Polar Star
Rating: K+ Disclaimer: I don't own the characters. I don't own the song at the end. I don't own the quote in the beginning. Character and Quote are JK Rowling's. Song is Christine Glass's. Notes: -Summary- Harry loses his memories and is trying to find his way back home.
~0x0x0~
-29 November, 2012, 00:19-
He felt it. Something warm. It brushed against his senses, teasing him, taunting him. A stroke there, a caress here, and yet he couldn’t reach it. There was a memory there, but he couldn’t touch it. What was it? What was he forgetting?
The feeling wrapped itself around him. It was so gentle that he barely noticed it, but it was there. Something was missing, something so fundamentally a part of him that he shouldn’t have lost it, but he didn’t know what it was. He couldn’t remember.
It was bright. Too bright, beating against his eyes. He squinted, but it did nothing to help. The light was blinding, everything too white. He was alone. Words that sounded familiar echoed somewhere in the back of his mind, but he couldn’t quite remember where he’d heard them.
“Where are we, exactly?”
“Well, I was going to ask you that.”
“It looks like King’s Cross station.”
He thought of another white-washed setting from another time. Was it another place? Or the same? He couldn’t remember. Was he dead? Had he died, then? Was this what death was like? Something told him he should know and yet….
Slowly the white faded, faded, faded. He opened his eyes to a ceiling covered in shadows, but he could tell it was white. The room felt familiar, and yet, something wasn’t quite right. Beeping instruments surrounded him, and there was a strong smell of disinfectant. Turning his head, he could make out gay holiday tinsel decorating the room. But who put that up?
Hospital. That seemed the right word, but still something was off. It’s the wrong one, he thought, but how he knew this he couldn’t be sure. An instinct?
A woman stepped in, carrying a clipboard. He just stared at the clipboard, like it was out of place.
“Ah, Mr. Doe, how good of you to finally join us,” she said, smiling brightly at him. She had blonde hair, pulled back loosely to keep it out of the way.
Too long. Too wavy. Not pale enough.
“Doe? Is that my name?” he asked her.
“Well, it is for now, until we find out who you really are,” she was still smiling.
Smiling too much. Too curvy. Female.
He blinked up at her.
“Don’t worry. We’ll have you sorted out soon.”
::**::
The darkness wrapped itself around him. There was nothing and no one. He was alone. A single path shone through the blackness, set aglow by its own resonating light. With nowhere else to go, he followed it, the sound of his every step echoing through the caverns. Soon it started forking, splitting left and right, surrounding him with choices. Having no idea which way to go, he kept going straight…
::**::
-4 December, 2012, 16:32-
He sat in the canteen eating pudding—pudding seemed to be the only somewhat edible substance they served here—watching the people walk past. Did any of them know him?
Three days, his nurse, Leah, told him. He’d been there for three days. Someone had found him half frozen to death in the middle of the road and brought him here. He’d woken up once before, but he couldn’t remember any of it. Or apparently anything at all, really. It seems he’d only been up long enough for them to figure out he hadn’t a clue who he was or where he was from before passing out again.
Leah came every day to check on him, always smiling in a charming way. He liked that bout Leah. She never made him feel awkward for having no recollection of anything. She spoke to him the way she would anyone else.
It’d been almost a week since he woke up and, so far, he hadn’t remembered anything significant. He felt a sense of wrongness everywhere he went, but it didn’t help him find his rightful place at all. He just knew here wasn’t where he should be. But where there was, was a mystery to him.
They started him on some sort of therapy session to try and help him remember, but so far nothing has worked.
Sometimes he would have these strange dreams.
A woman with bright red hair flying around on a broomstick carrying a ball he knew was called a Quaffle but didn’t know how he knew it. She would always have a smile for him, unless he did something stupid. An easygoing man, also with red hair—siblings perhaps—throwing his arm around him. He’d say something, and everyone would laugh. Sometimes, a stern-looking woman with wild brown hair would come over, and the man with red hair would wrap his arms around her…until she scolded him.
Sometimes he saw someone completely different. He had blond hair and sharp features. He didn’t smile at him like everyone else in his dreams did; he smirked. Or scowled.
“Do you remember anything new today?” Dr. Ashford asked, the same way she’d ask every day. Her hair was brown, straight, and cut into a neat bob.
