Follow Through

There's another world inside of me

That you may never see

There are secrets in this life
That I can't hide
Somewhere in this darkness
There's a light that I can't find
Maybe it's too far away...
Or maybe I'm just blind...
Maybe I'm just blind...

"When I'm Gone" Three Doors Down

**

Severus Snape tried not to sigh too audibly when he heard the knock on his office door. He detested being disturbed while outlining his lesson plans. He set aside his quill and cleared his throat reluctantly. "Come in." He blinked in honest surprise when a woman too old to be a student, and too young to be a teacher, entered his office with a tentative smile. "Miss Granger," he greeted with his typical blasé lackluster energy. "To what do I owe this pleasure?"

"I hope I'm not disturbing you, Professor," Hermione said politely as she shut the door behind her. "I was actually wondering if you could help me." Snape didn't respond except to blink expectantly, and Hermione took that as a yes. "I heard from a not-so-reliable source the other day that there is a type of potion that can counter the effects of memory loss. Is that true? I don't remember learning about that type of potion in class."

"Yes, you wouldn't," Snape agreed. He swept up from his chair and crossed the room to his personal collection of Potions texts. He still kept them, even though he was now the Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher. "It's far beyond N.E.W.T. potion level. Only a highly skilled potions master would be able to brew it correctly." He pulled out his copy of Moste Potente Potions and flipped it open to the appropriate page to show Hermione.

"Oh." Hermione wrinkled her brow and bit her lip as she read the ingredients. This was even more complicated than Polyjuice Potion--the most difficult potion she had as of yet successfully brewed. "Do you know anyone who could help me brew this? I need it for a source."

Snape snatched the book back from her. "You needn't fish, Miss Granger. I will brew the potion for you." Taken aback, Hermione remained in place while Snape returned to his desk to scratch himself a note. Although she had spent seven years trying to convince her friends that Snape wasn't a horrible person, it still surprised her whenever he proved it. "How soon do you need it by?"

"As soon as you can manage," Hermione replied.

"Four days then--that's as long as it'll take to brew it," Snape said tersely. "You can come back then to pick it up." Hermione nodded in gratitude as Snape continued to take notes on the potion he was now preparing to concoct. "So I understand that Mr. Malfoy has finally been captured by Mr. Weasley and Mr. Potter?"

"Yes," Hermione relayed dejectedly. "They're having trouble making the charges stick, however. He's committed loads of crimes, but he's claiming that he was under the Imperius curse, and Lucius is actually backing him up. He's preparing to get his sentence almost doubled in order to protect his son from prison." She shook her head in disbelief. Ron and Harry were just as shocked as she had been by Lucius' stubborn admittance that he had manipulated his son for so many years. Lucius was taking credit for everything, including Hermione's kidnapping, which was absolutely infuriating Ron in particular. He was no longer on assignment, but he spent most of his waking hours trying to find a way to break Lucius or Draco. However, he hadn't had any luck yet, and if they didn't find it before Lucius' trial, Draco would be released.

"Interesting," Snape mused. "I had no idea the Malfoy family loyalty ran so deep." He folded the sheet of parchment he had written the ingredients on and stuck it his pocket. "I'll get started on this straightaway, and I'll see you in four days."

"Yes, thank you so much, Professor Snape," Hermione said gratefully. She started for the door, but paused as she remembered something painfully important she had forgotten to mention.

"Yes?" Snape inquired when he realized that his former student still hadn't left. "Is there something else?"

Hermione hesitated for a moment, knowing once she said it that there was no going back, and that she might discover something she may never have wanted to know. However, Hermione Granger never backed down from anything, so with a deep breath she looked Snape dead in the eye and made one final request. "Could you please make enough of that potion for two doses?"

**

"Hello?"

Hermione stopped dead, her hand still on the freshly polished doorknob. "Harry?"

Harry emerged from the kitchen, his wand in his hand and a dirty rag slung over his shoulder. "Hermione," he greeted with relief as he stuck his wand back in his pocket. He grabbed the rag to wipe some grease off his hands. "What are you doing here?"

Hermione wasn't ready to tell him just yet what she had planned, so she just gave him a smile. "Oh, you know, just out and about." She took off her jacket and scarf and hung them up on the new coat rack Harry had just bought. "I didn't know you were working here today."

"Oh, yeah." Harry gestured for her to follow as he led the way into the kitchen that he was remodeling. He had had to do loads of chores and manual labor for the Dursleys, so he was quite familiar with basic plumbing and home improvement jobs. "I got the new faucets yesterday, and Kingsley's been on me and Ron to take a day off or two after this whole Malfoy crisis, so here I am." Harry sat back down on the floor to finish his work under the sink.

