AN: I don't own Harry Potter, that's quite obvious, I'm not rich. :)

(So sorry for the long delay between updates, no real excuse really, just got stampeded over by many things all at once, but hopefully my updates will be more frequent now that things have settled down.)

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Chapter Twelve – To Not Remember

Harry tried not to fidget under Madam Pomfrey's scans, but it was difficult. Somewhere deep in the back of his mind he was waiting for her to tell him that he was still dying, that what Voldemort had done was only temporary. He wouldn't have put it passed the sick bastard to make a spell that only made people think they weren't going to die a slow and painful death.

Harry was brought back from his dark thoughts when the Medi-Witch ended her scan. "I am very happy to say that besides your magic being blocked, you are in perfect physical health, Harry."

Harry let out a breath he hadn't known he was holding. At least he'd gotten something out of his not so great adventure. "So, I'm free to return to classes, however far behind I am," he asked with a small smile.

Madam Pomfrey opened her mouth and then looked to Dumbledore instead of answering. Harry frowned and turned to look at the old man as well. He gave him a questioning look.

"I'm not so sure it is a good idea for you to return to classes just yet, Harry," Dumbledore said carefully.

"Why? I know I can't actually do the spells because of this stupid thing," Harry clenched his right fist, and held up the cuff with a bit of irritation. "But I don't see why I can't sit in on classes and do the non-practical work. Hermione and Danielle can catch me up in the rest when we figure out how to get it off."

"It's not a matter of what course work you can and can't do, Harry, it's your mind and emotions I'm concerned about." Harry frowned further. "You must understand you have been through quite an ordeal."

"I – that may be, but I really just want to get back into a normal routine," Harry said a bit edgily.

"You may want to, but to be honest Harry, since you've been back, your emotions have been very erratic. I'm not so sure you are ready to rejoin your classmates."

"Erratic! Your emotions would be erratic too after what I've just been through!" Harry hissed, angrily raising his voice.

Dumbledore stared at him and Harry realized what he was getting at. In the last couple days since he'd escaped Voldemort, he was very quick to anger. But Harry still felt that the best thing for him was to be around people again. He'd been fairly isolated for the last couple weeks, with nothing but the parasite and his own mind, and on occasion Danielle, who he really did little talking too.

Harry took in a deep breath to calm himself. "I still think the best thing for me to do is attend classes and be with my friends," Harry said with a controlled voice.

Madam Pomfrey and Dumbledore shared a brief slightly uncertain glance. "Very well, I will allow you to attend classes, under one stipulation," Dumbledore said as he glanced at Madam Pomfrey again and Harry waited for the one stipulation with narrowed eyes. "You have to see a mind-healer."

Harry stood quickly. "You want me to see a shrink?" he shouted incredulously.

"More of a psychologist," Madam Pomfrey said with a slight wince at the look on Harry's face.

"No! I'm perfectly not crazy, thank you very much! I don't want someone trying to pick my brain apart to find out whether or not I'm stable!" Harry seethed angrily.

"That's not why we want you to see a mind-healer, Harry. Your mind has gone through a lot of trauma in the last couple of weeks and there could be adverse side-effects from that," Dumbledore tried to reason calmly.

Harry looked at Madam Pomfrey. "According to your scans, is my brain functioning normally?"

"Yes, Harry, it is," Madam Pomfrey sighed.

"Then I don't need to see a mind-healer," Harry stated, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Harry, under Ministry rules, I cannot allow you back among the population of Hogwarts until you have seen a mind-healer, and until you do, you are considered a danger to your fellow students, and my staff," Dumbledore said firmly.

Harry stared hard at Dumbledore. "You've ignored Ministry rules when it concerns me before, why can't you now?"

"This is one Ministry rule I will not break, Harry. I believe it is in your best interest to see a mind-healer."

Harry shook his head. "I guess I'm going home then, because I'm not seeing a mind-healer!" Harry declared angrily.

Dumbledore put his head in his hand and sighed heavily. He looked back up to Harry after a long moment. "Very well, it is your decision, of course. You will be welcome back after the school holidays, if you see a mind-healer or an appropriate Muggle psychologist first."

Harry glared coldly at Dumbledore for a moment and then turned his back on him. "Fine," he hissed in Parseltongue without realizing it. Behind him, Dumbledore and Madam Pomfrey looked at each other, startled.

--

Harry sat in the sitting room at Privet Drive, staring off into space, thinking of nothing and everything at the same time. It'd been several days since he had left Hogwarts. Several long days, where he'd not done much of anything, but think and help his aunt out around the house a bit, purely for something physical to do.

He'd gotten several letters from his friends, asking a plethora of questions, but he'd not replied to any of them yet, not knowing what to say. Most of their questions focused around how he was doing, but he couldn't give them an answer because the truth was, he didn't know himself.

He hadn't been able to see his friends before he'd left through the Floo Network to Mrs. Figgs. He'd been assured that they knew he was well, but he still wished he had been able to say good-bye to them at least. He'd asked about Danielle several times before he'd left, but all they would tell him was that she had rejoined the others in Gryffindor and that no one knew of her involvement in his capture. He'd not received a letter from her yet, and he didn't know what to write to her.

