Remember Me

Harry sat up in his bed, wiping a shaking hand across his forehead. Across the scar. He didn't know whether the dream had awoken him, or the faint pressure in his head, but both were disconcerting.

For three nights, he had jerked awake in the middle of the night. He had only the vague memory of standing in a room of all white, the shadow of a woman on the opposite end. He kept trying to speak to her, but got the feeling she couldn't hear him. Somehow, he knew it was important that she hear him.

And the pressure from his scar, while not exactly worrying him, wasn't making the apprehension fade. It wasn't the pain he'd sensed while Voldemort was still alive. This was more of an ache, like a shadow of a remembered sprain.

Flopping back onto the mattress, Harry resolved to contact Ron and Sirius in the morning. Between them, they'd figure it out. If only they had Hermione with them, she would call up a hundred book references in a second, and He felt anew the ragged edges of his grief over Hermione's disappearance. He refused to call it her death anymore.

*^*^*^*^

Jane sat fidgeting on the slightly uncomfortable doctor's table, waiting for the door to open. She still wasn't sure what she was going to tell him, but she knew she needed help. Catching sight of her reflection in the mirror over the sink, Jane sighed. If anything, the circles under her eyes were a dead giveaway that something was wrong.

"Jane," the doctor rapped once on the door before walking through, "what can I do for you today?" He was a nice looking man, mid-fifties with lines at the eyes and gray through the temples.

"You can tell me I'm not going insane," Jane's voice hitched.

"You're not going insane," the doctor deadpanned back. "Anything else?"

Despite her fears, Jane felt a small laugh bubble up. Dr. Ramsey had been the one to find her four years ago, hurt and confused and wandering on the side of a Virginia highway. He'd taken her to the hospital and then taken her under his wing. He'd tried everything known to man to uncover her memories, only to meet failure every time. Even though they hadn't been successful, she adored Dr. Ramsey for all his efforts to help.

And help he had. When she'd been released from the hospital, she'd been a non-person. No name meant no identification. No ID meant no job, no school, no nothing. But Dr. Ramsey had found a group that would help her. They'd guessed her age at around seventeen and had gone from there. A week after she'd left, she'd started her new life with her new name. The hospital called her Jane Doe, and she'd kept it. It may not be who she'd been, but it was who she was now.

After three years of shelving books all day for the college, she'd received her degree in library science. At least that had been one thing she'd been sure of early on. The minute she'd stepped into a library, she'd felt at home.

Her current position as assistant librarian in a small suburban Washington DC library kept her happy, busy and content. It didn't really bother her that she had no memories from before her hospital stay. Or it hadn't, until the dreams came back.

"Seriously, though," Ramsey cleared his throat, "tell me what's going on."

"I've had a bad week," Jane said softly. An understatement at the very least. "The dreams are back...with a vengeance. I don't think I've slept the night through in about five days. My back hurts. I can't concentrate. You name it."

Those horrid dreams. When she'd first been in the hospital, they'd come every night. The same few moments repeated over and over until she woke. Only to start again the moment she fell back to sleep. But as time passed, the dreams had faded to a vague memory. She'd foolishly believed they were gone for good.

"Well, let's check over the physical side and then we'll deal with the rest."

Dr. Ramsey poked and prodded all the usual spots with no more than a "Hmmm" to give away what he found or didn't find. But when he replaced the "Hmmm" with a "what the hell" Jane nearly jumped from her skin.

"What's wrong?"

"Did you hurt your back, or did it just start to ache?" He came around to face her, then rummaged through a drawer.

"It just started aching, why?"

"You've got a mark on your back. I've seen it before, but not since the night I found you." When he found a mirror, she craned her neck around to see it. Right at the base of her spine, there was now the faint outline of a lightning bolt.

Unsettled, Jane handed the mirror back. Dr. Ramsey let the mark drop. "Tell me about the dreams. Are they the same?"

"For the most part. Same dark cave, same feelings of pain and fear and sorrow. Same flashing green lights. But there is something new, though. I used to wake at the green lights, but now it simply shifts to a white room with a soft voice whispering to me. I can barely hear it, but it sounds like a man asking 'where are you?'"

"That's excellent, Jane!" Dr. Ramsey exclaimed, a broad smile lighting up his face.

"What do you mean?" Jane was confused. She'd thought the return of the dreams was a step backwards.

"If you're dreaming that someone is trying to find you, you might be trying to remember. Every time we've tried to work on your real name, we've been blocked by your own defenses. That's why I stopped trying. Now it looks as though your mind is finally ready. My best advice right now would be to try and focus on the dreams. Don't be afraid of them, just let them come."

