Harry began his Monday with a visit to the local library in search of old newspaper articles. It seemed a little too convenient that Mrs. Williams had been so quick to recall both his wedding ring and the circumstances that could have led to its loss, and he reasoned that she could have easily been coached by someone who was trying to test his sanity. After spending all morning bent over a microfilm reader, he finally found some hard evidence. According to the newspaper article he’d found - which was dated only three months after Mr. Williams had discovered a nineteen-year-old Harry Potter in his wheat field - various items of jewelry had been disappearing from hospital rooms for over a year before the culprit was caught. Satisfied that the story about the thief, at least, was true, Harry turned to the rest of the puzzle.
Assuming he actually had been married, there would have to have been a marriage record filed with the government. If the marriage was performed in a church, then that particular church should also have a record. He drove to a local government office, where he requested a copy of his marriage record. He was able to give an approximate date, since Lily had claimed that her parents were married the day before her father ‘died,’ but without knowing the county where the marriage was performed, it was impossible to conduct a search. Acting on his best guess, Harry told the girl behind the counter to check Devon.
The computer hummed happily for a moment before she looked up, smiling brightly, and said, “Here we are. Harry James Potter and Ginevra Molly Weasley, August 28, 1999. Would you like a printed copy?”
Harry felt his heart stop beating, and all he could do was nod in response to the girl’s question. It was true. Ginny had been telling the truth. Just as that thought entered his brain, however, another possibility presented itself. If this was a test set up by the Prime Minister’s office, it would have been ridiculously easy for them to plant a false marriage record in the government’s computer database. With this thought on his mind, he took the printout and returned to his car.
“A church record would be harder to falsify,” he muttered to himself as he started up the engine. Determined to find the truth once and for all, Harry pulled out into traffic and began driving back toward Ottery St. Catchpole.
When he arrived late that night, the little stone church that had been listed on the civil marriage record was locked up tight. Resigning himself to the reality that he would have to wait until morning, he checked into a roadside inn and tried valiantly to get some sleep.
By the time Harry was able to visit the church, it was already noon on Tuesday. He was escorted into a small record-keeping room by a pudgy clerk who seemed to take this intrusion upon his usual routine as a personal insult. The clerk pointed to the books of marriage records, which were organized by year, and instructed Harry to put everything back exactly as he found it. Then he left to carry out his normal duties.
Left alone in the musty record-keeping room, Harry immediately reached for a thick loose-leaf binder labeled 1999. He flipped it open and began searching through the yellow carbon copies for the correct date. As he found the page, he felt his pulse slow once again. There it was, the same information he had found in the civil record, but this time hand-written. He stared at his own signature, trying to decide whether it was good or bad that it looked almost exactly like his signature did now. He didn’t know. It was quite possible that he had subconsciously begun signing his name just as he had before losing his memory. The problem was that it was equally possible that whoever was testing him had planted this particular carbon copy, and that the signature he was staring at was the work of a skilled forger.
Harry grunted in frustration as he placed the binder back on the shelf and sank into a straight-backed wooden chair.
“Is there any way to really know?” he asked himself aloud. At this point, he was left with only two options. He could send a report to Mr. Martin back at headquarters and hope for the best, or he could go back to Ginny’s house and demand proof that her story was true. It took less than a minute to make up his mind.
Twenty minutes later, Harry parked his car in the drive of Ginny’s parents’ house which, according to a large sign in the yard, was called the Burrow. After taking a deep breath and automatically touching his wand for luck, he got out of his car and walked to the door. It took him a full thirty seconds to calm his nerves enough to be able to knock.
The door was opened almost immediately by Lily, who gasped when she saw him. She invited him in, and when he removed his hat, her eyes flicked to the scar on his forehead and she gasped again.
“Is your mother home?” Harry asked.
Lilly nodded mutely before backing into the kitchen while keeping her eyes glued to his face. She returned a moment later, followed by her mother and brother.
“Children, would you leave us alone for a few minutes?” Ginny asked in a tense voice.
The twins headed out the front door, Brian purposely bumping Harry with his shoulder as he passed.
“What brings you back to the Burrow?” Ginny asked carefully.
“I- Er- I came to apologize. I shouldn’t have run off the other night without giving you a chance to explain. I’m just a little jumpy sometimes, since I know absolutely nothing about the first nineteen years of my life.”
Ginny nodded. “Would you like to sit down?” she offered. Harry thanked her and sat in a comfortable, though threadbare, armchair.
“I should apologize too, Harry,” Ginny said as she sat across from him on the sofa. “I shouldn’t have blown up at you the way I did. I just- It’s been so long, and I was so shocked to see you, and I- I sort of lost it.”
