“What’s your name?”
October 21
Someone was saying his name… quietly… a soft hand was on his shoulder…
Harry groaned, not wanting to open his eyes and not quite knowing why. Something hurt, his head, maybe? It was a dull ache, just bad enough for him to notice and then suddenly the only thing he could focus on.
“Headache? Here.”
The voice talking to Harry was familiar, but wrong. The cool bottle being pressed in his hand and lifted toward his mouth was much of the same.
“Drink, Harry.”
Harry did and the taste of what he drank - quenching his throat that was so dry it might as well have been stuffed with cotton - was familiar and the coolness of it washed away the ache in his head so that he could open his eyes.
Then Harry jerked back in the bed he laid in, startled by seeing his professor standing beside him, peering down at him.
“Sir?” Harry asked, choking on the word some. He swung his eyes around, confused about where he was. It wasn’t familiar… except for the lump of laying on a sofa across the room.
That was familiar.
Harry had shared enough motel rooms with his brothers to recognize what Dean looked like when he was curled up on a sofa that he was too tall for and trying to sleep. What didn’t make sense was where they were - a stark white room that smelled like the Hospital Wing at Hogwarts, but wasn’t - or why Professor Dumbledore was there.
When Harry searched back in his memory, struggling to place anything that could resolve the matter for him, he found a lot of blank spaces.
“You’re at St Mungo’s Hospital,” Professor Dumbledore said. He sat down in a wooden chair beside the bed Harry was in - a hospital bed, he should have recognized it at once. Professor Dumbledore smiled at him and waved a hand at the nightstand beside the bed, the stand that was buried in candies and… and a small bouquet of flowers that were shaped liked chess rooks?
“We really must stop meeting like this.” Professor Dumbledore told him. “I will say that you have a knack for injury that would have put your father to shame.”
Harry had more questions than he could begin to word. He raised his hand and touched the side of his head, grimacing at what felt like a very sore and very bald spot just above his left ear.
“Why am I here?” Harry asked. “And, er…”
Harry had wanted to ask why Dumbledore was there, but he couldn’t find the words. It seemed he didn’t need them, Dumbledore apparently read the question on his face.
“And why is your school teacher here?” Professor Dumbledore chuckled. “I’m here on a happy coincidence, I merely stopped by to ensure that your brother wasn’t removed from the premises again.”
Harry added another question to his mental list.
“I saw that you were beginning to wake, and thought you might appreciate a friendly face.”
“And I’m here because…?” Harry imagined a cauldron blowing up during his lesson with Professor Dumbledore - it had gotten close during their first lesson. Maybe a hunt with his brothers gone wrong? A demon attack?
“Car crash,” Professor Dumbledore said. He sobered immediately when Harry gawked at him. “It was a close call, dear boy. I admit that I am not well-versed in muggle vehicles, but I have been told by Minerva - Professor McGonagall, that is, to inform you that if you do not wear a seatbelt that she will have you in detention until she dies. And,” Professor Dumbledore smiled some, “I expect her to outlive us all.”
Harry grinned at the jest then frowned.
“A car crash?” he questioned. Harry touched the side of his head again and tried to remember the last time he was in a car. Every road trip with his brothers had blended in his thoughts, muddling them.
“Mm, the details are unclear to me as well,” Dumbledore said. He waved a hand to where Dean slept. “Your brother has been most concerned though. I was worried if you didn’t wake soon that he would require a bed of his own.”
Harry blamed his confusion on the way that his chest warmed at that thought. Dean had been there worrying about him? And… getting kicked from the property?
“How long have I been asleep?” Harry asked. Long enough to worry Dean, long enough for someone to send him flowers and sweets… long enough for someone to cut his hair.
Harry touched the spot on his head and frowned again.
“Four days,” Dumbledore said.
Harry had relaxed against the pillows in his bed and sat back up at once. Four days?!
“Though you have been semi-awake on a few memorable occasions,” Dumbledore went on, blind to Harry’s sudden panic. “I’ve been informed that at one point you were given an anti-inflammatory potion and the force of your hives woke you up.”
Harry got in a car crash four days ago? What happened?! Why - Harry sighed and fell back against the pillows, feeling drained as suddenly as he had felt shocked.
“I hope—” Harry felt tongue-tied for a moment, causing a jolt of fear to shake him. Harry wanted to say that he hoped Dean woke up, but he couldn’t find the right word for a long moment. “I hope he wakes up soon,” Harry said with slow precision, watching his brother sleep.
