Remember Me

Chapter 2

The next day, Jane's back was still aching. Sitting at her desk in the library didn't help, so Mariah suggested she take a walk through the nearby park during her lunch hour.

The day was bright and lovely, a gift for early June when the region was usually bracing for high temperatures and stifling humidity. A warm breeze threw her chin length hair into disarray, but she didn't mind. It was usually in disarray so the chances of anyone noticing were slim.

Gripping her lunch bag in her hand, Jane started looking for a place to eat when she saw him. She wasn't sure how she knew it was Green Eyes, as his head was buried in his hands, but she did.

"Excuse me?" she said hesitantly. She fought the urge to jump back when his head whipped up sharply. It might have been her imagination, but she could have sworn that there were tears in his eyes. And there were circles beneath them that hadn't been there a few days ago.

"Hello, again" he said softly.

"May I sit here?" she asked. Everything she'd ever read about women alone steering away from strange men flitted through her head. She rationalized that they were in a public park surrounded by others, so she was probably safe.

"Of course," came the same soft reply as he shifted to make room for her.

Jane began to open her bag and extract a sandwich, but stopped before her hand closed around it. He didn't say anything at all, he would glance at her and then off into the distance. "Are you all right?" she ventured.

He seemed a bit taken aback by her question. "As good as can be expected," he answered vaguely.

The silence stretched and Jane floundered for something to say. "So what brings you to our country? I mean, you are British, right?" she continued hastily at his curious stare.

"I was looking for a friend," he said on a deep sigh.

"Any luck?"

"None to amount to anything," his voice carried so much sadness, Jane's heart tripped.

"Do you have a picture, maybe I've seen this friend?" Jane thought he was about to reach for one, but then he seemed to change his mind.

"No. But even if I did, it would be very out of date. She disappeared years ago."

"She was a good friend?" Jane could hear his affection for the girl in every word he spoke. She envied her, wherever she was.

"The best I ever had." He paused, and then shifted to stare straight into her eyes with an intensity that burrowed into her soul. "At first, we didn't know that she'd merely disappeared. We thought she'd died. It nearly killed me. I spent years at the bottom of a bottle, blaming myself. Then my best friend finally reached me through the alcohol haze, and we put together that something else may have occurred altogether. Last week, I got a report that she may be somewhere around here. So here I am."

Jane saw a glistening around his eyes, and felt answering tears prick her own. "You were in love with her," she said plainly.

"Yes," he sighed again. "She didn't know. I tried to tell her, but got the distinct impression she didn't want to hear it."

A nearby church chimed the hour and Jane leapt from the bench. "Oh my goodness, I'm late getting back to work. Good luck in your search, uh…"

"Harry," he answered, eyes still boring into hers. "Harry Potter."

"Good luck, Harry," she called, walking backwards. She was loathe to break eye contact with him, but had to if she was going to get back to the library without falling on her rear. "I'm Jane, by the way," she called then felt like an idiot.

Harry watched her go, a mingle of sorrow and exhilaration coursing through him. They'd found her. But what good was that, when she didn't remember who he was. Hell, he cursed, she didn't even know who she was.

Moments after Hermione had fled for the library, Ron joined him on the bench. "So?" he asked laconically.

"Damn it all to hell," Harry spat.

"Didn't go so well, then? I saw you two together and thought it best to wait until she left. What did she say?"

"She doesn't remember a damn thing. It's the oddest feeling, Ron. There she sits. After four years of thinking her dead, she's sitting beside me. But her hair is shorter and she has an American accent, and she doesn't know who the bloody hell I am. Damn Voldemort's black soul for this."

"I think that's a done deal," Ron cringed at Harry's use of the name. Four years dead and the Dark Lord's name still gave him the creeps. "Any luck on reversing this?"

"No. And I've heard from Dumbledore, Sirius and Remus. Even with evidence she's alive, there's nothing they can do. There is no precedent. We’re on our own. I spoke to a Muggle doctor this morning. Pretended to be doing research. He said there is no known treatment for memory loss. Just waiting. Sometimes the memories come back, sometimes they don't. And trying to force them could be dangerous for the patient. I'm assuming that means magical intervention as well."

"So our only hope is that she comes up with it on her own?" Ron didn't sound too hopeful.

"Not exactly. I did find something that might help. If I am near enough to her while she's sleeping, I can perform a sleep charm that may help me get into her dreams. Maybe if I can show her things in her sleep, she'll remember them when she's awake."

"Sounds pretty iffy to me. Never heard of anyone going into someone else's dreams before." Ron snorted. "You think it'll work?"

"Yeah," he said softly. "I think it'll work." He couldn't tell Ron that it had already worked, twice, in fact. Or that he had no idea how. The sleep charm was as good a story, and he had found one. But that didn't explain why, for the past two weeks, he'd been seeing Hermione in his dreams. Or why he got the feeling she was seeing him, too.

