Obliviate

Obliviate - Chapter Four

"Excuse me?" he repeated for the second time that night. All around the bar people were blatantly staring at him and gaping. Then he vigorously shook his head and waved his hands dismissively in front of him. "No, I'm afraid you've got the wrong man...."

A few of the patrons exchanged hesitant glances with each other, looking as if they were suddenly doubtful of his real identity. James tried to make eye contact with as many people as possible, trying to convince them that he wasn't Harry Potter, that he was only James Evans, a poor bloke who worked in a warehouse for a living moving boxes around.

An old woman with wild, sheer white hair pointed at him rudely and cried out, "But you've got the scar!"

Scattered ooh's and aah's filled the tavern and James once more felt his cheeks turning a brilliant shade of red. He looked around the room, desperate for any support at all. Perhaps even one person would be able to see that he wasn't anybody special and stop the figurative spotlight from shining on him. After all, James never wanted to be anything special - he only wanted to be normal.

He spotted movement at the bar and a tall man slid off of his stool and ambled over to him. The man reverently pulled his hat off his head and nervously held it in unsteady hands.

"Mister Potter," he mumbled. "You can have my seat, if you'd like-"

"Whatever," he replied in a low voice as he rolled his eyes, still gazing about warily at the patrons sneaking not so inconspicuous glances at him.

He made his way over to the bar and was immediately confronted by the bartender, a smiling, hunchbacked man with a lazy eye.

"Mister Potter-" he began.

"Enough!" James snapped. "My name is James, not Harry, and I would like you to call me that instead."

He glared defiantly at the bartender, whose smile only wavered for a moment before he bowed his head and answered, "Of course... James. What can I get you?"

James noticed a few other people sitting next to him were staring at him with their mouths hanging open.

"What?!" he shouted. He was forced to suppress a smirk as they all winced at his tone of voice. "Leave me alone!"

Then he noticed the bartender was still looking at him expectantly. James scratched his chin as he thought about what he wanted to have. He just wanted something simple, something that would help him to wash away his worries and help him to forget that he forgot who he was....

"I'll have a screwdriver," he stated boldly.

"A what driver?" the bartender asked incredulously, a wry grin spreading across his face.

The woman sitting next to him snorted, spilling her drink all over the bar and turned away from him. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed that a rag had floated up by itself and it began wiping at the spill.

"Er, you know... orange juice and vodka... er, that is a screwdriver, isn't it?"

To his surprise, the bartender laughed uproariously, drawing the stares of more than a few people around the room.

"No, Mister Potter, you'll be wanting something a bit stiffer... something more suited to our type, if you know what I mean."

With a mischievous grin and a wink, Tom the bartender disappeared behind the shiny counter. James stared with disbelief as a glass floated out from the bar and sat itself in front of him. Then he watched with fascination as three more bottles floated over from the shelves in front of him and started pouring their contents into his glass.

"There you go, Mister Potter," Tom said, looking at the drink proudly. "A Screaming Banshee. Better down it before-"

Suddenly the glass started to shake violently and an unnatural, high-pitched noise that sounded like a woman's scream filled the tavern. James' gaze flicked nervously around the bar, but the most attention he drew was from a few grizzled old bar patrons who gave him short glances of annoyance. Without really thinking at all, he grasped the cool glass in his trembling fingers and swallowed the entire drink in one gulp. Instantly the shrieking stopped.

"Finally," the woman next to him burst out. She sounded fairly drunk. She toppled precariously in her seat as she gestured grandly and then she said, "You may have saved the world, but you sure as hell don't know how to drink!"

He arched his eyebrows at her inquisitively and opened his mouth to ask her what she meant but before he could speak, his hand was being shaken rather vigorously by a strangely garbed man who seemed to appear out of nowhere. This man had close-cropped dark hair atop his head, pasty white skin, and his lips seemed to be curved down into a perpetual frown. He spoke quickly and smoothly.

"Mister Potter, may I have a few words?"

"Sure I-"

"Thank you, sir." The man hoisted himself onto an empty bar stool next to him. "I'm Morris Freeley, Wizard's Digest. Mind if I use Quick-Write?"

"Um-"

"Thank you again, sir." He plucked a quill out from somewhere in his robes and it hovered in midair over a blank piece of parchment. "So, Mister Potter, after your heroic defeat of-"

"Mister Potter!" cried a silky smooth voice from across the room. Morris turned to look at the new arrival and scowled.

A woman wearing an obnoxiously green robe sauntered over to where they were sitting, a smug smile stretched out across her face.

