A Stolen Past by nuw255
Chapter Notes: Harry heads for the Burrow. What will he find when he arrives?
When Harry Potter awoke, he was startled to feel the warmth of the sun on his skin - he had never slept anywhere where the sun’s rays could reach. After opening his eyes and realizing where he was, he decided that he liked the feeling. It was definitely much nicer than waking up in a damp dungeon or a dusty cupboard under the stairs. As he sat up and looked around, the events of the previous night came crashing down on him, and he collapsed back onto the ground, a soft sob escaping his throat. Hassseth was gone. She may have been a snake, but she was more human to Harry than most people he knew. He lay there among the trees, motionless, for a long time, just allowing the sorrow to envelop him.
It was late afternoon when Harry was startled back into awareness of his surroundings by a loud hoot coming from the tree over his head. Looking up, he saw Hedwig perched on the branch, watching him expectantly. He finally stood, stretching his stiff joints and wiping his eyes. It was true that Hassseth was gone, but she had died so that he would be able to escape and lead a happy life, not wallow in sorrow and self-pity.
He opened his schoolbag and, being careful to disturb Hassseth’s body as little as possible, withdrew his notebook and a pen. Then he began to write.
Dear Ron,
I was attacked by wizards last night. I escaped on a stolen broomstick, but I don’t know where to go. I can’t go back to where I was, and there’s no way I’m going to the Dursleys’, but I’ve got no place else. I wish I could tell you where I’ve been, but I can’t. It’s not that I don’t want to; I really can’t. I tried to tell you and Hermione where I was in my last letter, but I couldn’t write it. Is that normal?
Anyway, I still can’t tell you where I am, but now it’s because I don’t know myself. I’m hiding out in a little grove of trees until it gets dark, because I really don’t fancy having a bunch of Muggles see me flying around on a broomstick, and walking down the street carrying a broom that’s obviously meant for riding on would be almost as big of a giveaway.
Please tell me where you are so I can come find you, since the opposite doesn’t seem to be possible. And please hurry - I don’t know if the wizards that came after me last night have figured out a way to track me or not, and I’d like to be gone at nightfall just in case.
See you soon,
Harry.
For several hours after sending the letter, Harry waited impatiently. He sat, stood, paced, and even climbed a tree to scan the sky for Hedwig more times than he cared to count. Once, he sat down with the broomstick - which was now caked in mud - to try and repair its tail, but after only two minutes it was clear that it would take more expertise than he possessed. Finally, just as night was falling, Harry’s pacing was interrupted by a low hoot overhead.
“Hedwig!” he exclaimed. “I was starting to worry. Okay, I’ve been worried ever since you left, but that’s beside the point. Have you got a response for me?”
The owl fluttered down to rest on a low branch and held out her right leg for Harry to untie the letter. He tore off the string and hurriedly unfolded the parchment, reading quickly.
Harry-
You were attacked? How did you manage to steal a broomstick? Sorry we didn’t understand that you really couldn’t tell us where you were. That’s really weird; I’ll tell Dumbledore about it as soon as I send off this letter.
It would be really hard for you to find Hogwarts on your own, even with directions, so it probably wouldn’t do much good to try and tell you how to get here. Not to mention the fact that you’d be mobbed as soon as you arrived - your disappearance was huge news, and nobody but us knows you’ve been in touch with anyone. It would probably be best if you just went to my house. I’ll owl Mum and tell her to expect you. Term ends soon anyway, so I’ll definitely see you when I come home, if not sooner.
The Burrow (that’s what we call our house) is outside Ottery St. Catchpole, on the River Otter. It’s a little way south of the town and it’s hidden by hills and trees, but if you’re flying you should be able to see the lights from the air. It’s the only house for miles, so you shouldn’t have much trouble spotting it.
(After this paragraph, Ron had drawn a very crude map of England, with the River Otter, Ottery St. Catchpole, and the Burrow labeled.)