Harry was conflicted about their relationship. The entire time he was sick, he'd not held any feelings other than friendship with her. He'd honestly not let himself even contemplate feelings of love on a romantic level. He knew she loved him. She'd told him so, but he didn't know how far those feelings spread. He didn't know how far his own feelings spread.

He didn't know if he'd be returning to Hogwarts, he didn't know if he'd be returning to the Wizarding World. Right now, with the fetter on is wrist, he was practically a Muggle. The way the manacle blocked his magic, he couldn't even be classified as a squib, and Dumbledore hadn't offered to find a way to get it off.

Harry looked up when his aunt walked into the room. "How are you doing, Harry?" she asked quietly, sitting down beside him. She'd been informed of everything since his disappearance from Hogwarts and his subsequent return. Dumbledore had been very clear in pointing out his possible emotional instability.

Harry smiled tightly at her. "Better than earlier I suppose," Harry answered honestly, with no humor in his voice.

His aunt looked at him with concern in her eyes. His uncle had walked in on him early that morning in a moment of pure insanity. The Dark Mark had started burning on his arm and in his delirium of feeling the pain and absolute darkness that came with the call for the first time, he'd taken a kitchen knife to his arm, trying to cut the mark from his skin unsuccessfully. His uncle had taken the knife from him and held him tightly, not letting him do further harm to himself until the moment had passed and Harry had calmed down.

After coming to the conclusion that the two very magical looking tattoos would raise some eyebrows in the Muggle World, and not wanting to bring attention to Harry at a Wizarding Hospital, his aunt and uncle had decided to patch his arm up themselves. Petunia had carefully cleaned and bandaged it herself. Luckily, it hadn't looked as if he'd need stitches.

"Harry, I know you panicked this morning, but perhaps you should talk to someone about this. Cutting yourself is not –"

"If you say normal," Harry nearly growled.

"Actually I was going to say conducive to your well being," she said firmly, pinching her lips.

Harry sighed. "I'm sorry, Aunt Petunia," he apologized sincerely. At times, it was difficult to forget how his family had once treated him, though he was honestly pleased at the change in them. "It won't happen again. I know what to expect now, and I can deal with it. I just hadn't expected the call to be that painful. I don't envy Snape when he has to ignore it."

Petunia nodded and stood from the couch. "I've a luncheon meeting. There are sandwiches in the ice box, you're welcome to them." Harry nodded, staring at his hands as she started to leave the room. She stopped and turned back. "I know you don't wish to see a-a mind-healer was it?" Harry nodded, looking up. "But I know the school councilor at Stonewall…"

"Aunt Petunia," Harry hissed through clenched teeth, with just a bit of warning, fighting to keep his temper in check.

Petunia sighed. "Very well," she said. "I'll be back around two."

Harry watched her as she left and then he turned back to staring at nothing again. After a few minutes, Harry sighed. Dumbledore was right. His emotions were all over the place and his actions were becoming rash at times. But after having the parasite in his mind, he didn't want to even think about it, let alone try and talk about it. He just didn't want to remember the last few months at all.

He knew his aunt meant well by suggesting he see the councilor, but even if he were ready to talk about it, what would he say to a Muggle? How could he explain what it was like having someone else's will trying to take over his own, the feeling that he was vanishing from existence, even if he was coherent for all of it? How could he tell someone that through the entire time, he was in his right mind, but he was forced to go against everything he ever believed, and to feel as if it were the right thing to do?

Harry stood up and paced the sitting room. He really needed something to take his mind off… well, everything. Harry looked around the sitting room. At the television, the narrow bookcase, the magazine sitting on the coffee table, and then he shook his head and walked out of the room. There was nothing in the house that would keep his attentions long enough. There was nothing to clean, as he'd already done it all without it even having been suggested to him. He'd even weeded the flower patch that lacked any living plants and painted the fence.

Harry grabbed his jacket from the coat rack, slipped on his sneakers, and walked out into the early afternoon sunlight. There was a chill on the air that Harry hadn't felt on Privet Drive since he was ten years old. Harry smiled slightly; he could smell the fresh scent of winter, he'd always liked the crisp clean smell of winter.

--

Harry walked along Magnolia Crescent some hours later. He wasn't sure how long he'd been gone from number four, but the sun was setting behind him and the air was growing colder. Harry had just decided to go back when someone suddenly yelled his name. He looked up and across the street to a group of kids.

"You're Harry Potter, right?" a boy about his age asked. He was one of at least seven other boys and girls, who all crossed the rather deserted street.

Harry looked around a moment and then nodded. "Yeah," he said while looking over the group. He vaguely recognized some of them and realized he must have attended primary school with them.

"John Growling, we went to primary together," the boy confirmed.

Harry nodded. "Yeah, umm, I remember some of you I guess."

"What are you doing here, thought you went off to attend some private school like your cousin," a girl beside John asked. Harry wasn't certain, but he vaguely remembered the girl's name to be Julie or Jamie or something along those lines.

