The Persistence of Memory

Chapter five - persistence of recent grievances

There were multiple reasons why a person should never to piss off a werewolf.

And Sirius always prided with himself that it was fortunate he was not one, otherwise, a lot of people would be in serious trouble. It was also fortunate that the only werewolf he knew was someone mild tempered and patient, so it kept him from suffering some grievous injuries. In fact, now that Sirius thought about it, Remus had never blown up at him before.

Remus sat with his head buried in his arms, the aggravation rolling off him in tangible waves. He was a ticking bomb waiting for the right moment to explode.

“Sirius…” Remus hoarsely whispered.

Sirius narrowed his eyes, bracing himself for the worst. On any other occasion, with Remus driven to such extremes, he would be horrified. But things were different this time; Sirius’ stubbornness out ruled any remorse.

“Of all the stupid, completely thoughtless things you could do….” Remus gritted out, grinding the heels of his hands in his eyes to vent frustration. He curled his fingers as if he planned to claw Sirius with his nails as punishment.

“He was in an orphanage,” Sirius said, pointedly glaring at the hutched figure of his friend.

Remus angrily tensed, “That doesn’t justify…”

“Harry was in an orphanage!” Sirius repeated, his voice raising. The years had instilled an innate horror in the word itself; he had heard so many terrifying stories of those places that it had equal significance as Azkaban. He stood up in a flourish and began restlessly pacing the room. “Who knew how those people were treating him! They could have been starving him, abusing him, or… or… You’ve seen what happened to Riddle! You’ve seen what happened to countless other orphaned children in those institutions! How can you…?”

“Sirius, Riddle was over forty years ago! The institutions now are much different!” Remus nearly shouted. “Do you ever think things through before you act?”

Sirius paused by the hearth, resting his hand against the mantelpiece. Despite Remus’ words, he was still unconvinced. But when he spoke again, he was much more subdued.

“Moony, for the past year, I’ve done nothing but mope. And to know that Harry was just a few miles away the entire time in an orphanage, when he could have had a family, its…” Sirius trailed off, sighing wearily. “If I just tried a little harder to look for him, maybe this wouldn’t have happened.”

Remus slowly lifted his head, the initial fury waning. He watched Sirius sympathetically for a moment, before turning his gaze to the guestroom upstairs. “But what happened at the café? How do we explain that?”

Sirius’ expression instantly fell.

“We’ll ask him,” Sirius said finally.

Remus sighed again, dropping his head back into his hands. He was more animated that he usually allowed himself to be, but Sirius had irked him too far. “It was a bad idea to leave you alone… I knew you’d do something rash. But I never thought…. Padfoot, if you would just be more patient…”

Sirius inwardly frowned, but spared Remus no reply. He picked at a piece of unpolished wood on the mantel as a distraction.

Remus glared at Sirius’ back, but could find no coherent words to express his disappointment. Finally, he drew a deep breath. “If you just waited until morning, James’ files would be faxed over…”

“Well, we don’t need them now,” Sirius cut in, grinding his nail in the wood with a vengeance. He kept his tone carefully neutral.

“That’s because you kidnapped Harry!!” Remus snapped, tenor accusing.

Sirius just grunted in response, but he held himself defensively.

“Do you have any idea how this is going to go through the muggle authorities?!”

“I don’t care,” Sirius grumbled.

Remus groaned, harshly running his hands through his hair to relieve the oncoming headache. “Sirius, what am I going to do with you? How am I going to explain this to Dumbledore?”

“Don’t bother, I will,” Sirius offhandedly said.

He didn’t really care about his former headmaster’s reaction, although he could guess it wouldn’t be very pleasant. But as far as punishments went, Sirius didn’t really mind anymore. Twelve years at Azkaban would numb anyone.

He couldn’t sit around knowing that his godson was living just a few blocks away, after a year’s absence. Living in an orphanage, no less; the guilt was almost unbearable. What would James and Lily say? What would Harry think?

“Do you think he’s awake yet?” Sirius softly asked

“If he isn’t, we might just be able to sneak him back inside,” Remus mumbled. But one glance at Sirius’ expression told him that he’d probably be in a full body-bind even before he reached the room. Remus glared back, “Sirius, this is just ridiculous. Do you have any idea how many laws you’re breaking? Those people…”

Remus broke off abruptly. Sirius raised an inquiring eyebrow.

A creak.