Hermione stood over him and peered underneath to inspect his work. She knew what Harry was doing, and hopefully it would prove to be very therapeutic for him. He always had to do something whenever he was particularly agitated the way he had been this past week. She wondered if Harry had gone so far as to stay in the unfinished house in order to avoid going home. She knew for a fact that he had stayed at Ron's for a few nights. It was really unnecessary, since Ginny had moved back into the Burrow to recover. But Harry refused to return to his flat; apparently, he didn't want to stay in the same home that Malfoy had set foot in. He also apparently didn't want to speak to Ginny yet, even though he was well aware of Malfoy's involvement with her indiscretion. That was actually the one charge they could make stick--Malfoy had already been convicted of illegal use of a love potion. That misdemeanor, however, only called for two months in a minimum-security prison or the payment of a rather expensive fine. Of course, Malfoy had no trouble paying it. Lucius had already officially cleared his son's name, so he was out of prison and had vanished once again. Hermione had a feeling they would never hear from him again. Harry and Ron were livid, and that frustration, coupled with the crisis in his personal life, had pushed Harry to a dark, awful place he hadn't been in since the war. However, now that he was a few years older, he was handling the pain much better this time. Instead of snapping at his friends, he was putting all of his energy into something more constructive.

Hermione wondered if this was a proper time to bring up Ginny, but when Harry stuck his head out to see what she was doing, she knew it wasn't. She gestured instead to the sink, which was almost finished. "Nice," she praised. She actually had no idea if Harry's work was at all up to standards, but it certainly looked like a normal sink. "How much longer will it be until you're finished?"

"A couple of weeks, maybe," Harry said. His voice sounded a bit disembodied as it floated up the pipe he was installing. Hermione leaned against the island a few feet behind her and just watched Harry work for a minute. Ever since he had had the idea of fixing up his parents' old house, he had insisted on repairing it the Muggle way. Not a single item in the entire mansion had been refurbished by magic; Harry's own hands did all of the repairs lovingly and carefully. He often enjoyed restoring the house in solitude, giving himself some time to think, and probably to grieve. Hermione knew that being in the house gave Harry a melancholy sense of contentment. He knew it was full of wonderful memories that he couldn't remember, but there were so many dark, painful events that clouded the potentially happy atmosphere of the home. Harry took so much time and energy renovating the place, hoping that if he could physically mend the broken and aged pieces of his parents' house, the emotional scars of the past could be healed as well. That way, he could finally get over his past and devote the rest of his life to creating another slew of wonderful memories with his new family.

Hermione brushed some hair out of her face, and with the upward motion, the vial of potion in her pocket bumped into her side, reminding her of why she had really come here. Harry would understand what she was trying to do; after all, he was attempting to do the same thing. Her eyes wandered over to the far corner of the room. Although the cabinets had been replaced and polished, and there were fresh new tiles adorning the floor, she could only see the room as it was in the extremely hazy recesses of her memory. She could only see herself huddling on the floor, trying valiantly to hide her fear as Dolohov advanced menacingly toward her with his arm raised, his wand ready, his eyes gleaming with pure malice--

"Hermione?"

"Huh?" Hermione jumped slightly as she looked over at Harry with a guilty expression on her face. He had slid out from underneath the sink and was peering up at her with an expression she knew all too well. He was worried about her. "What?" she asked a bit testily.

"I said your name four times," Harry said slowly. He got to his feet and set the wrench he had been using on the counter, and turned to give Hermione his complete attention. "What I was asking was, if you didn't know I was working here today, why did you come?"

"I need to try something," Hermione found herself admitting. She was so used to anticipating Ron's reaction to this topic of discussion that she automatically used her rapid, argumentative voice. "Harry, you have to understand--I have to find out. I don't know why I want to know, and I know it's going to be painful and awful and just as bad as not knowing, but it's driving me mad. I can't keep having these random flashes and pictures in my mind and not know what they're all about. I have to know--"

"Whoa, whoa," Harry held up his hands in surrender. "You have to know, okay, fine with me." Hermione let out a relieved breath and sunk a little further onto the island's countertop. Honestly, why couldn't Ron be this accepting? "Now, what is it you have to know?"

Hermione dug the small vial of black potion out from her pocket. She took a deep breath and stared seriously at Harry. "I have to know what happened to me that night."

Harry didn't even have to ask what night she was referring to. His eyes widened slightly as he stared at the mystery potion in her hand. "What is that?"

"It's a potion. Snape told me about it," Hermione explained. She knew that even Harry wouldn't support her if he found out that Malfoy had originally told her about this particular potion. "It doesn't work all of the time, but it can restore your memory."

