Fic: "Prelude and Fugue" | NC-17 | Harry/Ron | Part 1 of 2
Title: Prelude and Fugue
Author: shes_gone
Pairing: Harry/Ron
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 16,000ish
Summary: It took over an hour, from the time Harry arrived at work, for him to realise just how different today actually was.
Warnings: A is for Angst. (B is for But It Gets Better.)
Author's Note: Written for shocolate at the 2010 harryronholiday! I've been wanting to write this story for ages, so I was really, really pleased to have such a great excuse to buckle down and do it. ♥! Endless thanks to reallycorking and emmacmf for all their help, and to the wonderful mods. Also, if you haven't seen the gorgeous art eloquent_toast drew for me in the exchange, go now (brilliantly NSFW, of course)! :D :D :D Happy New Year, everyone!
Prelude and Fugue
It started out like any other day: Harry woke up.
The morning sun was slanting into his bedroom at the wrong angle, and Harry was halfway from his bed to the bathroom before he remembered that, in fact, today wasn't like any other day. Disorientated, he turned around.
He found the bathroom (right where he'd left it), and then went to the kitchen, where he made himself coffee and toast, and tried not to think about how different today actually was.
He sat at his brand-new kitchen table and sipped his coffee in silence.
It wasn't quite right.
The coffee, that is. The kitchen didn't feel quite right, either, but that was just because Harry wasn't used to it yet. The window was larger than in his old kitchen, and it faced north instead of east, changing the very texture of the morning.
The coffee, though, was the same as always. Or, at least, it should have been: the bag of beans in the cupboard was one of the few things that Harry had actually brought with him from the old flat. He could afford to stock his kitchen afresh, of course, but Ron didn't drink coffee, so it had seemed silly to leave it for him.
Harry looked down into his cup and wondered if the milk was off or if he'd bought the wrong kind of sugar, and didn't let himself wonder if maybe his morning coffee needed something else altogether, like the muffled sound of an overgrown redhead snoring down the hall, in the flat's second bedroom.
Harry winced as he swallowed a too-large sip, felt it burn bitterly down his throat, and told himself he'd better get used to it.
Because Harry's new flat didn't have a second bedroom, and Harry didn't have a flatmate, red-headed or otherwise.
Living alone was a lot quieter than he'd realised it would be.
So he decided to buy himself a wireless, as he took another sip of his coffee, because today wasn't like yesterday, or the day before that, but it was, Harry knew, a great deal like all the days to come.
-
It took over an hour, from the time Harry arrived at work, for him to realise just how different today actually was.
It came to him in pieces:
As he stumbled into the Atrium at eight o'clock on the nose, the Floo directly facing his also flared, producing Anthony Goldstein.
Harry smiled and offered a warm but subdued, "Morning, Goldstein."
Anthony's eyes went wide, and he stared at Harry for a long moment. Harry fought the urge to check his zip. "Good morning," Anthony finally said hesitantly, as he blinked his surprise.
Harry frowned. "All right?"
It was another moment before Anthony seemed to snap out of it, and he gave an embarrassed laugh. "Yes, of course. Sorry. Good morning," he said, more emphatically. He gave Harry a strangely put-on sort of smile, and stood there awkwardly, as though he couldn't remember where he had been going.
"Taking the lift?" Harry suggested, gesturing to his right.
Anthony nodded and fell awkwardly into step next to Harry as they made their way to the end of the Atrium.
"You always here this early?" Harry asked. Harry couldn't remember the last time he'd arrived at the Ministry before eight-forty-five, preferring to wait and Floo in at the same time as Ron.
"Or earlier," Anthony said, nodding. "I like to get a jump start, while things are quiet."
"Yeah, seems nice," Harry said. "I may make a habit of it, as well."
Anthony nodded again and shifted his weight uncomfortably. Harry frowned and wondered when Goldstein had got so weird. They rode the lift in awkward silence, and Harry watched the numbers cycle as he thought about all the work he was likely to get done, now that he could come in as early as he liked.
An hour and a quarter later, Harry was reading the front page of the Prophet for the third time when a small, frazzled looking woman with dark hair and large glasses came buzzing into his office.
"Mr Potter, sir, I'm terribly, terribly sorry for my tardiness, sir, please know it won't happen again."
Harry blinked at her. "It's all right, Annie," he said, smiling as his eyes darted to the clock. "You're much less late than usual, anyway."
Annie blanched. "Terribly sorry, sir."
Harry frowned at his assistant, who hadn't been on time once in the four years she'd been working for him; she'd seen him through three and a half years as Deputy Head Auror, and the past six months since he'd been promoted to Head of the Department. "You know I don't mind, Annie. You do a good job, anyway. And I think I asked you to call me Harry some time ago."
Annie's pale face went red. "Thank you, sir. Harry, I mean. If you like."
There was an awkward silence.
"Do you need anything, then, sir?"
"Just the usual, please. I've not got anything on until the briefing at ten-thirty, have I?"
"Yes, sir. I mean, no. That's the first thing, Mr Potter."
"Harry."
"Harry."
"All right. Thank you, Annie."
Harry looked back down at his paper, and Annie was half-way through the door when she stopped and turned back to look at him.
"I'm sorry, sir, but. What's the 'usual'?"
-
Harry's brow was decidedly furrowed as he exited the lift on Level Seven.
He walked into the Department of Magical Games and Sports with an easy smile and hello for the young woman at the front desk; her eyes went wide at the sight of him. Harry didn't recognise her, but Games and Sports had a new receptionist every few weeks, so that was hardly a surprise.
"Mate," he said, as he stepped into Ron's office without knocking, "it has been a bloody weird morning."
Ron looked up from his desk, meeting Harry's eye, and an echo of the loneliness Harry had worked so hard to ignore that morning suddenly hit him square in the chest, and he found he couldn't quite look back. So he turned his eyes to the floor and then the walls, and kept talking quickly, hoping to distract himself.
"I came in early this morning, and ran into Anthony Goldstein coming out of the Floo, and the whole thing was really strange."
Ron didn't respond.
"It was almost like he was lost, or something, or I'd caught him at something embarrassing, and he wouldn't really talk to me. Not that I think of him as a great mate, or anything, but you know. It was odd."
Harry examined the weathered Quidditch posters on Ron's office wall and continued, feeling Ron's eyes on his back.
"And Annie's completely out of sorts, too. She wouldn't stop apologising for being late, even though she was much earlier than usual, and she didn't bring me my cup of coffee."
Ron still hadn't said anything, so Harry looked at him, and Ron was staring at him with very wide eyes.
Harry blinked. "Which, I mean. Isn't a problem, really. I can get my own coffee, of course, but it's just. She's done the same thing every day, for ages, but. She didn't seem to remember, which is why I-just-why are you staring at me like that?"
Ron opened his mouth, blinked, closed his mouth, and Harry felt his heart begin a strange rat-a-tat against his chest.
They were trapped in silence for a long moment, Harry holding his breath and Ron staring at him, until Ron finally snapped to attention, took a gulping breath and launched himself up from his seat.
"Hello," he said, his voice squeaky. "I, uh. Hello, Mr Potter, sir."
Harry blinked before pulling a face at him. "Shut it," he said, rolling his eyes.
Ron's ears went pink, and his jaw flapped a bit as he grew visibly flustered.
"Just, sit down," Harry said. "You're not funny."
Ron sat, looking utterly confused. "M'sorry, sir."
"Stop it! I'm not in the mood for this, I came down here to talk to you."
Ron shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "To me?"
"Of course to you, you prat, what the hell is wrong with you?" Harry stared at Ron, whose entire face had gone bright red. Ron wouldn't quite look at him, but when his gaze flitted up to Harry's, it was wide and nervous.
"Wait, what the hell is wrong with you?" Harry asked, suddenly not at all sure. "Are you all right?"
Ron looked even more confused before he gave a small nod. "Yes, I'm fine. Thank you."
"Why are you acting like this?"
"Acting like-I'm sorry, this is just. Quite a surprise, Mr Potter."
"Ron. You're scaring me. If you're taking the piss right now, I swear-"
Ron's eyes were saucers. "Taking the-no! I-I wouldn't, I. That'd be a bit-even for me-I've only just met you."
Harry stared at him, waiting for the tell-tale smile, but it never came. "Who's done this to you, Ron? What's happened?"
Ron blinked. "Done what?"
"This!" Harry cried.
Ron swallowed, and his eyes darted around the room. "I don't know what you mean, sir."
"Really, really not funny."
Ron just stared up at him from his seat.
Harry pulled out his wand, and Ron's eyes went even wider. "I just want to do a reveal," Harry said, "to see if you're under the influence of something. Is that all right?"
"Um," Ron said, after a moment. "Sure, I suppose."
Harry cast the spell. "Well, you've not been Confunded," he said, "and I don't see any traces of Obliviate, though if that one's been cast cleanly enough, I wouldn't. You don't remember being hit with anything?"
Ron shook his head weakly.
"All right. I want to take you upstairs, see what our revealing specialists can turn up."
"Upstairs?"
"To the Auror Office, yes."
Ron's eyebrows shot up. "The Aurors? I-um-"
"It's OK, Ron, I just need to figure out what's happened to you. I'll call Hermione to come up, too, if that would make you more comfortable. She'd want to know about this anyway."
Ron continued to sit and just stare at him. "Come on!" Harry snapped.
Ron jumped up, startled, and followed Harry from his office. They were halfway through Games and Sports when Ron finally spoke. "Did you... who else d'you say you're gonna call?"
"Hermione," Harry replied, walking very quickly.
"Hermione," Ron repeated. "Hermione Granger, sir?"
Harry rolled his eyes. "How many other Hermiones do you even know? Wait." He suddenly stopped in his tracks and whirled around to look at Ron, who nearly collided with him. "Do you know Hermione? Or have you forgotten her, too?"
Ron shook his head both 'yes' and 'no' simultaneously. "None, and, yes, I do know her, sir, I just didn't realise that you did."
"Stop calling me 'sir'," Harry said, wincing. "And of course I know her. She's only been one of my best mates since First Year."
"First year of what?" Ron asked.
Harry gaped. "Good lord, how much have you forgotten?"
Ron stared.
"I guess you wouldn't know, would you?" Harry considered. "Do you remember Hogwarts?"
"'Course I do," Ron said, brow furrowed. Harry looked at him, hard, before whirling back around and hurrying them to his office.
Thirty minutes later, Harry's office was abuzz with activity, and Harry's jaw was getting sore from all the clenching it had been doing.
"You haven't found anything?" he snapped at the trio of revealing specialists standing around Ron's chair.
"There doesn't seem to be anything to find, sir," one of them replied, curtly.
"Try something else," Harry ordered.
"Sir," another one said, "we've already exhausted our-"
"I don't care. Think of something else, or go find someone who can."
The three Aurors exchanged glances. One of them, Garner, raised a questioning eyebrow at her partner and then left the room.
Another several minutes passed as Harry paced the room, asking Ron questions and barking orders at anyone within earshot. "Annie," he snapped, when the number of people in the room who looked openly convinced that Harry had lost his mind started to get too high, "did you talk to Hermione yet? Where is she?"
"Out of the office, sir," she said, shakily. "At a client site until at least eleven, according to her assistant."
