Written for the QLFC, Round 10

Team: Pride of Portree

Beater 2 Prompt: Write about a character suffering from amnesia (or relevant memory impairment).

Optional Prompts:

2. (object) potion vial

5. (quote) If he's dead I'll kill him. —Chas, Emmerdale.

Word count (not including AN): 2238

Waiting

Nothing felt familiar. Around me, strangers milled about, chatting happily about their days, probably bragging about some great accomplishment. Only important people wear robes, right?

Something was wrong. Never before could I remember…wait. I didn't remember. I didn't remember anything! Looking around, I grabbed the first robed figure I could wrap my hands around and pulled.

"Do you work here?" I interrogated the individual. Poor guy, he had no idea how to respond. Just jerked his arm away and ran down the corridor. Soon, another important-looking gent was running back to me, a long stick in his hands.

"Ma'am? You need to be back in your room! We don't want you to hurt yourself, now do we?" I took affront to his condescending tone, and I made sure to make him aware of the fact. After being returned to my room, I looked around. I turned back to my escort.

"Where am I? Why don't I remember anything?"

The man looked as if he would rather answer any otherquestion but that one. He stammered a few incoherent mumblings until he was rescued by an even more important-looking figure. After dismissing Mr. Tongue-Tied, a thin, bespectacled man stepped forward.

"Hermione? Do you…what do you remember?" Hermione? That's my name? What in the hell were my parents thinking? He must have taken my silence for some sort of affirmation. "Hermione Granger, do you know who you are?"

I shook my head. "Until now, I didn't even know my own name. Who are you?"

The raven-haired man frowned sadly. "My name is Harry Potter. I'm an Auror and the lead investigator in your case. I'm here to take you into protective custody."

Who the hell am I? I paced around the living room of the house where the Auror had brought me. Why am I so important that someone would try to harm me? I meandered to the bedroom and looked in the bag of clothes Potter had brought for me. The clothes fit my tastes—I think—and were the perfect size. I changed into a pair of jeans and a t-shirt, both of which were much more comfortable than the strange robe I'd had on. Walking back into the living room, I glanced over at the Auror who was writing notes at the small kitchen table.

Auror Harry Potter was still pretty young, probably late twenties, and very nice to look at.

Is it appropriate to think that? Am I already in a relationship with someone else?

Looking down at my bare ring finger, I instead noticed a bit of ginger cat hair on my black shirt and came to the conclusion that I was already a confirmed cat lady. The Auror didn't have a ring either. Nice.

"So, Miss Granger, I think I've gotten everything straight. Would you like to come sit down and review what we know already?" Potter looked uncomfortable with this task. I walked over to him.

"Sure, if you think it's best." I pulled up the chair and looked at the pictures in front of him.

He nodded. "It is." Pulling up his notes, he began to read. "On morning of the second of May, year two thousand and eight, Hermione Granger, twenty-eight, was found unconscious in her home."

I was what?

"She was immediately transported to St. Mungo's, where it was confirmed that she had been given a potion of unknown origin. The only evidence found in Miss Granger's home was a potion vial in her hand upon discovery." Potter looked up and into my eyes.

Wow, his eyes are something else!

He looked worried. "Are you okay?"

"I, uh…" I was trying to take it all in, but those green eyes had me distracted. "I'm fine, Auror Potter. I'm just trying to wrap my brain around all of this. You said I had taken…a potion?"

"That's correct."

"Not pills?" This earned me a confused looked for a moment before clarity hit the good-looking Auror.

He laughed. "Oh no. Wizards don't use pills, Hermione." Potter slipped out of his professional demeanor. "I guess your Muggleness is shining through."

At my blank stare, he sobered. "What I mean to say is, you're a witch, Hermione. You have a wand and can cast spells, make potions, and even fly on a broom, if you wish."

"I'm…I'm a witch?" The notion was ridiculous. So ridiculous, in fact, that I laughed in the poor guy's face. "I don't understand. Witches and wizards don't exist!" I stood again, pacing. "This had better not be a trick! I'll kill Wendell Turner! This joke reeks of that idiot! And…ugh!" I ran my hands through my bushy hair. "If he's dead I'll kill him!"

When I looked back at the man at the table, he looked confused. "Wendell Turner? Who is that?"

"This bully who's tormented me since year two. I assume he's just gotten worse with age."

Potter jotted something down in his notebook. "And what else do you remember from then? What of your parents?"

My parents? I sat back down. "My parents are my parents. They've always pushed me, further than I thought I could ever go."

"What is your last memory of your parents?"

I had to think on that. "Well, I remember my eighth birthday. I didn't exactly have a lot of friends to invite, so they took me to the zoo and skating. It's still a bit hazy after that."

"So, still no memories of being a witch?" At the shake of my head, Potter took a deep breath. "Go get some rest. I'll lead you through a few things when you awaken."

I am in a castle. I've never been in a castle before. However, this seems so real! I'm walking between two others down a long corridor, laughing. I turn to my right and see a red-headed boy of about fourteen telling some elaborate story, and I notice a stick similar to the doctor's at St. Mungo's. A wand, I'm guessing?

To my left, another boy, raven-haired and bespectacled. He looks familiar. He is laughing at the red-head. He looks at me and, to my delight, winks. Those eyes! I know him! It's—!"

"Miss Granger, I hate to wake you, but your doctor insisted I wake you every two hours to document any change." The Auror looked apologetic.

Following him into the living area, I sat across from him on the sofa. I had to know. "Do I know you?"

