Lost Memories

lviii. outbursts

Guilt ate at my bones— between all the things I kept forgetting and knowing soon I'd be unable to help anyone, I felt worthless on my part here. Dumbledore said I could help, but Dumbledore was dead and I still hadn't helped much.

The old memories seemed to have faded as I knew I had other parents other than Severus Snape and Victoria Gaunt, but there was nothing more. My accent still had hints of American so I knew I was from there but my birth file said I was born in Enfield. I knew there were books and I had come from somewhere else but I had gotten everything– all I knew of this world seemed to be more my memories than memories of information.

I felt bad knowing soon I'd forget everything and be helpless, knowing no more than my friends did. Memories of the last three years flashed through my mind, arguments of them being storybook characters, am I a storybook character now? My friends felt more real than the faint and nearly nonexistent memories of my old life.

Sleep didn't welcome me as my mind couldn't stop running, it became painful trying to remember my past and the future I knew I had known. Instead, I took a seat on one of the garden benches outside and thought about the last week's events, but I was soon brought out of my thoughts by a rustle.

Pulling my wand out, I saw Harry sneaking out of the house, with his rucksack slung over his shoulder, and going in the opposite direction I was in.

"Trying to leave again?" I asked.

Harry paused and turned to face me. His face falls as I stood up, wrapping my cardigan tighter around myself.

"No one else is going to die," Harry said firmly. "Not for me."

I scoffed, "for you? You think Alastor died for you? You think George took that curse for you? You may be the Chosen One, Harry, but this is a whole lot bigger than that."

Although my tight tone, Harry sighed softly and held his hand out to me, "come with me. Now. Tonight, Lottie."

"And leave Hermione?" I almost laughed. "She might murder me if she were to find out. Ron might murder you, Voldemort won't need to worry any longer. Are you mad, Harry? I may be smart and remember some things, but we wouldn't last a week without her— Ron maybe, but he keeps us sane and Hermione in check."

"Charlotte," Harry warned at my mocking tone.

"Actually, we wouldn't last a few minutes," I rolled my eyes. "You've still got the trace on you and— Harry, I know you want to go, but tonight is not the night. You'd only be doing him a favour."

Holding out my hand, I waited for Harry to walk over and grab it. With a small smile, I led him inside the house and watched him go up the stairs to Ron's room.

For the last week, Mrs Weasley kept Harry, Ron, Hermione, and me so busy with preparations for the wedding that we hardly had any time to think. The kindest explanation of this behaviour would have been that Mrs Weasley wanted to distract us all from thoughts of Mad-Eye and the terrors of our recent journey. After two days of nonstop cutlery cleaning, colour-matching favours, ribbons, and flowers, de-gnoming the garden and helping Mrs Weasley cook vast batches of canapés, however, I started to suspect her of a different motive. All the jobs she handed out seemed to keep me, Harry, Ron, and Hermione away from one another; I had not had a chance to speak to them alone since the first night when Harry had tried to escape.

Finally, Mrs Weasley didn't give me chores leaving me to sit at the kitchen table.

"Are you alright, dear?" she said, pulling my hand into hers over the table.

"Yes, ma'am," I nodded.

"I know you're not, even if you say you are," Mrs Weasley smiled softly. "I know it's hard for you—"