“I’m certain he will,” Dumbledore said. “He’s hardly slept for more than two hours at a time. I must say, he’s quite an interesting young man.”
Harry hummed and thought the moment was somehow surreal to him. It was like a strange dream, Harry being in a hospital and waking up to discuss his brother with Professor Dumbledore. The news about the car crash only made it more surreal, as Harry used to dream about them back when he’d been young.
“My aunt told me that my parents died in a car crash,” Harry confided to his professor, still watching Dean sleep. Harry felt tired, his eyelids were drooping despite apparently sleeping for four days.
“Did she? How appalling. That is quite the insult to two wonderful people.”
Harry grinned and let his eyes close.
“That’s what, er…” Harry could picture who he was thinking of, he could remember being eleven and terribly impressed by the tallest man he ever met tearing into his relatives.
“Someone said that,” Harry said. He was tired, it was making his brain slow. He tried to explain. “Er… when they showed up to give me my letter?”
“Hagrid?” Dumbledore asked, causing Harry to nod sluggishly. “Excellent. I must give him a raise…”
Harry chuckled again and peeked his eyes open just to check once more that the sleeping lump on the sofa was Dean. It was.
“He’d like that…” Harry murmured, falling back asleep quickly. “A dragon too.”
Dumbledore chuckled and that was the last thing Harry heard before sinking down in a blissful and dark warmth.
The next that Harry woke up, it was quiet. Harry struggled to sit up, vaguely thinking that he had talked with Professor Dumbledore recently about… Dean? And car crashes?
Harry pulled on his hand, thinking it was trapped, and only realized that someone was holding it when his jerking movement caused them to sit up in a rush.
“Harry, fuck.” Dean had a hold of Harry’s hand and he let go of it when Harry pulled on it. Dean scrubbed his face with his hands and Harry took a moment to orient himself.
Hospital… not at Hogwarts though. St Mungo’s? Did Professor Dumbledore tell him that?
Dean was there, and part of Harry was immediately soothed by that. Even if Dean looked terrible, crumpled and tired with scruff covering his jaw and bags beneath his eyes, he was there.
“What’s going on?” Harry asked. He winced at the sound of his own scratchy voice, his throat felt dry and irritated.
Dean didn’t immediately answer Harry’s question. Instead he reached behind his chair to a nightstand covered in candies and flowers (were those flowers? They looked rather like chess pieces?) to root around for a water pitcher and paper cup.
“Drink slow,” Dean told him. His voice was messed up too, gravely and thick.
Harry made a content hum when he sipped the cool water that immediately made the dryness of his throat recede.
“Were we… in a wreck?” Harry asked when he finished the drink and Dean took the cup from him.
“You and Sammy,” Dean told him.
Harry looked around the room in a sudden panic.
“What? Where is he? Is he hurt?!”
“Woah, calm down.” Dean put a hand on Harry’s shoulder, pushing him back down against a pile of soft pillows behind him. “Sam’s fine. He wore a seatbelt.”
Dean wouldn’t lie about their brother being hurt, which went a ways to calming Harry’s nerves. Though the pointed look Dean gave Harry made him think that he was the one who was in trouble.
“I… probably had a good reason for forgetting?” Harry offered weakly. Dean didn’t look impressed by that and Harry pushed past it. “When did we wreck? What happened? How did we get here? Where is…?” Harry struggled to think of his brother’s name. Dean just said it… why couldn’t Harry remember?
“Sam?” Dean asked.
“Yes,” Harry sighed. “Where is Sam?”
“One question at a time, kid,” Dean complained. He scrubbed his face again and Harry watched him silently. “You’re as bad as your girlfriend.”
“My girlfriend?” Harry asked, forgetting that he had just been told to stop with the questions. Harry raised his hand to touch his head on instinct and grimaced when he felt there was a shaved patch above his left ear.
Did someone cut Harry’s hair?
“Yeah, Hermione.” Dean reached over and took Harry’s hand, lowering it to his lap. “The nurses - witches, whatever - said you’re going to be confused for a day or two but once you remember your name we can go home.”
“I know my name,” Harry said, bemused by that. “It’s…” Harry blinked. The thought was there, right on the tip of his tongue. He knew his name, he did. It was how he felt trying to think of Sam’s name too, he knew it but it wasn’t coming out of his mouth.
“Harry,” Dean told him, immediately relieving Harry once again.