"Yeah, I'm sort of on break for a bit. Look I was just on my way back home…"

"Wait, we were all heading over to the Shack, want to come with? If you don't have anything better to do I mean," John said.

Harry's interest was piqued. "What's the Shack?" he asked.

The group grinned. "Come on, we'll show you," another of the girls said and took his arm. Harry decided to just go along with them; he didn't have much else to do. What could it hurt hanging out with some neighborhood kids anyways?

--

Harry sat with an icepack on his pounding head several hours later. Where he sat was in an interrogation room at the Surrey Police Station, at a table in front of a sergeant who was relentlessly asking him questions that he'd stopped answering after the third repeated set. Instead, he was staring past the man, through the windowed, slightly ajar door, into the rest of the precinct.

"Come on, Potter, you were with them for hours, you've got to have some clue."

Harry growled and dropped the ice pack. "Look I said I don't know!" he finally shouted in frustration. "I knew a few of them from primary school! I haven't seen any of them in years and could barely remember their names then. I told you John Growling did it, one of the girls was Julie or Jessica or Jamie or something like that. I have no idea, and asking me over and over again is just making my head hurt more!"

Harry squeezed his eyes shut and put his head in his cuffed hands, mentally swearing off drinking and drugs for the rest of his life, if this was the after effects of it.

"I'm here to pick up Harry Potter."

Harry suddenly lifted his head and groaned when he heard his name at the front desk.

Harry didn't smile when he saw Remus Lupin. Now he was going to get an earful. The officer at the desk pointed toward him and Harry looked away, picking the icepack back up and placing it on the large bruised cut on his forehead.

"Hello," Remus said pointedly to the sergeant as he entered the room. "I'm Remus Lupin Harry's acting godfather; his aunt and uncle asked me to pick him up."

"We're not quite done with him yet, but I'll give him a few minutes with you before I continue questioning him. Perhaps you can inspire his memory to cooperate with us."

Harry glared at the sergeant as he walked out of the room, closing the door behind him, and to the front desk. Harry was about to stick his tongue out childishly at the man's back, but then he met Remus' eyes again, and he quelled the impulse with an eye roll.

"What happened, Harry?" Remus asked, taking the seat across from him.

"Isn't it obvious, I got drunk?"

"You did a bit more than that. You stole a car, Harry," Remus stated firmly.

"If you know so much, why the hell did you ask?" Harry growled out, letting the ice pack and his hands drop to the tabletop again.

Remus flinched slightly at the sight of the cut on the side of Harry's forehead. "You stole a car," Remus repeated pointedly, obviously expecting an excuse or explanation.

"I did not steal a car, John Growling stole the car. I just happen to get in it with him and then we got pulled over," Harry grouched.

"You were the one driving it when you got pulled over!" Remus exclaimed staring hard at Harry.

"Yeah, I don't know how that happened, remember drunk."

Remus narrowed his eyes sternly at Harry. "I'm very disappointed in you. You'll be lucky if they don't charge you for reckless endangerment and driving under the influence, and without a license! Not to mention you could have gotten in an accident, you could have killed someone, or yourself!"

Harry shrugged carelessly. "It's not like I care," he muttered. "What's it matter? I've got no future anyways."

"Harry, of course you do," Remus said with a heavy sigh.

"Right, and that's why Dumbledore won't let me go back to bloody school!"

"He will let you come back, Harry," Remus reminded him.

"Yeah, after I see a mind-healer! I'm not crazy Remus, a bit messed up at the moment maybe, but after everything… I'm certainly not a danger to anyone, and I'm not insane!" Harry spit out.

"Harry, all he wants you to do is talk to one person. I know you're not insane, he knows you're not insane. As to being a danger to anyone, maybe not those around you, but after what your aunt told me, certainly you are a danger to yourself."

Harry suddenly stood up and kicked his chair over angrily. "I am not!" he shouted. "I took the bloody knife to my arm because I panicked, that was all. I already told Aunt Petunia that! She doesn't understand, because she doesn't know! None of you do!"

Remus stood up. "Harry, calm down, please," he said evenly. "Sit back down and talk to me, at least. None of us can understand unless you talk to us."

"I don't want to talk to you! I don't want to talk to anyone!" Harry shouted, pacing the room.

"Harry, if you don't talk to someone, you're only going to get worse."

"Go away, Remus," Harry hissed through clenched teeth, turning his back on the man.

"No, I'm not going away. Sit down and talk to me," Remus said firmly.

"I'm not talking to anyone!" Harry yelled, turning back on Remus.

"Why won't you talk to at least me?" Remus pressed.

Harry clenched his jaw as anger rushed through him. He suddenly had the urge to break something, hurt something, someone. His eyes darted around the room and then he grabbed his fallen chair and threw it over the desk at Remus.

"Because I don't want to remember!" he screamed.

Remus smoothly dodged to the side, letting the chair smash into the shatterproof glass door. Harry threw himself into the corner of the room and slid down the wall as a few officers ran into the room at the commotion.

"I don't want to remember," Harry cried, with his head in his hands, and then Remus had his arms wrapped around Harry firmly. "Please don't make me remember," he sobbed into Remus' chest.

--

To be continued…