"Well someone needs to fetch her-this is an emergency!" he barked. No one moved. "You!" he said to Garner, who had returned without Harry noticing. "Go find her!"
"That won't be necessary, Auror Garner," came the startling, deep voice of Kingsley Shacklebolt, and Harry whirled around to find the Minister for Magic frowning at him.
"But-" Harry cried.
"Fetching your friend is not her job, Auror Potter," Kingsley continued. "I'm taking over this investigation, effective immediately."
Harry balked, and it was a good long moment before he could speak. "You're taking over? But, you're not-and I'm-"
"You're in no condition to handle this case, for whatever reason."
"But you're not even an Auror anymore!"
"Of course I am," Kingsley said, his frown growing harder. "Now, are you going to tell me what's going on, or continue to put your job in jeopardy by arguing with me?"
Harry fought down his anger and thought it better to comply. "He's had his memory altered, sir. Whatever's caused it is more complex than any Obliviate or memory potion I've ever seen."
"How so?"
"It's altered large sections of his memory, as far back as his childhood."
"Hmm," Kingsley said, eyeing Ron, who was leaning against Harry's desk, looking troubled and intimidated by the Minister's presence. "And what is it that he's forgotten?" Kingsley asked, turning back to Harry.
"Well," Harry said, "uh. Me, sir."
"You?"
"Yes."
"He doesn't know who you are?"
"Well, he knows who I am, but. That's not-what I mean is. Well, sir, you know that he and I have been close friends for many years-were flatmates for the past ten-and he just. Doesn't remember any of it. When I walked into his office this morning, he thought it was the first time we'd ever met."
"Did you see him this morning, at your shared flat?"
"No," Harry answered. "I just moved out, actually."
"I see," Kingsley said, in a way Harry didn't like very much. "All right. Would you please give me a few minutes with Mr Weasley?"
"But, sir, I-"
"Take a walk, Auror Potter. We'll be here when you get back."
Harry clenched his jaw and felt his face heat under the several awkward gazes directed at him. He looked at Ron, who was looking back at him with a concerned, confused expression. Harry held his gaze, silently pleading with him to suddenly snap out of it, until Ron looked away. Avoiding Kingsley's stern look, Harry gave a curt nod and left.
He didn't go far. He thought about going after Hermione himself, or at least down to see her assistant, but thought better of it. He had no idea how long that would take, and he didn't want to leave Ron, no matter how much he would have liked at least one friendly face in all of this.
When he had stayed away for as long as he could stand, Harry returned to find a stream of Aurors leaving his office, the buzz of activity having died down and been replaced with a mood that felt decidedly grim, which set Harry's nerves on edge afresh.
"What's going on?" Harry asked Kingsley, when he got inside. He looked at Ron, who met his gaze briefly and regretfully.
"I've sent them back to work," Kingsley answered. "There is nothing more for them to do here."
"Did you find something?"
"No, but a specialist from St Mungo's is on the way over for a consultation. Can I trust you, Auror Potter, to wait here for her without continuing this inappropriateness?"
Harry stiffened, annoyed. "Of course, sir."
"All right." Kingsley turned to Ron. "Now, Mr Weasley, if you have work you need to get back to in the meantime, you're welcome to return to your office. I only ask that you don't leave the premises between now and then."
Harry startled. "Sir, do you really think-"
"It's all right," Ron interrupted, "I'll wait here with him-with Auror Potter, sir."
"Are you sure?" Kingsley asked.
Ron glanced at Harry embarrassedly. "Yeah," he said. "It's all right."
Kingsley eyed them both uncertainly for a moment, then nodded. "I'll be in my office, if you need me."
Harry and Ron sat in awkward silence for a long time, once Kingsley pulled the door shut behind himself. Harry wanted to ask more questions, wanted to shake Ron back to reality, but suddenly found himself at a loss for words.
"So-we were flatmates?" Ron asked, after a while.
Harry nodded. "Ever since the war. We decided not to go back to Hogwarts, and took the Calvert Street flat together." Ron blinked, but said nothing. "You were fine last night-you helped me finish moving-so whoever did this must have been waiting until I left. Are you sure nothing strange has happened to you since then?"
"What, like some bloke I've never met turning up in my office, claiming to be my best mate? That the sort of thing you mean?" Ron asked, the corner of his mouth twitching up into a smile.
"God, I must have scared the shit out of you," Harry said, with an involuntary laugh.
Ron grinned. "A bit."
"Are you still scared?"
"I'm still here, aren't I?" Ron said with a shrug.
Harry grinned, then shifted his gaze about the room in embarrassment. "Seriously, though, whatever you do remember from yesterday evening is actually quite important. D'you mind going over it one more time?"
Ron's grin faltered a bit, and he eyed Harry a moment before replying. "Nothing much. It was just a Sunday; I lazed about, listened to some Quidditch, my sister came over for dinner, and I went to bed."
Harry rubbed at his face. Ginny had met Ron for dinner the night before, he knew. She was there when Harry Floo'd back over, having forgotten the box with his towels and pyjamas.
Ron didn't remember Harry stopping over, nor the hours he'd spent helping Harry pack up and move-never mind the fact that Harry had lived there at all.
"Why d'you think you can remember that?" Harry asked. "Ginny, Hogwarts, Hermione, you remember everyone, apart from me."
Ron sighed, and looked at the floor. "I'm sorry, I just. I don't know what to say."
Harry sagged back into his chair, trying to ignore the heavy, sick feeling in his stomach. "If you don't remember me being at school with you, who was your mate? Who'd you spend all your time with? Just Hermione?"
Ron shook his head and shrugged. "The other Gryffindor blokes, I guess. No one in particular, really. Hermione and I were friendly, but we didn't spend that much time together. I asked for help with homework rather a lot, but I guess she didn't mind too much-we actually dated for a couple of years after school."
"Yeah, I know. You were practically engaged."
"Um. No, we-it wasn't ever that serious."
"Ron, I helped you pick out the ring you never gave her."
Ron looked startled. "You really are serious about this, aren't you?" he asked, frowning. "You honestly remember us being mates?"
Harry met Ron's eye and found that he couldn't speak, so he nodded.
Ron was quiet for a moment, and Harry shifted in his seat. "You only moved out yesterday?" Ron asked.
"Yeah."
"Why?"
"Why what?"
"Why'd you move out?"
Harry blinked. "You don't believe me anyway, what difference does it make?"
Ron shrugged. "Dunno. Humour me."
Harry looked at Ron a moment, then looked away. "It was just time to grow up a bit. Can't live the bachelor life forever."
"You got a girl, then?" Ron asked, smiling.
"No."
"Oh." He eyed Harry a moment, until, "What's it like, us being mates?"
Harry frowned. "What do you mean?"
Ron shrugged. "What do we do? I can't really imagine having Harry Potter as my best mate."
"It's a lot more trouble than it's worth, I figure."
"I doubt that," Ron said.
Harry looked at him, surprised. Their gazes met and held for a long moment before Harry looked away with a shrug. "I dunno, we do... the same things as everyone else. We go to the pub, and we moan about work, and... we talk about Quidditch, and I take the piss 'cause the worse the Cannons are losing, the louder you cheer, and... I dunno. We've been accused of being a bit boring."
"How'd you know I'm a Cannons supporter?" Ron asked, his face lit up.
Harry just looked at him, shrugging helplessly. "You were the one who taught me about Quidditch, Ron."
"I was?"
Harry nodded. "Yeah, more or less. Along with just about everything else. I'm not Muggleborn, but I may as well have been. Don't think I would've made it through without you there, to explain things to me."
Ron blinked at him, as colour rose in his cheeks. "Oh, I dunno," he said uncomfortably. "The Muggleborns seem to do all right, don't they?"
"Sure they do, but most of them are willing to do a lot more reading than I was."
Ron laughed. "Cheers to that, mate," he said, and Harry's heart suddenly felt a little bit lighter.
There was a knock on the door. "Come in," Harry called. The door opened, and Kingsley entered, followed by two Aurors and a woman Harry didn't know.
"Auror Potter, this is Healer Godfrey," Kingsley said.
"Excellent, thank you for coming," Harry replied.
"We'd like to keep this contained to your office, if possible," Kingsley continued, "as it's in everyone's best interests that the public not know anything."
"I-yes, all right," Harry said.
"So you agree to cooperate? To submit to Healer Godfrey's examination without protest?"
Harry blinked. Ron shifted uncomfortably next to him.
"Wait," Harry said, turning panicked eyes to Kingsley. "No, no, wait, you've got this all wrong. Kingsley, you know Ron and I are friends-you've found him in my office hundreds of times."
Kingsley's face was unreadable. "I remember no such thing," he replied, "nor whatever familiarity you seem to think allows you to address me so informally."
Harry gaped at him. "But, sir, we-" Harry's mouth snapped shut. His earlier conversations with Anthony Goldstein and Annie came flooding back, and it suddenly occurred to him that he was missing something big.
"Ron," he said, turning to him desperately. "Please. Tell them. We were just talking, and-tell them I'm not crazy."
Ron looked back at Harry for a long moment. "I wish I could, mate," he said regretfully.
"Auror Potter," the Healer said, taking a step closer to Harry. "If you'll just stay calm, we can have you sorted in no time."
"No," Harry said. "I've got to go, I've got to figure this out. I need-" Hermione. Hermione would know. Harry bounded to the door, only to find it locked. "Have you locked me in?" he cried, jiggling the handle.
"Please calm down, Auror Potter," Kingsley said. "You're only making this harder for yourself."
One of the Aurors Kingsley had brought back stepped towards Harry, and Harry's hand went reflexively to his wand. On a good day, he would have been able to mount a respectable defence against Kingsley and two other Aurors, but with the state he was in, it took them only a moment to disarm and stun him.
-
Harry woke in the dark. He blinked and squinted into the large, foreign space around him. It smelt funny, and though it seemed quiet at first, he soon registered the sound of people nearby, doors opening and closing, footsteps echoing down a nearby hallway.
He was in St Mungo's. Panic rose in his chest, bursting forth as a desperate laugh. He made to sit up, but the lasting effects of whatever they'd given him were still strong, and he found himself dizzy and falling back against his pillow before he was anywhere near upright.
His breaths came as pants as he closed his eyes and waited for the room to stop spinning.
When he opened them, he noticed a slip of parchment and a small package on the gleaming metal table next to his bed. He reached for his glasses and switched on the lamp, and recognised the scratchy handwriting on the parchment before he even picked it up.
I think I would have liked being your mate, the note said. When you get to feeling better, if you'd fancy a pint, come say hello. Anytime. -Ron Weasley
Not knowing what else to do, Harry tore open the small package-a chocolate frog-and blinked at his own likeness on the card inside.
His fingers wrapped around the wriggling sweet, smearing chocolate footprints over his palm as he summoned the courage to turn the card over.
He had argued with the publishers of his chocolate frog card for months, several years ago, to make sure that his card said plainly that his defeat of Voldemort was only made possible by the help of Ron and Hermione, and so many others.
But how could it say that, in a world where Ron left Harry notes saying he wished they had been friends?
Harry Potter
Saviour of the Wizarding World
Currently Head of the Auror Department
The Boy Who Lived, only known survivor of the Avada Kedavra
curse and conqueror of Lord Voldemort, also known as Tom Riddle.