“I knew that,” Harry said. As soon as Dean had said it, the words settled on Harry’s tongue. “Harry James Potter,” he said.
But that wasn’t right either… Harry felt a flutter of worry in his stomach. Why didn’t that sound right?
“Nah, you hyphenated.” Dean had been watching Harry closely and when Harry frowned, he grinned reassuringly. “You’re a real feminist, kid. Harry James Potter-Winchester.”
“What’s wrong with my head?!” Harry demanded. Harry’s thoughts felt normal, but he didn’t remember getting in a car crash or Sam driving him anywhere and Harry had forgotten his own name for a terrifying moment.
“Dude, nothing, chill.” Dean lowered his voice to something soft and not Dean-like. “You flew through the windshield of Sam’s car. He was going too damn fast and you hit the - you hit the concrete, Harry. So you’re a little banged up, but nothing permanent, alright?”
“You swear?” Harry asked. Dean didn’t lie to Harry, Harry knew that, but Harry usually knew his own name as well.
“Swear.” Dean kicked back in his chair and started grabbing things off the nightstand. Harry watched as he tossed a few boxes of candy on Harry’s lap and smirked as he held up the flowers. “Your girlfriend’s pissed, by the way.”
“She’s not my girlfriend.” Harry knew that for sure. Even if he couldn’t think of the person Dean was talking about - it was his friend, he just couldn’t think of the name - he knew she wasn’t his girlfriend. In fact, he thought there was something bothering him about Dean saying she was - something aside from the obvious of being teased.
“She was here this morning, with the red headed kid,” Dean told him. “They had some woman with him, hair in a bun? Didn’t look much fun?”
Harry opened his mouth to guess who that was and found himself suddenly drawing another blank. It was frightening, actually. Harry could picture her, he could imagine the Transfiguration teacher plain as day in his mind, but it was as if there were a disconnect between his thoughts and his tongue.
“Oh,” he said, pretending as if he hadn’t been about to tell Dean who it might have been. Dean looked as if he knew what Harry wasn’t saying - what he couldn’t say - and nodded.
“They said they’d be back later,” Dean told him. “They’ll probably bring more candy. Dude, you’re annoyingly popular.”
Harry nodded, it was annoying.
“Who told - er… my friends I was here?” Harry asked. “And - and this is a wizarding hospital, right? How did I get here?”
“Eat,” Dean said bossily, pointing at the candy on Harry’s lap. “You gotta eat solids before we can bounce, so snap to it.”
Harry didn’t question that it was pumpkin pastries and Bertie’s beans he was being ordered to eat. Once Dean reminded him of food, Harry found that he was starving.
“You and Sammy wrecked, Bobby called Sirius, Sirius called Albus—”
Harry made a face about Dean casually calling Professor Dumbledore by his first name.
“And magic medical care kicks normal heath care’s ass, so Albus brought us here.” Dean spread his arms wide and smiled. “End of story.”
Harry blinked and worked to swallow the giant bite he took of the pumpkin pastry. That wasn’t the end of the story.
“And my friends?” Harry asked.
Dean scowled and seemed to stall as he reached over and plucked one of the pastries from Harry’s lap.
“Some douche put in the paper that you were in the hospital,” Dean said, looking at the pastry he opened instead of Harry. “I mighta lost my shit when owls kept showing up.”
Harry could see that happening quite easily.
The two of them made it through half a dozen pumpkin pastries without anything else being said. Harry still had a dozen questions. Harry didn’t get a chance to ask anything before there was a knock on the door and a wizard in white robes entered the room.
“Mister Potter-Winchester.” The wizard had curly dark brown hair and a bright smile. “I’m your mediwizard, you can call me David. How are you feeling?”
“Fine,” Harry said. He was confused, his head was beginning to ache, but he wanted to leave. The lie rarely worked on Madame Pomfrey, but ‘David’ didn’t know—
“He can’t remember any names or what happened,” Dean said, getting a quick scowl from Harry. Dean didn’t look at him to see the scowl of ‘don’t say that’, he just kept going. “Is it like amnesia or something?”
“Mm… it could be.” David stepped up to the beside and pointed his wand in Harry’s face. Harry instinctively dodged his head, then felt stupid when he saw there was only a small light being aimed at him.
“Apologies,” David said politely. “You’ve been unconscious the last few times I’ve done this. Just a standard exam. Your brother wouldn’t let me harm you.”