"Sounds good," Harry agreed. He raised his eyebrows, eerily resembling the way Ginny looked whenever she tried to weasel information out of Hermione. He knew that there had to be something wrong with this particular potion if the Healers hadn't offered it to Hermione when she had first complained about amnesia. "What's the catch?"

Hermione shrugged in an attempt to downplay what she was about to say. "It usually doesn't work because it's so difficult to brew correctly. There can be some complications from that. In fact, I have a source for my article that really wants to find out about his life as a wizard, but he can't bring himself to take the potion just yet after hearing about all of the potential complications. I told him that after I took it, and if it worked, I would tell him straightaway. I guess I'm not only doing it for me, I'm doing it for him, too--" She let out a little laugh, but Harry remained quiet, knowing there was more to come. At least he wasn't suspicious enough to ask who this elusive 'source' was that she kept referring to; Hermione hadn't even told Ron yet that she was working with Dolohov's son. He would be just as angry about that as he would be about what she was about to do. Hermione sighed and continued to list the possible complications her plan might have. "And if does work, it would be like reliving the experience all over again."

Harry stiffened slightly and held her gaze. "So if they did use the Cruciatus curse on you--"

"--It would be like I was experiencing it all over again," Hermione finished quietly.

Harry sighed, and one of his fists inadvertently clenched. The horrible ghosts of painful memories spurted through his veins. The Cruciatus curse caused a person to experience the most physical pain one could endure without actually dying, and Harry had rather fancied the idea of clinging to the hope that at least one of his friends had escaped that agony. "It hurts," he warned stoically.

"I'm sure it does," Hermione concurred in the same flat, determined tone.

Harry now knew precisely why Ron became so frustrated with Hermione at times; he knew as well as anyone from her dead-serious tone of voice that there was no way to talk her out of this. She was just that bloody stubborn. He blew out a conceding breath and slowly paced a few steps toward the back door. "What do you have to do?" he asked reluctantly.

Hermione gestured toward the stairs. "It helps to be in the same environment--which is why I'm here. All I need to do is drink it. If it works, I should fall asleep, and my dream will be the memory. When I wake up, I'll remember it forever. In every detail." A niggling sense of doubt wiggled through her stubbornness, but she shoved it viciously away. She had come too far to back down now. She was going to do this, whether her friends were behind her or not.

Harry nodded. "Do you know where he took you?"

"It started in here, but I know I ended up somewhere upstairs--that's where Ron found me, so I thought I should try there first," Hermione replied.

"And does Ron know you're doing this?"

Hermione just shook her head.

Harry gaped at her. Hermione told Ron everything.

"He doesn't even know about the potion," Hermione said quietly. "He's been so busy with Malfoy that I've hardly seen him in the past few days. He can probably sense that something is up, but he definitely has no idea of what I'm about to do."

"Am I going to have to lie to him?" Harry asked bluntly.

Hermione fought a smile. Even after ten years of friendship, Harry still refused to lie to his best mate. He had hidden the truth several times out of sheer necessity, but Harry avoided flat-out lies at all costs. He was just that loyal. And Hermione knew that if it were Ron standing here before Harry, Harry would still be asking the same question of Ron about her. "No, of course not," Hermione said reassuringly. "I plan on telling him everything tonight."

The corners of Harry's lips twitched upward. "So I should expect him to pay me a visit at around seven o'clock?"

"I'd say more like eight," Hermione retorted. "He sometimes gets home late, and this is an old row, so those typically last longer." Although she was casually joking about her impending row with Ron, her stomach was twisting at the thought. He was going to be furious, and if this worked, she would still be haunted by her newfound memories. She just hoped that Ron would find it in him to swallow his anger long enough to just hold her for a few minutes and remind her that it was over and that no one would ever hurt her like that ever again.

Harry chuckled appreciatively before lapsing into pensive silence for several moments. He then fixed Hermione with a concerned, big-brotherly look. "Is there anything you need me to do?"

Hermione hesitated. She hated putting Harry out like this; this was his hideaway, the place he used to collect his thoughts and achieve some peace of mind. And now, here she was, bursting in on him and mucking up his plans for a quiet day of work on his home. "No," she decided. "No, you can just keep working; I'll be fine--"

"And when Ron finds out I agreed to that, I'll be dead," Harry interrupted. His hand unconsciously went to his wand again. "What do you need?"

"If you could, just come upstairs in about five minutes," Hermione replied. "You know, just to make sure the potion isn't completely off and I've turned myself into a speckled newt." Harry's eyebrows rose, and she elaborated. "It's what happened to a witch in nineteen sixty-two."