Harry chuckled softly. “Yeah, I noticed. Look, could you do me a favor?”
“Depends on what it is.”
“Ever since I ran out the other night, I’ve been trying to figure out if what you told me is true. I’ve checked marriage records, and I even went and talked with the old couple who found me and took me to the hospital all those years ago. Everything I’ve found says that I married one Ginevra Molly Weasley on 28 August 1999, but I’ve also found a way to explain away each bit of evidence. Today, I finally realized that the only way I’ll ever know for sure is to see what kind of proof you can give me.”
“What do you have in mind?” Ginny asked.
“Could you show me our wedding pictures?” Harry asked hesitantly.
Ginny broke into a broad grin. “Now that is something I can do.” She pulled a polished wooden wand - similar to Harry’s but much shorter - from her shirt pocket and pointed it at a photo album on a top shelf.
“Accio,” she whispered, and the album flew off of the shelf and into her waiting hand.
Harry was out of his chair and backing toward the door in a flash. “What was that?” he asked in a low voice.
Ginny suddenly paled. “Sweet Merlin, I forgot you didn’t know. I’m not exactly sure how to say this, but- well, I guess you already saw, didn’t you? I’m a witch, Harry.”
Harry laughed. “A witch? Like you fly around on a broomstick and boil all sorts of rubbish in cauldrons?”
Ginny sighed and closed her eyes. “Take a look out the window.”
Harry turned around and stared out the front window in shock as he saw Brian and Lily chasing each other around the front yard on flying broomsticks. “What’s going on here?” he finally choked out.
“Harry, please come sit down,” Ginny pleaded. “It’s just magic; it doesn’t hurt anybody in and of itself. It’s only evil when evil people put it to evil purposes. Besides, it’s not as if you can’t do it too.”
Harry unconsciously touched the wand that he wore strapped to his left forearm. He had always known he was able to do strange things with it, but... magic? Was that what it was when he relied on his wand to deflect bullets or cause fugitives to trip and fall as they tried to flee? What else could it be? Hesitantly, he stretched out his arm toward the photo album, which Ginny still held, and concentrated on making it fly to his hand.
“What are you doing, Harry?” Ginny asked. The album flew out of her hands.
“Magic,” Harry whispered in amazement as he caught it.
“How did you...?” she asked in disbelief. “You shouldn’t be able to do that without a wand.”
Harry walked over to the sofa and sat down next to her. After handing the photo album back to her, he began rolling up his left sleeve to reveal his hidden wand. “I’ve never told anyone I keep it there,” he said quietly. “I’m not really sure why I told you now.”
“Thank you, Harry,” Ginny whispered. “You have no idea how much that means to me.” They sat in comfortable silence for a moment before Ginny said, “Before we look at these wedding photos, I need to warn you: Wizarding photos move.” She flipped open the cover, and Harry was stunned to see a younger version of himself, lightning bolt scar and all, waving happily up at him. As they slowly turned the pages, Ginny patiently explained who each person was. Harry was fascinated as he watched younger versions of himself and Ginny dancing around the front yard of the Burrow and kissing in the starlight. When they finished, he looked up sadly at her.
“I wish I could remember,” he whispered as he felt tears sting his eyes. “I can tell just by looking at the pictures that I was so in love with you back then, but now... there’s nothing. I’ve actually spent a lot of my time the last couple of days hoping you were telling me the truth.” He laughed bitterly. “I’ve always wanted a family, and now that I have one I’m a complete stranger to them.”
Ginny opened her mouth to reply, but was cut off by the front door slamming open. A tall man with flaming red hair came storming in, shouting, “This has gone far enough, Ginny! For the last time, Harry is-” his eyes fell on Harry, and he froze mid-sentence.
“Yes, Ron?” Ginny prompted with a smirk. “Harry is... what, exactly?”
“Right here,” Ron said in a dazed voice. “Harry’s right here. He’s back.”
“He can also hear and understand every word you’re saying,” Harry added, causing Ginny to giggle. He stood and offered his hand to Ron. “I’d introduce myself, but I think you already know who I am.”
Ron shook his hand but didn’t respond, so Ginny said, “This is my brother, Ron. He was your best mate at school.”
“You don’t remember me?” Ron asked in a bewildered voice.
“I don’t remember anybody,” Harry answered with a shake of his head.
“Oh,” said Ron, sounding rather put-out. “Hey, what happened to your glasses?”
“What? Oh, right,” Harry said. “It’s been so long since I needed glasses that sometimes I almost forget I used to wear them. I had laser surgery about three years ago.”