Before I give this to Hedwig, I have to tell you what happened when she showed up with your letter. Somehow, she managed to get inside the castle and fly right into Transfiguration class. Well, McGonagall was furious when an owl interrupted her lesson to give me a letter, and she ripped it away before I even had a chance to open it. I think she was going to read it out loud to the class to try and embarrass me, but when she saw what it said she just got really pale and gave it back. Then she told me to leave and “take care of this right away.” So now I get out of Transfiguration and I didn’t even have to pretend to be sick. Thanks!
I know you’re in a hurry, so I’m going to send this off now. I hope everything’s still okay.
Take care of yourself,
Ron
Examining the map closely, Harry decided that he would need to fly south-southwest for some time before turning and heading almost directly west. After pocketing the letter and hoisting his bag onto his shoulders, he mounted his stolen broomstick and soared into the air with Hedwig at his side. Once he had reached what he deemed to be a safe height, he took the rat-wizard’s wand from his back pocket and laid it across his open palm.
“Point me,” he whispered. The wand spun around to point north. Making a mental note of the direction in which he would have to fly, Harry pocketed the wand and brought the broomstick around in a wide arc until he was facing more or less in the right direction. Then he shot forward as fast as the broom would carry him.
As the night wore on, Harry kept himself pressed flat against the handle of his broom. It was freezing cold at this altitude, and the jacket he was wearing didn’t seem to help; the wind just whipped right through it, stinging his flesh as it sapped the heat from his body. After several hours of flying, he reached the coastline and turned to follow it westward toward the River Otter. His hands and face were completely numb. The broomstick was traveling extremely fast, but it didn’t seem fast enough. He thought longingly of the fires he had conjured on the stone floor of his private cell at St. Brutus’s and the fleeting warmth they had provided. Then he thought of Hassseth, and his rage over her death warmed him as he felt his blood boil.
Finally, at around four in the morning, he saw the lights of a little village up ahead. He studied the nearby hills and the bend in the river, and felt hope rise up within him. This was the right place; it had to be. Stopping to hover over the town, he took Ron’s letter from his pocket and held it up close to his face. It was too dark to read. He pointed at the parchment with his left hand and said, “Lumos,” and a beam of light shot from his index finger, illuminating the page. After noting the location of the Burrow relative to the village, he muttered, “Nox,” and stuffed the letter back into his pocket.
Using the Four-Point Spell, he quickly determined his new heading and set off once again, this time just slightly west of south. He flew more slowly now, his eyes searching the ground for any sign of an isolated house on the ground below him. There was nothing but darkness. Had Ron’s map been wrong? No, that couldn’t be it. This was Ron’s house; he would know where it was.
Maybe it isn’t the right village after all, Harry thought as he circled around and began flying back toward the lights of the small town. He flew until he located an all-night petrol station, and then fell into a steep dive, landing out of sight behind the building. He leaned the broomstick against the metal siding and turned to walk around to the entrance. After only two steps, however, he hesitated. What if somebody found the broomstick while he was inside? If this wasn’t the right village - or even if it was - Harry was none too confident in his ability to find the Burrow on foot. On the other hand, he couldn’t exactly carry a broomstick that was obviously meant for flying into a place that was sure to be run by Muggles. Finally, crossing his fingers and hoping that nobody but him was crazy enough to be out this late, he strode into the petrol station.
Immediately, Harry’s nose was assaulted by the smell of microwaveable convenience food, and his stomach growled loudly. He wished he knew a spell for conjuring food - or money - but immediately pushed the thought away. Such wishes were useless, and standing here wasn’t going to put any food in his stomach. Cautiously, he approached the counter, where a bored-looking man in his early twenties sat on a stool, staring blankly at a small television. Harry cleared his throat, causing the man to look up.
“Excuse me,” Harry said, “but I was wondering... is this Ottery St. Catchpole?”
The man looked surprised, and he stared at Harry for a long moment before nodding very slowly.
Harry breathed a sigh of relief. “Okay, well... thanks.” He began edging back toward the door as his stomach growled more loudly than before, and he realized that he hadn’t eaten since supper two days ago. Of course, he hadn’t really eaten since he was with the Dursleys for the Christmas holiday, but there was no time to think about that now. The man behind the counter turned back to his television, and Harry ran out the door and around to the back of the building.
