Chapter: 1

Disclaimer – Anything you don't recognise from canon is mine.

Recapturing the Past

Chapter 1 – A Prodigy

Jason picked up his backpack and slung it over his shoulder, grabbing the half eaten piece of toast off the plate on the table and sticking it in his mouth as he ran for the door. He was late and he knew Nigel would be pissed. If they missed the plane to London, the tall man would be doubly pissed.

'It's about time.' Nigel scowled as Jason threw himself into the limousine that was waiting by the kerb at the bottom of the building.

'Sorry.' Jason rolled his eyes. 'I couldn't find the sheets to the Rachmaninov and I wanted to play it over there.'

This time it was Nigel's turn to roll his eyes. 'Jase, you can play that piece, well almost any piece really, with your eyes closed, what do you need the music for?'

Jason shrugged. 'It makes me look like less of a freak.' He said simply.

Nigel laughed. 'You are a freak. No one can play like you do.'

'Ah, but can they pretend to read the music like me?' Jason drawled. Nigel laughed and shook his head. The young man was the oddest person he had ever met.

He had found him, if that was the right term, in Macys just over a year and a half ago. He was sitting at the grand piano in one of the halls and playing up a storm. Hundreds of people stood around him entranced but the young man didn't even seem to know they were there. Nigel had waited until he had finished before going to speak with him. Ten minutes later he had found out three things about him.

His name was Jason, or at least he said it was. He had no idea of his past, which going by his accent was obviously British, or how he even came to be in New York, and he couldn't ever remember playing the piano before.

Nigel had offered to buy him lunch. The boy was an enigma and Nigel was never one to step away from a challenge.

It was the beginning of a most unusual friendship that turned into a working association before evolving into what could only be termed as an almost familial relationship.

Jason was one of the premier pianists of the modern day. A child prodigy they called him, even if the young man couldn't actually remember his childhood. His heartfelt and emotional renditions of some of the most beautiful classical pieces ever written had the thousands of people who came to watch him play in tears and people usually admitted to going to see him play many, many times.

Nigel travelled with him everywhere; having done so since Jason insisted he be his manager. Today they were flying to London where Jason was to give a Royal Gala performance before the Queen. Jason acted as if it was just another day but Nigel knew he was secretly thrilled.

'We're here.' Jason said, startling him out of his reverie. Nigel grinned at the young man who was beginning to look quite excited. After playing all over the United States this was his first trip overseas, that he could remember anyway.

Their driver placed their bags on a trolley and they wheeled it into the VIP entrance where a tall, shapely brunette walked over to them.

'Mr McKnight, Mr Carney, it's good to see you both again.'

'Hey Stella.' Jason flashed a grin at the lady. Stella greeted them everytime they flew somewhere, which was generally every week. United Airlines sponsored all of Jason's trips and Jason let them use his name and face in their advertising.

'London today, Mr McKnight?'

Jason nodded. 'Going to take tea with the Queen.' He said proudly.

'You're going to play for her, you little twit, not drink tea.' Nigel scolded softly.

Jason snorted. 'I know, but it sounds so much better that way.'

Nigel cuffed him over the head. 'Do you know the number of people who take tea with her in comparison to the number who perform in a Royal Gala?' he asked idly.

Jason shook his head.

'Well then, trust me, the second is a much more exclusive club.'

Stella giggled as Jason seemed to get an intense look on his face before smiling brightly. 'Cool.' He said simply and the two adults laughed.

Stella helped them through all the necessities before bundling them into a car and racing them across the runways to the international terminal before pulling up in front of a large 747-400 aircraft.

'Here you are, Mr McKnight.' Stella said cheerfully.

'Thanks Stella.' Jason said as they all climbed out of the car. The tall woman took them up a flight of stairs and through two security doors before Jason found himself standing at the forward door of the aircraft.

'Hey Sue, these are you VIP's. Mr McKnight and Mr Carney.'

