The Persistence of Memory

Persistence of Memory
By neutral

Chapter three - persistence of misfortune

Remus stumbled, the table the only thing keeping him standing. He stared at the boy disbelievingly, half afraid that it was a dream and the other afraid that it wasn’t.

The boy, possibly fourteen or fifteen years of age but looking indefinitely younger, paused in front of the table to catch his breath. He seemed unusually breathless after such a short run across the street, but that was the last thing on Remus’ mind. His face was the exact mirror of James’ in his fifth year right down to the curve of the cheek and angle of the jaw. His eyes were a clear forest green that spoke of untarnished innocence, even clearer than Lily’s. He could recognize that face anywhere…

“Sir, are you okay? Is there something wrong?” the boy asked cautiously.

Remus finally found his voice. “Harry?” he choked out.

The boy blinked. “Pardon?”

His godson’s name finally caught Sirius’ attention. He lifted his head sluggishly, half expecting his friend to continue his admonitions. But Remus’ utterly astounded and staggered reaction puzzled him. Following his line of vision, Sirius froze with the likeness of a statue. He drew a sharp breath, the blood draining from his face.

The boy took a step back at the rather immoderate reaction, misinterpreting it completely.

“I’m so sorry about your drink. I… I can buy you a new one,” he offered, drawing a deflated wallet from a pocket. When there was still no response, the boy swallowed nervously. “Well… uhh… does your clothes need dry cleaning? I don’t know if I have enough money for that…”

The boy shifted his weight uneasily, fingering the black lenses of his glasses. He wasn’t acting like the quiet and reserved Harry at all; but at that moment, it was the last thing on Remus’ mind.

“Harry!” Sirius finally tore through his daze, jumping up so quickly that his chair smashed against the ground. He sprung forward and grasped the boy tightly by the shoulders. Sirius examined his face fixedly, completely missing the boy’s surprised expression, and trapped him in a rib crushing hug. “Oh god, Harry. Harry. Harry. Harry.”

The boy gaped. For a moment, he was too stunned to protest. But when the situation slowly sunk in, he squirmed in the hold, trying to loosen the stranger’s grip.

“Sir…”

Sirius’ arms tightened, and he buried his face in the boy’s unruly mop of hair. He clasped his godson with a sort of mad desperation, afraid that someone or something would steal him away again. His shoulders shook as if he was desperately trying to hold back tears. He whispered Harry’s name incessantly, his voice so strained that it was barely discernable.

There was bewilderment on the boy’s face, and he struggled anxiously. His arms were locked against his sides by Sirius’ firm grip, and his face completely buried against his cloak. None of his protests were making any coherent sense.

“I thought you died!! For the… I thought…” Sirius whispered, his voice muffled against the boy‘s head. “Don’t do that! Don’t ever do that again!! Oh god…do you have any idea how…?” he broke off when his throat was too constricted to speak.

Remus was still speechless, staring unblinkingly at the mop of wild hair. It was Harry, a part of his mind shouted happily, but another was skeptical. After disappearing for these long months, it seemed unlikely that Harry would just stumble upon them when he was always so close by. But that face was Harry’s, it couldn’t be any other…

Even through his confusion, Remus felt his lips curving into a smile. He didn’t know how many times he dreamed of finding the boy again; the relief of it finally coming true overshadowed all other doubts in his mind. Despite his usual composure, Remus couldn’t help but give the boy a tight, one armed embrace just for reassurance.

“I thought we’d never see you again, Harry,” Remus hoarsely whispered.

The boy finally twisted around his face enough for him to draw a few breaths, “Excuse me, sir. You’re choking me…”

Sirius loosened his embrace quickly, but never relinquished his lock on the boy’s shoulders. His face was lit with a smile that made him look decades younger.

“Harry…” Sirius brushed a few strands of hair from the boy’s face with an unsteady hand, as if he was trying to fix every detail of his face in his memory. “How…? Wh…?”

The boy shielded away from the touch. He unsuccessfully tried to pry Sirius’ hand from his arm. “I’m sorry, sir, but you have the wrong person.”

Sirius nodded. His dazed face clearly stated he registered none of those words. But Remus’ smile slipped several notches.

“What did you say?” Remus asked.

The boy turned to him, looking a bit distraught. “You have the wrong person. I’m not Harry.”

Sirius grinned wider, enveloping him in another tight hug that made the boy cry out in protest. “That’s not even funny, Harry. This isn’t the time for jokes.”