The broomstick was still there, right where he had left it, and Harry felt a sense of relief as he grasped the mud-encrusted handle. Reluctantly, he took to the sky again. He loved flying, of course, but it was much warmer on the ground, and he had hoped to avoid the cold that began penetrating him the moment he rose above the housetops. Still, with no other alternative, he rose high into the blackened sky and shot toward the south once more.
This time, Harry tried to make his search more methodical as he zigzagged across the hilly terrain. According to the map, the Burrow should be right about here, yet the lights that Ron’s letter had promised would guide him were completely absent.
Light! Of course! If he couldn’t see any lights on the ground, perhaps it was just because Ron’s parents had forgotten to turn them on. Hastily, Harry pointed to the ground and said, “Lumos.” A narrow beam of light shot from his hand, illuminating the top of a tree at least a hundred feet below. He swept the light over the surrounding landscape, revealing a rather large apple orchard.
Harry swung his broom around, still sweeping his light over the ground below. To his right he saw the edge of the orchard, and a garden beyond it. As he flew slowly toward the garden, his light glinted off of something beyond it. His heart leapt as he raised his hand slightly, causing the light to shine on a large, rather lopsided-looking house. Dropping altitude, he circled toward the front door, where his light rested on a sign that read, THE BURROW.
“Nox,” Harry whispered as he dismounted. He breathed on his numb fingers and rubbed his hands together to try and give them a little warmth before knocking loudly on the front door.
After a few moments, there was a shuffling sound inside, and a man’s voice called out, “Who’s there?”
“Er- It’s Harry. Harry Potter.”
“Open the door, Arthur,” a woman’s voice whispered loudly on the other side of the door.
“How do we know you’re really Harry Potter?” the man, who Harry assumed was named Arthur, asked in a loud voice. As soon as he finished speaking, a light above Harry’s head illuminated the porch of the Burrow. Harry noted with surprise that the light was not electric, but rather a small, enclosed flame.
“Didn’t Ron write you to say I was coming?” Harry asked tentatively. Why weren’t they letting him in? The night was uncomfortably cool, and the exhaustion of going without food and flying for hours on end was beginning to take its toll.
“No,” answered the man named Arthur. “If you’re really Harry Potter, then tell me: how did my sons rescue you from your aunt and uncle’s house during the summer before your second year at Hogwarts?”
Harry’s mind raced; this man expected him to be able to answer a question about himself that only someone close to him would know. He tried to force himself to remember, but only succeeded in making his head throb.
“Look,” Harry called through the door, the exhaustion more evident than ever in his voice, “I really am Harry Potter, and I need you to let me in. I don’t know the answer to your question because I can’t remember anything that’s happened to me since I was ten. I was attacked by a group of wizards last night, and I’ve been on the run ever since. Ron wrote to tell me how to get here, and said he’d tell you I was coming, so I don’t know what happened there. I’m hungry and exhausted, though, so if you’re not going to let me in, just say so, so I can find a place to lie down and sleep out here.”
There were frantic whispers behind the door, but Harry couldn’t understand what was being said. Finally, the woman raised her voice slightly and hissed, “Arthur Weasley, you open that door this instant! If it turns out to be a trick, then whoever’s out there will have a very angry redheaded witch to deal with; but if that really is Harry, and you refuse to let him inside, then it’ll be you who has to deal with me!”
Without further argument, the door swung open to reveal a tall, balding man in glasses and a short, plump woman with a kind expression on her face. Both had flaming red hair and wore dressing gowns, and both were tightly clutching wooden wands. As soon as her eyes fell on him, the woman rushed forward and enveloped him in an embrace so tight that he had to struggle to breathe.
“We were so worried about you,” she sobbed. “Where have you been all this time?” She continued hugging him as he stood stiffly, not knowing how to react to this outpouring of affection. Obviously, this woman knew him well, but he had no idea who she was. Well, he assumed she was Ron’s mother, but other than that, he was completely oblivious.