'Thanks Stella. Welcome gentlemen, you're just in time, we are about to pull back, so if you would just follow me to your seats.' Sue, another tall woman, this time with red hair, gestured for them to follow her.

'Bye Stella.' Jason called out as she disappeared back out the door of the plane. Jason and Nigel followed Sue into the first class section and took their offered seats as the plane pushed back from the terminal and began its journey out to the end of the runway.

Within moments they had lifted off and Jason was staring out the window as New York became smaller and smaller. Sue walked up to them as soon as the seatbelt light went out.

'Can I get you anything to drink, gentlemen?' she asked politely.

'Scotch on the rocks.' Nigel said instantly.

'And you Mr McKnight?'

'I'll have the same.' Jason grinned cheekily.

'Oh no you won't.' Nigel scolded. 'You can drink when you're twenty –one.'

'But for all we know I could be twenty one.' Jason insisted.

Nigel looked at him for a moment before snorting softly. 'I doubt it. Order something else.'

Jason rolled his eyes. 'Oh all right. May I have a soda please?'

Sue smiled at their antics, not understanding the conversation in the slightest but nodding as she poured their drinks from the trolley.

The trip was excruciatingly long for Nigel until he pulled out Jason's discman and put in a Wagner CD before placing the headphones over the boy's ears. Jason went instantly silent as he heard the music flow through him.

It was peaceful after that.

Hermione climbed listlessly out of bed and crossed to the bathroom, beginning the monotonous routine her life had become since the final battle almost two years ago when she had lost all of those closest to her.

Voldemort had been waiting for Harry as they had stepped off the train in Hogsmeade for the start of his sixth year and the resulting battle had been fierce and bloody. Ron had gone first, throwing himself in front of a killing curse that had been shot at Harry. Neville, Ginny, Terry Boot, Dean, Katie Bell, Luna, Padma and Parvarti, Colin, and many others had lost their lives before the staff were alerted and had come running down from the castle.

In the end it had been down to Harry, as everyone had always known it would be, and in the most chilling and horrifying moment of Hermione's life Harry had done the impossible, he had destroyed the Dark Lord. However, the price, in Heroine's opinion had been too high.

Harry had also died.

There had been a huge explosion and a bright flash of light, two blood curdling screams one of which Hermione knew had been Harry's and all that was left was an enormous pool of blood that could not possibly have only come from one person. Even two people shouldn't have had that much blood between them.

There was much speculation at what happened to the bodies of both Harry and the Dark Lord but in the end that was all it was, as neither were ever found.

Hermione had drifted through her sixth year and most of her seventh year and was just waiting the last couple of weeks to graduate so she could leave Hogwarts and the painful memories behind.

She finished showering and pulled on her uniform before going down to the common room to wait for Lavender and Seamus as she did every morning. They were all that was left of not only their year, but the one below as well, and they stuck together. Seamus had damaged the nerves in his leg trying to protect some third years from a group of Death Eaters and now walked with a limp and Lavender had lost an eye when she got hit with flying wood as part of the train exploded.

Hermione, for some reason, had had barely a scratch on her in spite of being in the thick of it, and she felt guilty for it every day.

'Hey, Hermione.' Lavender said quietly some fifteen minutes later.

'Morning.' Hermione replied and it was one of the few words she would utter throughout the day.

Moments later they heard the tell tale clump of Seamus' cane as he navigated the stairs from the now empty seventh year dorm. Dumbledore had offered the Gryffindor a smaller room, or to stay with the fifth years but Seamus had refused. He liked the memories of his friends and had insisted that all five beds also remain. Hermione couldn't even bring herself to set foot in the room.

They walked silently down through the castle. Where once there had been laughter and high jinks as students ran through the halls, now they walked slowly, heads bowed as the loss and sadness permeated not only the air around them but the very stones of Hogwarts herself.

