Somehow Lost

A single, dark-colored car silently wound down a quiet street. There were barely any lights on. One or two porch lights shone dully, and one street lamp was on, though it flickered a little before going out completely. The clock on the dash was shining 11:26. The car went about halfway down the street before stopping in front of a two-story house, dark and desolate. A once-gold number four was just barely hanging onto the wall to the left of the door, which the paint was falling off of. All of the windows that were visible from the front of the house were broken, most likely by stones thrown in some children's game. The hedges that stood on either side of the front porch were dying where they stood. Graffiti covered most of the porch and some of the front of the house.

The thirty-two-year-old person in the car gave a long, quiet sigh. This very house had been his "home" (if you could call it that) some fifteen or so years previous. He had lived in this Godforsaken place from the time he turned one until he had turned seventeen. Then he had gone after the remaining Horcruxes (destroying them all) with Ron and Hermione, gone after Voldemort, and defeated him. About a year after that (with Harry, Ron, and Hermione's help) all the remaining Death Eaters had been rounded up and given life sentences in Azkaban.

Harry had finally been able to live.

Being on one of the house Quidditch teams while he was at school - and being really good at it, too - he went on to become a professional Quidditch player. He did this until he was about twenty-six or twenty-seven years old, before retiring on the grounds of having so much money in his Gringotts vault that, if he put one more Knut in it, it would bust wide open and he was just too lazy to open another one.

The dank and derelict ex-home of the Dursleys on Privet Drive was empty - had been for years. Because, of course, that after Harry left (which was immediately after his seventeenth birthday) they had gone away - moved somewhere else - to a place where they were sure Harry would never find them. As if he would ever in all his life want to. Yet here he was.

Why would he even be in the near vicinity of this place? He couldn't even answer that question for his own piece of mind. Something inside of him had brought him to this place on a spur-of-the-moment decision that didn't - and never would - make sense to even himself. He had just been lying on his bed at home stroking the feathers of his owl - Julianne, dark black with streaks of sparkling brown (his newest pet he'd gotten two-and-a-half years after the death of his first pet, the snowy-white owl Hedwig). Nothing in particular was even on his mind when, all of a sudden, he'd burst up out of bed (startling Julianne in the process) and run down to the basement. In the very corner stood a trunk that he had not opened since he'd moved to the place. He'd slowly walked over to it, opened it, and dug through it a few moments before pulling out a photo album he'd received his first year at Hogwarts from a very dear friend who'd died right about in the middle of the very last game of Quidditch he'd ever played. He'd been told a few hours or so after the ending of the game and had resigned soon after. Most were under the assumption that it was because he didn't want any more money, that he had enough to last him a few lifetimes, which was partially it. The other reason was because, had he not been playing Quidditch, he would have been at his friends side in the last moments of his life. And, the fact of the matter was, he just couldn't deal with society any longer.

After flipping through the pages for a few moments, he came across a picture that had been taken only by his and someone else's knowledge. It was of him and his godfather Sirius - dead for about seventeen years or so. They were standing in a room with a Christmas tree in the background that covered a tapestry - hated by Sirius because of what it represented to him. The picture was moving as well. Sirius would periodically change himself back and forth from his human form to his Animagus form (a Grim) and back again. This was to remind Harry of his godfather's two sides. The picture, however, did not do them justice in Harry's opinion. Also, the photo-version of Harry, would laugh silently as the changes were made, doing a little change himself: back and forth from human to a stag - his own Animagus form.

As he stared at this picture, thoughts were running through his head: 'Would Sirius want me to give up? Would he want me to be "in hiding" by choice, when he had no choice but to do it? For so many years? Would he want me to have lost contact with the only people that ever truly cared about me (besides the ones that were passed, of course)? Would he want me to be acting like such a coward just because of some things that happened? Would he want me so far from my true home, going so far into my "hole" that I've even changed my name? How angry at me would he be to see me this way? I mean... gosh... I haven't even used my wand for I don't know how many years. Do I even remember how to use it?' (Which was a ridiculous question in itself, because doing magic was like riding a bicycle - you just don't forget how to do it, no matter how long it's been since you tried.)

These thoughts kept running through his head for about five minutes before he closed the album, put it under his arm, grabbed his wand, cloak, and map from inside the trunk, closed it, and ran back upstairs. He packed another trunk (one exactly like the famed Mad-Eye Moody - seven key holes) and carried it out to the car. After coming back in from the chilly October night, he went in the kitchen and packed a cooler full of food and drink. He put Julianne in her cage and carried the cooler and the cage out to the car. He ran back in to grab his keys, jacket, cloak, Julianne's food, and two water jugs and went back out to the car, got in, and turned the car on, silently sitting behind the wheel until the car warmed up. When he was satisfied with it, he backed out of the driveway, and headed on his way.

