Stranger Than Fiction
Disclaimer: The Harry Potter universe and all the characters in it belong to J.K. Rowling. This story is a work of imagination and is directed solely at readers of this website. No infringement of any rights is intended and no criticism of J.K. Rowling or her work should be considered to be stated or implied.
Part 6. Echoes from the Past
Pensieves are very rare and only the most high ranking of wizards generally have access to one. I assumed that this pensieve must belong to Harry, but why he was trying to hide some of his memories in this way and who he was trying to hide them from was not immediately apparent. I battled with my conscience, concerning the morality of delving into another person's private and apparently secret memories, for at least two seconds, before prodding the shimmering silver surface with my wand. The contents of the basin began to swirl very rapidly and gradually became transparent.
I was looking down into a brightly lit, large room with a fake, wood-effect linoleum floor and formica topped tables, arranged in rows down its length. Each table was surrounded by four uncomfortable-looking chairs with red plastic seats attached to silver metal, tubular frames. A girl with bushy brown hair, hanging loosely over her shoulders and down her back, sat at one of the center tables, idly stirring a cup of coffee that was standing on the surface in front of her. Apart from this lone occupant, the room appeared to be deserted. I was certain, even from this aerial view, that the girl was Hermione.
Without hesitation, I plunged my face into the substance contained in the basin. The floor beneath my feet gave a lurch and I felt as if I was being tipped headfirst, spinning through total blackness, into the scene below.
I landed with a jolt, just in time to see Harry Potter - looking exactly as I remembered him - pushing open the swinging glass door that provided a more conventional entrance into the room. I could now see that the vast, sparsely-furnished space was surrounded on three sides by walls composed almost entirely of large, metal-framed panes of glass that looked out onto a dark, floodlit scene, consisting of a six lane highway with a central metal divide. Occasionally, pinpoints of light suddenly appeared in the distance, grew briefly, as they approached, and then faded swiftly as they disappeared in the opposite direction. On the side of the room where Harry had just entered, a large, untended counter, crowned with artificially-lit, clear glass cabinets, ran for almost the entire length of the room, ending at a small empty desk with - what I believed to be - a Muggle cash register sitting on the top. A sign on the wall directly in front of me read, "Welcome to Newport Pagnell Motorway Services."
Harry moved over towards Hermione's table and stood looking down at her, his hands pressed deeply inside the pockets of his jacket. "Hello Hermione. Thanks for coming," he said as he studied the girl. "What's up, you look really miserable? Don't you ever smile anymore?"
Hermione didn't bother to look up, clearly recognizing Harry's voice. "Oh, I'm OK. Nice place for a meeting, by the way. Very classy." She shrugged her shoulders. "I've just been doing a lot of thinking lately." She paused, as if trying to decide whether she should continue or not. "Harry…wouldn't you ever like to go back?"
"I don't understand. What do you mean?" Harry frowned, perplexed.
"To just being a Muggle?" she said with sudden enthusiasm. "You know, I was over the moon when I got my letter from Hogwarts and it was all really exciting at first. Then the struggle with Voldemort just took over everything and I really had no time to think about much else. But now that it's over, things just feel empty. And I look around at this world and it just seems to be so filled with injustice, and wickedness, and complacency, and conceit." Hermione looked directly at Harry, as if daring him to contradict her. "That's what really gets me; the absolute disdain that most wizards have for Muggles. They treat them like they're an inferior species, but that just can't be the case. Why else can some wizard children be born without magical powers, while some Muggle children, like me and your mother, are born with them? It's just common sense, but you wouldn't think that there was any connection between us to hear some wizards talk." She shook her head in apparent frustration. "Even those who are supposedly sympathetic, like Arthur Weasley, don't really understand. Don't you think that it is just a little strange that after all of these years of supposed "study" he still can't pronounce the name of any Muggle invention correctly? That really gets on my nerves. And look at what Voldemort did to Muggles; and who really cared?" she continued angrily. "Don't you realize, I had to modify the memory of my own parents to protect them. How do you think that made me feel? They didn't even recognize me as their daughter." Hermione slumped down in her chair, her tirade weakening. "You know, sometimes I can understand your Uncle Vernon. Why shouldn't Muggles be afraid when they know that a wizard can do virtually any thing that he likes and they are powerless to respond?"
Harry thought for a few moments, his frown deepening. "Well, I think that you're exaggerating a little bit Hermione… and finding out that I was really a wizard was the best thing that ever happened to me. So, no - I never do think that I would like to go back. Anyway, I was always a wizard. I was never a Muggle. I just didn't realize it."
Hermione went back to studying her coffee; she didn't seem to have the energy to argue. Harry sat down opposite her, seemingly nervous. "Look, Hermione," he started suddenly, "this is all off the point. I asked to meet you here because I wanted to talk to you about us; about our relationship."
"Oh, that should be a short conversation then," Hermione replied bitterly.
Harry just blew out his cheeks, looking miserable, as if he had expected this response.
"The thing is Hermione… Ginny and I are going to get married - " he blurted out before continuing hurriedly, "- it's all she thinks about and Ron keeps dropping gigantic hints. You know that he does. I really don't think that I can put it off any longer." He paused and looked guiltily at the girl sitting across the table. "Anyway, I wanted to tell you myself in private, before you hear it from Ron."