A mysterious and reclusive individual, very little is known about
Potter's training, rise to power, or, indeed, Potter himself.
Harry stared at it. He read it three times, then flipped it over in search of more, and watched himself slink out of the portrait, mysteriously and reclusively.
His breath came strangely calmly as his mind whirred in fits and starts, attempting to understand. The enormity of how strange this situation was had only just started to dawn on him when the card disappeared from his fingers.
Harry opened his hand, looked down to see if he'd dropped it into his lap. The sheet covering his legs was suddenly a dark red, instead of white, and for a moment he thought he was bleeding, but when he went to set down the chocolate frog, it was gone, too. There was no trace of its footprints on his palm.
He blinked and slowly recognised the colour of the sheet as not a blood stain, but as the deep red of the new linens he'd bought just yesterday, for his new flat.
He looked around in disbelief. He wasn't in St Mungo's at all, but sitting in his own bed, in his own flat, blinking into the darkness. He swallowed several times as he looked around the room, afraid to close his eyes in case it should disappear, too.
It didn't, though, and Harry suddenly barked a relieved laugh as it hit him: a dream.
Just a dream.
He collapsed back against his mattress, and once his heart had calmed down, he sunk into a deep sleep within moments.
-
It started out like any other day: Harry woke up. A bit later than usual, perhaps, but nothing too out of the ordinary.
He drank his coffee in silence, Floo'd to the Ministry at eight-thirty, and didn't encounter anyone on the way to his office. He had a nagging feeling that he was forgetting something, but no amount of frowning to himself proved sufficient to call it up, so he stopped trying, figuring that if it was important, it would come back to him in time.
At nine-fifteen, he was scanning the day's headlines with a curious sense of déjà vu when the door to his office burst open, and Annie came clamouring in, full of earnest apologies and unnecessary formality, and without Harry's customary mid-morning cup of coffee.
Harry frowned at her. "It's all right, Annie. You can calm down, it's fine."
"Thank you, Mr Potter, sir."
"Annie, please, call me Ha-" He stopped, and frowned.
"Is everything all right, sir?" Annie asked after a moment.
"I'm-not sure." He looked around his office in confusion. "Have we done this before? Recently?"
Annie looked at him blankly.
"I'm going to take a walk," he said, after a moment. "My schedule's open until ten-thirty, right?"
"Yes, sir," Annie said, nodding. "The briefing's your first thing."
-
It was the look on Ron's face when Harry entered his office that brought it all back. "Oh," Harry said, feeling the wind knocked right out of him.
Ron's wide eyes blinked. Harry sucked in a breath and after a moment, Ron jumped up from his seat. "Hello," he said, his voice squeaky. "I, uh. Hello, Mr Potter, sir."
"Right," Harry muttered. "Still asleep, then."
Ron stared at him with his mouth open, and his eyes darted to the side and back.
-
"Sorry, um," Ron said, trailing Harry out through the Games and Sports office, "who'd you say we're going to see?"
"Hermione," Harry replied.
"Hermione," Ron repeated. "Hermione Granger, sir?"
"Yes," Harry said, grinning. "I know her. Are you shocked?"
"Um," Ron said. "Is there any-particular reason we're going to see her?"
Harry shrugged. "I took you to the Auror Office last time, and that turned out complete rubbish, so. Let's find out what Hermione thinks."
"About-what, exactly?"
"This," Harry answered, helpfully.
"Right," Ron said, helplessly.
Hermione was standing outside her office talking to her assistant as they approached, hair pulled into a loose knot at the nape of her neck and bag slung over her shoulder. She did a quick double-take at the sight of them, her eyes going wide.
"Oh my," she said. "Mr Potter. I-hello. This is a surprise. Hermione Granger." She extended her hand, then faltered. "Although I suppose you may already know that, as you've come to my office."
"I did already know that, thanks," Harry said. "And hello to you, too."
"Hello, Ron," Hermione said after a confused moment.
"Hi, Hermione," Ron answered uneasily.
"Is there something I can do for you, sir?" Hermione asked.
"Yes. Ron and I need to speak with you."
Hermione's eyes darted between the two of them. "All right," she said, slowly. To her assistant, "Tom, could you please reschedule my nine-thirty? Would you like a coffee, or anything?" she asked them, as they followed her into her office and settled into the chairs opposite her desk.
"Nope," Harry answered. "Just a chat."
She nodded, and looked at him expectantly.
"So," Harry said, and then drummed his hands on his knee, because he didn't actually know what to say. "You two don't remember me. Neither does anyone else. And I'm, um. Wondering what you think about that."
Hermione blinked. She cast a glance at Ron, who was staring at Harry. "Don't remember you?" she repeated. "On the contrary, Mr Potter, I think you'll find-"
"Please call me Harry."
"Oh, all right. Harry. I'm certain that all of us, as individuals and as a-collective, remember what you did for us, and remain profoundly grateful."
Harry rolled his eyes. "That is not what I mean."
Hermione came up short. "I'm sorry. OK. What, uh-what do you mean?"
"I mean that you don't remember that we're friends. Best mates, the three of us."
There was a heavy silence. "We're friends?" Hermione asked, eyes wide. "Ron and I? We're your best friends?"
"Yes," Harry said. "Since first year."
"First year of what?" she asked.
"Hogwarts, obviously."
Ron's jaw had fallen open a bit. Hermione's mouth opened and closed before she said, "Mr Pot-Harry, um. We weren't at Hogwarts together."
"Oh?" Harry replied.
"In fact, I wasn't aware that you went to Hogwarts, at all. They say you didn't."
"Who? Who's they?"
Hermione blinked. "Well, everyone. Or the people who write the history books, at least."
"What are you talking about, Hermione?"
"They don't-I mean, there's no mention of you attending-"
"Are you kidding? Remember when you got me a copy of the first post-war edition of Hogwarts: A History? You highlighted all the parts they'd added about me? And then scolded me every few months for three years, because I never did read it?"
Hermione just stared at him.
"Fine," Harry continued, "so what do the history books say, if they've omitted my going to Hogwarts?"
"Well," Hermione said, haltingly, "not very much, of course." She cast another questioning glance at Ron, who just shrugged. "There was the prophesy, and you survived Voldemort's Killing Curse, and your Muggle family raised you until you were eleven, and then you disappeared. Until the day you killed Voldemort in the Great Hall."
Harry stared at her. "I disappeared. You all got to go to Hogwarts, but I just-disappeared." He looked at Ron, who averted his eyes. "You both remember being there?"
"Of course."
"You just don't remember me being there with you? Living in your dorm, attending all the same classes? Playing Quidditch? You don't remember leaving with me before seventh year, to go Horcrux hunting so that I could kill Voldemort?"
"What's a Horcrux?" Ron asked, after a moment.
Hermione's eyes were wide. "He made a Horcrux?"
Harry smirked. "Seven of them."
"Seven Horcruxes?"
"Only six on purpose, but, yeah. And then we," Harry gestured to all three of them, "spent months in a tent, combing every corner of the country for them. You honestly don't remember any of this?"
Neither Hermione nor Ron spoke, and Harry's head fell back as he laughed loudly. "Oh this is just too weird," he said to himself. "What on earth did I eat before bed last night?"
Hermione's mouth went tight. "Mr Potter-"
"Harry."
"-I don't know what it is that you're doing right now, but Ron and I have jobs to do, and-Saviour of the Wizarding World or not-I certainly don't appreciate you marching in here, disrupting our workday so that you can have a laugh at our expense."
"Don't worry, Hermione," Harry said, "you're not missing anything. We're inside my dream right now, so that meeting you just had rescheduled wasn't real to begin with."
Hermione blinked, and tilted her head to the side. "Inside your dream," she repeated.
Harry nodded. "Exactly. And now, of course, you think I'm mental, so I think I'll leave you be before you decide to call someone from St Mungo's, since that's what happened yesterday, and once was more than enough of that, thanks." He stood up, Hermione's and Ron's wide gazes fixed on him. "See you later, I suppose. Probably in the morning."
He left them in startled silence, and was halfway down the corridor when long footsteps caught up with him.
"What are you, um-" Ron said, falling into step next to him. "Where are you going?"
Harry shrugged. "Dunno. Haven't had my second coffee yet, maybe I'll go the canteen." Ron eyed him sidelong. "D'you wanna come with me?"
"Oh, um."
"S'all right if you need to get back to work. I know this seems real to you."
Ron considered, for the space of a few steps. Then he shrugged. "Eh, I've not got anything pressing this morning. I could go for a tea."
Harry grinned.
-
"No, no, no-the only way Puddlemere has got any chance at all this afternoon is if they run up the score and fast. Ballycastle's Seeker might not be the greatest, but Hammersby's a joke. I can't believe Puddlemere's kept him on this long."
Harry finished his coffee with a grin. "Well, I suppose you're the expert."
Ron flushed.
"Are you going to the match?"
Ron shook his head. "No, we're on a rota, me and the other analysts. I actually was supposed to go today, but I swapped for Thursday's Cannon's match."
"D'you want to?"
"What?"
"Go. Let's get our own tickets and take the afternoon off."
Ron blinked. "Um. I'm not sure I can just-"
"Neither can I, usually. At least, not if I don't want fifteen very powerful people completely hacked off with me. But today's different," Harry said, grinning.
Ron looked at him. "That it is," he said. After a moment, "So you really believe we're mates, eh?"
Harry nodded. "Since we were kids. We were flatmates, up until yesterday."
"What happened yesterday?"
"I moved out."
"Why?"
Harry held his gaze for a long moment before looking away. "Everyone's gotta grow up sometime."
"Suppose," Ron agreed, looking down at his hands. "Speaking of, I should probably get back to work."
Harry nodded.
"Could we do it another time?" Ron asked. "Go to a match, I mean."
"Absolutely," Harry said, smiling.
Ron stood, and paused before stepping away from the table. "Look, mate, are you-are you OK? I mean, all joking aside, are you-d'you want me to call someone, or-" He trailed off.
"Yeah," Harry said, feeling his face flush, "I'm all right. I'm just-having a weird day."
Ron gave a small laugh. "Well, tomorrow's a new one, yeah? Maybe it'll be better."
"Can only hope," Harry said, chuckling, then watched Ron leave.
-
When Harry woke up, the slant of the sun through his bedroom window felt less strange and more real than it had the previous two mornings, which he took as a good sign. In the kitchen, the coffee beans and slices of bread he'd used to make breakfast the day before were back, as though replenished, and Harry smiled, relieved to finally be awake. He didn't particularly want to live through Monday a third time, but he supposed the first two didn't count.
It was a few minutes after eight when Harry tumbled through the Floo and into the Atrium, large and quiet before the morning rush, and echoing with the soft sounds of a single person's footsteps. Harry turned and watched Anthony Goldstein enter a lift, press his button and then look up, waiting.
He recognised Harry only a moment before the lift doors closed between them, and his startled, wide-eyed expression set something uncomfortable burning in Harry's gut.
An hour later, as Harry stared at the front page of the Prophet with a deep frown, Annie burst frantically into his office.
"Mr Potter, sir, I'm terribly, terribly sorry for my tardiness, sir, please know it won't happen again."
Something a lot like panic flared in Harry's chest, and he stood up from his desk quickly, sending his chair rolling roughly backwards, into the wall.
"Is everything all right, sir?" Annie asked, after a startled moment.
