristine suit jacket.
"I believe these are yours as well. We ransacked your locker when we decided to remove you from the company," he said with a languid smirk. "Drugs have no place in my security team."
"It's just for extra money. I swear I don't take them…" he said hastily.
His boss flung the Ziploc bags into a brown box which held the remainder of his possessions, then he stood to his feet, picked up the box and walked around to face his ex-employee. "Have a nice day, Mr. Smith," he smiled treacherously; pushing the box into the young man's hands. He returned to his desk and proceeded to ignore the younger man.
Dejectedly the young dishevelled man obeyed and removed himself from the office. The office building was already beginning to fill up with important looking men and women wearing top of the range suits and carrying leather briefcases.
"Hey John," said a voice from behind. He hurriedly shoved the Ziploc bags into the end of the box so they would go unnoticed. "I'm sorry to hear what happened." It was his co-worker, Enfield. He wore a sympathetic smile and gave him an encouraging pat on the shoulder. "You'll be fine. Don't worry about getting another job. There are plenty of desperate people out there who need security."
"Yeah, but they won't want someone who got sacked from his last two jobs," he responded forlornly. "Just my luck that we'd actually see any action the night I fall asleep. What happened anyway?"
"Follow me, I'll show you," Enfield said leading him away from the exit and down another corridor. "I have no idea how they gained entrance into the building, there seems to be no access point or means of exit." He brought John down another corridor stacked with crates and cardboard boxes, old computer screens, and metal equipment trunks. Finally they ended up in one of the larger conference rooms, adorned with chic furniture for only the richest of people.
"So they only entered the building in order to put graffiti on the wall," John said disbelievingly. His eyes took in the message written in green on the north wall of the room. "What does it even mean?"
"No idea," replied Enfield. "Summers called in the old bill about an hour ago. Still waiting. Typical of the police though, isn't it?"
"He called the police?" asked John, trying to keep the panic out of his voice. "I better go and get some sleep before I start looking for a new job."
"Didn't get enough last night?" laughed Enfield but stopped seeing John's stern expression.
As John Smith exited the office building his thoughts returned to his bleak future. He was forced now to ask his flat mate for a postponement on his due rent. He had no idea where he would find a new job, or even where to start searching. A man with no past could rarely be a part of a company's future. That was the strange thing concerning John Smith, he had woken up only six years ago and could not remember anything of his life before that.
Throughout the last six years he had tried to piece together his life but he had nothing to go on. From research he concluded he had suffered brain trauma and subsequently had amnesia. He still had some scars from whatever trauma he had experienced, a lighting bolt shaped scar on his forehead and a long white scar adorned his left forearm. He had given up on ever discovering the truth of his past, all the times he believed he was close to finding something and then being disappointed.
He wanted to find his family but then he wondered why they had not tried to find him. The same situation occurred with his friends but then he pondered whether he had had any friends. Maybe he had been a homeless person, or a criminal or perhaps an alcoholic. The government had helped him for two years after his revival but once he found a job and accommodation they did not seem bothered. Whoever he was before the trauma was dead, that was the way he lived his life now. But his life just seemed to get tougher by the minute.
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Frantic knocking on her door stirred her from her sleep. Her eyes sought the clock on her bedside table, nine fifteen. She had only found sleep at about two o'clock the night before. The persistent knocking brought her attention back. Scurrying out of bed she threw a robe around her before ripping the door handle back to find the source of the annoying noise. Severus Snape.
"The Headmistress would like to see you," he said lethargically, his voice contrasted his frenzied attack on her door.
"What for?" she inquired, purposefully trying to sound respectful.
"It is a matter of importance concerning the Order. I advise you meet her as soon as possible," he responded before striding off in the opposite direction.
She dressed rapidly and hurried to the Headmistress' office. When she entered the circular room her heart immediately began to beat faster. Minerva McGonagall was a woman of expressions, anger was shown through her tight lipped silence or her flaring nostrils and happiness was usually apparent in her eyes, not needing a smile. Worry was also a matter of the eyes and it had been quite a long time since Hermione had witnessed her in such an anxious mood.