David chuckled and Harry glanced at Dean while the light was being shined in his eyes. Dean looked tense as he tracked the mediwizard, making Harry think that David knew Dean wouldn’t let him hurt Harry based on something that happened.
“You had significant brain swelling when you came in,” David told Harry. “Some memory loss is natural. It should return in due time. Are you experiencing any pains?”
“No.”
“He’s got a headache.”
If Dean was going to answer all of the questions meant for Harry, then why would Harry bother to answer them?!
The mediwizard finished his exam quickly, telling Harry about his apparently numerous injuries while he did. Before he left the room, he gave Dean a menu to order food from and two potions to Harry. One was for before he ate, one for after.
“If you feel up for it, you should be able to recover at home in the morning,” David told them. “I’ll be by later.”
Dean didn’t even let the door close behind him before he ordered Harry to take his potion.
“Drink up, kid,” Dean said. He swung his legs to prop his feet on Harry’s bed. “The sooner we get out of here the sooner I can make sure Sam’s not doing anything stupid.”
Harry drank the first potion and tried to get more water to wash away the taste, though Dean saw him reaching for it and beat him to it.
“Why isn’t he here?” Harry asked after gulping the water. The low ache that had been building in his head disappeared and he took a deep breath, relaxing as he exhaled. There had been a tightness in his chest that disappeared too, he hadn’t even noticed until it was gone.
“He’s moping,” Dean said bluntly. He laced his fingers behind his head and closed his eyes. “He feels like crap.”
“Why?”
Dean opened one eye and raised that eyebrow to give Harry a skeptical look.
“Dude, he smashed an SUV and let you fly through the windshield,” Dean said flatly. “A little guilt is warranted.”
Harry wished he could remember what happened… he was certain it wasn’t Sam’s fault in any case. Sam wouldn’t have intentionally done anything to hurt Harry and it sounded as if Harry didn’t have his seatbelt on.
“Where were we going when we wrecked?” Harry asked. There were too many blanks in his memory, it was making him itch. Big things were there - Harry knew Dean was his brother and he loved him and was happy he was there. Harry knew Sam was his brother and he loved him and wished he were there. Other big things were there - Harry was a wizard and he had friends and he was famous though he didn’t want to be. It was all the little things that were gone.
“Pick something for lunch,” Dean said, flipping the menu from his lap to Harry’s without opening his eyes. “If you say what you want to the menu, it just shows up at noon. It’s freakin’ sweet, kid.”
“What?” Harry looked down at the menu, studying it. “You can just ask for something and it shows up?”
“Yup. Order me pie.”
Harry huffed out a semi-laugh and did just that. He ordered them both pie and sandwiches for lunch, then he laid back and tried to make a list of the questions he had to ask Dean when their food arrived. Until then, Dean looked peaceful beside him and he didn’t want to bother him.
Though Sam’s absence, where they had been driving to in the first place, and the bald patch on Harry’s head were bothering him. Not nearly as much as the gaping blanks in his mind, but they were the top of his concerns and Dean blatantly avoiding answering some of his question hadn’t gone unnoticed.
Dean had been right - lunch appeared right at noon with a quiet pop. It was on a side table that even magically slid across the room to Harry’s bedside. The movement woke Dean up and Harry was ordered to eat the instant that Dean’s eyes opened.
Harry rolled his eyes, but ate. He was halfway through his sandwich when there was a knock on the door.
“Come in,” Dean said, gruff and muffled by his own sandwich.
Harry self-consciously flattened his hair down, brushing it to the left side, when the door opened and Hermione and Ron rushed in with wide smiles.
“Harry!” Hermione beamed and there was something in Harry’s chest, something annoyed. Why would Harry be annoyed with Hermione? That didn’t make any sense.
“Mate, you’re awake!” Ron was beaming as well and there was nothing annoying about that.
“He’s eating,” Dean told them, a bit rudely. “If you’re hanging out, let him eat.”
“We will,” Hermione said, still smiling widely at Harry. Ron snagged the end of the sofa against the wall across the room from Harry and began dragging it closer to the bed so that he and Hermione could sit on the left side of him.
“How d’you feel?” Ron asked.
“Er… bit confused,” Harry said sheepishly, overly conscious of his messed up hair. “Fine though.”
Dean snorted at the same time as Hermione. Hermione looked across the bed and blushed and Harry was extra annoyed by that.
“McGonagall said you nearly died,” Ron said. “And the picture in the papers looked bad, mate. Mum’s gone spare over it, I got a howler and everything.”