"I, um. I don't know. I mean-yes." Harry suddenly had a strong urge to go check on Ron. "I, um. I need to go. I'll just be in Ron's office if anything comes up."
"Ron, sir?"
"Yes," Harry said. "Ron Weasley, in Games and Sp-actually, never mind. If anything comes up, I'm not here. Just tell them you don't know where to find me."
Harry brushed past her and out the door before she could respond.
-
Ron stared at him, eyes wide and afraid. "What?" he said.
"Slam the door," Harry repeated, gripping his fingers more tightly to the door jamb and swallowing.
"But-your hand-"
"I know. I need to wake up."
Ron opened his mouth, and then closed it.
Harry landed in St Mungo's fairly quickly, that day.
-
"Stop calling me 'sir'!" Harry snapped.
Hermione blinked. "I'm sorry, Mr Potter, I-"
"Harry! Call me Harry, for fuck's sake!"
Hermione looked aghast, and Ron blinked nervously. "All right," Hermione said. "Harry. What's upsetting you?"
"Why don't you know me?" Harry yelled, looking back and forth between them.
Hermione glanced at Ron. "We-we do know you, Mr-Harry. Of course we do. Everyone does."
"That's not what I mean! You know who I am, but that's not-We're friends. All three of us, we're best friends. And you're acting as though you've never seen me before."
Hermione and Ron were silent.
"Fuck," Harry said, sagging against the wall. "What is this?"
-
"Susan," Harry said, pushing himself up off the wall he'd been leaning against, lying in wait. "Good morning."
Susan Bones startled, then gaped at him. "Um-good morning."
"Do you remember me?" Harry asked.
Susan frowned and went red. "Of-of course, sir. You're Harry Potter."
"No, I mean, do you remember me? Do you remember being at school with me? Do you remember the DA?"
Susan blinked. "The what, sir?"
-
"I don't understand," Harry said, loudly, as he entered Hermione's office.
Hermione whirled around. "God lord, you startled me!" she said, before her eyes went predictably wide. "Harry Potter?"
"None of this makes any sense, Hermione. I've just spent two straight days doing nothing but thinking about it, and I don't understand how it is that you all can go along with this-it doesn't make any sense."
Hermione blinked. "I'm sorry?"
"My whole life, everyone's known more about me than I did-and now, suddenly, no one remembers. And it doesn't seem to bother anyone that there's no explanation. Ron doesn't remember ever being my flatmate, but he still lives in the flat that I picked out for us. I didn't go to Hogwarts, you say, but I just showed up one day with the skills I needed to defeat Voldemort. How does that make sense? How do you think I learnt it?"
Hermione's mouth opened a few times, but nothing came out. "Your flatmate? Ron-Weasley?"
"It's like I've just been… erased, and nobody else can see the gaping holes! Do you know, I came into work three hours late this morning, and my assistant was a right frenzy trying to work out where I was, making excuses for me missing meetings."
"It wasn't very considerate of you not to call her and let her know you would be late," Hermione said.
"It's all right, she'll have forgotten it in the morning. I was doing an experiment-when I asked her why she didn’t Floo me at home, to see if I was coming in, do you know what she said?"
Hermione raised her eyebrows.
"She said that she'd wanted to, but that no one at the Ministry could remember where I lived, or how to get in touch with me."
Hermione blinked. "That seems very odd," she said, after a long moment.
"Exactly!" Harry cried. "How is it possible that my employer-my employer for the past ten years-just doesn't have my contact information?"
"Mr Potter," Hermione said, "I'm afraid I don't really know what to tell you, though it does sound like you could use a bit more clerical support in the Auror Office."
"Hermione, you're the smartest person I know-" Hermione blinked and blushed "-surely you see how this collective… ignorance of my past-at the very least of my education, which was highly publicised-makes absolutely no sense!"
Hermione stiffened. "I hadn't really thought about it, if I'm honest," she said.
"Of course not, you only forgot the truth a few hours ago. You've never had to think about it."
Hermione stared at him for a long moment. "Well, Mr Potter-"
"Please call me Harry."
"Harry," she said, nodding carefully. "I would imagine that your education was conducted by private tutors, likely coordinated by those who knew about the prophesy you were to fulfil."
Harry raised his eyebrows.
"Perhaps, since you remember it, you were physically at Hogwarts, but hidden from us all. Probably for your own safety. There's any number of secret rooms and corridors, I've even read myths about a huge cave underneath the school-"
"Yes, the Chamber of Secrets, that's where I fought the Basilisk, remember? And destroyed the first Horcrux, though I didn't know it at the time."
Hermione's expression tilted towards worry. "I would imagine it was very lonely for you, and very hard, as you were groomed for your encounter with Voldemort. It's perfectly understandable that you took to hiding from the world as you did, afterwards. And here you are, Head of the Auror Department at such a young age; have you ever taken time for yourself? Because I think maybe you should consider-"
"No!" Harry cried. "I'm not crazy, Hermione. And I wasn't lonely at school, I had you. I had Ron, and I had you, and you kept me sane, you two are the reason I'm still here at all. And I know I sound crazy right now, I know I do, but you've got to believe me-something has happened. Something has-someone, maybe-has taken it all, and I don't know what to do."
Hermione's eyes were wide and bright, full of pity, and Harry very nearly hated her in that moment. "Mr-Harry," she said. "Please. Let me get you some help. I've got a friend at St Mungo's, he can-"
"No thanks," Harry said, and he was on his feet and out the door in mere moments, barrelling down the corridor and willing away the tears he could feel behind his eyes.
-
Harry woke up, and it was Monday.
-
Harry woke up, and it was Monday.
-
Harry woke up, and it was Monday. He stayed home for the third day in a row.
No one called to see if he was all right.
-
"Oi!" Ron shouted, his voice hard and dangerous.
Harry whirled around, and instantly regretted moving so quickly. He managed to grab hold of the kitchen counter before he fell over. "Ron," he said, and he felt his eyes go wide at the sight of Ron in the kitchen doorway, pointing his wand menacingly at Harry's head.
Ron blinked, and his wand hand faltered. "What-are you-Harry Potter?"
A more sober Harry might not have heaved a frustrated sigh and dramatically rolled his eyes at the angry wizard pointing a wand at his head, but this Harry did just that. "Ron, enough, honestly."
"What?"
"It's me, Ron. Harry. Your mate. Your best fucking mate, so stop acting like you don't know me."
"I don't know what you're talking about."
"I know you don't."
"All right, you're drunk, and-"
"And you're a genius."
"-and I don't know why you're in my flat, but is there someone I can call to come get you?"
"Yeah. Call the real Ron Weasley. He'll come get me."
Ron frowned.
"And I'm so sorry I'm in your flat," Harry continued, "but I couldn't help it-I only moved out a few days ago, or maybe just yesterday, still, I'm actually not sure about that-and I was out, you know, because I didn't go to work today, see, I decided to go out and have some fun, instead, and then I decided it was time to go home, and I just wasn't really thinking, and then I was here, and then I remembered that I don't live here, anymore, but I couldn't really remember where my new flat is, exactly, or how to get there, and plus, I really had to pee, so I just thought I'd come in for a little bit, and just be really quiet, so I wouldn't wake you up, but then I was really thirsty, so I had to get a glass of water, and the glasses make a lot of noise in the cupboard, when you knock them all over, so, sorry about that, too."
Ron stared at him. Harry swayed and gripped the counter. "You gonna be sick?" Ron asked.
Harry thought about it. "No."
"All right. Why don't you come lie down on the sofa, for a bit?"
Harry nodded. "OK, thanks."
Ron slid his wand into the waistband of his pyjamas and helped Harry into the lounge, his large hands warm and strong against Harry's arm.
"So, tell me again," Ron said, "how is it you ended up at my flat?"
Harry shrugged. "Just habit, you know? You call a place home for ten years, takes more than a few days to get used to something else."
"You lived in this building?"
"I lived in this flat."
"You didn't."
"I did."
"You didn't, I've lived in this flat for the past ten years."
"I know you have. We both did, together."
Ron stared for a long moment, and then chuckled. "Mate, you really shouldn't drink this much. Bloke like you, who the papers are always after? You're gonna land yourself in some serious trouble."
"I'm not-unh." Harry let his head fall back against the sofa cushion with a sigh. After a moment, "Thank you for not calling the papers."
Ron rolled his eyes and waved him off. "Please. We all owe you enough, without needing to piss all over what little bit of fun you get to have."
"Had more fun when you and I were still friends."
Ron's amused expression faltered. "You're not joking, are you? You honestly believe that we're mates? That you used to live here?"
"Ron, if I never lived here, why is my wand keyed to your front door?"
"What d'you mean? S'that how you came in?"
Harry nodded. "Simple Alohomora. Either your wards are complete rubbish, or you didn't remove my signature when I moved out-which you told me you weren't going to do."
Ron stared at him, then glanced at the front door to the flat, startled. "No one but me and my brother George are keyed to that lock."
Harry shrugged. "Beg to differ, mate."
Ron looked unsettled. "Well if you're as powerful as they say you are, maybe you can just unlock any door you want to."
"Nope."
Ron didn't seem to know what to say to that, and they sat in silence for a few minutes, Harry's drunken stupor giving way to drowsiness. He'd just started to drift off when Ron startled him back into consciousness.
"Listen, mate, you gonna be all right on the couch? S'almost midnight, and I've got work in the morning."
"Yeah, yeah, I'll just... sleep. Thanks, Ron."
Ron stood, and hesitated.
"Hey," Harry asked, after a moment. "How'd Puddlemere end up doing?"
"Sorry?"
"I keep missing the match-did they lose as spectacularly as you thought they would?"
"Um, no-they won, actually."
Harry smirked up at him. "Scoring? Or d'Hammersby prove you wrong and get the Snitch?"
"He caught it," Ron said, frowning. "But, how'd you-I've never written anything about Hammersby."
"You told me over coffee a few days ago."
Ron's frown deepened.
"But never mind-I know you think I'm crazy. I'll just go to sleep now, thanks."
Ron eyed him carefully. "Can I ask you something?"
Harry grunted.
"If we're such good mates, why'd you have to move out? You move in with a girl or something?"
"No, it was just," Harry opened his eyes and met Ron's gaze, and meant to say time to grow up, but, inexplicably, actually said, "too hard."
Ron's eyebrows contracted. "What was? Living with me?"
"Yeah," Harry said.
Ron chuckled embarrassedly. "Sorry. Reckon I am a slob, though."
"S'OK. So am I."
"So… why, then?" Ron asked, and Harry felt the truth bubbling up, buoyed by liquor and exhaustion and loneliness, and his lips were curving around the words, his tongue was pressing them out, and-
-he was stone cold sober, lying in his bed, in his new flat, alone. Ron was gone, Harry's heart was racing, and he started to genuinely wonder if he'd lost his mind.
-
The seventeenth time Harry walked into Ron's office and was met with a gasp and a stammer and a blushing, disbelieving introduction, it was too much. It hurt, it physically fucking hurt, and Harry was exhausted and desperate and angry, and his fist had connected with Ron's jaw before he even knew he was going to throw a punch.
He didn't do any damage beyond a split lip, thankfully, but it didn't do anything but make him feel worse, and the look on Ron's face kept him from going back to Ron's office for nearly a week, never mind that he knew Ron didn't remember it happening.