A distinct groan could be heard from upstairs There was the sound of something being dropped none too gently on the ground and then footsteps.

In an instant, Sirius was rushing upstairs, throwing open the heavy wooden door. He stumbled back in shock at the sight that met his eyes.

*

*fifteen minutes prior*

//

The steady beeping of the heart monitor resonated within the pristine walls of the room. That was what he woke up to, that was what he fell asleep listening. The calm, rhythmic drumming of the heart…

It was so annoying.

He wanted it to be quiet for once, shut the stupid thing off and let him be. Or listen something else. He wanted to hear a person’s voice, anyone’s, just as long as it was different. But no one ever came to see him. The other had families, but who did he have? He couldn’t even remember…

‘He’s still not identified?’

The nurse was back again. He would have breathed a small sigh of relief if he didn’t know it would hurt. Damn broken ribs…

‘No. None of those pictures matched.’

‘Poor boy. How old is he?’

‘We tried to do a skeletal scan, but he seems to have suffered malnutrition sometime in his past. It’s hard to say. We’re guessing around fourteen.’

‘Did you see those cuts on his body? He wasn’t hit by a car.’

‘Yes, I know. And that burn in the shape of a skull on his whole back. We probably need to surgically remove it.’

‘That burn’s been there at least three days. Those injuries were spread over a period of a week. He wasn’t hit by a car. If you ask me, I say he was kidnapped. He probably can’t remember because he doesn’t want to.’

‘Post Traumatic Stress doesn’t make you lose your memory completely, you know that. It’s got to be some sort of head injury.’

A grunt. ‘He just has a minor concussion. He was most likely kidnapped and tortured. Family probably wouldn’t pay ransom.’

‘That’s so cruel…’

\

James jerked awake, mind heavy fogged and thoughts sluggish. That dream again, he hated that dream. He hated all the dreams that involved his five week stay in the hospital. Those were the worst days he could remember, when he lived in a blurred world between fantasy and reality in a drugged daze. Half the time he was awake, he could hear other families visiting their loved ones, and he would lie alone.

It doesn’t really matter anymore…

James reached up to rub his eyes blearily, but struck cold glass. James frowned; he left his glasses on when he slept? That couldn’t be right, although…

The last thing he could recall was a heavy fog of a drug induced sleep seeping into his mind. That sensation he remembered well.

James sat up with a jerk, eyes darting around the room worriedly. But instead of those familiar whitewashed walls and seven other beds lying side by side, a richly ornate chamber met his eyes. James gaped when he took in the king sized, four poster bed with vermilion overhangs. The wallpaper didn’t seem like wallpaper at all; the engraved vines looked like real gold fused into the parapets. Compared to this, his orphanage was a motel bathroom. James squeezed his eyes shut, but when he opened them again, the room was still there.

He was dreaming, he had to be dreaming. This was another one of those strange dreams he had that never made any sense.

Tentatively, James slid out of the bed, reluctant to even wrinkle the silk sheets. His foot sank half an inch in the thick carpet. James couldn’t help but feel out of place in his tattered, hand-me-down pajamas. He made his way cautiously to the door, cracking open the oak frame of the door.

*

The syntax is a bit strange in this chapter. Ack... sorry about that.

// …. \ denotes flashbacks

Chapter six - persistence of misunderstandings

Voices flooded the room instantly.

“…something rash. But I never thought…. Padfoot, if you would just be more patient…”

Padfoot? What sort of name was that?

The person nicknamed Padfoot was silent.

A deep sigh. “Sirius, if you just waited until morning, James’ files would be faxed over…”

Sirius? Wasn’t that the man at the café who looked ready to strangle him with his bare fingers? James choked when he recognized the speakers.

He didn’t see why anyone would want to see his files; they weren’t very interesting. Unless they were doctors and wanted to investigate the odd injuries he collected when he first came to in the hospital, James didn’t see why they wanted them.

“Well, we don’t need them now.”

“That’s because you kidnapped him!!”

Kidnapped?

// ‘…Kidnapped and tortured. Family probably wouldn’t pay ransom…’ \

James’ mind reeled, his hand giving a violent twitch that almost slammed against the wall. Whatever Sirius said in response, James didn’t hear. He quickly shut the door, scooting away from the two men at the bottom story fearfully.

Blood was pounding in his ears, vision clouding with a reddish hue. His breath came in erratic gasps, and he clutched his fists so tightly that warm fluid was washing under his nails.