“No!! Sir, you have the wrong person! I don’t even know who Harry is!” the boy writhed frantically. When that seemed to have no effect, he blindly pounded his fists against Sirius. “Let go! You have the wrong person!”

Sirius slacked in shock, and the boy stumbled back, glasses askew and his hair messier than usual. The only time Harry struck his godfather was during their first meeting in the Shrieking Shack. Although the boy didn’t punch him forcefully, the blow was like a violent stab.

“What?” Sirius whispered.

“I’m not Harry,” the boy firmly repeated, trying to place some distance between him and the stranger. “My name is James. I’ve never seen you before in my life.”

That nicked a nerve. It had been a year of living through nightmares, with image after image of Harry lying in some dark cellar, dead or dying. To suddenly see him alive and well was like a wish, an impossible dream come true. But when Harry claimed not to recognize him, taking on the name of his dead father, it snapped Sirius’ patience.

Sirius bolted forward, clamping his hand tightly over James’ wrist even before the boy could turn to get away. James made a indiscernible sound of surprise, staring fearfully at the man.

“Harry, what are you talking about?!” Sirius’ voice was raised.

“What…? Stop, let go!” James said hastily, catching the attention of several bystanders. “I’m not Harry. I’m James!”

“That’s… you’re Harry! You’ve even got that scar!” Sirius insisted, reaching forward to brush away some locks of hair. James visibly cringed.

“Stop! Sirius, you’re hurting him!” Remus cut in.

He placed a straining hand on his friend’s arm. At those words, Sirius immediately dropped James’ hand. James backed away quickly, nursing a wrist with four distinct fingerprints etched in the skin, trembling. Sirius was still heaving, whether in frustration, shock, and hurt Remus wasn’t sure. But the glint in his eyes was unnerving.

“Is… is he alright in the mind?” James asked shakily.

Sirius made a strangled sound and staggered back as if James had flung scalding coals at his face. Remus openly gaped, not daring to believe his ears.

Harry would never say that. He would never…

“Sirius, calm down,” Remus said, staring at the boy in disbelief as he barred his friend’s path. “He’s perfectly sane, just… confused. Are you sure you’re not Harry?”

“Yes!! My name is James, and I’ve said that at least five times! You have the wrong person…” James said, clearly exasperated.

Sirius scowled. “That’s not…”

“Sirius!” Remus snapped, pushing him back firmly.

James gulped, looking ready to flee to the safety of the park. “I really don’t know who you are. I’m sorry if I look like someone or something, but I haven’t met the two of you before. I…”

“James! What’s talking so long? The bus is waiting for us,” said a new voice. A boy paused, having just crossed the street. His eyes traveled between the perceptibly flustered adults and his pale faced friend. “Did we piss them off that badly when we spilled their drink?”

The boy was visibly relieved at the new voice. Throwing Remus and Sirius one last wary glance, he nearly ran to his friend.

“Sorry, Will. I got held up,” James said, gesturing at the two without turning. “They thought I looked like someone they knew.”

Sirius frowned, watching James with a mixture of aggravation and hurt. “What are you talking about? You’re Harry!”

Will raised an eyebrow. “No, he’s James.”

“Forget it. Lets go, Will,” James hissed under his breath.

“What about the ball?”

“Forget the ball! Lets just get out of here.” James tugged at his friend’s sleeve urgently.

“Wait…” Remus began quickly, but Sirius shoving past him cut off the rest of his words. He was obviously afraid of losing his godson again. Although bewildered by James’ words, Sirius convinced that the boy was Harry despite what he said. He didn’t stop to consider the possibilities, the shock, surprise, joy, and hurt clouding his judgment and pronouncing his already rash disposition.

Sirius plowed into the younger boy and grasped him by the arms, shaking him roughly, “Harry, what are you trying to pull?! You had us all insane with worry when you disappeared… did you have any idea how Ron and Hermione are taking this? I thought you were dead!! And now this… this… you’re saying you don’t remember me?”

“I don’t… ow!!” James trembled in shock as he pried at the fingers clamped around his arm.

“Hey, let him go!” Will launched himself at the taller man, raining blows on his arm, but Sirius seemed oblivious.

“Sirius, that’s enough!” Remus instructed firmly, dragging his friend back with inhuman strength.

