The Man Who Knew Almost Nothing

Chapter Twenty-five

The insanity of it all

Harry and Sirius carried Gilderoy into the cottage and placed him gently upon the bed. Harry removed the wand from his robe pocket and set it on the night stand before signaling Sirius that it was okay to revive him.

The drive had seemed longer than it should have been with Sirius at the wheel. Harry had pressed the keys into his hand with a pleading look as he climbed into the back seat with Gilderoy. He had not wished to leave him alone or in anyone else’s care. Remus, in the passenger seat, joining the trio because he could not in good conscience leave them, had turned and given Harry an encouraging, although still very much worried, look as they drove away from the stadium.

“Don’t fret, Harry. He’s going to be fine. You heard Poppy,” Remus had assured him.

The werewolf was lingering in the doorway, continuing to look more than a bit concerned, as Sirius raised his wand. He seemed to be bracing himself.

“Ennervate!” said Sirius with a flick of his wand.

Gilderoy moaned and reached for his head. His eyes were bleary, and he seemed confused. Harry held his breath as Gilderoy tried to sit up. Their eyes met.

“Harry? What happened? How did I get here?” he asked.

“You hit your head at the game,” Harry explained, sitting down on the edge of the bed.

“I thought you’d been ... I thought you were ... The sound ...” said Gilderoy, shivering. “I thought you’d been ploughed for sure,” he said.

“I’m all right. Unfortunately, the Irish seeker’s probably not, but we won the game,” Harry explained.

Gilderoy smiled and some unfamiliar emotion flickered in his eyes before he said, “Wish I’d had the stomach to see it, Harry. I’m sorry about all this.”

“Don’t worry, Gilderoy. There will be plenty of other games,” said Harry, leaning over to kiss him.

Gilderoy jerked away from him, but the expression on his face was one of confusion mixed with horror.

“I don’t know why I did that. For a second I felt ... I felt strange,” said Gilderoy, looking at the hurt in Harry’s eyes.

“It’s all right,” Harry assured him, trying to smile.

“Can you tell us how you felt?” questioned Sirius.

Gilderoy thought for a moment and frowned, “I don’t know why, but I think I felt, just for a moment, jealous or something.”

“Jealous?” questioned Harry.

“Or resentful. I can’t honestly say which or why, Harry.”

“He just needs to rest,” said Remus.

“I’m not tired,” Gilderoy protested.

Harry reached toward him, and he moved away again.

“Don’t!” he hissed. Gilderoy looked immediately ashamed and shook his head. “Perhaps I should lie down. Perhaps it would be for the best,” he admitted. “Just not here. Might I use the spare room?” he questioned.

“Of course,” said Harry, trying to hide the sadness and confusion that he felt. But the emotions were all too apparent in his green eyes.

“I’ll make up the bed for him. Come help me, Padfoot,” said Remus, intending to give them a few moments alone.

“Right,” Sirius agreed, following him out.

“I don’t know what’s the matter, Harry. I swear I don’t,” said Gilderoy, hiding his face in his hands. “I feel two different ways. Angry and sad. Contemptuous and so very afraid. Envious, of what I don’t know, and confused, terribly confused,” he confessed.

“Everything will sort itself out in time. Just try to relax,” Harry told him, resisting the impulse to touch his shoulder or his hair.

“I hope it will, Harry, or I shall probably go mad.”

“Not while I’m around. I won’t let you.”

“Maybe you ought to give me a sleeping draught, Harry. Maybe I can just sleep this off,” he suggested.

“I will later if you aren’t feeling any better,” Harry agreed.

“Thank you, Harry. Now I should go lie down for a while.”

Remus closed the guest room door to give all them more privacy. Gilderoy was lying down with a look of confusion in his eyes. Sirius was pouring them all a good stiff drink, of which they were all in need, especially Harry, who was sitting on the couch with his head in his heads. This was the last thing any of them had expected.