Shocked, he started to nod. "A bit. Why? What do you remember?"

"I had a dream, and you were in it. You and a red-headed boy about our age."

Writing, he continued, "Where were we?"

Great. Now he'll think I'm nutters. "A castle, maybe? It was huge."

A smile. "That has to be Hogwarts, our school. About how old were we?"

"I'd guess around fourteen. The red-head—"

"Ron."

"Okay, Ron had a wand, I'm guessing. It was a long stick, and he was swinging it around, telling a story." A pause. "So am I losing it?"

Potter shook his head. "Not at all. Seems as if your memories are returning via dream. We may figure out who did this yet."

That night, I paced around my room, bothered by the comfort I felt with the handsome Auror. From my dreams, I could tell we had been friends, but just how close were we? Finally, I couldn't question myself anymore, so I found a new target.

"Harry?" Wow, that name feels so natural coming through my lips. Harry poked his head up from the couch where he was reading. A slight smile covered his face.

"Hermione, are you okay? Remember anything else?"

"Not really, but I have a few questions. I can't sleep."

Sitting up, he patted the seat beside him. "I'll answer what I can."

I sat down on the other side of the couch and noticed a wince on Harry's face. Did I just hurt his feelings? "Harry, who's Ron?" I definitely just hurt his feelings.

"Ron is…Ron was our best friend in school. They called us the Golden Trio."

"Was?" I didn't like where this was going.

"Oh, you know how it is after graduation…" At my blank stare, he amended. "Ron wanted to go into Auror training after…school, so we went in together. Sad to say, he didn't catch on as quickly as they'd have liked, and they let him go."

I felt as if Harry were hiding something. "And…?

Caught, Harry dropped his head. "And there was a girl involved in our falling out."

This piqued my interest. "A girl? Did you—?"

Harry shrugged. "I didn't steal her from him or anything. We just fell together, and that plus our mutual successes kinda just drove Ron away. He's not really angry; we just don't hang out like we once did."

"Are you at least still with the girl? Was she worth it?"

"We're taking a break at the moment. She has a lot going on, and I'm giving her some space. I have faith that we'll make it, though. She's the best thing that ever happened to me." Harry picked at his blanket.

Well, damn. There goes my shot at Harry. He's head over heels for this girl.

Harry cleared his throat. "What else?"

"What about us? Are we still close?"

"Well, I'd say we are. You stay pretty busy at work. Ron fell out with you about the same time he stopped talking to me, so we stuck together." He looked up at me. "I refuse to let you get away."

The way he was looking at me stopped my breath. I could clearly see how important I was to this man, and I was suddenly positive that my condition was tearing him apart.

"I, uh, guess I need to go to bed. Night, Harry. And thanks." I patted him awkwardly on the arm and went to my room. I barely heard his soft, Night, love, as I closed my door.

Now, this place is familiar. Walking through my childhood home, I smile, looking around for my parents. However, as I tour the home in my dream, something seems different.

The pictures! On the wall are some of the pictures I expected to see, but others were…moving? And the moving pictures were snapshots of me, Harry, the two of us, and—

Oh…oh! I feel arms wrap around me from behind. "Gods, Hermione, I love you more than life itself. You know that right?" Before I could turn around and confirm my—fears? hopes? dreams?—I heard screaming.

"Hermione! Wake up! They've found us!" I barely opened my eyes to see Harry throwing a robe at me.

"Wha—?" I squeaked out before Harry pulled me close to him. God, he smells won—I suddenly felt like I was being pulled through a straw. When we landed, I collapsed on the floor, struggling to breathe.

Harry ran around the room, seemingly checking the locks and waving his wand around for some reason. He then turned around and ran back to me.

"Hermione! Are you okay?" He was running his wand over me like he was scanning me, but my attention was elsewhere.

The pictures. They're real! I looked past Harry and stared at pictures of us, laughing, dancing, getting mar—"Harry?" I looked back at my bodyguard.

Harry stood up and held out a hand to help me up. I took it and looked into his eyes, those eyes I had already convinced myself would never look at me like they did her, the one he went on about last night.

"Let me make sure we're safe, and then we'll talk." Harry went to a fireplace and threw some powder in. He began talking to someone on the other side.

I wandered around the house, our house, and when I crossed the threshold of a beautiful library, painted in dark emerald with two comfortable-looking loveseats on either side and a large oak desk in the center, a wave of memories flooded my mind. Memories of Harry holding my feet in his lap and reading Pride and Prejudice aloud, even though he called the book mushy and girly. Memories of me working behind that large desk, papers piled higher than my head, while Harry relaxed on the couch reading briefs and working on paperwork. Memories of…oh…well, those memories were best kept where they were for the moment.

I felt two hands on my shoulders, and I leaned back into the embrace that followed.

"I should have known," he murmured.

"Known what, love?"

Squeezing me, he laughed. "Known that all I had to do was bring you back to your books. You'd never forget them. Me, sure. Not your books."

We walked over to the couch. "We got him. A son of some low-level Death Eater trying to make a name for himself by getting rid of the head of the DMLE and wife of Harry Potter. He had switched your daily hormone potion with what he thought was Draught of Living Death."

My hand immediately went to my still-flat stomach. "Is the baby—"

His hand joined mine. "Baby Potter is still kicking. The healer checked for us while you were knocked out."

I leaned over. "You know, even though I didn't remember you, I think I still knew."

"Knew what, love?"

"That you were mine. That I was the girl you were waiting for."