Too tame. Too short.
“No,” he said, the same way he answered every time she asked. She nodded and started the day’s session.
::**::
The path he chose kept splitting, forking left and right. But he kept going forward with no destination in sight. As long as he kept walking, he’d end up somewhere.
::**::
-5 December, 2012, 14:22-
He was staring at the ceiling again, thinking again of his dreams. Could they really be memories? Were they people he knew? Family? Friends?
The door swung open. He didn’t bother looking since it could only have been one person. He no longer needed to have checkups or be monitored, but Leah still dropped by occasionally when she had time.
“New plans, Doug!” Leah said, still too cheerfully.
“Doug?” he asked.
“You look like a Doug. Mum said it’s too pitiful for you to stay here when it’s almost Christmas so she offered to take you in.” Leah smiled. She had a pretty smile.
“Home? Your home?”
“Of course my home; where else would my mum be living? Besides, you’re too healthy to be staying here. You’re taking up space.”
Leah walked around the small room, checking this or that and straightening things that didn’t really need straightening. He watched her for a moment, then decided to ask, “Can people fly?”
It took her completely by surprise, and she dropped the cushion she was fluffing onto one of the chairs.
“Fly?” she asked incredulously.
“Yeah. On broomsticks.” He felt stupid the second the words left his mouth, but he couldn’t take it back now.
“On…on broomsticks?” she paused for a second, just staring at him, before she burst out in laughter. “Br-broomsticks?!”
“Oh, never mind, forget it.”
“I’m sorry…hol-hold on,” she said trying to catch her breath.
“No really, forget it,” he said, his face flaming up, “I think your reaction pretty much answered that.”
Just a dream, then. He wished it weren’t. They seemed so happy.
::**::
-6 December, 2011, 10:10-
The room they put him in was comfy, but just a tad stuffy. It was mostly cleaned up, but one could smell a hint of sweat still lingering. There was a single bed in the corner and a desk with a computer on the opposite wall. It wasn’t a big room or a big bed, but he didn’t mind. Somehow, it gave him a bit of a nostalgic feel.
Mrs. Bennett was still in her fifties and had energy befitting of someone even younger. Like Leah, she was incessantly cheerful. He met her once when she came to scold Leah about a proposal she had turned down, causing Leah to turn bright red and the rest of the patients in the vicinity to stare. The nurses and doctors, however, ignored it, so it must have been a regular occurrence.
He had turned bright red as well, though, when Mrs. Bennett had turned an appraising eye at him and asked if he was married.
Since he was here, it seemed she hadn’t quite given up yet.
::**::
-6 December, 2012, 20:25-
The Bennetts had four children—three sons and a daughter, Leah. On his first day there, he found out that the brothers were not happy with him being there and made no attempt to hide it. It seemed they were well aware of their mother’s tendencies and would glare at him whenever he happened to meet one of them in the eyes.
Other than that, the Bennett’s home was always warm and welcoming. There was the scent of gingerbread and pine and sometimes hot chocolate (coffee in the morning) in the air. They were a welcoming family and reminded him a bit of the red-headed family in his dreams, though less crowded and less…red. Still, it was the same feel. Family. That was probably what it was.
“Oh, Doug, you don’t need to help out,” Mrs. Bennett said as he stood to help collect the dishes.
“Oh no, Mrs. Bennett. It wouldn’t be right if all I did here was eat and sleep,” he told her. Strangely, he found he had a knack for doing dishes. And cooking.
He probably shouldn’t be encouraging her by helping out, but it was better than sitting at the table with the brothers glaring at him.
“I’ll help!” Leah said, standing up as well.
He almost snickered at the looks her brothers had when she did. Together, they brought the dirty dishes into the kitchen.
“Shall I wash or dry?” he asked her.
“Wash.”
It was growing comfortable. Very much so.
::**::
Something twinkled in the distance, a little away, off to his left. Flickering. Sometimes brightly, sometimes not. His steps faltered for a second. Was this the wrong way?
::**::
-12 December, 2012, 20:35-
“Leah? Where’s London?” he asked as they did the dishes.
The nurse stopped what she was doing.
“London, Doug?”
He nodded. “London.”
“It’s a bit far from here. At least three hours by train,” she told him. She resumed the washing. He was drying tonight. It all seemed routine now, only a week in.