"The Order required our presence at the Burrow," she said gesturing towards the fire.
"Minerva, what is this about?" Fear had already crept into her voice.
"You'll know soon enough. You heard about the attacks last night from Mr. Weasley but there is more you should know about. All will be explained once we reach the Weasley residence." Without another word they arrived at the Burrow which looked the same as ever except for the tense atmosphere which she met on entering. She felt a chill even though the sun was dazzling outside.
Her heart repeated its painful pounding against her chest when she made her way into the kitchen. Mr and Mrs. Weasley, Remus Lupin, Tonks, Kingsley Shaklebolt and Ron were seated at the table. Lupin stood when she entered. Unlike last night he looked drained and worn out.
Before he could attempt to say anything Hermione decided to pull off the band-aid. "Who's dead?"
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He veered off into a side street, anger still coursing through him from his dismissal. He threw another infuriated glare at the building behind him, thinking of the conceited man who had just knocked his life off balance. Just as his anger was receding he heard the piercing noise of a siren, too close to be near his old employers. There was a screech of brakes and a police car came to sudden stop beside him.
A heavy set police man climbed out of the car. "Are you John Smith?"
He didn't dare to move as fear flooded him. The bastard told the police, he thought heatedly. The police man facing him repeated the question, raising his eyebrow in a knowing way. The police man's eyes flickered to the box John was holding in his arms.
"Sir, can you please put down the box?"
Again John remained in silence, his mind running through his options like a deck of cards. His best move would be to put down the box and run, but he wouldn't be able to survive without the drugs in it. As much as he detested the idea, the only source of money he had now were those two Ziploc bags.
The police man edged further towards him, his hand on his holstered truncheon. Passers-by were beginning to halt their progression down the street, shooting terrified glances in the direction of the action. Out of the corner of his eye, John noticed another police man guiding people to the other safer side of the street.
"I'll need to take that box from you," the police man continued and John was terrified to see him take another step closer. "We have reason to believe that…"
With a powerful thrust from John the box crashed into the policeman's face, sending him tumbling to the ground with a roar. Instantly John began rifling through the contents of the box looking for the bags. Just as he was getting desperate he discovered them and stuffed them into the inside pocket of his coat. Two arms grabbed him from behind, encircling his chest and putting a horrible amount of pressure on his lungs. The police man was attempting to wrestle him to the ground.
With all his might John jumped backwards, smashing the police man into the wall. The arms encircling him snaked away. John's relief was short-lived as an enraged police man came barrelling towards him, his truncheon high in the air ready to strike. On instinct John shot off in the opposite direction.
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The faces staring at her grew even more sombre. She could feel unwanted tears behind her eyes but held them back nevertheless. Frustration began to develop in the pit of her stomach. Her eyes landed on Ron who was sitting slumped in his chair, his darkened eyes never leaving the scrubbed kitchen table.
"Tell me Ron," she hissed angrily again fighting the tears. After her troubling school years and her more disturbing experiences in life, tears did not come easy. She was a strong character deep down, she knew it and so did the world.
Ron lifted his startling blue eyes to meet hers. "It's Harry."
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Barrelling into a nearby wider street he battled his way through the consuming throngs of people. Their faces were a mere blur in his panic. Every nerve in his body was tingling with suspense. He had no idea how far back the police-man was from him.
He dashed down another side street and sustained his rapid pace. Surely the police-man would have given up by now and called in support. A siren wailed out against the cacophony of the busy street noises. His heart leaped into his throat. He took a chance and twisted his head around to see whether the police man had followed him into another empty side street. Though the street was unoccupied he could almost feel an impending presence and the tingling sensation of fear that each howl of the sirens caused.