Those people kidnapped him. They kidnapped him!! God… no…

They were going to make him relive those weeks in that cell, make him relive the countless scars that laced his back. James stood shakily, trying to stay his raging panic. He had to get out, run away. Forget the previous hopes that they once knew him, forget the possibility of a peaceful explanation, this was just ridiculous!

James scanned the room frantically, looking for a possible escape route. A heavily curtained block caught his eye, and James threw the thick velvet out of the way. Behind was a very commonplace window, together with a sliding glass and bug-proof screen. It opened with surprising ease, but the oiled springs sliding without protest.

The incessant drone of rain reached his ears the moment the glass was free. The night had given way to a heavy downpour, thick droplets of water splattering on the soft grass below. James didn’t stop to consider the unusual sound filtering of his room. With trembling hands, he pried the screen from the frame. One glance outside made James’ stomach clench. He was in an upper story, the only way out was jumping twenty feet down.

Pacing the room in agitation, James was close to reverting his tactics from escape to hiding. He wringed the curtains in desperation until another thought jumped into his mind.

Bed sheets…

Ten minutes later, James was clambering through the open window with the makeshift rope as leverage. He was too frozen to feel guilty about ruining the rich silk. The water had long since soaked through his flimsy shirt, making his tattered pajamas cling to his back and arms. James shivered violently at the icy water assaulting his face, running over his head and glasses in streams. His bare feet wasn’t helping at all.

Halfway through his climb to the floor, his hand slipped and James fell ten feet to the ground. He landed in a thick bed of grass, too surprised to register much pain. Stiffly, he scrambled to his feet, giving the house one last glance before trudging slowly in the opposite direction.

James squinted, trying to see through the veil of black without success. Endless shadows stretched on all sides; he could see only a few yards in front of him, but even that was veiled and fractured by rain. His glasses were wet, everything was blurry. No streetlamp lit the grassy field, and no sound of civilization reached his ears. It was too dark and secluded to be London. He rubbed his arms, shivering violently.

Shouts. Footsteps. A loud bang of colliding wood.

James nearly cried out in shock when a beam of light fell across the grass. The oak doors of the house flew open, and two shadowy figures emerged. One of them turned his way and pointed.

Voices. But they were drowned out by the rain.

James sprinted across the wet grass.

The rain muffled all the sounds; James wasn’t even sure if they were pursuing him. Blindly, he dodged a few stray bushes, his bare feet screaming in protest at every rock that nicked at his skin. He couldn’t see more than arm’s length before him, and he ran straight through razor-like branches more than once. The familiar clink was in his side, gnawing at his lungs. Every breath he took sent flashes of pain through his ribs.

Damn it, no!! Run, breathe, run, breathe… oh god…

That cold desperation was back. The icy fear that trapped him in those dark nights when he was alone, and he knew there was no one in the world who would help him or care. When he was truly in trouble, there was no one.

// No one… no one… no one!! \

He hated this. He hated being helpless, of being forced into a position when he had no choice and no chance of winning. The shattered ribs never healed properly, and made it impossible for him to run for any prolonged period. James could feel his steps faltering, his hand clutching his side in agony.

// Someone, please help me! He’s too strong, I can’t hold him off for much longer!! \

A sharp tug on his ankle threw off balance and flung him off his feet. James grunted in shock as he landed in a muddy puddle. James crawled to his knees in a desperate attempt to stand, but his lungs were screaming for air. All he managed to do was hutch over in a defensive ball as he choked and gasped for breath.

// I can’t, I can’t! God... no. No!! I’m going to lose… I’m going to die… \

Suddenly, hands were on his shoulders, cautiously pulling him to his feet.

// … why did it have to be me? \

“Harry, what…? Are you alright?” the stranger whispered. His voice seemed dazed somehow, as if he was slowly absorbing a shock.

Stuttering incoherently, James fought against his captor, trashing and clawing at the arm.

“Harry! Harry, it’s okay. It’s just me, Sirius!”

“No… let go!” James fitfully resisted. The echoes of a distant memory was haunting the edges of his mind, and he was sounding vaguely hysterical.

“Harry, what…?” the man’s voice was strained with emotion. “What’s wrong with you?”

Wrong with me?! You’re the one who kidnapped me, and you’re asking me what’s wrong? James wanted to shout, but a fit of coughing overtook him.