“Picture in the papers?!” Harry turned his head quickly to look at Dean.
Dean met his eyes, though his cheeks were puffed out with food. He shrugged and Harry thought the muttered words were ‘Told you so’. But he absolutely did not tell Harry that someone put his picture in a newspaper.
“It was a terrible photograph and gross violation of your privacy,” Hermione sniffed. “I hope the reporter was fired.”
“Was it…” Harry began to picture someone with blonde curls, red lips, and a sickly sweet voice… the name was there, she was important?
“Rita?” Ron asked, helpfully supplying the name when Harry trailed off. “No, it was some bloke.”
“And he’s fired as fuck,” Dean said. Harry looked at him for more information and was disappointed when Dean stood up with his slice of pie balanced on a napkin on his plate.
“I’m gonna go outside, check in with Bobby,” Dean said. He nodded down at Harry’s food. “Eat, kid. You still gotta take that potion thing.”
Harry had an irrational urge to ask Dean to stay, to not go yet, but he was fourteen and not a baby so he didn’t.
It was a good thing too, because as soon as Dean left, Hermione and Ron burst in such a frenzy of conversation that Harry nearly couldn’t keep up.
“Neville said that Professor Sprout said that McGonagall said—”
“You’ve been unconscious and you had surgeries!”
“— that Dean broke the reporters nose when he came back the second time, but—”
“Brain surgery, Harry! You had brain surgery!”
“— Dumbledore came and kept Dean from getting in trouble!”
Harry grimaced at his friends while they continued to talk and talk and talk. Ron had his hands swinging wildly, nearly hitting Hermione a few times. Hermione was quite heated with her face red and indignant and her hair frizzing out.
When Harry went to move his plate off his lap, his appetite gone as his eyes burned while the pain in his head returned, Hermione reached out and stopped him with a touch to his wrist.
“Dean said to eat,” she told him.
“And then he went outside,” Harry said irritably. He pulled his hand from her touch and moved the plate over. It made Ron stop talking immediately, instead he began looking from Hermione to Harry with flickering eyes.
“I’m sorry,” Harry said to them, feeling guilty for the sudden tension between them. Harry touched the side of his head and then dropped his hand down just beside him, close to Hermione. “The mediwizard said my head is messed up.” Harry forced a weak grin, “Nothing new, eh?”
Hermione took the bait with his hand and covered it with hers immediately, giving him a sympathetic and familiar look.
“You had surgery, of course you’ll be a little mixed up,” she said. “Did they- I mean… did they say if it will get better?”
“He said probably in a few days,” Harry told her. “But… I don’t remember anything and Dean’s being evasive and…” Harry flicked his head, showing the bloody bald spot. “I think someone cut my hair?”
“Why would they do that?!” Ron cried immediately. His eyes bugged in his face and Harry was both validated and humiliated by his shock. “Who would cut your hair?! I bet it was some mental reporter or crazed fan!”
“Don’t be stupid,” Hermione snapped at Ron. “It’s from the surgery, it’s quite common.”
“It’s a giant patch on the side of his head!” Ron said, pointing as if Harry didn’t know where it was. “Why would they do that?!”
“So they could cut in his skull,” Hermione said factually.
Harry felt sick- more sick than he already did.
“They cut in my skull?” he asked, disturbed and mildly hysterical. “With a knife?!”
“Oh, for goodness sake…” Hermione huffed and kept ahold of Harry’s hand but reached out with her other hand to touch the side of his head. It made Harry’s face rather hot, he just thought the spot was embarrassing and probably looked stupid. “They’re professionals, Harry,” she said. “I tried to read as much as I could, but Hogwarts didn’t have many books… I imagine they used a saw, but it’s perfectly safe.”
“A saw?” Harry looked to Ron and knew that they had the same look of horror on their faces. Ron shook his head, shocked to a rare silence, and Harry thought he might throw up.
“And clearly you’re fine now,” Hermione said hastily. “You can grow your hair out, then have it trimmed back to how you like it?”
“Oh! A hair-raising potion!” Ron said with a snap of his fingers. “Mate, I bet they’ll get one if you want it. Want me to go ask?”
Harry knew his hair wasn’t important at all, it wasn’t. What was important was the way his thoughts and tongue didn’t seem to be connected, it was important that Sam was upset and alone. Even Sam’s car - which Harry assumed had to be damaged badly - was important.
Harry’s hair wasn’t important, but it was the only thing he could fix.
