It’s gone, Harry thought for the millionth time as he wandered aimlessly around the empty corridors of Hogwarts. Forever. The wand is broken, and my memory is gone. I’ll never remember my first five years at this school, never remember when I first met Ron and Hermione, never even remember my own godfather.
Professor Dumbledore had dropped him off at Gryffindor Tower late the previous night after they had returned from Umbridge’s trial, but Harry had only stayed long enough to sneak up to his dormitory and retrieve his Invisibility Cloak. Then he had slipped back out through the portrait hole and begun wandering about the school. He wasn’t concerned about getting caught not only because he was invisible, but also because nothing seemed to matter anymore anyway.
Gone. My memory is gone forever. His brain seemed incapable of any other thoughts. He could hardly believe the extent of Umbridge’s vindictiveness. She had snapped her own wand in two for no reason other than to prevent him from regaining his memory. Harry didn’t know much of anything about Azkaban prison, but it seemed to him that Umbridge was getting off far too easily if she was just going to be locked up for a few years. He had spent most of his life being locked up, and could think of plenty of things that were worse.
She deserves to be tortured, he thought darkly. She should have to suffer everything she’s made me go through and more. He knew his thoughts were useless; with his luck, Umbridge would probably find a way to weasel her way out of prison within a week. She would never get what she truly deserved.
The corridors began filling with people as early-rising students began making their way toward the Great Hall for breakfast. Harry avoided them, thinking bitterly of how only yesterday he had been nearly bursting with excitement over the prospect of a trip to Hogsmeade. Now there didn’t seem to be any point. He made his way up to an empty classroom in the Astronomy Tower where he slipped out from underneath his Invisibility Cloak, sat down heavily, and stared out over the grounds.
It was a perfect day to be outside. He should be with his friends, laughing and enjoying the outdoors as they made their way down to the village. At the very least, he ought to be flying around the Quidditch pitch, allowing his troubles to evaporate as he lost himself in the thrill of soaring through the air on a broomstick. Somehow, though, he knew that this problem would not evaporate, no matter how fast he flew.
“Harry?”
Harry whipped around to see Hermione standing in the doorway.
“Harry, are you alright?” she asked in a concerned voice.
“He won’t be in a minute,” Ron seethed, pushing her aside and entering the room. His fists were clenched at his sides, the expression on his face murderous. Harry couldn’t even muster the energy to care.
“Ron, give him a chance to explain,” Hermione cried as she rushed forward to stand between them.
“Go on then, Harry,” Ron said aggressively. “Explain.”
“Explain what?” Harry asked in a tired voice. He didn’t want to deal with anyone right now, especially not an irrationally angry Ron.
Ron made to rush at him, but Hermione held him back. “Explain what you and my sister were up to last night!” he shouted.
Harry shook his head in disbelief. His life, as he once knew it, had ended forever last night, and Ron was here to defend Ginny’s honor? “Look, I really don’t feel like talking right now, okay?” he said sourly.
“No, it’s not okay!” Ron shouted. He pulled away from Hermione and grabbed Harry’s collar, pulling him to his feet. Harry’s anger flared and he shoved Ron away.
“What are you on about?” he asked derisively. “I haven’t seen Ginny since the feast.”
“You’re lying!” Ron cocked his arm back and punched Harry in the face, his fist connecting with Harry’s left cheek, just below the rim of his glasses.
Hermione screamed as Harry reeled backward, colliding with a desk as he felt his eye begin to swell. His wand was out in a flash and, before Ron had a chance to react, he flicked it and shouted, “Abigo!” Ron flew backward across the classroom and collapsed in a heap as he hit the opposite wall.
Harry turned to leave, but found Hermione blocking his exit, her wand pointed threateningly at his chest.
“What’s going on here, Harry?” she demanded.
“My supposed friend attacked me, and I retaliated,” he spat back at her. Who was she to question him? She had no idea what had happened to him last night, but here she stood as though he owed her some sort of explanation. He didn’t owe her anything. “Now get out of my way.”
“Or what? You’ll attack me too?”
“Maybe. Why can’t you just leave me be? I need to be alone for a while.” He made to push past her, but she jabbed him in the chest with her wand and he stepped back. Sighing, he asked, “Are you really going to make me duel you before I leave?”