"Miss Skeeter. Always a pleasure," he said, not bothering to try and hide his obvious disgust at the mere sight of her.

"Mister Freeley." She jerked her head at him in a quick acknowledgment before swiveling her head around to stare at James, regarding him through her thick glasses. "Harry Potter... I'm Rita Skeeter, from the Daily Prophet. You may remember me...."

"My name's James-" he tried to say, but he was interrupted once again as there was a loud pop from right next to him and, spinning in from nothingness, came a short woman wearing a neon pink robe.

Was there really that much alcohol in my drink...?

"Harry Potter!" squeaked the lady in pink, nearly toppling over herself in an effort to move closer to him. She thrust a stubby, bejeweled hand out at him. "Patricia Patinson, Witch Weekly! May I have a-"

But she was unable to finish her sentence as a short girl with long, unkempt blonde hair wandered over towards the battling journalists and smiled plainly at James, choosing instead to give him a warm hug instead of a handshake. There was something familiar about the girl but James couldn't put his finger on what it was about her.

The blonde-haired girl smiled dreamily up at him and he noticed that there was a chain necklace of what looked like beer bottle caps hanging from her neck.

"I'm Luna Lovegood, from the Quibbler." She looked at him and smiled once again. "I went to school with you and we're friends."

I'm friends with... with this girl? She might be able to help me remember more about my past!

"Oh... yes... Luna, right, er- I remember you," he stated. He hoped he didn't sound too unconvincing. The other journalists had fallen silent and were now staring back and forth between him and the mysterious girl, sensing that their quarry was about to make a daring escape.

"Want to get out of here?" she asked helpfully.

"Yes!"

"Follow me," she said as she took his hand and led him out of The Leaky Cauldron and away from dozens of people who thought he was Harry Potter.

* * *

Pale moonbeams and flickering electrical lanterns guided their way down the cracked city sidewalk. Aside from the two of them, there was not a single other soul out roaming the streets. The emptiness and peacefulness surrounding them conflicted madly with James' thoughts and feelings; he was scared and confused about what had happened back at the bar. Who was Harry Potter? Why did everyone think that he, James Evans, was this famous person?

James chanced a sidelong glance at his odd companion and he sighed gratefully as he noticed for the first time that unlike the others in the tavern, she was dressed normally. She hummed as she walked along the pathway by his side, and he thought for a moment that he recognized the tune, but he shook his head when he couldn't remember it.

"So," he mumbled, as he fidgeted with his fingers. He felt lame and not quite sure of what he was supposed to be doing and he wished he had something more interesting to say to Luna.

"So," she replied evenly, not bothering to look at him or stop humming. Then she said rather plainly, "I don't think you have to worry about the Prying Pixies anymore."

James halted in his steps and gave her a quizzical stare. "The what pixies?"

She looked around suspiciously and then she leaned in earnestly and whispered in his ear, "Prying Pixies! They follow you around and try to learn embarrassing facts about you."

"Right," he answered, feeling dumb as well as lame now. What was going on tonight? Who were all these strange people? Who was she? And what on earth were Prying Pixies? James dimly noticed out of the corner of his eye that she had started walking again and he had to jog a little to catch up.

As he reached her side, she raised an eyebrow at him. "I don't think you have to keep pretending you're James..." she remarked with a wink.

"I... pretending?"

To his surprise, Luna chuckled.

"You're really good at this, Har- oops!" she stifled another giggle, clutching a hand to her mouth. "I mean James."

He felt his patience starting to wear thin with this strange girl and his lips curved down into an annoyed pout. Even though she might be behaving oddly, he decided to play along - how else would he ever learn more about himself?

"Yeah, well thanks to you, they all know who I am now."

She gently nudged him the ribs and he saw her grin. "Oh, I've missed you, Harry! Where have you been all this time?"

James frowned, uncertain of how much he should tell Luna. Then again, there really wasn't that much he had to tell her, since he remembered so little. He shrugged noncommittally.

"Oh, here and there. You know how it is."

She pursed her lips together and her smile wavered ever so slightly.

Did she suspect something? James warred with himself on the inside, torn over whether or not he should go for broke and admit to her that he didn't know who he was. Should he keep on pretending and gather more information that way? What if he didn't learn anything and then she left and he never saw her again? Maybe he should tell her everything - but no, that might not be a good idea because she might think he was crazy! Well, in a way, he was crazy....

"You're trying to decide about something but you don't know what to do."

The unexpected comment jarred him out his mental dilemma.

"Yes," he said simply, not knowing what else to say, feeling her unblinking stare coming to rest on him.

Luna peered at him closely. In a quiet, serious voice she asked, "Is everything okay, Harry?"