Hermione still didn't look up but finally placed her spoon back in its saucer with a resigned sigh. "Well, I can't say that I'm surprised," she said in a barely audible voice. "I always knew that this would happen one day. It was just a matter of time." She sat quietly for a few moments and then asked, "So, where does that leave us then? You know what Ginny is like."
"Yes, I know what Ginny is like," Harry repeated, parrot fashion. "I also know what Ron is like. So, I think that you know where that leaves us! Look Hermione, we've been through all of this before - that time when I came to see you up at Hogwarts." He hesitated. "If you'd been there when Ron came back and rescued me after the horcrux tried to drown me in that pool in the forest, then perhaps you'd understand. Ron was devastated when he was confronted by that vision of us together. He just couldn't have coped with it. That's how Voldemort works - he turns friends against each other by playing on their weaknesses - and I want an end to it," he finished with sudden vehemence. "Look, you know that I needed Ron's help then and I still need it now. In fact, I need all of the Weasleys and any other loyal pureblood families that I can muster, if we're going to wipe out all traces of Voldemort's evil."
"I know that's what you think, Harry, but…" Hermione's voice trailed away and she sat for a few minutes staring at Harry pleadingly, tears welling in her eyes. Then suddenly, she jumped up and rushed towards the door.
"Hermione…" Harry called desperately after her retreating form, rising from his seat; but she had already vanished.
As I continued to watch, the image of the room began to fade and the tables and chairs became a hazy, swirling dark mist, like smoke, eventually coalescing into complete darkness. Within the ensuing void a small point of light appeared and gradually enlarged, opening a window onto another scene from Harry's hidden memories.
I was now standing in a large white canvas marquee; well tended grass beneath my feet. Two lines of wooden, trestle tables covered with white linen tablecloths ran down the centre of the temporary enclosure. The tables were loaded with dishes and plates stacked with food, together with bottles and jugs full of various drinks. Piles of paper plates, colourful napkins and plastic knives, forks and spoons sat on the tables placed at each end of both rows. On the far wall of the marquee, a shiny gold paper streamer announced "Happy Birthday Arthur" in gaudy red lettering.
Harry was wearing a light coloured suit with an open-neck blue shirt in honour of the occasion and his hair was much shorter than previously; its unruly nature seeming almost intentional. I noticed Hermione standing at the far end of the nearest table, unenthusiastically placing a small triangular sandwich on to a paper plate that she held in her other hand. She too was dressed smartly, but in an unflattering, baggy, floral-print blouse, that hung over loose-fitting brown trousers. She seemed plumper than I remembered, particularly around her middle, and I realised with a shock that she must be in the early stages of pregnancy.
Harry approached her; a broad grin on his face.
"It's starting to show," he said by way of introduction.
"Oh, hello Harry." Hermione seemed weary and only glanced up at him briefly before continuing to inspect the sandwiches on the table.
Harry moved closer, also appearing to study the food with his head turned slightly away from her, and continued in a quiet voice so that only Hermione could hear.
"So, what made you change your mind?"
"Well, it's your fault really," Hermione answered irritably. "What chance did I have once you got Ginny pregnant for a second time? Molly has been unbearable and I couldn't stand Ron's whining any more. Anyway, you know I've always wanted children; just not necessarily like this."
She glanced up at Harry and gave a weak smile. "And, what about you? How does it feel now that you're going to be a daddy again? You have been a busy boy, haven't you?"
"Yeah, Ginny always did know how to push all of the right buttons," Harry said, looking thoughtful. "Sorry, that sounded disgusting, didn't it?" he apologised hurriedly, reddening slightly.
Hermione smiled properly now. "Oh! I didn't know that you had buttons. You'll have to show me some time."
"Now Hermione, you know that's not allowed," Harry replied, raising his eyebrows, but he held Hermione's gaze, becoming more serious. "Speaking about children, I've actually been thinking a lot about what you said to me once about the way that wizards don't really understand Muggles. It seems to me that it's important for any child of mine to know where I came from and to be aware of how the Muggle world works. I suggested to Ginny that perhaps we should have the children partially educated as Muggles, but she won't hear of it. I'm not sure that this home education up to the age of eleven is such a good thing. It wouldn't do them any harm to mix with Muggle kids for a while; they could learn some of the things that you and I did."
"So, what are you two up to then?" Ron had suddenly appeared at Hermione's shoulder. He had hardly changed at all, although, following his father's example, there were now slight signs that his hair was starting to thin.
"We're planning to run off together," Hermione replied sarcastically.
"Don't take any notice of her mate. She's just trying to wind you up," Harry interjected quickly.
"Now, Hermione, there's no need to take that attitude. It was a perfectly civil question." Ron sounded offended.
"Well, you know how you are Ron. Sometimes it feels like I've just been let out on parole," his wife answered with a sigh.