“No, but I’m going to make you duel me,” Ron said from behind him. Harry turned around to see that Ron’s wand was trained on him as well.
“Thanks for the sentiment, Ron, but shut up!” Hermione snapped. “Harry, what happened last night? You were fine at dinner. Did something happen with Ginny?”
“No, nothing happened with Ginny!” Harry snapped back at her. Actually, something had happened with Ginny - or it almost had, anyway. Harry angrily pushed the thought from his mind. Ginny would never accept him now; her excuse for rejecting him had just been made permanent.
“Then how come nobody’s seen either one of you since you left the feast together?” Ron interjected.
“I don’t know. I went to Umbridge’s trial with Dumbledore last night; I don’t know where Ginny got off to.”
Hermione gasped and brought her left hand up to cover her mouth as her wand hand fell limply to her side. “Umbridge’s trial was last night?” She stared at him with wide eyes. “But if you’re this angry.... She didn’t get off, did she?”
“No, she was found guilty,” Harry spat angrily. “But she broke her wand in two before handing it over.”
Ron and Hermione stared at him, their eyes full of shock and pity. He didn’t need this. Taking advantage of their surprise, he ran past Hermione and down the staircase, ignoring their cries behind him as he pulled his Invisibility Cloak over his head. He didn’t stop running until he reached the edge of the lake. It was shimmering in the sunlight, and for some reason the sight of its peaceful stillness undid him and he collapsed, sobbing, on the bank. He lay there, hidden under his cloak, for hours, trying unsuccessfully to find a way past his grief and anger.
There is always hope. Dumbledore’s words from the night before echoed in Harry’s mind, but they didn’t bring him any comfort. He tried thinking of Ginny, his usual source of comfort, but the thought of her beautiful face only added to his anguish. She would never accept him now.
“What do I do, Hassseth?” he whispered miserably as his thoughts drifted to his old friend. There was no answer. There was nothing he could do. He had no choice but to move on with what was left of his memory, but that wasn’t what he wanted. He wanted to wallow in self-pity, he wanted to lash out at the world, he wanted... he wanted somebody to just hold him and tell him everything would turn out all right, without judging or pitying him. No, that wasn’t quite true. He wanted Ginny to hold him and tell him everything would turn out all right. His jaw clenched involuntarily. Now, that would never happen.
Sitting up at last, Harry looked around and pulled off his Invisibility Cloak. There was no one else outside. He got shakily to his feet and began walking back toward the castle. Just as he arrived at the bottom of the stone steps leading up to the large oak front doors, Ginny stepped outside. They both froze where they stood as their gazes locked. Harry could see a battle raging in the depths of her brown eyes, but exactly what was being fought over he wasn’t sure. Suddenly, Ginny broke eye contact as she turned and ran from him as fast as she could.
Harry swore loudly as he climbed the steps, and then punched the front door, bruising and scraping his knuckles. Defeated, he trudged back up to Gryffindor Tower, where he collapsed onto his bed and drew the hangings closed around him.
Harry somehow managed to avoid Ron, Hermione, and Ginny until Monday, and even then he only crossed paths with Ginny because they had classes together. As he entered Snape’s dungeon on Monday morning, Harry’s shoulders slumped in defeat as he realized he had no choice but to sit with Ginny - sitting with one of the Slytherins would never be an option. He stomped over to his usual seat and slumped down in his chair only a moment before Snape swept inside. Without uttering a word, the Potions Master tapped the blackboard with his wand and the instructions for the day’s potion appeared.
Harry and Ginny spent the class period ignoring one another, to the serious detriment of the potion they were supposed to be making together. When Snape approached their table halfway through the lesson, he sneered maliciously at their thick brown potion, which was supposed to be watery and blood red.
“Unacceptable, Potter,” he hissed, before Vanishing the cauldron’s contents with a casual wave of his wand. “No marks today. For either of you.”
Harry slammed his fist down on the table as he shot to his feet. He knew he was playing right into Snape’s hands, but he didn’t care anymore. So what if the greasy git put him in detention?
Snape glared at him. “Sit down, Potter,” he demanded.