Their eyes met for a brief moment and in that instant James felt like he could trust this girl, whoever she was - whoever she had been in his life before.

"No." The truth slid out from his mouth again before he could stop himself, but he didn't care. Lies and half-truths could have only carried him so far anyway. He knew honesty would have to come sooner or later with Luna - and it looked like it was coming sooner.

She nodded pensively.

"I thought not," she replied softly, more to herself than to James. "Let's find somewhere more private, shall we?"

Luna craned her neck from side to side, scanning the street to make sure they weren't being observed. She grasped his arm and pulled him into the shadow of a building.

"Luna-"

"This is the only way," she said, going on as if she hadn't heard him. "The wards won't let you in unless you come with me."

"What?" he blurted out in bewilderment.

Even in the darkness of the shadow he could see her smiling apologetically.

"Sorry, I never bothered to remove them when the war ended...."

If James felt confused before, he felt utterly lost and ignorant now. A war...? Luna reached into a pocket and withdrew a long piece of wood. And why is she carrying around a drumstick? She held it firmly in one hand and muttered under her breath with her eyes closed, seeming as if she was trying to concentrate on remembering something. Suddenly she exhaled and opened her eyes while squeezing his arm excitedly.

"Ah! I just remembered the incantation that'll keep you from getting splinched," she said cryptically. She raised her drumstick in the air and pulled James closer to her. "Now, I know how much you hate Side-Along Apparition, but it's the only way...."

Before he could say anything else, Luna brought her drumstick down in a sharp downward motion and the ground dropped out from beneath them. Although the world around them disappeared, James could determine from the wildly swirling colors zipping by them that they were spinning. Every inch of his body felt like it was being compressed, squashed underneath some unrelenting force and he panicked when he couldn't breathe-

And then it was over. The ground had helpfully decided to return and the world finally stopped twirling about in circles, allowing James a moment to regain his balance - and what he saw astonished him. He carefully disentangled his white-knuckled hands from Luna's arm and examined his surroundings in wonderment.

Gone was the dark and lonely London street. He now found himself standing in the middle of a bright and cheerful foyer - an elegant golden chandelier floated above their heads and he spied a staircase winding up and up and up over where they were standing. Luna gestured for him to follow her further into the house and he heard his footsteps clicking loudly upon the polished, wood floors. Fancy candelabra hung from the walls and bathed the hallways in their warm glow as they passed by; James couldn't escape the feeling that he should have wiped his feet before entering. Along the way, he admired the beautiful paintings scattered about the house in various places and he narrowed his eyes when he thought he saw a portrait stick its tongue out at him.

After what seemed to James like several minutes had passed, Luna finally came to a stop.

"We can talk in private," she pointed as she held a door open. "In here."

He walked through the threshold and stepped into... something else.

"Luna," James asked evenly, masking his shock, "what is this place?"

He felt her brush against his arm slightly as she moved by him to stand before him.

"This," she said as she stretched her arms out, "is my room!"

James could only gape in amazement at the sight before him and he barely noticed as Luna eagerly took his hand in hers and boldly treaded onward.

* * *

Albus Dumbledore frowned as he stroked his silver beard. He leaned closer to the portrait, wondering if he had heard wrong.

"Forgive me if I'm mistaken," he began, trying to sound amused in an effort to cover up the sudden tension which had gripped his body moments ago when he had heard the news. "Did you say... Harry Potter has been sighted at The Leaky Cauldron?"

The man in the portrait, a short, stocky man with a bald head and a scruffy beard nodded an affirmative as he crossed his tattooed arms over his chest.

"I know what I seen," he growled before he tilted his head to the side and spit somewhere beneath the portrait's frame. "I also know what I heard, and everyone was talkin' about it, so mark my words, it's true!"

Dumbledore inhaled and exhaled slowly, keeping his breathing slow and preventing himself from showing any signs of excitement.

"Thank you, Otis," he responded, turning away from the former owner of The Leaky Cauldron and stepping over to his desk. The rush of adrenaline and exhilaration was gone - replaced now by an overwhelming sense of weariness. Dumbledore slid his spectacles off and rubbed tiredly at his temple, wondering how he was going to react to this startling new development.

He snapped his fingers and strode over to the fireplace.

"Of course. I don't know why I didn't think of it sooner," he muttered to himself. The headmaster took a pinch of floo powder and stood in front of the fire. "I believe it's time I paid another visit to dear Nora...."

A/N 9/10/06:

Sorry this took so long to post, at least in comparison to how quickly I was able to submit the other three chapters. Please read and review! :)