Ron opened his mouth to ask what exactly laser surgery was, but he never got the chance because his parents walked through the front door at that very moment. Mrs. Weasley took one look at Harry, screamed, and stumbled backward, her hand over her mouth in surprise. Thankfully, Mr. Weasley had the presence of mind to catch her, and he had her righted in no time. The room broke out in chaotic chatter as everyone began trying to either ask or explain what was going on. However, when Brian and Lily appeared in the doorway, everyone fell silent.
“Brian, Lily,” Ginny said in a tremulous voice, “I want you to meet Harry Potter - your father.”
Tears immediately began flowing down Lily’s cheeks, but Brian remained stoic. Finally, after what seemed an eternity, he spoke. “My father is dead,” he said shakily. “And if he’s not, he should be.” He immediately staggered backwards under the force of his sister’s punch to the nose.
“I warned you,” she spat, punching him again even as blood gushed from his broken nose.
Ginny ran to separate her children, shoving them roughly apart. “Lily, I appreciate the sentiment, but that’s no excuse for hitting your brother. Up to your room. Now.
“And as for you,” she growled at her son from behind clenched teeth, “if I ever hear anything like that out of you again, you’ll wish I’d left your punishment to your sister.” As an afterthought, she pointed her wand at his nose and whispered, “Episkey,” instantly repairing the damage. “Now get up to your room, and I don’t want to see you until tomorrow.”
“But it’s barely two o’clock!” Brian protested.
“Look me in the eye, Brian,” Ginny ordered. He reluctantly complied. “Do I look like I care?”
“No, ma’am,” he said dejectedly as he trudged toward the stairs.
“Well, that certainly was awkward,” Harry said, running his hand nervously through his hair as soon as Brian had closed the door to his bedroom.
“It’s not your fault, Harry,” said Molly. “He’s just at a difficult age right now.”
“He’s not the only one,” Harry muttered.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” asked Ron.
“It means that I didn’t behave much better when I was here the other day.” Thankfully, he was saved from having to elaborate further when a woman’s excited voice called out from the kitchen.
“Ginny! Ginny, are you home?”
“In here, Hermione,” Ginny called.
“Ginny, you’ll never believe what I was able to get from work,” Hermione continued as she crossed the kitchen. “I think it’s just what we need for when Harry-” She stopped abruptly, having entered the living room and spotted the very person she was talking about. The fact that her bushy hair was brown, rather than red, led Harry to assume that she must be a family friend, or possibly an in-law. “Harry?” she breathed a moment later. “Is it really you?”
“Everyone seems to think so,” Harry said with a shrug. “And you are...?”
“Hermione,” she answered quickly. “Hermione Weasley. Of course, you would have known me as Hermione Granger, because Ron and I didn’t get married until after you disappeared.”
“He doesn’t know you at all, Hermione,” Ron told her. “He doesn’t know any of us.”
Harry just stood there, suddenly feeling very uncomfortable under everyone’s gaze. After what seemed an eternity, he finally asked the room at large, “So, what do we do now? We all seem to at least agree on who I am, but that doesn’t change the fact that I still have no idea who any of you lot are.”
Hermione was the first to respond. “Why don’t we all have some tea, and you can tell us what you remember?” This idea seemed acceptable to everyone, and they were soon gathered around the kitchen table, sipping on steaming mugs of tea.
Surprisingly, the first person to speak was Mrs. Weasley, and she didn’t mention Harry at all. “Ron, where are your children?”
“Fred and George are watching them at the shop,” Ron answered. “I sort of ran out when I got Brian’s owl saying that the ‘Harry Impersonator’ was back, but you know Fred and George; they won’t mind.”
“Brian,” Ginny muttered, shaking her head. She sighed. “I suppose I’ll really have to punish him this time. Lily too; she can’t just go hitting her brother like that, just because she knows he won’t hit back.”
Ron choked on his tea, causing Ginny to blush.
“You have to admit, you did deserve that,” she said.
“No more than Brian did,” Ron countered. “And at least I wasn’t looking Harry in the face when I said he was dead.”
“How come everybody thought I was dead in the first place?” Harry asked. His question was followed by nearly a full minute of silence as the others exchanged looks across the table, clearly trying to decide who should speak first.
“Harry,” Hermione began tentatively, “how much do you remember, exactly?”
“Nothing; I told you that,” Harry answered. “How come you won’t tell me why you all thought I was dead?”
“It’s complicated, Harry,” Ginny replied. “Besides, I doubt you’d even believe it.”
“Try me,” he responded dryly. “I’ve already found out that I can do magic, I’m married to a witch, and I’m the father of twin fourteen-year-olds who fly around the front yard on broomsticks. Do you really think I’m in a doubting mood?”
