Authors Note: This fic was written per a request from Jay FicLover. I love how specific you were with what you wanted to see in the story. Hopefully I can meet all of your expectations. Look out for other stories being posted, I finished Divided this morning, and posted the first chapter of one of my other new stories - Expensive Disaster

Chapter 1: War Victims

He groaned.

His head was splitting, his throat was sore and his body ached all over.

The light all around him was too bright, even through his pale eyelids. He didn't know where he was, and he was afraid to open his eyes. Thoughts whirred around in his mind, scraps of images, but nothing made sense; he couldn't even recall his own name.

All he could remember were a pair of brilliant green eyes, bright as fresh cut grass. Outside of that everything was a blur. He thought he could recall fire, and rubble. His mind brought to the forefront strange looking creatures and men in black robes, but all that was nonsense, just the nightmares of a crazy man.

He opened his eyes slowly, casting a cautious glance around the room.

A hospital. So he was sick, or injured somehow. A slight stretching of his body confirmed that all his limbs were there and fully intact, just sore. A glance down showed a bandage lanced around a pale hand. His hand, though it was only vaguely familiar to him.

He blinked again as the door flew open. A portly woman in crisp white clothing came bustling though the doorway. She took one look at him and gasped. "Well, Hullo," she exclaimed. "Wide awake I see. Well it's about time, you've been catching up on your beauty sleep for quite sometime now."

She had a pleasant smile, and was obviously a medical practitioner of some kind. Her name badge said 'Nurse Rose'. "How long?" he rasped, wondering if that was how his voice was supposed to sound.

She looked at him thoughtfully for a moment. "I should really get Dr. Evans in here to go over the particular's," she said finally. "I wouldn't want to overload you with too much information."

With that she left, pulling a clipboard from the end of the bed and walking back out into the corridor.

--

When he woke up again he was being watched from a chair in the corner. He tried to sit up, but found that it hurt him too badly. The man from the chair paced over to the bed and placed a calming hand on his arm.

"Good morning, son," the man from the chair said. His nametag said Dr. Evans. So this would be the person to interrogate.

"How long have I been here?" he asked.

The doctor winced slightly, but tried to hide it. "A little over six months. You've been in a coma, and we had all but given up hope. It's good to see you awake, Mr.-"

He drew a blank, still not able to recall his own name. "I… I don't know my name."

The doctor nodded and opened his chart, scribbling notes. He didn't seem to think that it was odd for him not to remember his name. "Tell me the last thing you can recall."

Thinking it over, he almost mentioned his weird snippets of nightmares, but decided against it. "I don't really remember anything. Everything is foreign to me, even my own body… but some things are also familiar."

"For instance?" the doctor asked.

He took a deep breath. "I can tell this is a hospital, but I cannot tell if I've ever been here before. I can recognize some things in this room, but that for instance," he said, pointing at a large black box in the corner, "has me completely baffled. I don't even know what the use of it is."

Laughing the doctor walked over to stand under the black box. "This is a television. Are you saying you cannot recall seeing a television before?"

He shook his head, and regretted the movement instantly.

The doctor sighed and made his way back over to the bed. "Well, amnesia is quite common in coma patients and as time passes, more and more memories should resurface. However, this is an odd case, the fact that you can remember some things, but not others, though not unheard of… it's rare. A selective Amnesia."

"For now, we'll keep a watch on you here. If you recall anything, your name or a family member or friend you would like us to contact, just let one of the nurses know." The doctor smiled warmly.

The chart was placed back at the base of his bed. "Don't be startled if the nurses call you Dorian Gray, that's just the name my daughter came up with when you came in. She watched me examine you, and saw your eyes. The name caught on."

This confused him but he nodded. He felt better having a name, no matter what it was.

--

Harry stretched out like a wild cat, trying to shake the sleep from his bones. He had a lot to do that day in order to finish moving into his new flat.

It felt like he had moved a dozen times since the war, but that was probably because he had. The minute he felled the Dark Lord, Harry left Hogwarts. He disappeared during the celebrations that night, feeling more like mourning than revelry.

So many people lost, so many people he loved dead because he just wasn't fast enough.

He had killed Voldemort that night, but in his own twisted way, the creature had won the war waged against Harry's soul. The creature and the deeds from the war still plagued his mind, and his dreams.

He only returned for a month or so, hoping he could put everything behind him. He started Auror training, but it just reminded him too much of everything he lost, so he disappeared again, moving from place to place around muggle London.

Now he had moved again, to a beautiful little flat in the heart of Kensington, but he was still on the run. Running from his friends, from his fans and from the Ministry.

He had to keep moving, because the wizarding world wouldn't let him rest. His last letter to Hermione had given her too many clues and before he knew it, Ministry owls were on his doorstep.

He didn't know why they wouldn't just respect his right to privacy.