"Lovely. I never knew that sort of thing actually happened," Harry commented neutrally. "Do you want me to just stay with you the whole time?" he offered.

"No, that's not necessary," Hermione said, although she did appreciate the gesture. "I think I'd prefer to be alone for this. If you could just check to make sure I'm asleep in five minutes that should be enough."

"Got it," Harry agreed. He looked a bit anxious for her, but he still jerked his head toward the foyer. "Well, what are you waiting for?" he asked with false blitheness. "Get on with it."

Hermione didn't move straight away. After spending months trying to convince Ron that this was what she really wanted, it was so wonderful to hear someone accept her decision. Well, it wasn't as though she had asked Ron recently for his thoughts on the matter; maybe he had changed his mind. Hermione fought a laugh. Yeah, right. She stepped forward to drop an appreciative peck on Harry's cheek. "Thank you." She started toward the foyer, but she paused in the doorway as she realized something. "Harry?" She fidgeted slightly as he waited expectantly. This was going to be hard to explain. "Just to warn you, if it does work and I do relive it, I may--you know, scream."

Harry's cheek twitched, but he knew what she was asking for, and he wasn't about to let Hermione down. "I won't wake you up," he promised. "Unless I can tell there's something going wrong, I swear to you I won't."

"Thank you," Hermione said gratefully before turning on her heel and striding back into the foyer and up the stairs. Her confidence wavered, however, as she hit the top stair. Her hand lingered on the banister, clutching it for dear life. She closed her eyes in concentration. Somehow, she should instinctively be able to tell where she should drink the potion. She had been having random flashes for months now; she had just had one in the kitchen, but why couldn't she have one when she wanted it?

Just relax, Hermione, she told herself soothingly. Don't think. Ron wouldn't think; he would just go. Just relax and walk to a room.

Hermione looked up and down the hall, but her eyes kept straying toward the nearest door, the one that was almost directly across the hall from the stairwell. It was so close that Hermione almost couldn't believe that this was it, but then she stepped into the doorway and peered inside.

Her stomach lurched, sank, and leapt all at the same time. This was it--she was certain of it. It was a small room, probably some sort of guest room. The only piece of furniture that remained was a dusty, worn twin bed that Harry hadn't replaced just yet. The one window overlooking the backyard had a great deal of Spell-o-tape slathered over one of the broken panes, but other than that, nothing else seemed particularly disturbed. It didn't appear as though there had been a fierce struggle in here three years ago. But then again, maybe Harry had already repaired that damage. Hermione tucked her hair behind her ear and determinedly shut the door behind her. There was no clear evidence to prove it, but Hermione was dead certain that this was her best bet. It was in here that she would find all of her answers.

She slowly crossed the room to the bed. She examined it closely and wrinkled her nose in distaste, deciding to sit on the floor instead. It wouldn't be very comfortable, but then again, why should she have to be comfortable? It wasn't as though she was taking a long nap.

Hermione extracted the fateful vial. She fingered the smooth glass for a moment. It was hard to believe that in this tiny vial lay the answer to a deep, darkly personal question she had been trying to find the answers to for three years. All she had to do was drink it, and all would be revealed.

But did she want it to be revealed?

Of course you do. Hermione scolded herself. You need to know the truth. Just because Malfoy was the one who offered up this solution to her didn't mean that it wasn't a viable solution. Just because Ron didn't agree with her didn't mean that she couldn't do this. She couldn't help biting her lip again, considering calling for Ron or even sending him an owl. If she just warned him about what she was about to do, it would make things easier on her later. Besides, if she did warn him, there was also the possibility that he would come right to her side and offer to sit with her while she did this. Whatever had happened to her had been so horrendous that even her super-analytical mind wouldn't allow her to remember it, so she knew it was going to be tough to relive--and that was an understatement. Although she knew this had to be done for her own sanity, she also knew that her sanity would be irrevocably shaken. And whenever her world fell apart, she always needed Ron to help her piece it back together.

He would come if she asked him to. He would protest every step of the way and try to talk her out of it until the very moment she held the vial to her lips, but he would stay by her side. Or at least she hoped he would. He had been busy over these past few days; he was really worried that Malfoy was going to get off--

Oh, stop it--can you just handle one problem at a time? Hermione interrupted herself crossly. She had to stop this. She and Ron would be fine. She had been having doubts lately, but they would pass. She loved Ron, and that was all that mattered. They could work through anything. Even if he would be furious that she'd gone behind his back and done this without telling him--

Oh, for goodness sake!

With a frustrated sigh, and before she could lose herself in her thoughts once again, Hermione boldly uncorked the vial, closed her eyes, and took a long drink.