“He’s got a point,” said Ron.
“So? Anybody care to tell me why everyone thought I was dead?”
Hermione cleared her throat. “The short version of the story is that you were battling a Dark wizard.”
Harry raised an eyebrow, but he said nothing.
“Not just any Dark wizard, Hermione,” Ron interrupted. “He was the most evil wizard in a thousand years, at least.”
“That’s not the point,” she replied irritably. “The point is, Harry, that Lord Voldemort - the Dark wizard you were battling - ended up between you and a magic veil. Your plan was to push him through the veil, because that was the only way to kill him.”
“Hang on,” Harry said. “This powerful Dark wizard could only be killed by me shoving him through a veil?”
Hermione nodded. “How the veil works is still a mystery, even to those of us who spend most of our time studying it. The only thing we know for sure, really, is that anyone who passes through it dies.”
“So it’s a veil that kills people. Okaaaay. Go on.” Ginny was right; this story was already getting difficult to believe, and it had barely begun.
“The only problem was that Professor Snape-”
“Will you please drop the ‘professor,’ Hermione?” Ron interrupted.
Hermione rolled her eyes. “Severus Snape, who was one of Lord Voldemort’s followers, was behind you, just waiting to curse you. Why am I telling this story, anyway? I was already unconscious by this point.”
“Because you tell it better than Ginny or me,” Ron answered. “Just tell him what happened.”
Everyone turned back to Hermione. “You told Snape that you knew he couldn’t kill you outright, but he said it didn’t matter because he planned to leave you defenseless and just let you die on your own. You stalled for a moment, but then you lunged forward and pushed Voldemort through the veil. Ron couldn’t see what happened next, but Ginny said Snape hit you in the back with two spells - one that made you collapse, and one that made you glow blue for a second and then vanish.”
“I killed Snape right after that,” Ginny whispered. “I saw you disappear, and suddenly I couldn’t think of anything but revenge.”
“Afterward, nobody really believed what Ginny said about you glowing blue and disappearing,” Ron added. “We all figured Snape’s curse had made you fall through the veil after Voldemort, and Ginny’s mind had just blocked it out.”
“We searched for you anyway, of course,” Mrs. Weasley reassured him. “Unfortunately, we didn’t know where to look, and it was as if you had simply vanished off the face of the earth. The more time that went by, the more likely it seemed that Ginny had been imagining things, and you really had fallen through the veil.”
“Well...” Harry said after a moment. “That’s certainly an... interesting story. You were right, Ginny; it is a little hard to believe.”
“Why don’t you tell us your story now, Harry?” Hermione suggested. “What really happened to you that day? Where have you been for the past fifteen years?”
“I’m afraid my story isn’t nearly as exciting as yours,” Harry said, “but I guess it’s only fair. As far as I know, my life began on 30 August 1999 when a farmer found me in the middle of his wheat field. I was bruised and bloodied, apparently, but I didn’t have any serious injuries. He said I was curled up in the fetal position, bawling like a baby, and clinging for dear life to a polished stick.
“He and his wife took me to the local hospital, and the doctors decided that I was in an ‘infantile state.’ Basically, I had the mind of a newborn baby. Ever since then, I’ve been growing up all over again. I managed to pass enough exams to get into the Police Academy, and I started with the London Police Department two years ago. Just last week, I was hired by the Prime Minister’s new Anti-Terrorism Force.”
Hermione gaped at him. “Really, Harry?”
“Anti-what force?” Ron asked. Ginny and her parents looked confused as well.
Hermione let out an exasperated sigh. “The closest thing in the Wizarding World would be the Aurors,” she answered. Although Harry had no idea what Aurors were, this explanation seemed to clarify things for everyone else.
Ron snorted. “No memory at all, and you still can’t pick a different career.”
“So that was Snape’s plan,” Ginny muttered suddenly.
“What was Snape’s plan?” Ron asked.
“He wiped out Harry’s memory to make him completely defenseless, and then sent him out into the middle of nowhere, where he’d have no possible chance of surviving.”
“But he did survive,” Hermione added, “and now he’s back.”
“And he can still hear and understand everything you’re saying about him,” Harry said, annoyed that they had begun discussing him as though he wasn’t there. “Look, not that this isn’t fascinating and everything, but it’s not like this is going to make my memory come back.”
“Of course it isn’t, Harry,” Hermione said matter-of-factly. “Your memory was magically Obliviated - and extremely thoroughly, I might add. There are a number of people in the Wizarding hospital, St. Mungo’s, for exactly that condition.”