Easy advice to give, Jane grumbled to herself later that night as she sat on her bed. How the hell was she supposed to not be afraid of the horrid things she saw in her sleep? The motionless forms of three people, blood spattered about them. The sickening feeling that it had been her fault they were injured or dead.

Resigned, she reached over to shut off the lamp. But there was an odd word on the tip of her tongue. Something like pox.

And before she knew what was what, she was trapped again in the dream cave. But this time, Jane was determined to master the dream. Do what comes naturally, Jane. Focus on the details. There was a stick in her hand, the end of which seemed on fire, although the fire wasn't spreading. She could feel tears on her cheeks and reached to brush them away. She saw one of the motionless lumps begin to stir and pointed the stick at him. He raised a stick of his own and she turned away from it. The flashing green lights came, as did the pain in her back. But this time, she heard a voice scream besides her own. A man's voice. A strange name. And a long, drawn out Noooooo.

Jane wanted to wake up, but heard Dr. Ramsey telling her not to be afraid. And then the pain was gone and she was sitting in the white room. There was a table with candles on it this time, and the vague outline of a man in one corner. And she could hear his voice more clearly.

"Where are you?"

"I'm right here."

"Where's here? Are you hurt? Are you alive? Are you real?"

"I'm fine," the sheer panic and sorrow in the man's voice had her wanting to comfort him. "I'm real. I live in Virginia, northern Virginia." At her words, she heard a vague beeping. Alarm clock, she thought. And as she left her dream, she could hear the same scream as in the cave.

"'—mione, nooooooo."

*^*^*^*^

Mione. The word meant nothing to her. But it seemed somehow familiar. Like, well, like a dream.

She'd sat at her desk, rolling it over and over in her head. "Mariah?" Jane asked as her friend and coworker as she placed her purse under the circulation desk. "Have you ever heard the word mione?"

Mariah nearly dropped her coffee cup, but managed to recover before it fell. "You mean as in my ol' knee is hurtin' something awful?" Mariah grinned, but Jane thought fleetingly that the smile looked forced.

"Well, that's one variation I hadn't thought of," Jane matched her friend's smile. "Something about the word strikes me as very familiar, but I can't place it. I've searched just about every phonetic spelling on the internet and have come up with squat."

"Well, I've never heard anything like it. Sorry. What did the doc say, by the way?"

Jane recounted the doctor's take on the situation and Mariah agreed. "Dreams are your subconscious taking out the trash, Janey. I'd say with no memory of your childhood years you've got a powerful amount of garbage between your ears. You just let me know if you need anything and I'll be there, okay?"

Silently, Jane thanked whatever power had brought Mariah into her life. She was a good friend, full of no nonsense advice. She'd come to work at the library a few weeks after Jane. They made an odd pair, standing together. Jane petite with flyaway chin length hair, Mariah model thin and tall with straight black hair that ended razor sharp at her shoulders. But the physical differences were insignificant to her, they'd been like sisters from the start.

Jane searched various internet sites, library references and old newspapers for three more days before resolving to let it go. She hadn't found anything on the word mione. The initial rush to figure it out had faded with the dreams. The nightmare portion of the theatre in her subconscious had ended. When she slept now, all she saw was the white room and the silhouette of a man. Sometimes he spoke, sometimes he didn't.

The odd mark was still on her back, and seemed to be getting darker every day, but she figured that would just be another mystery to add to the heaping pile of them in her life.

"Excuse me?" Jane looked up, way up, at the tall man in front of her. He had a strong British accent and the most incredible green eyes she'd ever seen, hidden though they were behind round glasses. He also seemed to need a haircut quite badly.

"Can I help you?" she put on her best librarian's voice, soft yet sturdy.

The man seemed to jerk back at the sound of her voice, but he recovered so quickly she was sure she'd imagined it. He was staring at her, and the green of his eyes seemed to bore into her own. She nearly placed a hand to her chest to quiet the hammering of her heart.

"I'm looking for books on witches and wizards," the man said calmly, one eyebrow raising.

"We have several wonderful stories in the children's section, at the back of the library near the elevators. The children's librarian can help you locate them," Jane directed. She tried to convey a this-conversation-is-over tone. For reasons she couldn't name, the man made her nervous.

He got the hint and headed where she'd directed him. Raising a stack of papers to her face, she watched as he walked towards children's section. He didn't go all the way, but stopped to talk to another man, glancing back over his shoulder at her. Hastily, she put the papers in front of her face. When she peeked again, both men were gone.