“So it does exist then, London?” She looked up at him, curious. There was a little twinkle in her eyes.
“Yes. It does. Did you remember something?”
“No. Just London.”
::**::
All the paths disappeared, and once again he was bathed in darkness.
The guiding light twinkled and shone, glowing brighter.
::**::
-14 December, 2012, 17: 47-
“Can you go with me to London, Leah?”
::**::
He took an uncertain step forward.
::**::
-17 December, 2012, 15: 05-
London was not what he had expected. For one thing, it was large and crowded.
“Doug, this way,” Leah called. But he couldn’t move, so transfixed was he on the place.
“Leah? Where are we?” he asked.
“We’re in London, Doug. And if you don’t keep up, you’ll get lost.”
“No. Where is here?” he asked, emphasizing what he meant.
“Here? This is King’s Cross Station.” She watched as he looked around, forehead creased in a frown, “I’m not surprised you recognize this place. It’s quite famous,” she told him.
He nodded. After a moment, he allowed Leah to pull him outside.
::**::
A path appeared before him, this time leading right up to the star.
::**::
-22 December, 2012, 19: 42-
There was a lot to see in London, but besides the Station, nothing else meant anything to him. What was in London?
The dreams he had were more vivid in London, as if the proximity to the place enhanced the quality of the dreams, though that seemed ridiculous, even to him in his current state.
Who were those people in his dreams? The tall, lanky ginger man. The woman with the mane of seemingly untamable brown hair. And the blond man with the insufferable smirk.
“We’ll be going back tomorrow, Doug. Have you got your things together?” Leah stood outside his door with her hands akimbo. She had a frown on, the first she’d ever directed at him. He understood though; he’d been so reluctant to leave, and she’d been so kind as to stay. They should have left today, but he just couldn’t let it go.
“Can’t we stay a little longer?”
“It’s Christmas, Doug. I need to go home to my family.”
Family. Did he have a family? Did he have someone waiting for him for Christmas? Inexplicably, he thought of the blond man. Brothers? No, couldn’t be.
::**::
He raced down the path, breath heavy. Underneath the star stood a person, but he couldn’t see who. Despite the brightness of the star, the person was shrouded in shadows.
::**::
-23 December, 2012, 01:54-
He stared up at the house. How he got there, he did not really know. He’d been dreaming. Then suddenly, an unpleasant feeling overtook him, as if he were being sucked in through a hose by a powerful vacuum. He was on the ground when he came to, and in front of him had been the house. It was the House, though. Why was it the House and not just a house? He couldn’t say. But it was there and it was familiar. Did he know the people who lived there? Was this ‘home?’
He didn’t know where he was or how to get back to the hotel. Leah wouldn’t be happy about this.
“How long are you going to stare at your house, Potter?” The voice was cold. He looked up at a man with pale blond hair. The man from his dreams.
“Potter?” he asked, looking up dumbly at the man.
“Always on your arse…I see that hasn’t changed,” he sneered.
“Do you know me?” he asked, “Do I know you?”
The man narrowed his eyes, “Don’t fuck with me, Potter! Where the hell have you been?”
“Wait, if you know me, could you tell me my name? I don’t think Doug is my name, even if Leah says I look like a Doug.”
“Leah?”
“I need to get to the Westbury Hotel. Could you help me?” he continued.
“ARE YOU LISTENING TO ME, POTTER?” the man shouted.
“Please? Leah can explain things when we get there. I don’t quite get it myself.”
“You—FINE!” The blond yanked him to his feet, and without any warnings, did something strange. Again the sensation of his entire body being jammed into a space too narrow for him seized him. When he opened his eyes, they were standing in a side street he sort of recognized.
“How did we—” the man didn’t let him speak, but continued to pull him towards whatever their destination was.
When they reached the Westbury Hotel and the blond man started to drag him inside, he couldn’t hold back a blush. Somehow, entering a hotel with this man felt incredibly…naughty, not to mention embarrassing, even though he knew they were just going to find Leah.
He led the way to their rooms and knocked on Leah’s door. He had no idea how late it was or whether she’d be asleep, but the blond man was glaring at him and didn’t seem like he’d be willing to wait until morning.
“Leah!” he called, knocking again.
Sounds of muffled shuffling could be heard through the door and a few minutes later, the door opened. Leah looked up and turned pink when she saw him.