“Harry, don’t you remember me?” Sirius said. He struggled to free himself from his friend’s restraining grasp.

“Oh god, hurry up and get out of here, James! He’s a complete nutcase!” Will hissed. He wanted to whisper only to James, but the shock made him speak louder than he intended.

Remus flushed slightly in agitation, but Sirius bristled visibly.

“I don’t know you… don’t know who you’re talking about. You’ve got the wrong person!” James insisted miserably, emerald eyes darting between his stunned friend and the crazed stranger.

Will seemed rather exasperated at James’ hopeless attempts to explain himself. He latched a defensive hand on to his friend’s shoulder, leading him away as inconspicuously as he could.

“Would you just…?! The bus. Run to the bus, James! Quick, run!!”

*

I'm not evil. *grin*

Why didn’t James right away started explaining stuff? Humm… well, imagine your response if someone you had no idea who suddenly hugged you to death and called you… Bob or something? Very unnerving.

Persistence of Memory
By neutral

Chapter four - persistence of hindsight

Sirius sat with his face in his hands, elbows propped on the coffee table as if it was the only thing holding him up. Still as the dead, only the slight rise and fall of his chest betrayed him. He looked as defeated as the day the news of Harry’s disappearance first reached him.

He ran after his godson the moment the two boys took off across the street. He had been just inches from reaching the boy, but a car cut through their path. Only Remus’ restraining hand kept him from an unfortunate accident. By the time the muggle contraption had passed, it was too late. The boy was gone.

“That was Harry… I swear that was Harry!!” Sirius suddenly whispered.

A waitress shot him a wary glance, the customers long since scattered by his earlier outburst.

Remus was silent.

“I can’t believe… god, Remus, tell me that he was Harry.” Sirius choked out. “I haven’t gone insane, have I?”

Remus nodded slightly, grey eyes weary. He was as devastated as Sirius. “That looked like Harry.”

“Then why… the hell?” Sirius groaned, rubbing his face harshly.

Remus couldn’t find his voice to reply. It was shocking to see his best friend’s son, after a year’s absence, suddenly appear in front of him. That in itself, he could deal with. But when Harry didn’t seem to know them, that was…

He sighed, mirroring Sirius’ actions as he leaned on his arms. A flat bag on the ground caught his eye; he could make out pieces of it through the wire mesh table. Remus picked it up, aiming to distract himself from the swarm of baffling thoughts and questions.

It was a muggle wallet, a thin and worn one at that. The Velcro was battered and curling at the edges. Numbly, he unfolded it.

Sirius was torn out of his daze when a sharp scrap of the metal chair rang through the secluded café. Remus stood, gripping the wallet tightly.

“What?” he asked, his voice sounded dead to even his own ears.

“His wallet,” Remus said, eyes fixed intently on the object in front of him. “It’s got Harry’s… James’ identification card…”

Sirius was alert instantly, ready to tear the thing from his friend’s hand. Remus took an unsteady step back.

“Wait, Sirius. James is his name! That’s what it says on this card…”

“That can’t be possible! That’s Harry, I’m sure of it!” Sirius shot back angrily.

Remus frowned, shaking his head slightly. “He doesn’t have a last name… its just James.”

“He’s Harry,” Sirius insisted. He was desperately clinging to the hope that the boy was his godson. Just as long as Harry was alive…

Suddenly, the blood drained from Remus’ face. “St. MaryAnn’s,” he whispered.

“What?” Sirius asked, quickly standing. He sounded dangerously close to losing patience.

“That’s where he’s living…”

“Where is it? Where is that place?!” Sirius nearly shouted, gripping the edge of the table hard.

“It’s a building about sixteen blocks north,” Remus paused apprehensively. “Sirius, that… that’s a muggle orphanage.”

That was the second bombshell dropped in the past half hour.

Sirius was outraged, looking ready to shatter the glass with just his glares alone. The kind of reaction those simple words incited from Remus’ compulsive friend was enough to drive the waitress away and the owner to give them the meal free. Although Remus had seen his fair share of Sirius’ emotional outbursts through their years of acquaintance, it was still rather unnerving. He was still slightly uneasy as he forcibly dragged his friend to a deserted alleyway to apparate.

Sirius made for the study the moment they arrived in his home. That was where he hid all his magical possessions, having discarded them all the day Voldemort turned up dead and Harry vanished. He reappeared minutes later with his wand tightly gripped in his hand.