After a long moment, she finally stepped back, wiping her eyes with the backs of her fingers. Harry opened his mouth to speak, but before he got the chance, something that looked like a fuzzy, gray tennis ball zoomed past him and began flitting around Ron’s mother’s head.
“You- I- Hold still!” she shouted as she swatted at the thing with her free hand. Harry just stood there, gawking, as she finally tucked her wand into the pocket of her dressing gown and caught the little ball in both hands. When she opened them, Harry could see that she was holding a tiny gray owl, which had an even tinier scrap of parchment tied to its foot.
“That’ll be Ron’s letter, I suppose,” said Arthur. “Come in, Harry, come in. It’s not that we don’t trust you; it’s just that... well, one can’t be too careful these days.” He ushered Harry into the living room and motioned for him to sit in a worn armchair. Once they were all seated, he turned to his wife and asked, “Now, what’s Ron got to say, Molly.”
The woman cleared her throat and began reading from the small scrap of parchment that Ron had folded into a tiny square and sent with his miniature owl.
“Dear Mum and Dad,
“I hope everything’s okay at home. I don’t have much time to write, but I need to tell you that Harry’s coming to the Burrow. He started writing a few weeks ago - and he didn’t tell us?” she yelled, looking up at her husband. He didn’t respond, so she looked back down and continued reading, “-but Dumbledore made us keep it a secret - ah, so that’s it - so Dumbledore, Hermione, and I (and now you) are the only ones who know. Well, McGonagall knows now too, since Harry’s last letter came during Transfiguration, but you can ask him about that - I explained it in my letter to him.
“You need to know that Harry says he’s lost his memory. He can’t remember anything about the Wizarding world, or Hogwarts, or even us, so please don’t go berserk when he doesn’t remember you. He says he was attacked by some dark wizards last night and just managed to escape, but he didn’t have anywhere to go, so I told him he could go to the Burrow. I figured you wouldn’t mind - well, of course we don’t mind,” she scoffed. “I hope this letter gets to you before Harry does, but I’m not counting on it because I know Hedwig flies way faster than Pig, and if the broom Harry’s on is decent, he’ll be able to outrun both of them as soon as my letter gets to him.
“School’s going okay, but Hermione’s driving me mad with her study schedules.
“See you soon,
“Ron”
There was a long pause after she finished reading, and Harry began to feel rather awkward just sitting here with two complete strangers. Suddenly, his stomach rumbled loudly, breaking the silence and causing the woman named Molly to jump to her feet.
“Good heavens, child, you must be famished,” she exclaimed. “When was the last time you ate?”
Harry had to think a moment before answering, “Last night. No, wait, it was the night before. I had supper, then I was attacked and escaped. I didn’t have anything the next day, and I got Ron’s letter that night - last night. Then I came here.”
“You poor thing,” she gushed. “Into the kitchen this instant.” She nearly dragged him through a doorway and into the rather cramped kitchen, where she made him sit at the wooden table. “I’ll just get you something right away. Let’s see...” She began rummaging around, and within seconds had produced more food than he had eaten in the past week, and better quality than he could ever remember.
As he chewed hungrily on a sausage, Harry couldn’t resist thanking them with his mouth full. He expected a rebuke for his lack of manners, but none came. Who were these people?
“Harry,” said Arthur, “I was wondering if you could tell us-”
“Let the boy eat, Arthur,” Molly said quietly, cutting him off. “We can talk in the morning. The poor dear’s been flying all night; he’ll need his rest.”
Once Harry had finished eating, Molly sent him upstairs to sleep in Ron’s room. He grabbed his schoolbag as he passed through the living room, and climbed all the way up to the top of the staircase, finally entering the room marked with a sign reading, ‘Ronald’s Room.’ Exhausted, he didn’t even bother turning on the light as he dropped his bag to the floor and collapsed onto the bed, grateful that he wouldn’t be forced to relive his ordeal tonight.
As he slept, the corners of Harry’s mouth turned upward in a contented smile as he dreamed about the girl who had occupied his thoughts for so long now. He would be meeting her in person soon, he was sure, and that knowledge just made his dreams that much sweeter.