Though his every will had told him to go to a place that was more home to him than any, his heart had - for some unknown reason - pointed him in another direction completely. So many bad memories had developed from the inside of this obscure house, in the midst of ones that looked the same, lost in a sea of sameness that Harry had always despised - when he wasn't thinking of something much, much more important (or so he thought, sometimes).

For whatever reason he'd ended up in this place, he did not stay long at his old home. Who would want to, he wondered. As he sat and stared at the house, old memories ran through his head; memories he wished he could just forget. This act, however, was much easier said than done.

He was five, watching Dudley riding a new red bicycle, and his heart was bursting with jealousy.... He was six, and his uncle hit him for the first - but definitely not the last - time, a stinging slap across the face, telling Harry how he'd wanted to do that for a long time.... He was eight, and he was at the park. Dudley and his gang had encircled him; they were roughly pushing him back and forth to each other, taunting him and calling him names . . . names that now, he could not seem to call back to his mind.... He was nine, and Ripper the bulldog was chasing him up a tree and the Dursleys were laughing below on the lawn.... He was eleven, and his uncle threw him into the cupboard under the stairs that had served as his bedroom for so many years; he'd gotten angry at Harry because, while they were all at the zoo in the reptile house, Dudley had somehow ended up in the snake tank and no one knew how. "There's no such thing as magic," Uncle Vernon had snarled, slamming the door shut and locking it.... He was thirteen and Uncle Vernon's sister, Marge, was visiting; she was sitting at the dining room table, insulting his parents left and right; and the house shook with his anger....

Many other memories were coming to his mind, some he didn't even know still exhisted inside his head. He looked away from the house that had caused him such pain. He slammed his fist down on the dash, closing his eyes momentarily. When he opened them, nothing had changed. 'Why do I do this to myself?' he wondered.

He spent a total of about ten minutes looking at the house before starting the car up again and driving away for the last time. As he headed in his car down the rest of the street, he discovered that the rest of the houses were the same as number four: run-down, broken windows, covered in graffiti.

Harry didn't know where he was going. All he knew was that he had to get out of there before he went insane. Sometimes, mere memories could do that to a person. He drove and drove, not stopping until he came to a small café at about four-thirty in the morning. He parked in a space and didn't get out of the car for a few moments, leaving the motor running. When he finally did turn the car off, he put some owl treats in Julianne's cage to tide her over and got out, shutting and locking the door behind him.

He had nothing but coffee - black - declining the menu from the pretty waitress in her red and gold uniform. He kept accepting the refills, sitting there and staring off into space for about two-and-a-half hours. When he was convinced he had enough coffee in him to last a lifetime or two (around about seven o'clock), he got out of the booth, left a generous tip for the waitress, paid his bill, and left.

And he drove.

And drove.

And drove.

He still didn't really know where he was going.

He entered a quiet neighborhood at about two o'clock in the afternoon. It had warmed up a little after the nippy night before. After driving through the neighborhood for about five minutes, he stopped his car and turned it off. All was quiet. Looking across the street, he spotted a teenager sitting on a front porch. It was a girl, about ten or so and pretty. She had bushy, brownish-red hair and what looked like a few freckles. She had her head down and was writing in a black spiral notebook. She was wearing dark blue jeans and a dark green t-shirt with white trainers. A few bracelets were dangling on her wrists and a few rings were on her fingers. She didn't even notice that anyone was looking her way.

Even as Harry looked at her, someone he had never even seen, he knew that there was something vaguely familiar about her. The hair... and the freckles.... They reminded him of his two old best friends from Hogwarts. The white curtains on the front windows were flung wide open, held up by ribbons of the same color and, as he watched, a woman walked by the window. A woman with bushy brown hair.

He gasped. The woman walking by the window looked just like his old best friend. Or, at least, one of them. He was staring at an older version of the bookworm he'd known so many years ago.

After sitting in the car for about a minute or so, Harry reached in the back, opened the door of Julianne's cage, and let her hop out onto his arm. He opened the door of the car and let the dark black owl out to stretch her wings. After she had taken off from Harry's arm, he got out of the car and shut the door. After checking that no cars were coming, he headed across the street and up to the porch. As he got near, the girl looked up, saw him, and shut her book. She looked at him for a moment before speaking.