-
[part two]
Author: shes_gone
Pairing: Harry/Ron
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 16,000ish
Summary: It took over an hour, from the time Harry arrived at work, for him to realise just how different today actually was.
Warnings: A is for Angst. (B is for But It Gets Better.)
Author's Note: Written for shocolate at the 2010 harryronholiday! I've been wanting to write this story for ages, so I was really, really pleased to have such a great excuse to buckle down and do it. ♥! Endless thanks to reallycorking and emmacmf for all their help, and to the wonderful mods. Also, if you haven't seen the gorgeous art eloquent_toast drew for me in the exchange, go now (brilliantly NSFW, of course)! :D :D :D Happy New Year, everyone!
Prelude and Fugue
It started out like any other day: Harry woke up.
The morning sun was slanting into his bedroom at the wrong angle, and Harry was halfway from his bed to the bathroom before he remembered that, in fact, today wasn't like any other day. Disorientated, he turned around.
He found the bathroom (right where he'd left it), and then went to the kitchen, where he made himself coffee and toast, and tried not to think about how different today actually was.
He sat at his brand-new kitchen table and sipped his coffee in silence.
It wasn't quite right.
The coffee, that is. The kitchen didn't feel quite right, either, but that was just because Harry wasn't used to it yet. The window was larger than in his old kitchen, and it faced north instead of east, changing the very texture of the morning.
The coffee, though, was the same as always. Or, at least, it should have been: the bag of beans in the cupboard was one of the few things that Harry had actually brought with him from the old flat. He could afford to stock his kitchen afresh, of course, but Ron didn't drink coffee, so it had seemed silly to leave it for him.
Harry looked down into his cup and wondered if the milk was off or if he'd bought the wrong kind of sugar, and didn't let himself wonder if maybe his morning coffee needed something else altogether, like the muffled sound of an overgrown redhead snoring down the hall, in the flat's second bedroom.
Harry winced as he swallowed a too-large sip, felt it burn bitterly down his throat, and told himself he'd better get used to it.
Because Harry's new flat didn't have a second bedroom, and Harry didn't have a flatmate, red-headed or otherwise.
Living alone was a lot quieter than he'd realised it would be.
So he decided to buy himself a wireless, as he took another sip of his coffee, because today wasn't like yesterday, or the day before that, but it was, Harry knew, a great deal like all the days to come.
-
It took over an hour, from the time Harry arrived at work, for him to realise just how different today actually was.
It came to him in pieces:
As he stumbled into the Atrium at eight o'clock on the nose, the Floo directly facing his also flared, producing Anthony Goldstein.
Harry smiled and offered a warm but subdued, "Morning, Goldstein."
Anthony's eyes went wide, and he stared at Harry for a long moment. Harry fought the urge to check his zip. "Good morning," Anthony finally said hesitantly, as he blinked his surprise.
Harry frowned. "All right?"
It was another moment before Anthony seemed to snap out of it, and he gave an embarrassed laugh. "Yes, of course. Sorry. Good morning," he said, more emphatically. He gave Harry a strangely put-on sort of smile, and stood there awkwardly, as though he couldn't remember where he had been going.
"Taking the lift?" Harry suggested, gesturing to his right.
Anthony nodded and fell awkwardly into step next to Harry as they made their way to the end of the Atrium.
"You always here this early?" Harry asked. Harry couldn't remember the last time he'd arrived at the Ministry before eight-forty-five, preferring to wait and Floo in at the same time as Ron.
"Or earlier," Anthony said, nodding. "I like to get a jump start, while things are quiet."
"Yeah, seems nice," Harry said. "I may make a habit of it, as well."
Anthony nodded again and shifted his weight uncomfortably. Harry frowned and wondered when Goldstein had got so weird. They rode the lift in awkward silence, and Harry watched the numbers cycle as he thought about all the work he was likely to get done, now that he could come in as early as he liked.
An hour and a quarter later, Harry was reading the front page of the Prophet for the third time when a small, frazzled looking woman with dark hair and large glasses came buzzing into his office.
"Mr Potter, sir, I'm terribly, terribly sorry for my tardiness, sir, please know it won't happen again."
Harry blinked at her. "It's all right, Annie," he said, smiling as his eyes darted to the clock. "You're much less late than usual, anyway."
Annie blanched. "Terribly sorry, sir."
Harry frowned at his assistant, who hadn't been on time once in the four years she'd been working for him; she'd seen him through three and a half years as Deputy Head Auror, and the past six months since he'd been promoted to Head of the Department. "You know I don't mind, Annie. You do a good job, anyway. And I think I asked you to call me Harry some time ago."
Annie's pale face went red. "Thank you, sir. Harry, I mean. If you like."
There was an awkward silence.
"Do you need anything, then, sir?"
"Just the usual, please. I've not got anything on until the briefing at ten-thirty, have I?"
"Yes, sir. I mean, no. That's the first thing, Mr Potter."
"Harry."
"Harry."
"All right. Thank you, Annie."
Harry looked back down at his paper, and Annie was half-way through the door when she stopped and turned back to look at him.
"I'm sorry, sir, but. What's the 'usual'?"
-
Harry's brow was decidedly furrowed as he exited the lift on Level Seven.
He walked into the Department of Magical Games and Sports with an easy smile and hello for the young woman at the front desk; her eyes went wide at the sight of him. Harry didn't recognise her, but Games and Sports had a new receptionist every few weeks, so that was hardly a surprise.
"Mate," he said, as he stepped into Ron's office without knocking, "it has been a bloody weird morning."
Ron looked up from his desk, meeting Harry's eye, and an echo of the loneliness Harry had worked so hard to ignore that morning suddenly hit him square in the chest, and he found he couldn't quite look back. So he turned his eyes to the floor and then the walls, and kept talking quickly, hoping to distract himself.
"I came in early this morning, and ran into Anthony Goldstein coming out of the Floo, and the whole thing was really strange."
Ron didn't respond.
"It was almost like he was lost, or something, or I'd caught him at something embarrassing, and he wouldn't really talk to me. Not that I think of him as a great mate, or anything, but you know. It was odd."
Harry examined the weathered Quidditch posters on Ron's office wall and continued, feeling Ron's eyes on his back.
"And Annie's completely out of sorts, too. She wouldn't stop apologising for being late, even though she was much earlier than usual, and she didn't bring me my cup of coffee."
Ron still hadn't said anything, so Harry looked at him, and Ron was staring at him with very wide eyes.
Harry blinked. "Which, I mean. Isn't a problem, really. I can get my own coffee, of course, but it's just. She's done the same thing every day, for ages, but. She didn't seem to remember, which is why I-just-why are you staring at me like that?"
Ron opened his mouth, blinked, closed his mouth, and Harry felt his heart begin a strange rat-a-tat against his chest.
They were trapped in silence for a long moment, Harry holding his breath and Ron staring at him, until Ron finally snapped to attention, took a gulping breath and launched himself up from his seat.
"Hello," he said, his voice squeaky. "I, uh. Hello, Mr Potter, sir."
Harry blinked before pulling a face at him. "Shut it," he said, rolling his eyes.
Ron's ears went pink, and his jaw flapped a bit as he grew visibly flustered.
"Just, sit down," Harry said. "You're not funny."
Ron sat, looking utterly confused. "M'sorry, sir."
"Stop it! I'm not in the mood for this, I came down here to talk to you."
Ron shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "To me?"
"Of course to you, you prat, what the hell is wrong with you?" Harry stared at Ron, whose entire face had gone bright red. Ron wouldn't quite look at him, but when his gaze flitted up to Harry's, it was wide and nervous.
"Wait, what the hell is wrong with you?" Harry asked, suddenly not at all sure. "Are you all right?"
Ron looked even more confused before he gave a small nod. "Yes, I'm fine. Thank you."
"Why are you acting like this?"
"Acting like-I'm sorry, this is just. Quite a surprise, Mr Potter."
"Ron. You're scaring me. If you're taking the piss right now, I swear-"
Ron's eyes were saucers. "Taking the-no! I-I wouldn't, I. That'd be a bit-even for me-I've only just met you."
Harry stared at him, waiting for the tell-tale smile, but it never came. "Who's done this to you, Ron? What's happened?"
Ron blinked. "Done what?"
"This!" Harry cried.
Ron swallowed, and his eyes darted around the room. "I don't know what you mean, sir."
"Really, really not funny."
Ron just stared up at him from his seat.
Harry pulled out his wand, and Ron's eyes went even wider. "I just want to do a reveal," Harry said, "to see if you're under the influence of something. Is that all right?"
"Um," Ron said, after a moment. "Sure, I suppose."
Harry cast the spell. "Well, you've not been Confunded," he said, "and I don't see any traces of Obliviate, though if that one's been cast cleanly enough, I wouldn't. You don't remember being hit with anything?"
Ron shook his head weakly.
"All right. I want to take you upstairs, see what our revealing specialists can turn up."
"Upstairs?"
"To the Auror Office, yes."
Ron's eyebrows shot up. "The Aurors? I-um-"
"It's OK, Ron, I just need to figure out what's happened to you. I'll call Hermione to come up, too, if that would make you more comfortable. She'd want to know about this anyway."
Ron continued to sit and just stare at him. "Come on!" Harry snapped.
Ron jumped up, startled, and followed Harry from his office. They were halfway through Games and Sports when Ron finally spoke. "Did you... who else d'you say you're gonna call?"
"Hermione," Harry replied, walking very quickly.
"Hermione," Ron repeated. "Hermione Granger, sir?"
Harry rolled his eyes. "How many other Hermiones do you even know? Wait." He suddenly stopped in his tracks and whirled around to look at Ron, who nearly collided with him. "Do you know Hermione? Or have you forgotten her, too?"
Ron shook his head both 'yes' and 'no' simultaneously. "None, and, yes, I do know her, sir, I just didn't realise that you did."
"Stop calling me 'sir'," Harry said, wincing. "And of course I know her. She's only been one of my best mates since First Year."
"First year of what?" Ron asked.
Harry gaped. "Good lord, how much have you forgotten?"
Ron stared.
"I guess you wouldn't know, would you?" Harry considered. "Do you remember Hogwarts?"
"'Course I do," Ron said, brow furrowed. Harry looked at him, hard, before whirling back around and hurrying them to his office.
Thirty minutes later, Harry's office was abuzz with activity, and Harry's jaw was getting sore from all the clenching it had been doing.
"You haven't found anything?" he snapped at the trio of revealing specialists standing around Ron's chair.
"There doesn't seem to be anything to find, sir," one of them replied, curtly.
"Try something else," Harry ordered.
"Sir," another one said, "we've already exhausted our-"
"I don't care. Think of something else, or go find someone who can."
The three Aurors exchanged glances. One of them, Garner, raised a questioning eyebrow at her partner and then left the room.
Another several minutes passed as Harry paced the room, asking Ron questions and barking orders at anyone within earshot. "Annie," he snapped, when the number of people in the room who looked openly convinced that Harry had lost his mind started to get too high, "did you talk to Hermione yet? Where is she?"
"Out of the office, sir," she said, shakily. "At a client site until at least eleven, according to her assistant."
"Well someone needs to fetch her-this is an emergency!" he barked. No one moved. "You!" he said to Garner, who had returned without Harry noticing. "Go find her!"