*^*^*^

Jane sat in her bedroom, still shaking slightly, with her hand on the phone. She'd jokingly asked Dr. Ramsey two weeks ago if she was going insane. Now she wasn't sure it was a joke. Something was happening, and Jane didn't like it.

After her meeting in the park with Harry, she'd headed down to the basement stacks to move some books up to the main library floor. As she'd been carrying one very heavy box, it had seemed to lighten as she made her way upstairs. It wasn't until later that she'd remembered muttering as she climbed…wingardium or something.

Then, when she'd been on a high ladder shelving books, she'd used the word Accio again, but this time there was no tremble. Instead, the book she'd been looking at had risen from the floor and thumped into her hand.

But the hardest thing to cope with had been the voice. As she was staring at the book, she'd heard an older, female voice with a distinct Scottish accent murmur in her head "Magic without a wand is very advanced, my dear. Well done."

So now, here she was, trying to call Dr. Ramsey. But she couldn't seem to make her fingers dial the number. No matter how hard she fought it, her arms wouldn't obey. For some reason, she needed to keep these things secret.

Resigned, Jane first whispered "Nox" then shook her head and switched off the lamp. Maybe eight hours of dreamless, restorative sleep would help. Or maybe she'd just check herself into the loony bin in the morning.

She was almost relieved at first not to be in either a cave or a white room. Maybe her subconscious had decided to give her a break. She was seated on a very comfortable leather couch in front of a roaring fire. She felt peaceful and happy with a vague sense of anticipation. Now this is a dream I could live with, she thought.

Before she could get too comfortable, Jane felt a presence behind her. She wasn't exactly surprised to see Harry standing over her behind the couch. A sense of deja vu overcame her.

"Hi," she said with a smile. "Imagine you turning up in my dream."

"Yeah, imagine." Jane thought he sounded apprehensive. Odd for a figment of her subconscious.

"Nice place, isn't it?" Jane scooted over on the couch to make room for him.

"Does it look familiar at all?"

"No," she said, a trace of her old dismay with the loss of her former life. "But then very little does to me. I was in an accident of some sort four years ago. Lost my memory entirely."

The events of the day caught up to her and her voice hitched as she spoke.

"Are you okay?" Harry asked, placing a tentative hand to her shoulder.

"Outside of losing my mind on top of my memory, yeah, I'm peachy." She was swallowing a lump in her throat and it was making speech difficult.

"Why do you think you're losing your mind?" he asked gently.

"Weird things are happening. First the dreams started again, then this mark on my back reappears. I'm using Latin words I've never heard before, and things are moving by themselves all around me." The last sapped her resolve and tears began spilling down her face.

"You're not losing your mind, Her….Jane. You're remembering."

"Remembering what?" she sniffed, more confused than ever.

"Who you were, what you were."

Jane bolted out of her bed so fast, she nearly fell down once her feet hit the bedroom carpet. She glanced around the room, halfway expecting Harry to still be sitting next to her. But he wasn't. She was alone. And she wasn't going to remember anything else. Ever. Her past was just that. She didn't care about who she'd been, only who she was.

Jane repeated the litany to herself many times before she went back to sleep.

 

In a car parked in front of her house, Harry jerked awake. Ron, reading a magazine on American football merely raised an eyebrow. "Did it work?"

"Yes," Harry smiled, which made Ron frown. He didn't think those muscles worked on Harry's face anymore.

"What are you so happy about all of the sudden?"

"She's remembering, Ron. She told me she's doing magic, but she's scared of it. Doesn't understand why things are moving around by themselves. She must be muttering summoning charms without knowing what she's saying."

"I'd forgotten that. Close to the end of seventh year, she barely needed her wand at all for the simpler charms. You going to try again?" Ron indicated the still dark bedroom window.

"No. I need some real sleep and so does she." Harry laid his head onto the headrest as Ron negotiated their way out of the neighborhood. Neither had been quite sure how Muggle America worked, but both had been fairly certain that two men standing outside a woman's house, one clearly asleep, would arouse suspicion. So they'd hired a car and parked out front.

"Should we contact the Grangers?" Ron asked, steering the car carefully. Even though nearly ten years had passed, neither had truly forgotten the Anglia adventure.

"Not yet. At this point, it would be too cruel to say 'we found your daughter but she doesn't know who you are'. Let's give it some time."

Once back in their hotel room, Harry nearly fell onto the bed. Entering Hermione's dream had been more exhausting than he'd expected it to be. Ron amused himself with the TV, which left Harry to his thoughts.

He felt a little bad about lying to everyone back home, especially the Weasleys and the Grangers, but there was no help for that. So they'd told everyone they were going to explore America as Muggles for a while. No one said it to their faces, but he knew they all thought Harry had lost his few remaining marbles and that Ron had accompanied him to make sure he didn't go back off the deep end.

But none of that mattered now. They'd found Hermione. She was alive and well. And she was remembering.

Harry slept that night with his mind clear and optimism surrounding him for the first time in four years.

*^*^*^

Jane sat once again in Dr. Ramsey's exam room. And this time, she wasn't leaving without sleeping pills…strong sleeping pills. She was going to stop dreaming or stop sleeping.