Ron seemed to get it at least. Harry would occasionally show up, wearing some odd glamour, at the Weasley Wizard Wheezes store in Diagon Alley and take him out for a drink, catch him up on everything.

Hermione was a tougher bird though. She hated that he was hiding and did everything she could to keep him there on the one and only time he attempted to visit her. She even used magic against him to get him to stay. Now she only received letters, and the occasional story from Ron. Harry bet she was livid about that.

Yawning, Harry padded to the front room. His new house was filled with boxes and the movers would be arriving soon enough with more. This living room had a large fireplace and he decided the place after this would too, that way he could just link them together and floo his boxes over. It would be a lot less strenuous.

--

Harry was brushing his teeth when a sharp buzzing alerted him that the movers had arrived. He finished quickly and raced downstairs to meet them. He was halfway down the first flight of steps when he spotted a large box with burly legs behind it already making its way up the stairs.

He pressed himself against the banister to get out of the way. "Hey, going up to number 32?" he asked the mover.

The man grunted and kept walking. Harry squeezed past him and propped his door open. "Just set them anywhere," he said and took off back down to meet the others.

A petite girl met him at the bottom of the landing. She had dark brunette hair with a hint of red and glittering green eyes. Harry smiled as he saw her, thinking she reminded him of pictures he had of his mother.

"Harry Potter I presume," she asked, extending her hand for him to shake.

Harry nodded and took her small hand. It appeared from the look of things that she had let the movers into the building in Harry's absence. "You live in the building too then?" he asked her.

She nodded meekly. "Number 31, right across from you. I noticed you yesterday but I was in too big a hurry to get to the hospital. I'm normally not so rude."

Harry's heart squeezed lightly at the mention of the hospital. "I'm sorry, is a relative sick or something?" Harry asked, and then began berating himself. "Uhg, sorry, that's really none of my business, and I've only just met you… it's just that I can sympathize and all-"

She cut him off with a laugh. "You're sweet, but no, my father works there and I'm interning for him over the summer. Hope to follow in his footsteps one day."

Harry sighed. "Medicine is a noble profession. A good choice indeed."

"Yes, I think so too. What is it you do, Mr. Potter?" she asked.

"Please, call me Harry. I'm… er in between things at the moment," he replied laughing. "I used to be an Aur… er in law enforcement, but I just moved here, so we'll see what's in store for me now."

She nodded and smiled warmly. "So you were a constable then?"

Harry blushed and shook his head. This was the worst part of living in muggle London, having to make up plausible lies to tell the people you met, things to explain the last seven years or so of your life. "Not exactly, more like special services. Hush, hush and all that," he said with a mysterious wink.

The young girl giggled and swatted his arm lightly. "I'll bet your having one over on me. You look too young to be in any group like that."

She was smart this one; he would have to be careful. "They got me right out of school, but I got disenchanted with it pretty quickly, so I left."

"Ah, well, I suppose that makes sense. So are you a bit of a genius to have them scooping you up out of high school?" she asked, playfully.

Harry grinned. "Something like that. I'm not the type who likes to be used by the government though."

"Oh, the government eh?" she winked again. "You've been holding out on me. Did you get to meet the Queen?"

Laughing Harry shook his head. "No, nothing like that."

A burly man with a box he couldn't see over was about to crash into the girl. Harry leapt over and pulled her out of the way, pressing her against the row of little metal mailboxes. "Quick reflexes," she panted, trying to laugh, but still a little out of breath. "Maybe you weren't lying after all."

Harry rolled his eyes and smiled at her, removing himself from pressing so close against her body. "So you never told me your name."

She blushed and giggled. "No, I suppose not. My name is Lara." She said as the pointed to a mailbox labeled L. Evans. Harry's breath caught in his throat as he looked at the mailbox with his mother's name.

"Evans?" he asked dumbly.

She nodded slowly, her eyebrows knit into a confused look.

"You wouldn't by chance know a Lily or Petunia Evans?" he asked softly, not sure what he preferred her answer to be. On the one hand he might have a family member alive that didn't loathe him, and on the other hand he didn't want to have to leave behind another person he cared about when he had to run again. Not to mention keeping secrets was never his forte.

She smiled brightly at him. "Petunia is my Aunt. Her name is Dursley now. She's my father's sister. Lily was my other aunt, but I'm afraid she died the year I was born, tragic car accident, so I never met her."

Harry took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "Did your father ever tell you who Lily married?"

Lara seemed to think about it for a while before nodding. "Yes, he did. It was a man named James, someone she went to school with. James… Pott-" She cut her sentence short and her eyes went wide. "You mean to tell me-"

"Lily was my mum. I'm your cousin," Harry said with a soft smile.

She practically beamed at him and threw her arms around his neck. "Oh, that's just wonderful news. Wait till I tell father!" she exclaimed.

--

Authors Note: As always please review. It makes me feel warm and fuzzy to see lots of notes in my inbox. lol