"That won't be necessary, Auror Garner," came the startling, deep voice of Kingsley Shacklebolt, and Harry whirled around to find the Minister for Magic frowning at him.
"But-" Harry cried.
"Fetching your friend is not her job, Auror Potter," Kingsley continued. "I'm taking over this investigation, effective immediately."
Harry balked, and it was a good long moment before he could speak. "You're taking over? But, you're not-and I'm-"
"You're in no condition to handle this case, for whatever reason."
"But you're not even an Auror anymore!"
"Of course I am," Kingsley said, his frown growing harder. "Now, are you going to tell me what's going on, or continue to put your job in jeopardy by arguing with me?"
Harry fought down his anger and thought it better to comply. "He's had his memory altered, sir. Whatever's caused it is more complex than any Obliviate or memory potion I've ever seen."
"How so?"
"It's altered large sections of his memory, as far back as his childhood."
"Hmm," Kingsley said, eyeing Ron, who was leaning against Harry's desk, looking troubled and intimidated by the Minister's presence. "And what is it that he's forgotten?" Kingsley asked, turning back to Harry.
"Well," Harry said, "uh. Me, sir."
"You?"
"Yes."
"He doesn't know who you are?"
"Well, he knows who I am, but. That's not-what I mean is. Well, sir, you know that he and I have been close friends for many years-were flatmates for the past ten-and he just. Doesn't remember any of it. When I walked into his office this morning, he thought it was the first time we'd ever met."
"Did you see him this morning, at your shared flat?"
"No," Harry answered. "I just moved out, actually."
"I see," Kingsley said, in a way Harry didn't like very much. "All right. Would you please give me a few minutes with Mr Weasley?"
"But, sir, I-"
"Take a walk, Auror Potter. We'll be here when you get back."
Harry clenched his jaw and felt his face heat under the several awkward gazes directed at him. He looked at Ron, who was looking back at him with a concerned, confused expression. Harry held his gaze, silently pleading with him to suddenly snap out of it, until Ron looked away. Avoiding Kingsley's stern look, Harry gave a curt nod and left.
He didn't go far. He thought about going after Hermione himself, or at least down to see her assistant, but thought better of it. He had no idea how long that would take, and he didn't want to leave Ron, no matter how much he would have liked at least one friendly face in all of this.
When he had stayed away for as long as he could stand, Harry returned to find a stream of Aurors leaving his office, the buzz of activity having died down and been replaced with a mood that felt decidedly grim, which set Harry's nerves on edge afresh.
"What's going on?" Harry asked Kingsley, when he got inside. He looked at Ron, who met his gaze briefly and regretfully.
"I've sent them back to work," Kingsley answered. "There is nothing more for them to do here."
"Did you find something?"
"No, but a specialist from St Mungo's is on the way over for a consultation. Can I trust you, Auror Potter, to wait here for her without continuing this inappropriateness?"
Harry stiffened, annoyed. "Of course, sir."
"All right." Kingsley turned to Ron. "Now, Mr Weasley, if you have work you need to get back to in the meantime, you're welcome to return to your office. I only ask that you don't leave the premises between now and then."
Harry startled. "Sir, do you really think-"
"It's all right," Ron interrupted, "I'll wait here with him-with Auror Potter, sir."
"Are you sure?" Kingsley asked.
Ron glanced at Harry embarrassedly. "Yeah," he said. "It's all right."
Kingsley eyed them both uncertainly for a moment, then nodded. "I'll be in my office, if you need me."
Harry and Ron sat in awkward silence for a long time, once Kingsley pulled the door shut behind himself. Harry wanted to ask more questions, wanted to shake Ron back to reality, but suddenly found himself at a loss for words.
"So-we were flatmates?" Ron asked, after a while.
Harry nodded. "Ever since the war. We decided not to go back to Hogwarts, and took the Calvert Street flat together." Ron blinked, but said nothing. "You were fine last night-you helped me finish moving-so whoever did this must have been waiting until I left. Are you sure nothing strange has happened to you since then?"
"What, like some bloke I've never met turning up in my office, claiming to be my best mate? That the sort of thing you mean?" Ron asked, the corner of his mouth twitching up into a smile.
"God, I must have scared the shit out of you," Harry said, with an involuntary laugh.
Ron grinned. "A bit."
"Are you still scared?"
"I'm still here, aren't I?" Ron said with a shrug.
Harry grinned, then shifted his gaze about the room in embarrassment. "Seriously, though, whatever you do remember from yesterday evening is actually quite important. D'you mind going over it one more time?"
Ron's grin faltered a bit, and he eyed Harry a moment before replying. "Nothing much. It was just a Sunday; I lazed about, listened to some Quidditch, my sister came over for dinner, and I went to bed."
Harry rubbed at his face. Ginny had met Ron for dinner the night before, he knew. She was there when Harry Floo'd back over, having forgotten the box with his towels and pyjamas.
Ron didn't remember Harry stopping over, nor the hours he'd spent helping Harry pack up and move-never mind the fact that Harry had lived there at all.
"Why d'you think you can remember that?" Harry asked. "Ginny, Hogwarts, Hermione, you remember everyone, apart from me."
Ron sighed, and looked at the floor. "I'm sorry, I just. I don't know what to say."
Harry sagged back into his chair, trying to ignore the heavy, sick feeling in his stomach. "If you don't remember me being at school with you, who was your mate? Who'd you spend all your time with? Just Hermione?"
Ron shook his head and shrugged. "The other Gryffindor blokes, I guess. No one in particular, really. Hermione and I were friendly, but we didn't spend that much time together. I asked for help with homework rather a lot, but I guess she didn't mind too much-we actually dated for a couple of years after school."
"Yeah, I know. You were practically engaged."
"Um. No, we-it wasn't ever that serious."
"Ron, I helped you pick out the ring you never gave her."
Ron looked startled. "You really are serious about this, aren't you?" he asked, frowning. "You honestly remember us being mates?"
Harry met Ron's eye and found that he couldn't speak, so he nodded.
Ron was quiet for a moment, and Harry shifted in his seat. "You only moved out yesterday?" Ron asked.
"Yeah."
"Why?"
"Why what?"
"Why'd you move out?"
Harry blinked. "You don't believe me anyway, what difference does it make?"
Ron shrugged. "Dunno. Humour me."
Harry looked at Ron a moment, then looked away. "It was just time to grow up a bit. Can't live the bachelor life forever."
"You got a girl, then?" Ron asked, smiling.
"No."
"Oh." He eyed Harry a moment, until, "What's it like, us being mates?"
Harry frowned. "What do you mean?"
Ron shrugged. "What do we do? I can't really imagine having Harry Potter as my best mate."
"It's a lot more trouble than it's worth, I figure."
"I doubt that," Ron said.
Harry looked at him, surprised. Their gazes met and held for a long moment before Harry looked away with a shrug. "I dunno, we do... the same things as everyone else. We go to the pub, and we moan about work, and... we talk about Quidditch, and I take the piss 'cause the worse the Cannons are losing, the louder you cheer, and... I dunno. We've been accused of being a bit boring."
"How'd you know I'm a Cannons supporter?" Ron asked, his face lit up.
Harry just looked at him, shrugging helplessly. "You were the one who taught me about Quidditch, Ron."
"I was?"
Harry nodded. "Yeah, more or less. Along with just about everything else. I'm not Muggleborn, but I may as well have been. Don't think I would've made it through without you there, to explain things to me."
Ron blinked at him, as colour rose in his cheeks. "Oh, I dunno," he said uncomfortably. "The Muggleborns seem to do all right, don't they?"
"Sure they do, but most of them are willing to do a lot more reading than I was."
Ron laughed. "Cheers to that, mate," he said, and Harry's heart suddenly felt a little bit lighter.
There was a knock on the door. "Come in," Harry called. The door opened, and Kingsley entered, followed by two Aurors and a woman Harry didn't know.
"Auror Potter, this is Healer Godfrey," Kingsley said.
"Excellent, thank you for coming," Harry replied.
"We'd like to keep this contained to your office, if possible," Kingsley continued, "as it's in everyone's best interests that the public not know anything."
"I-yes, all right," Harry said.
"So you agree to cooperate? To submit to Healer Godfrey's examination without protest?"
Harry blinked. Ron shifted uncomfortably next to him.
"Wait," Harry said, turning panicked eyes to Kingsley. "No, no, wait, you've got this all wrong. Kingsley, you know Ron and I are friends-you've found him in my office hundreds of times."
Kingsley's face was unreadable. "I remember no such thing," he replied, "nor whatever familiarity you seem to think allows you to address me so informally."
Harry gaped at him. "But, sir, we-" Harry's mouth snapped shut. His earlier conversations with Anthony Goldstein and Annie came flooding back, and it suddenly occurred to him that he was missing something big.
"Ron," he said, turning to him desperately. "Please. Tell them. We were just talking, and-tell them I'm not crazy."
Ron looked back at Harry for a long moment. "I wish I could, mate," he said regretfully.
"Auror Potter," the Healer said, taking a step closer to Harry. "If you'll just stay calm, we can have you sorted in no time."
"No," Harry said. "I've got to go, I've got to figure this out. I need-" Hermione. Hermione would know. Harry bounded to the door, only to find it locked. "Have you locked me in?" he cried, jiggling the handle.
"Please calm down, Auror Potter," Kingsley said. "You're only making this harder for yourself."
One of the Aurors Kingsley had brought back stepped towards Harry, and Harry's hand went reflexively to his wand. On a good day, he would have been able to mount a respectable defence against Kingsley and two other Aurors, but with the state he was in, it took them only a moment to disarm and stun him.
-
Harry woke in the dark. He blinked and squinted into the large, foreign space around him. It smelt funny, and though it seemed quiet at first, he soon registered the sound of people nearby, doors opening and closing, footsteps echoing down a nearby hallway.
He was in St Mungo's. Panic rose in his chest, bursting forth as a desperate laugh. He made to sit up, but the lasting effects of whatever they'd given him were still strong, and he found himself dizzy and falling back against his pillow before he was anywhere near upright.
His breaths came as pants as he closed his eyes and waited for the room to stop spinning.
When he opened them, he noticed a slip of parchment and a small package on the gleaming metal table next to his bed. He reached for his glasses and switched on the lamp, and recognised the scratchy handwriting on the parchment before he even picked it up.
I think I would have liked being your mate, the note said. When you get to feeling better, if you'd fancy a pint, come say hello. Anytime. -Ron Weasley
Not knowing what else to do, Harry tore open the small package-a chocolate frog-and blinked at his own likeness on the card inside.
His fingers wrapped around the wriggling sweet, smearing chocolate footprints over his palm as he summoned the courage to turn the card over.
He had argued with the publishers of his chocolate frog card for months, several years ago, to make sure that his card said plainly that his defeat of Voldemort was only made possible by the help of Ron and Hermione, and so many others.
But how could it say that, in a world where Ron left Harry notes saying he wished they had been friends?
Harry Potter
Saviour of the Wizarding World
Currently Head of the Auror Department
The Boy Who Lived, only known survivor of the Avada Kedavra
curse and conqueror of Lord Voldemort, also known as Tom Riddle.
A mysterious and reclusive individual, very little is known about
Potter's training, rise to power, or, indeed, Potter himself.