'She... she has her mother's eyes,' Harry thought to himself.

"May I help you?" she said, just a hint of uncertainty in her strong voice.

"Um... maybe," Harry said. "My name is Harry Potter and... your mum looks just like an old friend of mine from... school... and I just wanted to make sure. Is her name... is her name Hermione Granger?"

"Well," the girl said, folding her arms, "it used to be."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, she got married, didn't she?" the girl said, a very 'duh' look on her face.

"I... I was not aware of that. What's her name now, if I may ask?"

"Hermione Weasley. She married her old friend, Ron. She told me they used to have a lot of arguments, but that they were really close. Mum and Dad've never mentioned any Harry Potter, though."

Harry stood still for a moment, the reality of her words sinking in. "Are... are you sure?"

"Positive," the girl said, giving him a strange look.

Harry sighed. "Figures," he said, his voice barely audible. He sighed again and rubbed his head. "Look... could you just please go get your parents so I can speak with them then?"

She shrugged. "I guess so," she said, walking into the house, the screen door slamming shut behind her. A few moments later, Harry heard someone go, "What?" The voice was faint, but he heard it nonetheless. The voice spoke again, followed by the voice of the girl.

"What... what did you say his name is?"

"Harry Potter. He said he's an old friend of yours and Dad's from school."

Everything was silent for a moment. Then, "Ron!"

"Yes?"

"Could you come here, please?" The voice sounded frantic and almost close to tears.

"Alright."

Footsteps were heard. They stopped. "What is it, sweetheart? And who's that at the door?"

"Annabelle said he says his name is... Harry Potter."

Stunned silence followed. Footsteps started up again and, a moment later, the screen door opened and a tall man with ginger hair stood there, a look of awe upon his face. It quickly disappeared, however. "What... what did you say your name was, sir?"

"Harry Potter."

The man - Ron - looked skeptical still, and then an angry look crossed his face. "Look, buddy, I don't know what you think you're trying to pull by coming here, but -"

He was interrupted before he could even finish his sentence by Harry raising his hand. Harry brushed the hair from his forehead in the same manor he had the very first time he had shown Ron his scar. It was still there - his scar - and was also the thing that convinced Ron that it was not an imposter at his front door.

Ron's mouth dropped. "I don't believe it," he said in a whisper.

"Well," Harry said, "believe it."

Ron sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger. After a moment, he said in a quiet voice, "Why did you come here?"

"You know, the funny thing is, I didn't even know you guys lived here. I was just driving around and stopped across the street. When I saw your daughter, I could see pieces of Hermione and you in her. And then I saw Hermione pass by the window and I came over."

"Well, you might as well come in," Hermione said. She had come up behind Ron so quietly, neither he nor Harry had even noticed her presence.

"Alright," Harry said in answer. The three of them stepped through the starch-white door and into the extravagant living room. The carpet was chocolaty-brown, the furniture (a couch, loveseat, and armchair) was a sandy color, and there was a medium-sized television sitting on a light brown stand, which was off at the moment. "You have a wonderful home, guys."

"Thank you," Ron said. "Well, I can't take any credit for it; Hermione did all the work."

Hermione did her best to smile. The shock of seeing her old friend again had taken almost all the happiness out of her. "Let's sit," she said.

After they sat down (Ron and Hermione on the loveseat, Harry on the couch), Annabelle left the room, taking her book and pen with her. Harry said, "I just can't believe it's you guys. You know, when I was still in Quidditch, my manager told me you guys came by to see me... that you had something to tell me. But I told him it could wait until later because I had to get ready for... for the game. Even though he said it seemed very important. Gosh... I was such a jerk. But... I think I know... what it is you wanted to tell me. Annabelle... right?"

Hermione sighed. "Yes, Harry. We wanted to tell you that I was pregnant. We'd been trying since about a year after we got married - which was about two years after we'd left school - but hadn't yet been successful. We were beginning to think that I would never be able to have children. It appears we were wrong, though. However, my doctor informed me that there was a very good chance I could die if I became pregnant a second time because my body couldn't handle it again. But we are very satisfied. In fact, I wouldn't have it any other way."

"Besides," Ron said, "after living in a house with five brothers and a sister, one is plenty."

"Speaking of them," Harry said, "what ever happened to all of them?"

"Well, mum still doesn't work; she stays at home, does her usual, you know. Dad's the Minister of Magic - for about five years or so now, as I'm sure you know."