“Would you?” he asked Ron. “Please?”
“Sure thing!” Ron jumped up with a wide grin. “I’ll be back in a jiffy!”
“You should take your potion if you won’t eat,” Hermione said when Ron left and it was only the two of them. Her voice got quiet and Harry wondered if something happened between them before the car wreck?
“Yeah…” Harry grabbed the potion he was told to take after he ate and looked at it swishing back and forth while he searched the blank spaces in his thoughts for what happened between him and Hermione.
“Er… did we have a fight?” Harry asked her, unable to find any other reasons that he would be annoyed by having his best friend beside him when his head was a mess and someone recently took a saw to his skull.
“What?” Hermione sounded surprised but Harry wouldn’t look at her to confirm it. Harry was probably being stupid, but nothing made sense and if he and Hermione had a row then he wanted to be reminded of it so he could fix it.
“Ooh.”
When Harry dared a glance over, he saw that Hermione was suddenly the one who seemed embarrassed. Her eyes were downcast and even though she didn’t let go of his hand, her other hand was twisting the hem of her blouse.
“I… teased you, last week, in Hogsmeade,” Hermione said slowly. “I didn’t know you were truly upset. I’m sorry, Harry. It was silly, just something Lavender said…”
“What’d she say? Or what did you say?” Harry asked curiously. Hermione didn’t tease him often, Ron was more apt to teasing and jokes than Hermione. Harry had a hard time imagining what she could have said to make him truly annoyed with her.
Hermione, if possible, blushed even darker.
“I said… that Cedric Diggory thought I was cute…”
Harry’s hand twitched, sloshing the potion in his hand, and he remembered that. Harry remembered being in the Three Broomsticks with Hermione, thinking how Cedric Diggory was the worst human being to exist. That was why he was annoyed; it wasn’t Hermione, it was Diggory.
Once that clicked in place for Harry, a piece of his memory returning - making him hopeful that more would in time - so did what Hermione had said.
“You were joking?” Harry asked. He didn’t know if he was relieved or angry about that. When Hermione jerked her head in a small nod, it was definitely relief.
“You had me ready to kick… kick…”
Damn it. Harry knew the name, it was right there!
“I was only trying to make you jealous.” Hermione lifted her head and looked at Harry, unfairly looking at him through her lashes with big sad brown eyes. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”
“You didn’t.” Harry squeezed her hand and forced himself to lighten up, not take what Hermione meant as a joke so seriously. Diggory was good-looking and he’d have to be blind to not think Hermione was pretty. And maybe it was the result of having so many worse things to be embarrassed of or the potions that were swimming in Harry, keeping him from getting too worked up, but it all felt suddenly silly.
“I was… er, jealous,” Harry admitted.
Hermione seemed surprised by his admission, though Harry didn’t think she should be. He actually felt like something of an arse, being so jealous that he remembered his annoyance but not being in an actual car crash.
“You were?” Hermione asked.
Harry swallowed and tried to sound casual, nonchalant.
His voice broke, “Yeah.”
Hermione smiled the prettiest smile Harry had ever seen and she leaned toward him, making Harry’s heart pick up and the back of his neck to feel sweaty.
“Harry, I—”
“Got it!” Ron, in what Harry later considered to be the worst possible timing, burst in the room with a cherry-red potion in his hand. Ron faltered when Hermione gave him a scathing look and Harry turned as red as the potion. “What?”
“Nothing,” Harry said hastily. He went ahead and took the potion he was meant to take and gratefully accepted the one Ron got for him. “Thanks, mate.”
Hermione didn’t seem impressed with Ron at all, but the three of them were quickly lost to absolute hysterics when Harry took a mouthful of the potion and his hair immediately began growing… and growing… and growing.
By the time Dean returned, Harry had black curls clear down to where his knees rested on the bed and all three teenagers had laughed themselves to actual tears.
“I need scissors and clippers,” Dean said, grinning despite his exasperated tone. “I’ll go see what they have.”
Dean turned out to be rather good at cutting hair and Harry liked what he did. His hair was shorter than before, but short on the sides and longer on top, sort of a grown out version of Dean’s own haircut.
“What d’you think, Hermione?” Dean smirked at Hermione while Harry looked at his hair closely in a mirror. “Good looking dude, huh?”
“He’s not my type,” Ron quipped, saving Hermione from being put on the spot by Harry’s prat of a brother. “But I guess some people might stand looking at him.”