Hermione did as she usually did when she walked in, she glanced up at the Head Table to see Dumbledore still in his seat in the middle. Apparently he was retiring at the end of the year. He certainly looked older than Hermione ever thought possible.

McGonagall was a brisk as ever but if you looked closely you could see the slight trembling in her hands. Snape, a long jagged scar running down the side of his face, courtesy of Lucius Malfoy, sat as still as ever. He came to every meal but Hermione couldn't remember him actually eating anything since that day.

The other teachers were there, Sprout, Flitwick, Pomfrey, Sinistra, Vector, all of them. The battle had almost finished by the time that had got there, the sight of Harry and Voldemort duelling having practically stopped everything else. No, there were no losses for the staff of Hogwarts, and Hermione knew that all of them had wished it had been the other way around.

In spite of seeing it every day for almost two years the look around the tables every morning was the one thing that sent Hermione's heart dropping to her knees. They were so empty. More than a hundred students had died that day, over a third of the school, and when the remaining students all came down to breakfast it was never more apparent as it was then at what had really been lost.

Hermione felt Seamus take her elbow and guide her over to the Gryffindor table. She felt many eyes on her, she always did. She had been best friends with the Boy-Who-Lived and she had lost nearly everyone that day. The almost catatonic state she had fallen into afterward had worried many people, teacher and student alike.

Hermione allowed Lavender to place a piece of toast on her place and a glass of pumpkin juice before her, knowing she wouldn't be able to leave the hall until she had finished both. Just then dozens of owls flew in and Hermione saw Hedwig winging her way towards her. The snowy owl had sort of adopted Hermione after Harry's death and was constantly delivering letters from Hermione's parents.

She gave the owl a small bit of bacon as she untied the letter from her leg. Hedwig hooted softly to her before taking back off to the owlrey.

Hermione sighed, opening the letter and unfolding it.

Dear Hermione,

How are you dear? I do hope you're looking after yourself. Daddy and I can't wait for you to come home. You're not safe there.'

Hermione snorted; it was safer now than it had ever been…thanks to Harry.

Your Father found this clipping in the Times and I thought the resemblance was remarkable. I was hesitant about sending it to you. I didn't want to make you sad but your father insisted.

Look after yourself, darling.

Counting the days until you return.

Love,

Mummy.

She took as sip of pumpkin juice as she opened the clipping from the newspaper before spitting it out across the table.

'Hermione!' Lavender cried, grabbing her napkin and dabbing at the front of her robes.

'Bloody hell.' Hermione swore loudly as she saw the picture in the paper staring back up at her.

Everyone turned to stare at the normally quiet witch. Hermione just sat there, her eyes riveted to the picture as her brain flew in circles. 'It can't be. It just can't be.' She whispered over and over.

'Hermione?' Seamus said hesitantly. 'Hermione?' he said again when she didn't answer.

It was at that point that the headmaster had walked up beside her. 'Miss Granger, is there a problem?' he asked gently.

Hermione finally tore her eyes from the picture to stare up at him before handing over the clipping. Dumbeldore glanced at it for a moment.

'Sweet Merlin.' He gasped, clutching his chest and dropping onto the bench beside her.

'Do you think it's him, Professor? Could it really be him?' she asked tentatively.

Dumbledore had tears in his eyes as he looked up at her.

'It can't be him, Hermione. The blood. No one could have survived that.'

'But Harry survived the killing curse and no one is supposed to be able to do that.' she whispered desperately.

'Hermione.' Dumbledore tried again.

'Please Professor. It looks just like him.' Hermione pleaded, tears falling down her face. 'Can't you just check? Please.' Hermione was sobbing now and didn't notice as both McGonagall, who had joined them, and Dumbledore gently helped her to her feet and half carried her from the hall.

'Can it be true, Albus?' Minerva asked tentatively. 'I mean the resemblance is uncanny.'

'So was the one between Harry and his father.'