Harry stared at it. He read it three times, then flipped it over in search of more, and watched himself slink out of the portrait, mysteriously and reclusively.
His breath came strangely calmly as his mind whirred in fits and starts, attempting to understand. The enormity of how strange this situation was had only just started to dawn on him when the card disappeared from his fingers.
Harry opened his hand, looked down to see if he'd dropped it into his lap. The sheet covering his legs was suddenly a dark red, instead of white, and for a moment he thought he was bleeding, but when he went to set down the chocolate frog, it was gone, too. There was no trace of its footprints on his palm.
He blinked and slowly recognised the colour of the sheet as not a blood stain, but as the deep red of the new linens he'd bought just yesterday, for his new flat.
He looked around in disbelief. He wasn't in St Mungo's at all, but sitting in his own bed, in his own flat, blinking into the darkness. He swallowed several times as he looked around the room, afraid to close his eyes in case it should disappear, too.
It didn't, though, and Harry suddenly barked a relieved laugh as it hit him: a dream.
Just a dream.
He collapsed back against his mattress, and once his heart had calmed down, he sunk into a deep sleep within moments.
-
It started out like any other day: Harry woke up. A bit later than usual, perhaps, but nothing too out of the ordinary.
He drank his coffee in silence, Floo'd to the Ministry at eight-thirty, and didn't encounter anyone on the way to his office. He had a nagging feeling that he was forgetting something, but no amount of frowning to himself proved sufficient to call it up, so he stopped trying, figuring that if it was important, it would come back to him in time.
At nine-fifteen, he was scanning the day's headlines with a curious sense of déjà vu when the door to his office burst open, and Annie came clamouring in, full of earnest apologies and unnecessary formality, and without Harry's customary mid-morning cup of coffee.
Harry frowned at her. "It's all right, Annie. You can calm down, it's fine."
"Thank you, Mr Potter, sir."
"Annie, please, call me Ha-" He stopped, and frowned.
"Is everything all right, sir?" Annie asked after a moment.
"I'm-not sure." He looked around his office in confusion. "Have we done this before? Recently?"
Annie looked at him blankly.
"I'm going to take a walk," he said, after a moment. "My schedule's open until ten-thirty, right?"
"Yes, sir," Annie said, nodding. "The briefing's your first thing."
-
It was the look on Ron's face when Harry entered his office that brought it all back. "Oh," Harry said, feeling the wind knocked right out of him.
Ron's wide eyes blinked. Harry sucked in a breath and after a moment, Ron jumped up from his seat. "Hello," he said, his voice squeaky. "I, uh. Hello, Mr Potter, sir."
"Right," Harry muttered. "Still asleep, then."
Ron stared at him with his mouth open, and his eyes darted to the side and back.
-
"Sorry, um," Ron said, trailing Harry out through the Games and Sports office, "who'd you say we're going to see?"
"Hermione," Harry replied.
"Hermione," Ron repeated. "Hermione Granger, sir?"
"Yes," Harry said, grinning. "I know her. Are you shocked?"
"Um," Ron said. "Is there any-particular reason we're going to see her?"
Harry shrugged. "I took you to the Auror Office last time, and that turned out complete rubbish, so. Let's find out what Hermione thinks."
"About-what, exactly?"
"This," Harry answered, helpfully.
"Right," Ron said, helplessly.
Hermione was standing outside her office talking to her assistant as they approached, hair pulled into a loose knot at the nape of her neck and bag slung over her shoulder. She did a quick double-take at the sight of them, her eyes going wide.
"Oh my," she said. "Mr Potter. I-hello. This is a surprise. Hermione Granger." She extended her hand, then faltered. "Although I suppose you may already know that, as you've come to my office."
"I did already know that, thanks," Harry said. "And hello to you, too."
"Hello, Ron," Hermione said after a confused moment.
"Hi, Hermione," Ron answered uneasily.
"Is there something I can do for you, sir?" Hermione asked.
"Yes. Ron and I need to speak with you."
Hermione's eyes darted between the two of them. "All right," she said, slowly. To her assistant, "Tom, could you please reschedule my nine-thirty? Would you like a coffee, or anything?" she asked them, as they followed her into her office and settled into the chairs opposite her desk.
"Nope," Harry answered. "Just a chat."
She nodded, and looked at him expectantly.
"So," Harry said, and then drummed his hands on his knee, because he didn't actually know what to say. "You two don't remember me. Neither does anyone else. And I'm, um. Wondering what you think about that."
Hermione blinked. She cast a glance at Ron, who was staring at Harry. "Don't remember you?" she repeated. "On the contrary, Mr Potter, I think you'll find-"
"Please call me Harry."
"Oh, all right. Harry. I'm certain that all of us, as individuals and as a-collective, remember what you did for us, and remain profoundly grateful."
Harry rolled his eyes. "That is not what I mean."
Hermione came up short. "I'm sorry. OK. What, uh-what do you mean?"
"I mean that you don't remember that we're friends. Best mates, the three of us."
There was a heavy silence. "We're friends?" Hermione asked, eyes wide. "Ron and I? We're your best friends?"
"Yes," Harry said. "Since first year."
"First year of what?" she asked.
"Hogwarts, obviously."
Ron's jaw had fallen open a bit. Hermione's mouth opened and closed before she said, "Mr Pot-Harry, um. We weren't at Hogwarts together."
"Oh?" Harry replied.
"In fact, I wasn't aware that you went to Hogwarts, at all. They say you didn't."
"Who? Who's they?"
Hermione blinked. "Well, everyone. Or the people who write the history books, at least."
"What are you talking about, Hermione?"
"They don't-I mean, there's no mention of you attending-"
"Are you kidding? Remember when you got me a copy of the first post-war edition of Hogwarts: A History? You highlighted all the parts they'd added about me? And then scolded me every few months for three years, because I never did read it?"
Hermione just stared at him.
"Fine," Harry continued, "so what do the history books say, if they've omitted my going to Hogwarts?"
"Well," Hermione said, haltingly, "not very much, of course." She cast another questioning glance at Ron, who just shrugged. "There was the prophesy, and you survived Voldemort's Killing Curse, and your Muggle family raised you until you were eleven, and then you disappeared. Until the day you killed Voldemort in the Great Hall."
Harry stared at her. "I disappeared. You all got to go to Hogwarts, but I just-disappeared." He looked at Ron, who averted his eyes. "You both remember being there?"
"Of course."
"You just don't remember me being there with you? Living in your dorm, attending all the same classes? Playing Quidditch? You don't remember leaving with me before seventh year, to go Horcrux hunting so that I could kill Voldemort?"
"What's a Horcrux?" Ron asked, after a moment.
Hermione's eyes were wide. "He made a Horcrux?"
Harry smirked. "Seven of them."
"Seven Horcruxes?"
"Only six on purpose, but, yeah. And then we," Harry gestured to all three of them, "spent months in a tent, combing every corner of the country for them. You honestly don't remember any of this?"
Neither Hermione nor Ron spoke, and Harry's head fell back as he laughed loudly. "Oh this is just too weird," he said to himself. "What on earth did I eat before bed last night?"
Hermione's mouth went tight. "Mr Potter-"
"Harry."
"-I don't know what it is that you're doing right now, but Ron and I have jobs to do, and-Saviour of the Wizarding World or not-I certainly don't appreciate you marching in here, disrupting our workday so that you can have a laugh at our expense."
"Don't worry, Hermione," Harry said, "you're not missing anything. We're inside my dream right now, so that meeting you just had rescheduled wasn't real to begin with."
Hermione blinked, and tilted her head to the side. "Inside your dream," she repeated.
Harry nodded. "Exactly. And now, of course, you think I'm mental, so I think I'll leave you be before you decide to call someone from St Mungo's, since that's what happened yesterday, and once was more than enough of that, thanks." He stood up, Hermione's and Ron's wide gazes fixed on him. "See you later, I suppose. Probably in the morning."
He left them in startled silence, and was halfway down the corridor when long footsteps caught up with him.
"What are you, um-" Ron said, falling into step next to him. "Where are you going?"
Harry shrugged. "Dunno. Haven't had my second coffee yet, maybe I'll go the canteen." Ron eyed him sidelong. "D'you wanna come with me?"
"Oh, um."
"S'all right if you need to get back to work. I know this seems real to you."
Ron considered, for the space of a few steps. Then he shrugged. "Eh, I've not got anything pressing this morning. I could go for a tea."
Harry grinned.
-
"No, no, no-the only way Puddlemere has got any chance at all this afternoon is if they run up the score and fast. Ballycastle's Seeker might not be the greatest, but Hammersby's a joke. I can't believe Puddlemere's kept him on this long."
Harry finished his coffee with a grin. "Well, I suppose you're the expert."
Ron flushed.
"Are you going to the match?"
Ron shook his head. "No, we're on a rota, me and the other analysts. I actually was supposed to go today, but I swapped for Thursday's Cannon's match."
"D'you want to?"
"What?"
"Go. Let's get our own tickets and take the afternoon off."
Ron blinked. "Um. I'm not sure I can just-"
"Neither can I, usually. At least, not if I don't want fifteen very powerful people completely hacked off with me. But today's different," Harry said, grinning.
Ron looked at him. "That it is," he said. After a moment, "So you really believe we're mates, eh?"
Harry nodded. "Since we were kids. We were flatmates, up until yesterday."
"What happened yesterday?"
"I moved out."
"Why?"
Harry held his gaze for a long moment before looking away. "Everyone's gotta grow up sometime."
"Suppose," Ron agreed, looking down at his hands. "Speaking of, I should probably get back to work."
Harry nodded.
"Could we do it another time?" Ron asked. "Go to a match, I mean."
"Absolutely," Harry said, smiling.
Ron stood, and paused before stepping away from the table. "Look, mate, are you-are you OK? I mean, all joking aside, are you-d'you want me to call someone, or-" He trailed off.
"Yeah," Harry said, feeling his face flush, "I'm all right. I'm just-having a weird day."
Ron gave a small laugh. "Well, tomorrow's a new one, yeah? Maybe it'll be better."
"Can only hope," Harry said, chuckling, then watched Ron leave.
-
When Harry woke up, the slant of the sun through his bedroom window felt less strange and more real than it had the previous two mornings, which he took as a good sign. In the kitchen, the coffee beans and slices of bread he'd used to make breakfast the day before were back, as though replenished, and Harry smiled, relieved to finally be awake. He didn't particularly want to live through Monday a third time, but he supposed the first two didn't count.
It was a few minutes after eight when Harry tumbled through the Floo and into the Atrium, large and quiet before the morning rush, and echoing with the soft sounds of a single person's footsteps. Harry turned and watched Anthony Goldstein enter a lift, press his button and then look up, waiting.
He recognised Harry only a moment before the lift doors closed between them, and his startled, wide-eyed expression set something uncomfortable burning in Harry's gut.
An hour later, as Harry stared at the front page of the Prophet with a deep frown, Annie burst frantically into his office.
"Mr Potter, sir, I'm terribly, terribly sorry for my tardiness, sir, please know it won't happen again."
Something a lot like panic flared in Harry's chest, and he stood up from his desk quickly, sending his chair rolling roughly backwards, into the wall.
"Is everything all right, sir?" Annie asked, after a startled moment.