Ron turned around briefly to put his empty glass down on a nearby table, apparently fairly indifferent to what appeared to be a regular source of disagreement, and I noticed that Ginny was now approaching from the opposite side of Harry. She was clearly several months ahead of Hermione in the pregnancy stakes, although, even allowing for this, she appeared to have put on a lot of weight, in comparison to the petite young girl that I remembered. Her silky hair was still a beautiful flaming red, but her face seemed a little rounder and her bare arms were shapeless and undefined. I have often found that it is the prettiest young girls who take less good care of themselves as they get older; presumably because beauty has come so effortlessly to them in their youth. For Ginny, the physical resemblance to Molly was now quite striking.
"What a surprise; here's the other one," Hermione muttered, so that only Harry could hear.
Harry, who obviously understood Hermione's frustration at the apparent jealousy manifested by the two Weasleys, couldn't stop himself from grinning openly.
"What's so funny?" Ginny asked taking his arm.
"Oh, nothing. I was just thinking of something that Neville said earlier."
"Look Harry, I really think that we need to be going now. We have to get little James home for his bath." Ginny glanced at the watch clasped tightly around her slightly chubby wrist.
"Yeah, OK," Harry sighed, "I'll go and get his carry cot. Take care of yourself Hermione. Hopefully, we will see the two of you before the happy event."
"Honestly Harry," Ginny scolded, "you can be so thoughtless at times. Hermione is going to have loads to do just to get ready. Having your first child isn't easy you know. She isn't going to have much opportunity for socialising."
Harry shrugged and with a brief wave started to move away but turned, continuing to walk backwards, and made telephoning gestures to Ron and Hermione behind Ginny's back. Ron looked bewildered, but Hermione grinned.
As Harry made his way towards the far end of the marquee, the rest of the scene remained frozen in front of me for a few brief moments, before gradually dissolving again into complete, cold, empty darkness.
But my journey through Harry's memories wasn't over yet and I soon found myself in a cosy front room that I recognised. I had seen this room as an empty shell during my visit to 14 Flamel Mews. A slightly older Hermione was sitting on a functional brown leather two-seat sofa positioned in front of a blazing fire; her back to me. Harry - also showing the signs of aging, with a few silver strands in his otherwise jet black hair - was coming in through the doorway with two bedewed glasses of white wine in his hands. On the mantelpiece, above the fireplace, I saw a gold framed photograph of a plump, red-haired witch with her arms draped around the shoulders of three smiling children - two boys and a younger girl - squeezing tightly together.
"So where is Ginny tonight?" Hermione asked, as Harry passed one of the glasses to her.
"Off at her witches' bridge club," he replied cheerfully. "She goes every Thursday. Actually, it's a relief to have the house to myself for a change, with the children all away at school. If I'm honest, we've been arguing quite a lot lately. I thought that Ginny would be satisfied now that I'm going to be Minister for Magic. She was really keen for me to accept the offer. But now, evidently, I don't take her with me to enough functions. It seems that I can't win."
"Oh, poor Harry," Hermione whined patronisingly, "doesn't Ginny "push your buttons" any more?"
Harry shook his head dismissively. "That remark is beneath you, Hermione. And how come you could make it tonight then? Ron not as protective any more? Perhaps he's got his eye on someone younger?"
"Shut up Harry," Hermione replied scornfully, "Ron happens to be attending a major Wizard's Chess conference in Croatia. He'll be away until the weekend. In any case, you know Ron; he's always had his eye on someone younger or more attractive. He can't help it. That's just the way he is; but it never comes to anything. At least, I don't think that it does."
"Well, I'm glad that you could make it," Harry confessed. "I've been doing a lot of thinking lately and I wanted to chat to you about an idea that I keep coming back to. I know that it's going to sound crazy, but you're the only one that I thought might understand."
"Hm, that sounds intriguing Harry. Tell me what's on your mind. I promise that I won't laugh." Hermione unsuccessfully tried to suppress a smile.
"Are you up there?" A deep, male voice was calling from somewhere behind me. I was puzzled for a moment and then I realised with horror that it must be Mr. Brewett. He was downstairs; in the house! I reluctantly pulled myself away from the scene unfolding in front of me and raised my wand above my head, so that the tip would fracture the outline of the memory. I felt myself gradually being pulled from the room and floating upwards through icy darkness. Then suddenly, with a lurching feeling in my stomach, as if I had turned head over heels, my feet staggered back onto the uneven, wooden floor of the attic. I was barely in time. I had just closed the cube and shrunk it back to an unobtrusive size, when Mr. Brewett's head appeared through the hatch.
"Are you all right up there?" he asked smiling broadly. "I thought for a moment that I had lost you."
"Yes. Yes, of course I'm all right" I replied hurriedly, dusting myself down and trying to regain my composure. "I like to be thorough when I am viewing a house. You never know whether there might be leaks in the roof, do you?"
"Well, I can assure you that this house is as sound as a bell, but you're quite welcome to commission your own magical survey," remarked Mr. Brewitt, at his most helpful.
"No, I'm sure that won't be necessary, although I may come back for another inspection in a few days time," I answered in what I hoped was a business like tone. With that, I ushered the confused Mr. Brewett hurriedly back down the wooden steps, before making my escape as quickly as I could.