The grip tightened at his shoulders, trapping him. James glared at the man defiantly, but the effort was wasted as he broke in a fit of coughing. He slumped forward, trying to calm the raging fire in his lungs. Gritting his teeth, he made a desperate wrench to free himself. The man seemed shaken by his reaction. James could feel a shudder rack the man’s thin frame, his grip loosening. The momentum threw him off balance, and he slipped in the wet grass a second time.

“Harry, stop it! What are you…?” the man seemed as alarmed as he.

Hands were on him again, pulling him from the ground as he hutched over in a shivering heap. Surprised by the almost gentle gesture, James bit back the next cry of protest.

“Are… are you alright? Harry…? You’re soaked.”

A cloak slid over his shoulders, slightly moist but very warm. James pulled away distractedly, wanting to tell the stranger that he was wet, and he’d ruin the coat. But the man just fastened the cloak more firmly, dragging the hood over his head to shield him from the rain. James squinted at the man in puzzlement, but the night veiled his face in darkness.

*

Half an hour later, James found himself huddling in a corner beside a raging fireplace, the furthest he could possibly hide from the strangers. A mug of hot coca was set on the floor in front of him, a dry blanket draped loosely over his knees. The water in his unruly hair dripping uncomfortably on his neck, but he was too nervous to wipe it away. His moist clothes was slowly drying under the overcoat that Sirius had left him; after the icy rain had absorbed the heat, James felt nicely insulated in his wet clothes.

Sirius sat in a nearby chair, eyes never drifting from his face. Hurt and defeat was etched in his features, as if the boy in front of him had stabbed him with a knife and twisted it in his gut. James felt a brief flutter of guilt when he glanced at him, but he had no idea why he should be guilty.

The two adults were both silent after Sirius brought him back to the house, kicking and struggling. He scrambled away the moment he could loosen the stranger's grip, nearly knocking over the thin and sickly man. Remus stared as if he had two heads instead of one, his countenance so muddled that it was baffling. James was too confused then, but now, everything was slowly beginning to sink in.

This was the strangest thing that has ever happened to him, but that wasn’t saying much. A day ago, he met two strangers that claim to know him. Without warning, they kidnap him, but refuse to do anything further than hold him hostage with perfect civility. They acted as if he was a nephew coming home for a visit.

James knew he should be terrified. He should yell and scream until one of them lost patience and knocked him unconscious with a punch. But he found it hard to hold hate or fear against them, or even think that they would hurt him.

James chewed his lip, wringing water from his tattered shirt sleeve. They were as alarmed as he was when he fled from them. They didn’t seem to be sadistic or evil at all. James wasn’t sure what to make of it.

“What the hell is going on?” James grumbled. He hadn’t intended to say those words aloud, and flushed in embarrassment.

Both Remus and Sirius turned to him sharply at those words. James had an overwhelming urge to cower, but he forced himself to stay still.

“What do you mean?” Remus asked with a carefully controlled calm, but his eyes betrayed the confusion that raged in his mind.

“You keep calling me Harry,” James said softly.

Sirius’ hand twitched, and he made an obvious effort to restrain himself. “Are you saying that you’re not?” he asked thickly.

“I’m not! I’m James,” James said quickly, but faltered. Hesitant, James furrowed his brow in thought, a look of confusion passing over his face.

That’s not right. James was the first name that came into his mind. Was it truly his name? Or was it…

“I… I… I’m not sure,” James admitted softly.

Remus frowned, perplexed. “You’re not sure about what?”

James sighed but didn’t answer, holding the warm cup against his forehead. The heat seeped into his skin, soothing the impending headache. They said they knew him. Could it be possible? But their ways of introduction was enough to sent him fleeing twice. Nevertheless, James couldn't seem to view them as having dark intensions.

They treated him like a nephew home coming for a visit…

“Who are you?” James finally asked, lifting his head.

Remus drew a sharp breath, and Sirius jerked so convulsively that James flinched. As if someone had just sliced the suspension cords, Sirius dropped back against his chair.

Sirius’ face twisted into a grimace of pain. “What?” he choked out.

“Sirius, wait,” Remus quickly interrupted. “Harry… James, you don’t remember us?”

The frown fell from his face as if torn away, and James suddenly looked lost. He turned from their piercing stares, his stomach churning at the word ‘remember.’ He swirled the fluid in his cup, distracting himself with the reflection of the flames on the surface.

James swallowed uneasily. “I don’t remember a lot of things,” he slowly admitted. “I lost my memory a year ago.”

*