"Yeah, it's really great. The Ministry's run a lot better than when old Fudge and Scrimgeour were in office, " Harry said with a small smile. "I'm happy for him."

"Yeah," said Ron.

"So what happened to everyone else?" Harry asked. "I... I haven't heard from any of them for... for a long time."

"Well, imagine that," Hermione said almost sarcastically. "You didn't much care to have any contact with anyone, did you?"

Harry looked down. He was silent for a moment before looking back up and saying, "I guess I deserve that."

"Yeah," Ron said. "I guess you do."

Harry looked down again for a moment. "Look, guys," he said, "I didn't come here to start anything. I know I haven't been the best person in the world, and I'm sorry. I honestly don't even know how I found you guys. I was just driving and... something just... led me to stop by your house. I don't even know what it was. I've just been wondering about you guys for a long time and I just wanted to know how you were doing. Again, I'm sorry."

Hermione was the one to look down again. "I'm sorry too, Harry. We don't mean to jump on you. We're just a little surprised that it's you. And we've been angry for a lot of years."

"It's okay, I understand. I didn't mean to just spring myself on you guys. I just couldn't pass up the chance to see if it was really you." They were all silent for a minute before Harry said, "Hey, you never told me what your brothers and sister are up to."

"Well," Ron said, "Bill still works for Gringotts, but he's gotten promoted a few times. I don't remember what his job title is now, but he still goes and finds treasure once in a while. As you know, he married Fleur. They have two kids now - Christopher, who's six, and Katie, who's about eight and a half."

Harry smiled. "That's great. What about everyone else?"

"Charlie's still in Romania."

"He just can't get enough of those dragons," Hermione said, smiling.

"Yeah," Ron said, smiling a little himself. "He gets a new burn about every month or couple of months, too. He sends us letters as often as he can get ahold of an owl - usually about once every few weeks. Percy resigned from the Ministry when Dad became the Minister; we don't know what happened to him, not like very many of us care. Mum got into one of her crying fits again when he... pretty much disappeared. She's better now, though.

"Fred and George are still running their shop down in Diagon Alley. They've got Lee Jordan working there, too. Sometimes they send me samples of the new stuff they come up with, but I'm always a little afraid to try it. I've got about six boxes down in the basement filled with their stuff. I'm thinking about sending it back to them so they can sell it." He didn't say anything else, and Harry was left to wonder what had become of his sister, Ginny.

In Harry's sixth year at Hogwarts, he and Ginny had had a relationship, though it hadn't lasted very long - only a few weeks. He had broken it off with her at Dumbledore's funeral at the end of the year because he felt that Voldemort would just use her as bait for him, as he had done in Harry's second year when she had only been his best friends' sister.

Harry waited for Ron to tell him what had happened to Ginny, but those words never came. The three of them were silent for a minute or two, before Harry finally broke the silence. "Whatever happened to Ginny? You didn't say anything about her."

Ron looked at Harry, but said nothing for a moment. "I'm going to get something to drink," he said, no emotion in his voice. "You two want anything?"

Harry stared at him and, without waiting for an answer from either of them, Ron walked away into the kitchen. Harry stared after him until he was out of sight. He could hear the clink of a glass, the water turn on, then off, but Ron didn't return.

"What was that all about?"

The smile that had just minutes ago been on Hermione's face, had left. A tear came to her eye, but she swept it away before it had the chance to fall. "The... the day you left the... the Quidditch stadium for the... the last time, Ginny had been coming to talk to you... it was really important. Well, to put a long story short... when you disappeared, she disappeared. No... no one's heard from her since she left, and... everyone pretty much thinks she's dead, I think, even though no one ever says it."

"So... no one even knows... where she is?" Harry said, a tear coming to his eye. He mimicked Hermione and wiped it away before it could fall.

"Do you know what it was about?" Harry asked. "What she was going to talk to me about, do you know what it was?"

She didn't say anything for a moment but, by the look on her face, Harry knew the answer before it even came out of her mouth. "Yeah... I know what it was about. But... I really... really don't think I should tell you. It'll... just make you upset."

"Hermione," Harry said, his voice all seriousness, "tell me. Now. I wanna know."

But it was not Hermione that answered him. It was Ron. He had finally returned to the living room, and his face looked slightly paler than it had when he'd left. "I'll tell you," Ron said. "As long as you leave." Harry's confused look made him go on. "You bring back too many memories - memories I would much rather forget."

"Okay," Harry said, "I'll leave. Just tell me what she was going to say."

Ron hesitated only for a moment before saying, "She was pregnant. She was pregnant with your child."