Remus frowned worriedly. “Sirius, what are you doing?”

“Getting Harry,” Sirius grumbled as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

Remus’ frown deepened. “Are you going to hex everyone out of the way and kidnap the boy? That’s not…”

“Harry is in an orphanage,” Sirius gritted out, seething. “An orphanage!!”

Remus sighed, willing himself to remain calm. “We don’t even know if that is Harry! He was telling the truth when he said he doesn’t know us! You could tell… his eyes weren’t lying.”

But that was the wrong thing to say. In an instant, Sirius’ frustration was nearly tangible.

“That was Harry,” Sirius hissed, eyes daring him to say otherwise. “You don’t see boys off the street everyday with that shade of green eyes, messy hair, and a lightening shaped scar on his forehead!”

Remus paused; he had to admit that Sirius was right. But the boy’s reaction was completely unexpected that he just wasn’t sure.

Remus shook his head slowly. “There’s more to this than what meets the eye. I need to contact Dumbledore and call the orphanage for his files. We can get to the bottom of this,” he gauged Sirius for a reaction. When he didn’t respond, Remus tentatively continued. “Before then, don’t do anything. Got that, Padfoot? If you do anything foolish, like kidnapping Harry or burning down the orphanage, I’ll personally curse you.”

Sirius was silent, but the stiffness in his form and the shadow over his eyes made Remus wonder what exactly was going on in his mind. Hesitantly, Remus prepared to apparate again. Leaving his friend wasn’t a wise move, but his curiosity about the strange boy was too much to ignore. A part of him was rejoicing that Harry was found, but the other was perplexed at their rejection.

That was Harry, he was sure of it. But what was wrong with him?

“A complete nutcase…” Will grumbled irritably, kicking his cardboard box under the bed. Due to a lack of funding, everyone stored their possessions in discarded containers they picked off the street. “That guy was just absolutely insane!”

James didn’t respond, staring off into space. Absently, he fingered the metal brace on his arm, an odd habit he developed whenever he was troubled. The biology textbook lay ignored on his bed.

“Did you see his eyes? They were just creepy. Stay away from those two, James. I swear, they’re out to get you. I wouldn’t be surprised if they came banging on the door. Be very careful,” Will continued. When his friend still didn’t speak, Will turned to him inquiringly. “James?”

James just sluggishly twirled the pencil between his fingers.

Will sighed, grabbing the closest thing at hand and flinging it at his friend. A pair of worn socks landed on James’ head, but that failed to move him. At first.

“Oh, what the…?!” James swatted the offending object disgustedly. “You idiot… Will!”

Will rolled his eyes skyward. “Did any of those words make it to your brain?”

“What? What words?” James asked, making a face as he wiped his hair.

“That mentally unstable at the coffee shop today.”

James paused, looking ready to sink back into silence again. Finally, he sighed. “I don’t know if he’s really insane.”

“What?! He seemed ready to choke you to death. Look at those bruises!” Will shot out angrily, gesturing at the purpling fingerprints on James’ wrist.

James shrugged, instinctively stuffing his hand in a pocket. “He didn’t mean to hurt anyone. He was just… disturbed. Probably didn’t even realize…”

Will sighed dramatically. “James, you’re so naïve, it’s sad.”

James’ face twisted into a slight frown at those words, but said nothing in retort. There was a difference between being naïve and being understanding. And James was reluctant to jump to conclusions. Will, like most of the children with scarred pasts, was quick to judge, quick to hate, and resolutely stubborn. He branded the two as enemies the moment they left the café, and was determined to protect his best friend from them.

“They said they knew me,” James interrupted suddenly. “Do you think it’s possible…?”

“No way!! Those two? I mean… seriously.”

“I don’t know,” James shook his head slowly. “That man seemed really upset when I said I didn’t know him.”

Will grunted. “If that man turns out to be your dad, I’m going to be very sorry for you.”

James sighed in exasperation. “What if, Will? I don’t remember anything before I was fourteen! Am I even fifteen? I don’t even know! This is all just so confusing! I wasn’t even sure why I acted that way! It was just so sudden…”

Will paused. He understood that the subject of James’ past was a sensitive subject for him, and wasn’t sure what else to say. Finally, he sat on the bed, looking at his friend sympathetically. “Those two were just insane, James. Forget about it.”

Not that it was possible, James mused four hours later.

