Harry Potter and the Series of Short Stories

Awake

The past nineteen years passed Harry Potter like a blur. He couldn't remember much except that after the war, he married Ginny Weasley and settled down with their children: James, Albus, and Lily. He had just seen them off on the Hogwarts Express, breathing in the nostalgic fumes as he stood on Platform 9 and 3/4. He turned to Ginny and pulled her by her waist to him, holding onto her as he watched hands fly by, waving. His free hand rested on the shoulder of his youngest, Lily, who would be attending Hogwarts in two years. 

He turned to follow the train move down and saw his best friends, Ron and Hermoine, standing and waving. Hermoine was blowing kisses and walking quickly alongside her daughter, Rose. When she reached the end of the platform, her hands clasped together under her chin and she returned to Ron's side, her hands now over her mouth. Her face was plastered with emotions: pride, sadness, happiness. The Weasley's son, Hugo, held onto his mother's shirt as they reconvened.

"We should go. Ron's got his hands full with work." Hermoine beamed at Ron as he shrugged, looking down to his wife and nodding. They walked off, Hugo in tow. Harry looked to Ginny and then to Lily, beginning to follow suit with Ron and Hermoine. 

They were settled in 12 Grimmauld Place now that the war was over. They had cleaned it up a significant amount and made it a brighter place. Ginny and Harry held onto the hands of Lily as they Disapparated from the platform to the doorstep of their house. He stepped inside and breathed in the familiar smell of lavender and vanilla that flooded their house. He looked out the window to see a few people lingering and glancing between 11 and 13 Grimmauld Place, assuming they were people looking for the house that belonged in between the two. The Fidelius Charm was still cast over the hidden house, protecting the famous family from any press, fans, or enemies over the years. It wasn't Harry's idea to move back to Grimmauld Place. After the war he didn't want much to do with the house that was his dead uncle's. The reminders of the war reeked within the house's walls. For the first three years after the war, Harry stayed with the Weasley's. After that, Harry and Ginny got married and Ginny suggested the old house. Harry had almost completely forgotten about it. 

Harry still needed to work. His work as the Head Auror rarely stopped, in fact. He gathered his things for the day and bid farewell to Ginny and Lily, kissing them both goodbye. He Disapparated again, feeling as if his belly button was being sucked by a vacuum through the darkness. 

Something was different.

His feet had not landed on the pavement. Instead, he was in a lying position on something soft. He moved his hands, squeezing the fabric beneath him. His eyes has peered open and there was a bright light. There was a shuffling and he heard his name. He groaned, his body feeling numb. He touched his forehead, a familiar scar on his forehead. "Wha?"

"Harry?" A soft voice spoke. He saw a strange woman standing over him. He had no recollection of this woman.

"Who are you? Where am I?" He sat up and a pounding errupted in his head. 

"You're in the hospital." She sat down beside him and he looked at her. Her expression was nothing more than concern. "You have been for nearly ten years. Do you know how old you are?" 

Harry thought for a moment. He had no recollection of any of this. He shook his head, "No."

"You're twenty one. Do you know why you're here?" Harry shook his head again. "You were in a terrible car accident on your way to the zoo with your family."

"Where are they? Are they okay?" 

"Yes, they dont' visit much. They pay the bills. Your aunt said something about taking care of you because she would want the same from your mom." Harry shook his head and wrinkled his brow.

"Am I in St. Mungo's? Where is Madam Pomfrey and Professor McGonnagal? Surely the Weasleys and Hermoine visited me? Hagrid?" The woman's face twisted slightly into a confused state. 

"You're in Royal Surrey in England. You haven't had a visitor in a long time. And I'm afraid I've never heard of those people. I'm sorry."