Ginny stood up and tried to force Harry back into his seat as she frantically whispered, “No, Harry!”
Harry ignored her. “I don’t think I will,” he shot back at the professor. Ginny swore at him.
Snape’s mouth twisted into a triumphant sneer. “Detention,” he hissed. “Both of you. Friday at seven o’clock.” The Slytherins in the class all snickered as the two Gryffindors angrily packed up their ingredients and stormed out of the room.
“What was that back there?” Ginny shouted at Harry the moment they were clear of the dungeons.
“What was what?” he shot back. “You weren’t paying any more attention than I was.”
“I mean why did you stand up to Snape? I thought you said it was better to be the model student so he’d get angry but wouldn’t have an excuse to put you in detention.”
“Well maybe I changed my mind,” Harry growled before storming off, thankful that he wouldn’t have to torture himself by sitting next to her during Charms. Although he hated to admit it to himself, every minute he spent in her presence caused his heart to ache as he remembered the way she had turned away from him on the front steps of the castle.
For the remainder of the week, he did his very best to maintain his stony silence around Ron, Hermione, and Ginny. Ron seemed content to leave him be, although Harry wasn’t sure whether this was because he wanted to be helpful or because he was feeling guilty for jumping to conclusions and attacking him, and Ginny seemed just as keen on avoiding him as he was on avoiding her. Hermione, on the other hand, seemed intent on dragging every last detail of Umbridge’s trial out of him. Every night in the common room, they had the exact same conversation.
“Harry, what happened that night?” Hermione would ask, hoping to catch him off guard.
“What night?” he would ask warily, feigning ignorance.
“At the trial,” she would answer. “Honestly, Harry, you’re never going to come to terms with what happened until you talk to somebody about it.”
“And by somebody, you mean you?” Harry would ask accusingly.
At this point, Hermione would begin backpedaling. “Not necessarily. I mean, I’d be willing to listen, of course, but if you decided to talk about it with somebody else....”
“And how do you know I haven’t talked about it with anybody else?”
“Have you?” she would ask, knowing full well that he hadn’t.
“That’s not the point,” Harry would argue. “You wouldn’t care if I had told someone else, Hermione; you’d still be badgering me about it.”
“That’s because I know that if you were willing to talk to someone else, you’d be more than willing to talk to Ron and me.”
At that point, Harry would shake his head in disbelief and refuse to talk to her at all. In the midst of all this chaos, he received a note from Professor Dumbledore.
Dear Harry,
I hope all is well with you. I believe that the time has come for you to begin practicing to further develop your new talent, which we discussed over the summer (I’m sure you know to what I refer). You may find that it helps relieve your mind of other matters. Regrettably, I find myself unable to assist you in your endeavor at the present time, as I am currently engaged in a rather important project with one of the professors. However, I have complete faith in your ability to find a safe place to practice on your own.
Sincerely,
A. Dumbledore
Harry snorted in disgust as he read the letter, and he promptly wadded it into a ball, shoved it into the bottom of his bag, and forgot about it. This was not what he needed right now, especially from Dumbledore. Dumbledore had let him down yet again. He was the mastermind behind Harry’s yearly trips to the Dursleys’, which had only served to turn the Boy-Who-Lived into a neglected boy with five years missing from his memory. Dumbledore had promised to recover that stolen memory for him, but he had failed once again. Harry was through taking orders from Dumbledore. In fact, had he been on speaking terms with Ron or Hermione, he probably would have told them all about his ability to use magic without a wand just to spite the old man.
As Harry’s frustration increased, it finally got to the point where he was almost looking forward to his Friday detention with Snape just because it would give him an excuse to get away from Hermione’s incessant questions. Almost. After, all, not only would the detention be with Snape, but Harry would be serving it with Ginny. Ginny, the girl he wanted desperately to hold in his arms; Ginny, the girl who had rejected him; Ginny, the girl who had run away from him. Ginny, the girl of his dreams. And lately, the girl of his nightmares as well.
A/N: This will probably be the last update to this story before MNFF’s queue closes for Christmas. So Merry Christmas, Happy Hanukkah, etc.
Just as a bit of a teaser, the next chapter will be about Harry and Ginny’s detention.