He leaned against the window frame, propping his English book against his knee to better catch the beam of the streetlight. The batteries of his flashlight ran out last week, and he never got around to replacing them. He wasn’t sure why he was trying to get his homework done when it was Friday. It was just a strange sense of paranoia that always drove him to checking work in the middle of the night.

James sighed, closing the textbook softly. It didn’t really matter; not that he could sleep. Unbidden, his mind returned to the events of early noon to the deserted street corner. Those two, one with light brown hair intertwined with grey, the other with a defeated appearance that spoke of horrors through his life, confused him to no end. They claimed to know him, somehow. But James couldn’t remember. Seeing the two triggered no feeling of familiarity whatsoever. He would have explained to those two, but the dark haired man’s violent response completely drove all reason from his mind.

After reading his share of books, glorifying some fallen hero who lost his memory, he always expected meeting someone he once knew would be something similar. A horrible headache, a collapse; and then miraculously, he would awake in a hospital remembering everything. But that was just too idealized to be true. James sighed dejectedly.

Oddly, in the depths of his mind, he was stubbornly resolute, happy that he had a blank slate. He had no horrible experiences to live with, nothing to haunt him. He had a life with unblemishes, and he wanted to keep it that way.

But at the same time, a part of him wished that they really knew him. It would mean finally erasing that hole in his mind, and he could stop listening to those around him with envy. He may not show it, but every once in a while, he was seized by a fit of jealousy against those who had or knew their parents. It was irrational, since many were treated poorly, but at least they knew about them! James could only lie awake and wonder whether his relatives died or abandoned him.

But, what if they did abandon him? Why else would no missing children’s record appear in the database? Why else would none of his relatives inquire after him? He woke up in that hospital alone. If they truly loved him, they would have at least tried. But they didn’t. No one cared…

James rubbed his eyes in frustration.

He had spent so many hours lying alone in that whitewashed room, listening to the children close by speaking animatedly to their parents. James would stare at the ceiling, tracing the cracks and making up countless excuses why they didn’t come. Lying in the mass of bandages and plastic cords, too drugged to even move a limb, James felt bitterly frustrated and betrayed. But somewhere between the two months of recovery and his permanent residence at the orphanage, he stopped caring. Or perhaps it was because he tried so hard to not care, James wasn’t sure.

A soft rustle.

James was alert in an instant, ears trained to pick up any footsteps. He clambered back into bed as noiselessly as he could, stuffing his textbook under his pillow. Dragging the blankets to his chin, James placed all the year of experience by mocking sleep with expert skill.

Or would have, if only he had remembered his glasses…

James mentally cursed. It was too late to move. But when no resigned sigh and whispered retort met his ears, James cracked open an eye curiously.

Other than the snoring lumps, the room was completely empty. Squinting, James scanned the dimly lit chamber, when a shimmer caught his eye.

No, it wasn’t exactly a shimmer. It was more like a ripple, as if someone had placed a sheet of blending glass that fractured the light. Or if the entire room was a reflection on water, and someone had brushed the fluid with a feather light touch. James wrinkled his brow in bewilderment. Had he imagined it?

Slowly, he sat up, staring at the space in front of the door intently. It didn’t appear again, but James was suddenly aware of another person breathing. It was shallow, as if he was nervous or surprised. It seemed to be coming over his head, but that didn’t make any sense at all. There was no one there.

Unnerved, James began to back away slowly. Before he even reached the edge of his bed, the space beside his bed rippled violently. James opened his mouth to cry out in surprise, but a heavy veil fell over his senses. The energy sapped from his limbs, darkness swallowed his vision, and James knew no more.

*

Nothing much happens, but it’s sort of a transitional chapter. James is a bit of a bookworm, isn’t he? There’s a reason for that, but it’s not going to be explained until later.

Okay, an explanation. Harry only disappeared for a year for several reasons actually. 1. I wanted to keep all the wounds still fresh in everyone’s mind. 2. It was nice to have an age right before maturity and childhood so that he would still need a guardian (and I love Sirius, so… *grins*) 3. Uhh… I forgot this one. So I’ll shut up now.

PoM has longer chapters than WS so far... humm... Remus is being dense again, isn't he? Actually, but Remus and Sirius seem rather dense, but the idea of a boy losing his memory isn't something on the surface of everyone mind. Well, that's what I was thinking, but people may disaggree. humm... at least this chapter wasn't too badly delayed... right? *hides*