He could not continue running, his breath was coming in agonizing gasps. He stumbled breathlessly over to a narrow steel door that led into a looming red-brick building. He pushed the door and sighed in anguish when it failed to budge. He tried again this time putting his whole strength behind his body as he crashed his shoulder into the awaiting door. Nothing.
A sanctioning shout caused him to twist around and he saw the angry police-man from before, now absolutely livid. A police car swerved into the street behind him and came to an imminent halt, pending his next movements. He slammed his fists into the door in despair, praying he would escape a long sentence but hoping even more that the door would just open.
There was a resounding click and the door swung forward slightly on its hinges. He heard swift steps being taken behind him and before he could even think clearly, he was racing into the building.
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She had tried to forget and in typical Hermione way, she had succeeded with full marks. Fine, every now and again a familiar looking person would remind her forcibly of him but then she would drive it back down, blank it out and move on. She had even begun to lose some of her memories; small details which she believed she would have forever.
And now surrounded by a few Order members and part of the Weasley family, she was hit with memories she thought were long forgotten. Long lost amid the chaos that was her life.
She wheezed slightly, her breathing seemed to have stopped.
"He is alive," Lupin stated hurriedly reading her expression correctly. "But we have information that implies that these attacks have something to do with him."
"What?!" Hermione's voice returned with her fury. She felt like she had missed a very important piece of the puzzle. He was supposed to be safe, living a life that none of them could have given him otherwise.
"I told you yesterday that an office block was attacked by Death Eaters. It was a break-in. They wrote this on the wall," Ron's hollow voice said as he handed Lupin a small square photo which Lupin handed to Hermione. She took it in trembling hands.
The picture displayed an enormous room, a wide expansive table running its length surrounded by chairs. Her eyes were immediately drawn to the message on the wall. The writing was a vivid bold green and stretched the length of the wall.
"We've found him," she read aloud. "But that means nothing, how can you assume they mean him?"
"Harry worked in the building as a security guard," Ron answered instantly.
"We don't however know what they want to do with him," boomed Kingsley Shaklebolt as he took a seat at the fading wood table.
"Isn't it perfectly obvious," wept Mrs. Weasley, her eyes swollen and red from the news. Mr. Weasley had an arm around her shaking shoulders trying to console her.
"We don't yet know that, Molly," Arthur said softly. His eyes trailed to Kingsley again. "Have the Death Eaters left any other messages?"
"Not directly but there have been four attacks in the last twelve hours, right across Britain," announced Kingsley solemnly. His news was met with more gasps. The colour in Lupin's face drained away. "Even though there is no connection between the attacks, we've ensured they are random, a night of this magnitude shows that the remaining Death Eaters are up to something. They haven't been this excited since Voldemort."
"How can this be? They wouldn't try to…to resurrect him, would they?" All eyes darted to Tonks' terrified face. "They did it before, didn't they?"
"No," stated Hermione, whose whole body was still reeling from shock but she sounded slightly forceful. "He didn't die the last time. He was never killed. But we saw Harry kill him, we all did." It was the first time in years she had said his name aloud and it almost seemed to pierce her heart. She had to regain control of her emotions. The atmosphere in the room reminded her of being in the thick of war. She must be calm, Harry's new life was in danger and they needed to fix it.
"So what do we do about Harry? Is he safe now or have the Death Eaters actually taken or attacked him?" Her voice sounded far more reassured then she felt.
"That's the thing that we don't know," responded Lupin. "We'll have to confirm his well-being but because of the secrecy of the situation, one of us will have to go."
"When did you discontinue the surveillance on him?" McGonagall addressed Kingsley in a tone which suggested she thought it scandalous that it was ever stopped.
"Three years ago he seemed relatively fine. Settled in almost, a job and a flat. We sent in Tonks though every few months to make sure he was getting by," at this point Kingsley stopped talking, giving Tonks a pointed look.
"My last visit was about five months ago. He was living comfortably and was already a few months into that job which he just lost." She ended the sentence feebly and drifted into silence.