"But why, Jane?" Dr. Ramsey looked crestfallen. "These dreams seem to be unlocking the doors on your memory."

"I want them locked. Locked tight," Jane's lip quivered as she finished.

"I don't understand," Dr. Ramsey closed her chart and met her eyes. "Why all of the sudden are you adamant about not remembering anything?"

"I just am," Jane was fighting hard to keep the tears at bay.

"You must be close to remembering everything if you're this panicked." At Jane's confused stare, he continued. "I've always thought, and many agree with me, that one of the prime reasons for prolonged amnesia is the patient's mental block of a disturbing occurrence. Once the original trauma has passed, they simply refuse to remember the rest. I think this may be the case with you, Jane."

She left the doctor's office a few minutes later, scared and angry. She was angry with Dr. Ramsey for refusing to give her sleeping pills and scared for a reason she couldn't name.

As she made her way across the park towards the library, she was stunned to see Harry sitting on the same bench. An apprehensive tingle filtered down her spine, but she thrust it aside. After all, it’s not like he'd know she dreamed about him last night.

"Jane," he called almost gleefully when he saw her. Jane nearly stumbled. Was this the same despondent man she'd been talking to yesterday?

"Hi, Harry," she tried for light and airy but didn't think she achieved it. "Any news on your search?"

"Making progress," he smiled. And what a smile it is, she thought. He should do it more often.

"Glad to hear it," she said without inflection.

"You all right?" his smile faded a bit at her lack of one.

"Didn't sleep well last night, and now I'm late for work."

"Can I meet you for lunch today?" Harry asked, a shy sort of grin tugging at the corners of his mouth.

Jane was about to answer, but then Harry reached over and touched her hand. She jumped back a few steps as if scalded. "I've got to go," she said nearly running from him. She heard him calling after her but kept running and didn't stop until she'd reached the basement stacks.

Panting and covered in a cold sweat, she closed her eyes. Pictures flung themselves through her conscious mind. Images without context, without sound. Of a kiss…of panic…of fear…and then the sensation of falling and tumbling…and pain, lots of pain. "No. No. No," she muttered.

 

 

Harry fought all his instincts to run after Hermione when she fled. His optimism faded slightly, and he slumped back onto the bench. Without warning, their last meeting played through his head. And he remembered it vividly, as across the way, she desperately tried not to.

"Why did you need to see me, Harry?" Hermione asked as they stood near the top of one the staircases, well away from all the classes in session.

"We need to talk." The way he said it though, it sounded like he'd rather do anything but. For all that had happened to him, he still wasn't that quick on his feet speaking one on one.

"I know. I can feel the pressure building daily. We're going to have to get into that cave before he gains his full power. We're running out of time."

For weeks, strange events had made Harry, Ron and Hermione began to question whether or not another showdown with Voldemort was in fact headed their way. They'd managed to thwart his efforts so far, but with every minor victory, he'd come back somehow stronger. Harry knew Hermione was afraid that it would come out as a death match between them. She and Ron had been working doubly hard to make sure that Harry had two defenders with him when the time came.

But he couldn't face Voldemort until he faced Hermione.

"That's not what I meant," Harry said quietly, reaching out and taking her hand.

"What are you doing?" a nervous quiver caught in Hermione's voice.

"Hermione, for seven years you've been the best friend a wizard could have. And through all that time, I've …. er…."

"Harry, don't," Hermione nearly pleaded, but Harry didn't listen.

"I can't fight this anymore," he sighed, and tugged at the hand he held until she was in his arms and his lips touched hers. It was as sweet and magical as any first kiss should be, but it changed almost immediately. All the bottled up desire of the past year shot through both of them into that one embrace. For several stolen moments, they stood entwined body and soul.

Hermione pulled away and backed several steps from Harry, her hands shaking.

"Please don't pull away from me," Harry said softly, taking a few steps toward her. "Correct me if I'm wrong, but we've both been fighting this for a long time, Mione. You've dated, I've dated. And none of our relationships have worked. Because we were meantto be, you and me. I think we've known it from the start."

"No," Hermione said sharply. "I don't know that. All I know is that we are friends, the three of us. We have to be friends. No more, no less. You have to stay away from me, Harry. This can't happen. You don't understand."

"Then help me to understand." Harry took a few steps forward.

Hermione backed further away as Harry moved towards her. And in her distressed state, she didn't notice how close she'd moved to the stairs until it was too late.

Harry had watched dumbfounded as she fell, tumbling over and over down the stairs. It took a few precious moments for him to regain his wits enough to stop her fall.

Back on the bench, Harry sighed. He still didn't know why she'd been so adamant that they had to remain only friends. That was the last time he'd spoken to Hermione Granger. The next time he'd seen her had been moments before she'd disappeared, falling victim to Voldemort's dying act of revenge on Harry.

"Mione," Harry said quietly, head in his hands. "What made you pull away?" He drew in deeply. "And why do I get the feeling that you were afraid of me?"