“You dream about me at night,” Harry said, feeling much better with his hair issue resolved. Harry made a kissing face at Ron. “Admit it, you’ve fancied me for years.”
“It’s true.” Ron sighed dramatically. “You bought all those snacks on the train ride and I was smitten. We’re a regular trashy romance, mate.”
“Hey, the way to a man’s heart is his stomach.” Dean kicked back in the chair beside Harry with an easy smile. “I’d do some weird shit for a good meal.”
“Ugh.” It was one thing to joke about Ron fancying Harry, but Harry didn’t want to hear about Dean and what he would consider ‘weird shit’.
“You’re disgusting,” Harry accused Dean.
“One day you’ll be begging me to teach you every trick I know,” Dean winked. He raised his voice pointedly, “I’ll teach you what chicks like.”
Hermione and Ron left not much later, Harry didn’t blame them. If he could flee the room to escape Dean’s comments, he would have. Harry was ready to leave in general, a sentiment Dean fervently shared and made a plan for.
The next morning, after Harry and Dean ate breakfast, Dean was in place when the mediwizard returned to check Harry over.
Harry stayed still for the exam and waited until the questions began to look at where Dean had struck a casual pose against the wall behind the mediwizard.
“Can you tell me your name?” the mediwizard asked.
Harry looked at Dean and read what he held up on a little sign.
“Harry James Potter-Winchester,” Harry read.
“Good, and where are you?”
Another quick glance at a new paper Dean held up.
“St Mungo’s Hospital in London.”
“And who are you going home with?”
Harry didn’t need to read a sign then, he knew who he was going home with.
“My brother,” he said firmly. A reminder from Dean didn’t hurt any. “Er… Dean Winchester.”
Dean grinned and Harry was released with orders to ‘take it easy’ and to not ‘strain his mind’ trying to remember what had happened.
Harry didn’t need to strain himself when it came to the car accident itself. He and Dean were issued a portkey to take home and Sam’s car was the very first thing that Harry saw.
The car that Bobby worked so hard to rebuild for Sam was twisted and smashed almost beyond recognition. Harry took a step toward where it was parked behind Bobby’s barn and Dean stopped him with a hand on his shoulder.
“Is that…” Harry looked at the mangled hood of the car and his stomach lurched at the dark red stain across it. It was blood, definitely, but it was a lot of it…
Harry had a sudden and sickening memory of standing in the wreckage of an airplane, seeing blood and fire, hearing screams and cries. When he thought of that though, he thought of a familiar voice saying his name over and over.
“Harry! HARRY! God, please, Harry, say something! Harry? God, please…”
“Harry! You can’t leave! We have to stay here! HARRY!”
“Not Harry!”
Harry flinched when Dean pulled his shoulder and he shook his head, sure that he was mixing things up in his head.
“Let’s get you inside, kid,” Dean said in a tone that brokered no arguments. “Come on, Sam’s gotta be ready to grovel right about now.”
Harry didn’t want Sam to grovel, but he did want to see him - see that he wasn’t hurt because that was a lot of blood and damage - and he let Dean guide him in their house.
“Samanthaaaa!” Dean sang Sam’s name out the second they were inside. “Honey, we’re homeee!”
Harry toed off the boots Dean brought to the hospital for him to wear, he was pretty sure they weren’t his since they had been too big, but Dean had Harry’s belongings in a bag slung over his shoulder. The house was quiet, warm, and the only sound that could be heard was Dean saying how he really hoped when Harry’s memory returned that he knew how much Sam liked being called Samantha.
That was a joke, Harry was sure of it. Harry was also sure that their brother wasn’t home. It was frustrating and disappointing, walking through the house behind Dean and not seeing anyone there.
All Harry wanted to do was see that Sam was home, safe, uninjured.
“He’s pouting somewhere,” Dean told Harry after they checked in every room. They ended up right back in the living room and Dean sounded calm, but there was a tightness around his eyes.
It made Harry feel guilty, Dean looking stressed. How much of it was because Sam wasn’t home and how much was because of Harry?
Harry might have been missing quite a bit, giant chunks of time that were gone, but he knew that he was creating problems. And the last two people in the world he wanted to create problems for were Dean and Sam.
And, if Harry had thought to list him, the third person he least wanted to create problems for was his godfather. Though, Harry thought that he was the one who created problems for Harry more often than Harry did him.
Harry had decided to sit on the front porch to watch for any sign that Sam would return home. It had been very early when they arrived home, the sun had only settled in the sky when a figure came out of the woods that surrounded the property.