"What was he like?" Ron's question took them all by surprise and something in Hermione seemed to reignite. After Harry had left she had an overwhelming curiosity to know every move he was making but she knew she could never know. She had learnt to quash this curiosity though by continuing with her own life. Now it was flaring again.
"I never got close enough for him to even notice me," Tonks replied honestly. "He's not as tall as you," she continued aware the whole room was listening intently on her every word. It had been so long since many of them had even spoke of Harry considering he had been such an important factor in their lives. "He keeps his hair slightly neater than before, it still covers his scar. And he obviously doesn't shave a lot," she finished earning a half-hearted laugh from the rest of the kitchen.
When the laughter died down a silence descended on them that opened a void of choices. Could they protect Harry without him knowing anything? Was that remotely possible? Would somebody have to go `undercover' to try and guard Harry until the remainder of the Death Eaters were captured? How long with that be? From Kingsley's account they were apparently regrouping rapidly and wreaking havoc. How long would it be until they began a wave of new attacks?
Everybody in the sunlit kitchen seemed to have receded into their own thoughts. Hermione peered up at Remus Lupin's lined face and he returned her stare. She could see him calculating something up in his head and was obviously including her in his thoughts. Then he broke the silence as he had done six years ago on the night that was supposed to be the greatest of their lives.
"We're going to have to bring him back."
"No," Hermione retorted at once. "You promised he would have a better life and from what Tonks said he is barely `getting by'. But he still has a chance if we leave him alone…"
"But there is also a chance that the Death Eaters have captured him!" Ron shouted angrily at her.
"We'd know if they did. They'd flaunt it everywhere," she stated calmly. "The only people in the wizarding world, who are aware that he is alive, are your family and four members of the Order…"
"And now about thirty Death Eaters!" interjected Ron. "We don't know how long it will be until they are all caught either. Not to mention all the monstrous creatures out there. Dean Thomas nearly had his head ripped off last week by a giant. It's going to be a long time until the repercussions of this war are over. Harry…" he paused and she noticed his ears redden slightly. "Harry will be able to end this war. People will want to fight again…"
"Harry is gone!" Hermione screamed hysterically at him. The others around the table recoiled at her ferocity. "He has absolutely no idea who any of us are. He has no idea who Harry Potter is," she finished exasperatedly.
"And you!" she said turning accusingly to Lupin. "How could you even propose that he could come back. You said that you would never be able to tell him the truth about his life. All his tragedy, his parents, Sirius and Dumbledore. You were the one that convinced us all to…"
"You accepted it," responded Lupin defensively. "My feelings were the exact same as yours on the situation and we both agreed. We took the easy way out, Hermione. And if having to sit him down and telling him about James and Lily is what needs to be done then…"
Hermione immediately began disagreeing. Ron also started to shout until they were joined by almost the entire kitchen ranting and raving. The conversation had built up into a full war of words and now everybody was screaming and roaring at each other. Then a blast and shower of sparks brought everyone back down to earth. Everyone turned to see Professor McGonagall, appearing quite calm against the pandemonium.
"There may be a way for Harry to regain his memory without having to go through the entire story with him directly. But before I proceed I want to make sure that we have the consent of every one in the room." Hermione noticed that McGonagall's eyes drifted to her. Turning she saw that almost everyone at the table was also staring at her. Her eyes met Ron's who said softly. "We need him. If this is to end, we need him."
Slowly she faced Professor McGonagall. "How?"
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This may be a bit rushed so there might be a lot of mistakes; I just wanted to put something out there to cheer people up after Deathly Hallows
Also I'd like to just thank anyone who had read my stories. I'm feeling very reflective over the past few days after the end of the Potter series and writing on this website has been the highlight of my Potter experience. So thank you.
Please review and also tell me what you thought of DH. I thought the action sequences were great but the romance was too false. I hope to integrate some places and moments from DH into this fic as well.
Thanks again
Radagast
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