"I, um. I don't know. I mean-yes." Harry suddenly had a strong urge to go check on Ron. "I, um. I need to go. I'll just be in Ron's office if anything comes up."
"Ron, sir?"
"Yes," Harry said. "Ron Weasley, in Games and Sp-actually, never mind. If anything comes up, I'm not here. Just tell them you don't know where to find me."
Harry brushed past her and out the door before she could respond.
-
Ron stared at him, eyes wide and afraid. "What?" he said.
"Slam the door," Harry repeated, gripping his fingers more tightly to the door jamb and swallowing.
"But-your hand-"
"I know. I need to wake up."
Ron opened his mouth, and then closed it.
Harry landed in St Mungo's fairly quickly, that day.
-
"Stop calling me 'sir'!" Harry snapped.
Hermione blinked. "I'm sorry, Mr Potter, I-"
"Harry! Call me Harry, for fuck's sake!"
Hermione looked aghast, and Ron blinked nervously. "All right," Hermione said. "Harry. What's upsetting you?"
"Why don't you know me?" Harry yelled, looking back and forth between them.
Hermione glanced at Ron. "We-we do know you, Mr-Harry. Of course we do. Everyone does."
"That's not what I mean! You know who I am, but that's not-We're friends. All three of us, we're best friends. And you're acting as though you've never seen me before."
Hermione and Ron were silent.
"Fuck," Harry said, sagging against the wall. "What is this?"
-
"Susan," Harry said, pushing himself up off the wall he'd been leaning against, lying in wait. "Good morning."
Susan Bones startled, then gaped at him. "Um-good morning."
"Do you remember me?" Harry asked.
Susan frowned and went red. "Of-of course, sir. You're Harry Potter."
"No, I mean, do you remember me? Do you remember being at school with me? Do you remember the DA?"
Susan blinked. "The what, sir?"
-
"I don't understand," Harry said, loudly, as he entered Hermione's office.
Hermione whirled around. "God lord, you startled me!" she said, before her eyes went predictably wide. "Harry Potter?"
"None of this makes any sense, Hermione. I've just spent two straight days doing nothing but thinking about it, and I don't understand how it is that you all can go along with this-it doesn't make any sense."
Hermione blinked. "I'm sorry?"
"My whole life, everyone's known more about me than I did-and now, suddenly, no one remembers. And it doesn't seem to bother anyone that there's no explanation. Ron doesn't remember ever being my flatmate, but he still lives in the flat that I picked out for us. I didn't go to Hogwarts, you say, but I just showed up one day with the skills I needed to defeat Voldemort. How does that make sense? How do you think I learnt it?"
Hermione's mouth opened a few times, but nothing came out. "Your flatmate? Ron-Weasley?"
"It's like I've just been… erased, and nobody else can see the gaping holes! Do you know, I came into work three hours late this morning, and my assistant was a right frenzy trying to work out where I was, making excuses for me missing meetings."
"It wasn't very considerate of you not to call her and let her know you would be late," Hermione said.
"It's all right, she'll have forgotten it in the morning. I was doing an experiment-when I asked her why she didn’t Floo me at home, to see if I was coming in, do you know what she said?"
Hermione raised her eyebrows.
"She said that she'd wanted to, but that no one at the Ministry could remember where I lived, or how to get in touch with me."
Hermione blinked. "That seems very odd," she said, after a long moment.
"Exactly!" Harry cried. "How is it possible that my employer-my employer for the past ten years-just doesn't have my contact information?"
"Mr Potter," Hermione said, "I'm afraid I don't really know what to tell you, though it does sound like you could use a bit more clerical support in the Auror Office."
"Hermione, you're the smartest person I know-" Hermione blinked and blushed "-surely you see how this collective… ignorance of my past-at the very least of my education, which was highly publicised-makes absolutely no sense!"
Hermione stiffened. "I hadn't really thought about it, if I'm honest," she said.
"Of course not, you only forgot the truth a few hours ago. You've never had to think about it."
Hermione stared at him for a long moment. "Well, Mr Potter-"
"Please call me Harry."
"Harry," she said, nodding carefully. "I would imagine that your education was conducted by private tutors, likely coordinated by those who knew about the prophesy you were to fulfil."
Harry raised his eyebrows.
"Perhaps, since you remember it, you were physically at Hogwarts, but hidden from us all. Probably for your own safety. There's any number of secret rooms and corridors, I've even read myths about a huge cave underneath the school-"
"Yes, the Chamber of Secrets, that's where I fought the Basilisk, remember? And destroyed the first Horcrux, though I didn't know it at the time."
Hermione's expression tilted towards worry. "I would imagine it was very lonely for you, and very hard, as you were groomed for your encounter with Voldemort. It's perfectly understandable that you took to hiding from the world as you did, afterwards. And here you are, Head of the Auror Department at such a young age; have you ever taken time for yourself? Because I think maybe you should consider-"
"No!" Harry cried. "I'm not crazy, Hermione. And I wasn't lonely at school, I had you. I had Ron, and I had you, and you kept me sane, you two are the reason I'm still here at all. And I know I sound crazy right now, I know I do, but you've got to believe me-something has happened. Something has-someone, maybe-has taken it all, and I don't know what to do."
Hermione's eyes were wide and bright, full of pity, and Harry very nearly hated her in that moment. "Mr-Harry," she said. "Please. Let me get you some help. I've got a friend at St Mungo's, he can-"
"No thanks," Harry said, and he was on his feet and out the door in mere moments, barrelling down the corridor and willing away the tears he could feel behind his eyes.
-
Harry woke up, and it was Monday.
-
Harry woke up, and it was Monday.
-
Harry woke up, and it was Monday. He stayed home for the third day in a row.
No one called to see if he was all right.
-
"Oi!" Ron shouted, his voice hard and dangerous.
Harry whirled around, and instantly regretted moving so quickly. He managed to grab hold of the kitchen counter before he fell over. "Ron," he said, and he felt his eyes go wide at the sight of Ron in the kitchen doorway, pointing his wand menacingly at Harry's head.
Ron blinked, and his wand hand faltered. "What-are you-Harry Potter?"
A more sober Harry might not have heaved a frustrated sigh and dramatically rolled his eyes at the angry wizard pointing a wand at his head, but this Harry did just that. "Ron, enough, honestly."
"What?"
"It's me, Ron. Harry. Your mate. Your best fucking mate, so stop acting like you don't know me."
"I don't know what you're talking about."
"I know you don't."
"All right, you're drunk, and-"
"And you're a genius."
"-and I don't know why you're in my flat, but is there someone I can call to come get you?"
"Yeah. Call the real Ron Weasley. He'll come get me."
Ron frowned.
"And I'm so sorry I'm in your flat," Harry continued, "but I couldn't help it-I only moved out a few days ago, or maybe just yesterday, still, I'm actually not sure about that-and I was out, you know, because I didn't go to work today, see, I decided to go out and have some fun, instead, and then I decided it was time to go home, and I just wasn't really thinking, and then I was here, and then I remembered that I don't live here, anymore, but I couldn't really remember where my new flat is, exactly, or how to get there, and plus, I really had to pee, so I just thought I'd come in for a little bit, and just be really quiet, so I wouldn't wake you up, but then I was really thirsty, so I had to get a glass of water, and the glasses make a lot of noise in the cupboard, when you knock them all over, so, sorry about that, too."
Ron stared at him. Harry swayed and gripped the counter. "You gonna be sick?" Ron asked.
Harry thought about it. "No."
"All right. Why don't you come lie down on the sofa, for a bit?"
Harry nodded. "OK, thanks."
Ron slid his wand into the waistband of his pyjamas and helped Harry into the lounge, his large hands warm and strong against Harry's arm.
"So, tell me again," Ron said, "how is it you ended up at my flat?"
Harry shrugged. "Just habit, you know? You call a place home for ten years, takes more than a few days to get used to something else."
"You lived in this building?"
"I lived in this flat."
"You didn't."
"I did."
"You didn't, I've lived in this flat for the past ten years."
"I know you have. We both did, together."
Ron stared for a long moment, and then chuckled. "Mate, you really shouldn't drink this much. Bloke like you, who the papers are always after? You're gonna land yourself in some serious trouble."
"I'm not-unh." Harry let his head fall back against the sofa cushion with a sigh. After a moment, "Thank you for not calling the papers."
Ron rolled his eyes and waved him off. "Please. We all owe you enough, without needing to piss all over what little bit of fun you get to have."
"Had more fun when you and I were still friends."
Ron's amused expression faltered. "You're not joking, are you? You honestly believe that we're mates? That you used to live here?"
"Ron, if I never lived here, why is my wand keyed to your front door?"
"What d'you mean? S'that how you came in?"
Harry nodded. "Simple Alohomora. Either your wards are complete rubbish, or you didn't remove my signature when I moved out-which you told me you weren't going to do."
Ron stared at him, then glanced at the front door to the flat, startled. "No one but me and my brother George are keyed to that lock."
Harry shrugged. "Beg to differ, mate."
Ron looked unsettled. "Well if you're as powerful as they say you are, maybe you can just unlock any door you want to."
"Nope."
Ron didn't seem to know what to say to that, and they sat in silence for a few minutes, Harry's drunken stupor giving way to drowsiness. He'd just started to drift off when Ron startled him back into consciousness.
"Listen, mate, you gonna be all right on the couch? S'almost midnight, and I've got work in the morning."
"Yeah, yeah, I'll just... sleep. Thanks, Ron."
Ron stood, and hesitated.
"Hey," Harry asked, after a moment. "How'd Puddlemere end up doing?"
"Sorry?"
"I keep missing the match-did they lose as spectacularly as you thought they would?"
"Um, no-they won, actually."
Harry smirked up at him. "Scoring? Or d'Hammersby prove you wrong and get the Snitch?"
"He caught it," Ron said, frowning. "But, how'd you-I've never written anything about Hammersby."
"You told me over coffee a few days ago."
Ron's frown deepened.
"But never mind-I know you think I'm crazy. I'll just go to sleep now, thanks."
Ron eyed him carefully. "Can I ask you something?"
Harry grunted.
"If we're such good mates, why'd you have to move out? You move in with a girl or something?"
"No, it was just," Harry opened his eyes and met Ron's gaze, and meant to say time to grow up, but, inexplicably, actually said, "too hard."
Ron's eyebrows contracted. "What was? Living with me?"
"Yeah," Harry said.
Ron chuckled embarrassedly. "Sorry. Reckon I am a slob, though."
"S'OK. So am I."
"So… why, then?" Ron asked, and Harry felt the truth bubbling up, buoyed by liquor and exhaustion and loneliness, and his lips were curving around the words, his tongue was pressing them out, and-
-he was stone cold sober, lying in his bed, in his new flat, alone. Ron was gone, Harry's heart was racing, and he started to genuinely wonder if he'd lost his mind.
-
The seventeenth time Harry walked into Ron's office and was met with a gasp and a stammer and a blushing, disbelieving introduction, it was too much. It hurt, it physically fucking hurt, and Harry was exhausted and desperate and angry, and his fist had connected with Ron's jaw before he even knew he was going to throw a punch.
He didn't do any damage beyond a split lip, thankfully, but it didn't do anything but make him feel worse, and the look on Ron's face kept him from going back to Ron's office for nearly a week, never mind that he knew Ron didn't remember it happening.
-
[part two]