“What if he is going mad?” Harry asked quietly as Sirius and Remus sat down next to him. Sirius pressed a glass into his hands.

“Drink,” he ordered. “For you nerves.”

“Have you talked to anyone about his situation, anyone at all, these past few months?” asked Remus.

“Hermione was looking into cures for memory charms. She was doing a lot of research for me on memory loss in both the wizarding and muggle world,” answered Harry.

He had only exchanged a few letters, short notes really, since the attack at the Ministry ball. Ron had his hands full at work, and they had taken care of Percy for nearly a month before he was well enough to return home and to work. The attack had turned their lives upside-down. Hermione was working very hard at a charm research center, where she was on her way to becoming recognized as a leader in the Department of Charm Improvement.

“Wait,” said Harry, frowning, “you think his behavior this afternoon is related to his memory somehow?”

Remus shrugged and said, “I don’t know, but it seems a likely place to start.”

“Should I try to get in touch with her then?” Harry questioned.

“It couldn’t hurt,” said Sirius, gesturing toward the fireplace.

Hermione looked rather tired when her head appeared in the hearth, but she smiled fondly when she saw Remus, Sirius, and Harry gathered around the fire.

“This must be important,” she observed.

“Have you done any more research on memory loss and amnesia?” asked Harry.

“A bit. Did you have a question?” she asked.

“Gilderoy hit his head today, pretty hard, in fact, and now he’s acting very strangely,” explained Harry.

“Oh, well, describe his symptoms for me.”

“He’s says things without meaning to and doesn’t know why. He says that he feels two different things at once. And he’s worried about going mad.”

“Has his memory begun to return?”

“Yes, but that started right after the ball. I thought I had mentioned ...”

“You had. I’m sorry. How is his memory then?” she asked, shaking her head.

“He doesn’t like to talk about it much, but he remembers flashes of things. I know he remembers putting memory charms on people, but what else I can’t say,” Harry explained.

“I see ...” said Hermione, looking very thoughtful.

“Hermione.”

“Could it be that he has regained more memories? Perhaps all of them? And is having a difficult time coping, Harry? I mean, think about it. He lived one life where for all we know he was a complete, irredeemable bastard. Now he has this life where he’s the devoted lover of a handsome and compassionate young man. Can you see where some conflict and inner turmoil might arise?” asked Hermione.

Harry nodded thoughtfully and said, “When you put it that way, Hermione, I can see who that might be problematic. But can I fix it?”

“Harry! For heaven’s sake! He’s not a broom that drifts to the right! You can’t just pull out a service kit for him,” she admonished.

Sirius snorted and said, “He knows that, Hermione, so answer his question.”

“Harry, I’m no expert in matters like these. Give him time. And make sure he knows how you feel. Other than that, I can’t tell you anything. From what I know about the two of you,” she said, glancing meaningfully at the band on Harry’s finger, the twin of the one resting upon Gilderoy’s, “I can say that you will probably weather this and come out of it better off than before.”

“Thanks, Hermione. I can only hope that you’re right,” said Harry, looking at the floor and shaking his head.

Sirius and Remus could see it in her eyes. Hermione desperately wished the same thing for her friend.

Harry looked in on Gilderoy several times that evening and brought his dinner into the guest room, but Gilderoy wouldn’t eat and appeared to have spent those hours alternating between tears and staring at the ceiling. Worry was etched upon Harry’s face, and it was very clear that he felt helpless.

“Why not take him to St. Mungo’s tomorrow and have them examine him?” questioned Remus as they washed the dishes together.

Sirius had left the cottage in his Animagus form to go for an invigorating run, leaving professor and former student to talk. For Sirius, it was something to ease his mind.

“I’m afraid that they will want to keep him, and I will never see him or hold him again,” said Harry.

“Do you want Poppy to take another look at him? I’m sure she would.”

“I don’t know what I want, Remus. What if she says that nothing’s wrong with him? What will I do then?”

