Harry Potter and No Trace Of You

Chapter 1

As he opened his eyes, two facts pushed to the front of his consciousness. One, his head felt absolutely awful, like two dragons were having it out in his brain. Two, he had no idea where he was.

The first was annoying and would probably have to be dealt with, but the second was far more immediately alarming. Squinting, he could just make out nondescript beige walls surrounding the bed he was reclined on. It smelled sharply of potions and something far more astringent and was nearly silent other than the hiss and pop of the potion station nearby and the soft sweep of newspaper pages being turned. There were half a dozen other beds and potion stations throughout the large room, but at the moment it appeared empty as far as he could tell. In fact, there was only one other person in the room, a tall ginger wizard, leaning back in a chair with his feet kicked up on the edge of the bed as he read a newspaper.

The obvious ease of the wizard's pose did nothing for the buzz of panic starting to swell in his brain because everything might seem rather calm, but another fact was pushing horrifically to the forefront.

He didn't know who this wizard was—but more pressingly, he had no idea who he was.

How was that possible? How could he not even know his own name?

The ginger's feet hit the ground with a thump. "Finally awake, are we? I thought you were gonna laze away the entire bloody day. You could just take a day of vacation once in a while. Far less dramatic."

He was saved from having to come up with some answer to that by the door to the ward slamming open. A witch swept into the room, dressed in some sort of sporting gear. A ginger too. Was he to be completely overrun by gingers?

"Ron," the woman said, addressing the wizard. "What's happened—"

Her eyes landed on him in the bed, something like relief washing over her face before she crossed straight for him.

"Merlin, Harry," she said, shooing the other guy out of the chair and taking it herself. She grabbed his hand in a firm grip. "What have you done to yourself this time?" She leaned forward, like maybe she was going to kiss him or something, and he reeled back in alarm.

She definitely noticed, her hand tightening around his as she frowned. "Harry?"

Was that his name then? Harry?

It didn't sound familiar.

The first bloke, Ron, she'd called him, started rattling off. "He just got knocked out, Gin. All the tests came back clear. No need to make a fuss."

She ignored Ron, her brown eyes still intently studying his face. "Harry?" she asked, voice more gentle.

He pulled his hand free of hers, looking between the two of them, eyes squinting.

She handed him a pair of glasses. He took them, putting them on, and the room came into focus. Much better. But he still had no idea who these people were, or what the hell was going on.

"Do you know who I am?" she asked.

He considered lying, but didn't think he'd pull that off for long. "Should I?"

Her entire face seemed to shutter as she back away from him.

"Harry, mate," Ron said. "Stop messing about."

"He isn't messing about," she said, her arms wrapping around her waist. "Are you?"

"No," he admitted, pushing himself up, not exactly interested in lying prone while surrounded by strangers. "I'm not even sure who I am, to be honest."

"What?" Ron said.

"Where is the healer?" the woman demanded, voice low and frankly dangerous. It spiked his already roiling panic. He found himself reaching for his wand, heart jolting in his chest when he couldn't find it.

"I'll go get one," Ron said, giving him a confused glance before disappearing out the door.

"In the drawer," she said.

It wasn't immediately clear that she was talking to him. "What?" he asked.

"Your wand," she said, pointing at a small bedside table.

He didn't bother wondering how she knew, just swung his legs over the edge of the bed and reached for the small drawer despite the pulse of pain in his head. Sure enough, a wand sat inside. It didn't look familiar, but when he picked it up, he felt a soft hum of recognition in his fingers. A huge wave of relief washed over him. He still might not have any idea what the hell was going on, but he could at least protect himself now. Or at least he thought he could.

He looked at a piece of paper sitting on a nearby table. For the life of him, the spell to make it cross the room couldn't come to his mind. In frustration, he just moved his wand without thinking, words rising in his mind, and it flew over to land in his free hand.

He let out a breath. At least there was that.

He jumped a bit when someone touched his shoulder.

He looked over at the woman, having rather forgotten she was there.

She pulled her hand back, clearly feeling how he tensed under the touch. "I know it's hard to believe right now, but you're safe here."

"I hope you won't be offended if I don't take your word for that."

Her lips pressed together, and it was clear that she was offended. She looked away a moment, taking a deep breath. "Are you in pain?"

"I'm fine," he said, despite the sharp staccato in his brain.

She sighed in exasperation like she knew perfectly well that was a lie. "My name is Ginny."

"Okay," he said.

Someone in long lime green robes bustled in, Ron in his wake. A healer, Harry could only suppose.

"Oh, good, you're awake," the healer said. He came to a stop, looking at him in alarm, only to turn to Ginny. "You let him have his wand? Was that wise?"

"It's his wand," she said, voice clipped.

The healer cleared his throat, clearly unwilling to argue that. He turned back to him. "So you are able to use magic?"

"I think so," Harry hedged, not wanting to completely give away any advantage he might have.

The woman slid him a look like she knew exactly what he was doing.

"But you just have no memory of who you are."

"No."

"Or who these people are," he said, gesturing at the two gingers.

"No."

"Interesting," the healer said, writing down a note on his clipboard.

Harry felt himself bristle at what felt like a cavalier dismissal.

"It isn't bloody interesting," the woman—Ginny—snapped. "He's been here how many hours? And you hadn't even picked up on anything? There could be something seriously wrong!"

"Now, Mrs. Potter," the healer said, looking a little frightened. Harry didn't blame him, really.

She pushed to her feet. She wasn't particularly tall, but still managed to radiate a rather menacing energy. "Don't Mrs. Potter me. Just figure out what is wrong with my—" She broke off, giving him a wary glance. "With Harry. Figure out what is wrong with Harry."

"We will do our best," the healer said.