Moments after the tall man had left, a group of home schooled children showed up for a tutorial on the Dewey Decimal system. They kept her so busy, she didn't even remember him until the next day, when another British man came up to her desk. This one, with a head of flaming red hair.

"Can I help you?" she asked, her brow furrowing slightly. She couldn't place him, but he looked familiar. And then it hit her -- he was the man Green Eyes had stopped to talk to the day before. A stir of unease hit her stomach.

"I'm looking for anything written by this woman," the man said quietly, handing her a slip of thick paper.

"Hermione Granger?" Jane read, pronouncing it phonetically as hermy- own. "I've never heard of her, but I'll look it up." Turning to her computer, she tapped the keys and came up empty. "Sorry. I can't seem to find anything in our records by her." Jane handed the paper back to the man. He walked away without another word.

Jane lowered her head and watched through her bangs as he walked towards the elevators and then veered suddenly into the non-fiction stacks. Unable to help herself, Jane left the desk and followed him. She was walking down the aisle next to him when she heard his voice. It sounded like he was muttering to himself.

"It fits. Of all people to work in a library, it'd be her ."

When there was no further sound, Jane walked stealthily to the end of the rack and peered down the aisle. There was no one there. That was odd in itself. But Jane could have sworn he was cut off while still speaking.

Later that night, Jane settled in at her computer, finally giving in to the urge to research. There were still a few variations of the word she hadn't tried. Once she'd come home, she'd taken a long shower, brewed some tea. The tea.

Checking the workspace around the computer and coming up empty, Jane remembered that she'd left it in the kitchen, still steeping next to the kettle.

"Accio tea," she muttered, then nearly jumped. "What the hell was that?" she asked the empty room, a chill going down her spine. Shakily, she went to retrieve the teacup, telling herself the whole way that she hadn't heard it rattle against the saucer. She'd have convinced herself if the tea had been where she'd left it.

Confused, she looked around the small kitchen, finally locating it on the table in the dining area. "You're losing it, sweetheart," she grumbled, wondering how she'd forgotten that she moved the cup. When a small voice whispered "did you?", Jane ignored it.

An hour later, Jane shut down the computer in disgust. Nothing. Nada. Zip. When she heard the clock chime the hour, she rose from her seat and headed to bed.

Shedding her clothes with a minimum of fuss, Jane peeled back the scarlet and gold bedspread and climbed beneath it. Since the nightmare had faded into a boring wait in a white room, Jane no longer felt apprehension about going to sleep. Dr. Ramsey didn't say it, but he was a little let down that she had remembered nothing else. Jane wasn't let down at all. She'd given up on her former life years ago. Whatever it had been.

Sure enough, Jane thought. Here I sit. The dream room hadn't changed much since the first time. Same white walls, small candle covered table. So Jane almost fell off her chair when she saw the door. Intrigued, she walked over. The door opened the moment her hand made contact.

She was on a wide grassy field. Tall posts and spectator stands were at either end of the field. The man was there, too. But now she recognized him. Or rather, she'd inserted Green Eyes into her dream.

"Hello?" she said tentatively.

He turned slowly and began to walk towards her. He crossed the distance in moments, stopping a few feet in front of her.

"Hello," he said quietly. "You've cut your hair."

It seemed an odd thing for a man that just met her the day before to say and she told him as much.

"I guess it seems that way to you. But we haven't just met. We've known each other since we were children." His hand raised to touch her, but it passed through her like smoke. "Remember."

And then he was gone.

And she was in the cave. The stick was on fire again, but she didn't want it to be. No, it wasn't a stick. It was a wand. She whispered "Nox" and the light went out. Then she heard voices.

"We should have told her we were coming down here."

"She's still not on her feet, Ron. That was some fall she took," the voice sounded very shaky, like it was concealing great emotion.

"Any idea why she was so upset? I couldn't get anything out of her when she woke up."

"Yeah," the voice lowered, but said no more.

"I think we should head back up. It's quiet now, and we're strongest when we're all together."

She opened her mouth to tell them she was there, but a flash of green blinded her.

Jane sat up in her bed, panting and covered in sweat. She reached for the bedside table, grabbed the pencil she kept for phone messages and whispered "Lumos". Then she woke completely and wondered where the hell that had come from. Switching on the lamp, she checked the clock. Three a.m.

She took up the notepad and tried to write down as much as she could remember from the dream. The man with the green eyes. The cave. The wands. The man with the green eyes.

Yawning, she replaced the pad and turned the lamp back off and settled back into the covers. The base of her spine ached slightly and she shifted to find a comfortable position.

Jane slipped back into sleep, absently rubbing the mark and muttering "Harry ."