“I know. Do you want us to stay here tonight? I could crash on the couch, and Sirius could curl up on the rug by the fire,” said Remus with a small smile, nudging Harry and trying to cheer him up.

“No thanks. It’s not that I don’t want the company, but I think I had better ...”

“Handle things yourself? James said that from time to time too,” chuckled Remus. “I can respect that, but do not hesitate, Harry, to call us. We like to think of ourselves as your family. Remember that, all right?” he asked, drying his hands.

“Of course,” agreed Harry.

“Now the question is, do you want to give Gilderoy his potion before we leave?” asked Remus.

“I suppose I’d better.”

Gilderoy wanted to shower to get the blood out of his hair before going to bed. Harry consented to that and sat in the parlor with Remus and Sirius as he did so. Sirius tried to feign exhaustion in order to get Harry to let them stay, but Remus gave him a glare and Sirius stopped.

“He might be fine in the morning,” Harry told them though his voice sounded hollow.

“There is an excellent chance of that, I’m sure,” agreed Remus.

“You two should go. You’ve got papers to mark. I know you have, Remus, and, Sirius, your place is with him.”

“Our place is with our family, Harry,” said Sirius, almost echoing his lover’s words. “But I can see that you’re tired too. Call us ...”

“I will. I promise.”

“And we will both see you on the day after tomorrow in France as it is nearly the end of term and Remus doesn’t have any examinations that day,” Sirius told him.

“Of course,” Harry agreed.

They had soon left, appartated to a point just outside the Hogwarts’ grounds, leaving Harry will a small bottle of sleeping draught to give Gilderoy in the faint hope of putting him right again. He sat on the couch staring at the bottle for a long time after he heard the water stop in the guest bathroom. What would happen if Gilderoy continued having these fits of anger and inexplicable emotions? Harry knew that he would try his best to love and take care of him, no matter what. His heart ached, but his own devotion did not falter.

“Harry?” a timid voice called from the other room. “Can I have the draught now?”

“Coming, love,” he yelled in return, leaving the couch.

Gilderoy was already in bed. He smiled when he saw Harry, but then his face gave a grimacing twitch. There were shadows under his eyes.

“Sorry,” he murmured as Harry filled a small glass for him.

“Don’t worry. I’m not that easily offended,” Harry joked, handing him the draught he had poured.

Gilderoy drained the contents and then stared numbly at the glass in his hands. An instant later Harry might have been sorry if not for his superb Quidditch reflexes. He ducked as the glass came flying toward his head, hitting the wall behind him with a crash. Harry gasped as he glanced over his shoulder.

“I ... I don’t know what came over me!” said Gilderoy. He was suddenly pale, and his lower lip was quivering.

“I’m fine. Nice arm,” commented Harry, choking back tears of his own.

“I didn’t mean ...”

“Of course you didn’t. Your rather liked that glass, didn’t you?”

“And you ... I lov... I lov... Oh, Harry, I can’t even say it,” said Gilderoy tearfully.

“I know. And I love you. Get some rest now, all right?”

“Yes,” Gilderoy nodded.

Harry closed the door behind himself and ran his hands through his hair. His heart was pounding. Gilderoy had tried to hurt him. Why? There had to be a reason. Or maybe this was madness. His blood ran cold with dread. The memory charm had been very powerful and intact for a long time. What if the result of it losing its hold on Gilderoy was insanity? Hermione could be wrong. Perhaps he had lost his grip on reality, on his emotions. Harry shook his head.

“Whatever has happened, he is still the man I asked to marry me and I intend to stand by him no matter what he throws at me,” Harry vowed silently.

He rubbed his eyes and felt suddenly exhausted. It had been a long day. First there was the Quidditch game, which ended in the least desirable kind of win possible: a win where someone on the opposing team was horribly injured. Then this. It had taken all of his strength.

Harry went miserably to bed, hoping that he could find sleep and peace there, though he doubted the later. His bed would be empty, strangely empty.

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