'But they were related, and the scar. How many people do you know have a scar like that on their heads?' The elderly witch insisted.

Albus sighed, burying his head in his hands. 'I honestly don't know what to think, Minerva. I wish more than anything that it was him, that Harry would return to us, but I can't help but think this is just a cruel joke. That Voldemort is looking up from hell and laughing at us.'

'You'll have to check it out. Miss Granger won't rest otherwise.'

'I know.' Albus said softly, glancing down at the clipping in his hand once again as the transfigurations professor's head disappeared from the fire.

Child Prodigy to play for HRM Queen Elizabeth, the headline said boldly.

English born prodigy Jason McKnight will play with the London Symphony for Her Majesty the Queen tomorrow night in a Gala Performance at the Royal Albert Hall. The seventeen year old who is currently living in New York will play some of his favourite pieces in a tribute to celebrate the Queen's birthday which is in less than three weeks.

In an interview with American talk show host, Oprah Winfrey, the softly spoken young man talked about the honour he felt at being asked to perform at such an event.

'I was quite excited when Nigel showed me the invitation. I only hope she enjoys my performance as much as I know I will enjoy playing for her'

The concert has been sold out for more than a month but will be shown on the BBC live from 8:30pm.

Albus read over the piece one more time before his eyes returned to the picture. It was black and white naturally so the colour of the eyes and hair was in question but the warm smile, horn rimmed glasses and lightning bolt scar could not be missed.

'God, Harry. Is it really you?' he whispered softly.

Jason was wired. He paced up and down at the side of the stage as he waited to be called. He could hear the soft rumble of hundreds of voices as the hall filled up with the invited guests and paying spectators. The members of the symphony were tuning their instruments on the stage behind the curtains.

The noise level rose and Jason guessed that the Queen had probably just arrived. As he turned for another long pace along the floor he found Nigel standing right in front of him, the older man grasping his shoulders.

'Jason, just relax. You can play these pieces in your sleep. It is just another performance.'

'I know.' Jason said weakly.

Nigel looked contemplatively at him for several moments. 'I'm very proud of you, Jase.' He said quietly.

Jason's face broke into a grin. 'Thanks.' He whispered.

Just then they called him over and Jason saw the curtain rising. They called the conductor first who walked out to loud applause before finally announcing him.

'Your Majesty, lords, ladies and gentlemen, Mr Jason McKnight.'

Jason walked out to thunderous applause, keeping his head down as he navigated the stage under the glare of the spotlights. He sat down at the grand piano, placing his sheet music and glanced up at Pavloski, the conductor, before nodding.

He began with a Beethoven, as he always did. The music flowing through him as soon the rest of the musicians joined him. The built on each bar, Jason's fingers flying across the keys, his eyes closed, his entire body swaying as he played.

The Wagner was next, followed by a Dvorak, a Brahms and a Mozart. Each one built from the one before as the audience sat in stunned silence. Jason was playing without stopping, never even touching the sheet music that sat before him; never even opening his eyes.

Finally he began the Rachmaninov, starting softly and building to the crescendo. For those watching it was like floating on clouds. The warmth running through them as the music flowed all around was entrancing and as he finished it was several moments before anyone could regain enough wits to get on their feet and begin what would be a standing ovation that would continue for almost fifteen minutes.

Jason sat motionless, his hands resting lightly in his lap as he calmed his heart and slowed his breathing. He reached up and took a sip of water from a glass sitting on a small table beside him before standing and moving to the centre of the stage. He faced the royal box and bowed low before straightening up and standing tall.

The Queen nodded politely, smiling genuinely at him. Jason turned again and bowed to the hall itself as the thunderous applause grew. He straightened again and looked out over the crowd, smiling brightly as he reached up and pushed his glasses back up his nose and ran his hand through his hair.

And in households all over Great Britain, muggle born, or living, witches and wizards that had been watching the broadcast froze in shock.