“There’s no cure,” Ginny said softly, her gaze focused on her empty mug. She swallowed hard before looking up at Harry with tears shining in her eyes. “I’ve lost you all over again, haven’t I? You’re alive and you’re here, but I’ll never be your Ginny again, will I?”
Harry felt his heart break for this woman who was trying so hard to put her family back together, and he found himself wishing that he could fill the role that should have been his from the start. He shook his head sadly as he realized he couldn’t do it; it would be a sham, and he knew it.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered as he got to his feet.
“Harry, wait,” Hermione called as he made his way to the front door.
“I won’t string her along like this,” Harry called over his shoulder as he left. He crossed the yard and climbed into his car with Hermione hot on his heels.
“Harry, will you just wait and listen to me?”
“No, you listen to me,” Harry said as he started the engine. “It kills me to see how much pain I’ve caused you all - especially Ginny - but I can’t just pretend I belong here. You all seem very nice, but we’re strangers. And everyone was better off before I showed up.” He slammed his car door and sped out of the drive and up the dirt road toward town. He had barely traveled two hundred yards when a loud crack echoed through his car.
“Harry Potter, don’t you dare run away from that family!” Hermione shouted. Harry jerked the wheel in surprise and slammed on the brakes, narrowly avoiding a collision with a tree at the side of the road.
“How did you do that?” he demanded. “You just appeared out of thin air in the passenger seat of my car!”
“I Apparated,” she snapped, as though that somehow explained everything, “and I’m fully prepared to curse you and drag you back there if I have to.” Her eyes flashed with anger and she had her wand aimed at his face.
“What do you want from me?” Harry asked. He was pretty sure he could wrest the wand from her grip if he had to, but he had no idea how fast her reflexes were and didn’t really want to risk being turned into a toad.
“I want you to try to remember.”
Harry growled in exasperation. “Do you think I haven’t spent the last fifteen years trying to remember? You said it yourself: my memory’s been obliterated.”
“Obliviated,” Hermione corrected.
“Whatever!” Harry shouted. “The point is, my memory’s gone and there’s no cure. End of story. Get out of my car.”
“No. And if you’d given me a chance to talk back at the house, I would have told you that Ginny was wrong - there is a chance that you can be cured.”
Harry had his mouth open to shout at her, but stopped himself at this revelation. “Go on,” he said slowly and in a slightly calmer tone.
“That’s better,” said Hermione. “The whole reason I went to the Burrow today was to tell Ginny that I’d found something that might restore your memory. You see, I work in the Department of Mysteries at the Ministry of Magic, and we study all sorts of things there. One of the other research groups has been working on methods of correcting previously irreversible memory loss. They recently came up with a new Memory-Restoring Potion, and it’s just been approved for use on human patients.”
“Memory-Restoring Potion?” Harry asked skeptically. “Like witches’ brew or something?”
“Something like that, yes,” Hermione replied without batting an eye. “All you have to do is drink this.” She pulled a large glass bottle of murky gray liquid from her pocket. “All of it. Then go straight to bed. When you wake up, your memory should be restored, good as new.”
“Should be?”
“Well, there’s always a chance that your memory is too far gone to be salvaged. Even if that’s the case, though, there aren’t any negative side-effects, so it’s still worth a try.”
Harry took the bottle and examined its contents. “You’ll forgive me if I don’t agree to immediately drink a magic potion given to me by a complete stranger,” he said at last.
“I’m not a stranger, Harry; I’m your friend,” Hermione growled. “You and Ginny deserve a second chance. Your children deserve a chance to get to know their father. You’ve been out of their lives for fifteen years, Harry. You owe it to them to try.”
“Why?” he shot back. “What makes you think I owe any of you anything? It sounded to me like you were the ones who abandoned me, not the other way around. I think you owe it to me to let me walk away and go back to the life I’ve made for myself.”
Tears were now shining in Hermione’s eyes, but she bravely blinked them back. “You’re right,” she said in a soft voice. “You didn’t abandon us, and we did give up on you when we never should have. But please don’t throw your family away because you’re angry with us. I can’t blame you for not trusting the potion, no matter how much I promise you that it’s perfectly safe. I do hope you’ll decide to take it, though.”
She spoke with such conviction that Harry couldn’t bring himself to completely disbelieve her words. After another long moment of examining the potion, he said, “I’ll think about it. Do I need to refrigerate this or anything?”
“No,” Hermione said with a relieved smile. “Just remember to drink the entire thing when you decide to do it.”
“I never said I’d drink it,” Harry said quickly.
“I know; you said you’d think about it. But I’ve known you long enough to know that it amounts to the same thing. We’ll all be here for you when you need us.” The air inside the car was rent with another loud crack, and she was gone.