True Colours, part 7

It was nearly a week before Madam Pomfrey pronounced me fit to escape her clutches. Not that it stopped her from loading me down with nutrient potions and pain relievers. I didn’t have the heart to tell her that I’d grown accustomed to very short rations since I was little.  

With the bandages removed from my left hand, I discovered that the palm now had a raised, angry-looking scar to go along with the ones on my forehead and chest. 

I was far hungrier for information than food. My friends hadn’t been allowed to see me after they verified I was alive, and Madam Pomfrey dosed me with something nasty-tasting every time I pressed her for answers. 

Finally, Ron and Hermione were allowed to escort me back to

Gryffindor
Tower. I was almost bursting with questions, but Hermione gave me a look that made me keep them to myself until we were behind closed doors. Ron looked like a man walking to his own execution and I began to get a very bad feeling. 

Say what you like about him, but it’s rather comforting to have a friend who can’t keep anything from you. It’s much less stressful in the long run.  

I was not, however, prepared for the bloody cheering that broke out when I entered the common room. The whole house turned out, some of them coming down the stairs once they saw the cause of the riot. The berks were acting like I’d won the house cup for them single-handedly.  

I imagine I cringed back from that wall of sound, and Ron began proving he was Molly Weasley’s son and shouted everyone down while Hermione hustled me past the throng. Miraculously, the crowd parted before her and it took me a moment to recall the Head Girl badge she’d been sporting when they rescued me from the hospital wing.  

I tried to slow down when I saw Ginny, but Hermione’s grip was implacable. I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised at this point by how weak I still was, but it was a bit of a let down nonetheless. The youngest Weasley was cheering along with the others, but for some reason didn’t make eye contact with me.  

The Seventh Year boy’s room was at the top of the stairs and she steered me towards a still-made bed. Parked next to that bed was a very familiar trunk.  

“It’s still packed from… from the Express,” Hermione said in a very small voice as I stared at my trunk.  

I sat on my bed.  

The room was deathly quiet until Ron opened the door. 

I looked at him. He was looking at Hermione. She was looking at him. It wasn’t like they were ignoring me so much as trying to get the other one to speak first.  

I sighed. Something was definitely wrong. Only now I had a sneaking suspicion I knew what it was. “So…” I said after a moment, making them both jump. “When did you two finally start dating?” 

Hermione’s eyes bulged and Ron’s face went red. Okay, so maybe that wasn’t it.  

“Harry, I…” Hermione began, but the look on her face made me cut her off. 

“Well I hoped you two would finally get down to it without me here as a distraction,” I said breezily. Then I frowned. “Have you two been fighting the whole time I was gone?”  

“Er, no,” Ron said quickly, looking down.  

“Things were very… tense, after you were captured,” Hermione said evasively.  

“Tense,” I repeated. “I imagine the Order of the Cock-Up held quite a few meetings,” I said with a little more bitterness than I intended. 

Ron grumbled but Hermione shushed him with a look. Maybe I wasn’t as wrong as I thought, if she had him that well trained. “Between Dumbledore’s death and your… disappearance… many of them have been… well, demoralized.” 

“Dung left the country,” Ron spat in disgust. “But my family has spared everyone they could to look for you.”  

“Spare?” I asked. “Ron, what happened? Is Bill okay? I thought he was going to recover-“ 

“Bill’s fine,” Hermione reassured me. “He and Fleur were married months ago, but they insisted on a small ceremony, all things considered. It’s Ginny.” 

I froze in place as my blood was suddenly transfigured into ice. That look she gave me earlier – or rather didn’t give me – seemed rather ominous. “Oh?” I said in a horribly fake voice. “She seems all right. What happened?” 

Ron’s face assumed the consistency of granite, so I braced myself. This was not going to be good.  

“I know you two broke up,” Hermione began delicately, “but that’s not the whole story, is it?” 

I shook my head. “It wouldn’t be safe for her, us dating that is, not while Voldemort is after me, not to mention that bloody prophecy. If everyone knew we’d called it quits, she’d be safer, at least for a while.” 

Hermione nodded once, like I’d just confirmed on of her pet theories. More alarmingly, Ron began to look ill. “What happened to Ginny?” I asked, my voice beginning to get louder as a sense of dread set in. 

Hermione looked off into the corner as she spoke. “She was frantic after you were captured. Inconsolable, really. When Alastor Moody suggested that you were dead, she nearly attacked him. Near the end of the summer, she seemed to have given up hope. Most of the Order thought Moody was right, if you were gone that long…” 

“Someone tried to use the Killing Curse on me and it backfired,” I said tonelessly, my stomach churning. “Voldemort kept me alive because he wanted to know how it happened.”  

The bushy-haired girl just nodded, I suppose I’d confirmed one of her bloody theories. That wasn’t particularly fair of me, but at the moment I didn’t care. 

“Mum and Dad were really worried,” Ron added, his voice a little hoarse. “When she stopped eating, well…” 

“After talking to a healer at St. Mungos,” Hermione continued, “it was decided that if they used a Pensieve to temporarily remove her memories of you and your relationship, it would give her a chance to recover her emotional equilibrium.” 

I blinked. That was a novel solution for dealing with grief if I ever heard one, but par for the course in the Wizarding World I suppose. “So what’s the problem?” I asked, dreading the answer, “I’m back now, so she can put them back in and it won’t cause a problem, right?” I don’t think my voice was entirely even. It was a little disturbing to think she’d been that upset about me. I knew she was putting up a bit of a front at Dumbledore’s funeral, but I didn’t think she’d be that distraught. Of course, I was getting thoroughly wound up over the whole thing too. One of my only comforts in the dungeon was the knowledge that she was safe… only now I knew she was suffering as well. I’d do anything to make this up to her.  

My errant thoughts on how to do that were quickly brought back to earth. Hermione, biting her lip, managed to say “We can’t.” 

I closed my eyes for a moment. Deep breaths, Potter. “Why not?” 

“Someone attacked The Burrow right before start of term,” Ron said in a sick voice. “Everyone got out, but we didn’t have time to grab anything. Dumbledore’s Pensieve was locked in my parents’ closet, but they burned the whole house down.”  

I sagged forward, letting my elbows rest on my knees and I cradled my forehead in my hands. “And so all her memories of me are gone?” I asked after a moment. “And there’s no way to restore them?” 

“No, there isn’t Harry,” Hermione answered. “She knows in a general sense that you two dated, because she has memories of other people talking about it, but all the ones with any emotional substance to them were removed.” She paused. “That was what the healer suggested was the best way to let her recover.” 

“She was right back to normal,” Ron said after a moment. “Started eating again and everything. If someone mentioned you, she’d look concerned, but… not heartbroken. Not…” 

“I suppose that was for the best,” I said, forcing the words past a throat that wanted to close. “Everyone thought I was dead, right?” Both of them flinched and a small, dark corner of my soul derived some satisfaction from that. “So no happy reunion then,” I continued, “that explains why she wasn’t at the Hospital Wing. I’m your friend, not hers.” 

They said some other things, but I didn’t hear them as I lay back on my bed and turned toward the wall. After a while the unheard voices disappeared. 

Any tears that were shed were between me and the wall, and shall remain that way.