“Doug! It’s two in the morning!”
“I found someone who knows me!” he said cheerfully, “He calls me Potter.”
Leah stared at him dumbfounded. “Potter?” She turned to stare at the blond man standing with his hands in his coat pockets behind him and, for a second, he was overcome with a feeling of strong dislike towards Leah for staring. Which was irrational.
“Hold on, do you really know who he is?!”
The man was glaring as well. “Of course I do!”
::**::
Expensive loafers. Clean, pressed trousers. Fancy coat. And a red and gold scarf. The man stood staring as he continued to run towards him. He didn’t smile. He smirked. He shone brighter than the stars that appeared above them.
::**::
-23 December, 2012, 13:12-
He was back in Newcastle with the Bennetts. The blond man, Draco, said he would come for him here. Somehow, it only made him anxious. Draco had only stayed long enough to hear Leah say someone found him frozen and without his memories and any form of identification before leaving as he cursed someone named McDougal under his breath.
He wondered when Draco would come back. He wondered why he had to wait when he already knew where…no…he only knew what his house looked like. He didn’t know where it was at all. Would Draco be there? He didn’t know why he assumed Draco would also be living there. Their last names were different. Not related, Draco said.
Barely an hour after he’d settled into the room, two people showed up for him. The ginger man and the brunette woman.
“Harry! Thank goodness you’re alright!” the woman shouted the second she saw him as she flung herself at him. They’d been at the front door and he on the stairs, causing them both to tumble down.
“Mmmm…” Harry mumbled, not quite sure what to do. He recognized her—she’d been the one in his dreams—but still didn’t really know who she was.
He could see Mrs. Bennett glaring at her. “Is she his wife?” she asked the ginger man.
“No. She’s mines,” he said glaring at her.
“Oh, Harry, we’ve been so worried!”
He glanced at the person named Ron. “Where’s Draco?” he asked.
The man raised an eyebrow. “At home. Didn’t seem like he wanted to come, really. What’d you do to him?”
“I’m not sure. He’s been angry with me the whole time.”
“I wouldn’t be surprised, disappearing like that.”
::**::
Draco.
::**::**::
-23 December, 2012, 22:57-
Harry opened the door to Number 12 Grimmauld Place with a bit of apprehension. Draco was upset with him, he knew. Ron and Hermione had taken him straight to St. Mungo’s after they left the Muggle hospital in Newcastle to get his memory problem fixed. They had to get some paper work done. Not that he or Ron did anything. Hermione handled it, thank goodness for that. The house was more or less how he remembered it before that little accident.
“Draco?” he called out.
No answer.
“Draco? Are you home?” Harry heard a sound from the living room.
“Come on, Draco. You can’t stay mad at me forever,” he tried coaxing.
When he entered the living room, he found Draco sitting by the fireplace, a wine glass in hand. He watched as he swirled it just a bit before taking a sip.
“What? Aren’t you going to stay with your new friend, Leah?” Draco asked.
“Draco…”
There were so many excuses. He was lost. He couldn’t remember anything. Leah was just his nurse. Nothing happened between them. She was a friend. But they seemed pathetic now as he watched Draco.
“I’m sorry…” Harry whispered.
Draco sat there gripping his glass of wine. For a second, he thought maybe it’d be better to chance it at Ron and Hermione’s place when Draco leaned forward and placed the glass down.
“I was sure you were dead in a ditch somewhere.”
“I’m sorry.”
Draco stood up.
“You don’t know how worried I’d been.”
“Sorry…”
And, slowly, walked towards him.
“While you…you…were with some pretty young nurse playing house!”
“I’m home now…”
He stopped in front of him, glaring with hurt eyes.
“You—”
“I kept dreaming about you. Every day. I couldn’t remember anything, but I kept dreaming about you. And this house. But mostly you.”
Draco said nothing. Harry took a chance and pulled Draco into an embrace. Draco didn’t move at first, but then Harry felt his arms wrap around him.
He sighed, relieved. Draco probably hadn’t quite forgiven him just yet, but he was, at least, willing to believe in him. Just this once. There’d be consequences later, he knew.
“I’m home, Draco.”
::**::
If you wander off too far, My love will get you home. If you follow the wrong star, My love will get you home.
~My Love Will Get You Home, Christine Glass.