Genre: Drama Rating: NC-17 Word count: 116k Tags: Post Hogwarts EWE, amnesia!fic
Summary:
The battle of Hogwarts changes the wizarding world forever -- but not in a way that anyone could possibly expect. Can Harry put things back to rights when neither his friends nor his enemies remember The Boy Who Lived?
Author's Note:
This is an AU, but its starting point is the end of Deathly Hallows and the first (in my version, only) time that Voldemort attacks Harry. Those who died in canon are still dead, R.I.P. And if the Hallows exist, they aren't known in my world.
Quotes:
"Rita Skeeter?"
The quill sputtered on the parchment as Rita turned to see who had interrupted her thoughts. "Yes?"
"Rita Skeeter. Don't you recognize me?"
With a long, polished fingernail she lowered her bejewelled spectacles to give the young man a good once over, top to bottom. Or bottom to top, more accurately, since his scuffed loafers were the first things that caught her eye. Atop these were rumpled corduroy trousers, Muggle-style, and a threadbare homemade jumper on which she could just make out the letter "H." His face, like the rest of his body, was painfully thin, though his shoulders were broad enough. She guessed he was around eighteen years of age, although round eyeglasses made him look much younger. Unruly black hair completed the look, as if he'd just rised from bed amidst a frightful hurricane. He wasn't someone who most people would look at twice—more like one they'd stumble over as he lay drunk on some unnamed street corner—but Rita, who never forgot a face, studied him carefully.
"I'm sorry, should I?"
"I'm Harry Potter!" His voice held barely contained agitation, and his fists clenched and unclenched as he stood there. "Don't you know me? I defeated Voldemort!"
"Who?" Rita squinted at the strange name, then shook her blond curls dismissively. "I'm sorry, Mr ... Potter, is it? I'm in the middle of an interview, so if you'll just ..." Her words trailed off with the flick of her hand. Rita knew the boy hadn't moved, but she turned back to her companion with an apologetic smile. "I'm sorry, Daffid. You were saying ..."
A roar slowly grew, like the sound of a subway train emerging from a tunnel, bringing with it the splintering sound of liquor bottles exploding at the bar. Rita squealed as the Ogden's Old Firewhisky mirror shattered behind them, leaning into Daffid as he quickly covered her with his cloak. At any other time she'd be appreciating the athlete's finely toned body, but now all she could think of were the shards of glass raining down. She peered up just in time to see the bartender run over, wand drawn, forcing the young man to back toward the door. His protests rang throughout the empty pub:
"But I'm Harry Potter!!"
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