Harry blinked and felt something poking at his mind when he saw it was only a dog… a large black dog that seemed to be staring directly at Harry. It wasn’t frightening, Harry couldn’t say why. It was comforting, for some reason.
“Hey, boy…” Harry held a hand out when the dog raced across the lawn to him. The dog was clumsy on the steps of the porch and made Harry grin with its human-like huffs. It still went straight to Harry, shoving its snout in Harry’s hand and wagging a happy tail.
There was something about it… Harry could feel the thought wanting to make itself known…
“You’re a good dog,” Harry murmured, his forehead creased as he tried to think of whatever it was he couldn’t think of. The dog rolled on its back and when Harry reached to scratch its stomach, he yelped as the dog suddenly grew human arms, legs, and a head of hair the same color as his fur had been.
“And you’re a terrible godson.” Harry’s godfather laid on his back on the porch and gave Harry a wicked smile, amused with whatever look of shock Harry must have had. “I haven’t heard from you in days! I thought you were dead!”
Harry had yanked his hand away the second the dog began to change and it fit in his thoughts suddenly, who the dog was. It wasn’t an adorable stray, it was Harry’s godfather… whose name was still evading him…
“Er…” Harry blinked a few times, struggling hard to think of his name. It was… something, certainly. Harry knew him, knew his crinkled-eye smile. Harry knew he escaped from prison and broke the leg of Harry’s friend.
Bloody hell, it was - was…
“What’s your name?” Harry blurted out. He rubbed the back of his neck self-consciously when that bloke sat up quickly and frowned. “I, er… head injury,” he admitted. “Sorry, names are a blank.”
“You’ve got a head injury?” Harry’s godfather looked as confused by what Harry said as Harry was over his name. That couldn’t be right though because Harry thought Dean said someone called him? Harry and he had mirrors they spoke on… Harry was certain of that.
Harry waved a hand out to where the destroyed car sat. “Car crash,” he said. “I thought you knew?”
The person turned a sick shade of pale when he looked at where Harry waved to. It looked bad, truly. It made Harry feel just as sick to look at as it seemed to his godfather.
“You were in a crash? And nobody told me?”
When his godfather grabbed Harry and pulled him to his feet for a sudden hug, it was nice. It was better when he told Harry his name during the hug, though Harry didn’t think it sounded quite right.
“Freddie. Freddie Mercury.”
Harry squirmed and pulled away enough so he could peer in Freddie’s eyes. It seemed as if he were holding back a laugh, but there were also tears swimming in his eyes so Harry didn’t look too carefully to see if he was being had on or not.
“Right,” Harry nodded. “You’re certain then…?”
Freddie laughed and that was familiar, a barking laugh that wouldn’t be entirely out of place for a dog to make. He told Harry that since he wasn’t the one with the head injury that he was completely serious about his name.
For whatever reason, that only made Harry more skeptical of him being truthful. Harry had been about to suggest they went inside, Dean would probably tell Harry if Freddie was his real name, but then he heard tires on gravel.
Harry perked up and shifted to the side to see past Freddie and held his breath while he waited to see who had pulled in the drive. It was a blue truck, one that used to be in the garage.
The driver was familiar.
“It’s… my brother!” Harry said. He stepped around Freddie quickly, unbothered by his inability to get Sam’s name from his thoughts to his mouth. All he wanted was to see him, see that he wasn’t injured, that he wasn’t mad about Harry flying through the windshield or blaming himself for anything.
Sam climbed out of the truck just as Harry cleared the porch and Harry intended to fly at him, grab him in a tight hug. There were two things that stopped him- the plaster cast that covered Sam’s left arm from his hand to just above his elbow and the blood that was splattered on him from his face clear to his knees.
“Hey!” Sam began to smile and stopped when he must have noticed Harry eyeing the blood - Harry was mostly checking Sam for other injuries. Sam looked down and pulled a face.
“Uh… it’s not mine,” Sam said.
Freddie laughed on the porch behind Harry, rather rudely, in truth.
“Whose blood is it, Sam?”
Harry looked over his shoulder and saw that Dean must have heard the truck door slamming shut and decided to investigate.
Dean had his arms folded over his chest, looking pissed. Freddie was leaning on the porch rail with one elbow, his eyes shining with amusement. Sam shifted in front of Harry, seeming guilty.
And Harry? Harry was so bloody confused.