The Real Memory

After his breakfast with Ron he was sure that both sets of memories were real somehow. He just had to figure out WHY they were both real. And he knew he couldn't figure this out on his own, he needed his best mates with him, just like they had always been there with him in his Magic Memories.

Hopefully Hermione was Ron's wife – then he wouldn't have to hunt her down.

Harry spent the next few days staying busy as he looked forward to Friday. His days were filled with soccer practice and dodging the occasional fangirl. That was the only thing he hated about playing soccer.

Wearing dress slacks and a sports jacket, Harry headed out the door, tossing his most recent package from a fangirl: a love note and a container full of chocolate rum balls. Harry didn't even read the love note, they were all the same. Each girl proclaimed that only they could understand him, that he was their one true love and that he was super awesome.

Harry got the doorman to flag a cab down. He stared out the cab window, watching the city fly by, all the people walking around, going about their business. Were they all just figments of his imagination? Had the protection given by his mother's love still resided on him, causing him to enter a coma instead of dying?

Was he like the princess in Sleeping Beauty?

Harry smacked his forehead. Now he was just being stupid. He was as likely of being Sleeping Beauty as Hagrid was of being Tinkerbell.

At the thought of Hagrid, pain lashed through his chest. Where was his first friend now? Was he in this world? That didn't seem possible, he was a half-giant, and there was no magic, let alone giants, in this world.

The cab rolled to a stop in front of a nice, but worn, apartment building on the south side of the Thames. Sitting on the apartment steps was a young man of about Harry's age, strumming on a guitar as he hummed to himself. He was still in his coat and tie, just trying to forget the day.

Harry could relate, sometimes after a long day of training he would wander down to Hyde Park and just watch the people going about their normal lives. None of them had two sets of memories tearing them apart inside. He didn't think the guitar player had two sets of memories, but he obviously had something else weighing on him.

Harry paid the cab driver and headed up the steps. As he passed the guitar player he caught a quick glimpse of the dark face and got the feeling that he knew him. He didn't know if he knew him from the Magic or Muggle Memories.

Putting the guitar player out of his mind Harry pushed the buzzer for the first flat. A moment later Ron buzzed him in and Harry went indoors, excitement swelling up inside him again.

He had never had as good a friend as Ron in either set of memories. No one quite seemed to understand him quite like Ron and Hermione had in his Magic Memories. Maybe, just maybe, he could have that again here.

Ron was just opening the door when Harry reached the landing.

"Hey there, Harry!" Ron said cheerfully, despite the fact that he was wearing a frilly blue apron.

"Hey," Harry said with a smile as Ron showed him where to hang his coat.

"Why don't you make yourself at home? The sitting room is through that door," he pointed to a nearby door. "I'll be back in a minute, I need to go rescue the gravy from burning."

Harry wasn't sure what surprised him more, Ron in an apron or the fact that Ron was cooking.

Deciding not to dwell on it to much he pushed open the sitting room door, wondering what he was going to do while he waited.

He didn't have to wonder long.

Sitting by the window, in an electric wheelchair, was Hermione.

Her hair was just as bushy as ever, though it was cut shorter than he remembered, probably so would be easier to care for. When she realized he was there he watched as she moved her hand rather jerkily, causing the chair to turn around to face him. He couldn't help but gasp when he saw her. She had a huge, ugly scar running from her left temple down to her chin.

Seeing the pain that appeared in her eyes at his gasp Harry said the first thing that popped into his head. "You're the reason he joined the police."

A sadly sardonic smile appeared on her face, "Yes, you could say that." She eyed him up and down for a moment. "You're the famous Harry Potter then?"

Harry got a hold of himself and tried to resurrect his interview skills, the same skills Aunt Petunia had drilled into him when she realized he was good enough to play pro-soccer if he could play the part. He couldn't dwell too much on the fact that one of his best friends was paralyzed.

He gave her a wide smile, "Yep, that's me. I assume you're Mrs. Weasley?"

She raised one delicate eyebrow at him, "Mrs. Weasley? If you call me that I might sprout red hair and start becoming overprotective. Please, call me Hermione." She raised her right hand up a little, obviously wanting to shake his hand.

Harry honestly chuckled at her comment as he crossed the small room. He was glad he didn't have to call her Mrs. Weasley – that would really up the weirdness factor.

He gently shook her hand, feeling how thin and bony she was. He couldn't believe that she was so delicate. The Hermione from his Magic Memories would never be this delicate.

"Pleased to meet you, Hermione," he said as he released her hand and took a seat nearby, so they were on eye level.

"It's nice to meet you also. Ron's been so happy since your breakfast together. Just last night he was singing your praises to his twin brothers. They couldn't believe that he had met you." Hermione said with a small smile.

Harry couldn't help but chuckle; he could just see Fred and George giving Ron a hard time, not believing that he had met someone famous.

"They sound interesting. I think I'm at a disadvantage though. You know that I'm a soccer player, but I have no idea what you do." Harry said, trying to find out more about this Hermione.

"I'm a freelance writer. I write articles and essays on our current social and political system. Most of these go online, but a few get published in magazines or newspapers. There's not much I can do from this chair to help improve this world. The best I can hope for is to inspire those around me to do what I cannot."

Harry felt his heart go out to her. She was so like the Hermione he knew, but yet she wasn't. It was almost as if her fighting spirit had left her when she lost the ability to walk. "That sounds fascinating, do you write under a pen name? I'll look your articles up when I get home." He blushed, "I don't do much reading outside of the world of sports."

Hermione smiled, a little more like the girl he remembered, "Honestly, I'm surprised you read at all. I thought all big athletes just partied and played games."

Ron came in just then, "Hermione, of course he reads, honestly, don't you listen to me? He graduated from Cambridge!"

"No, Ron, I turn off my ears when you go on about sports." She looked back over at Harry, "You graduated from Cambridge? What did you study?"

Ron's mouth was flopping open and closed like a fish, still trying to process the fact that Hermione never listened to him about sports.

Harry just smiled, glad that Ron and Hermione hadn't changed as much as the Dursleys had. Not that he minded the Dursleys changes. It was much nicer to have a caring family. "I took Management Studies," he shrugged at her shocked look. "I figured that if when I get too old to play I may try coaching or managing a team."

Harry realized right then that Hermione changed her opinion of him. He was no longer a big athlete that lived entirely in the now, he was a human being with a thought for the future. And Hermione always approved of planning for the future.

The rest of the evening passed really smoothly. Ron's cooking was actually pretty good, not that he could compete with his mother's cooking. Hermione and Ron were completely relaxed around Harry by the time they were done eating.

They sat around the table, long after the food was gone, just discussing things. Harry could never remember afterwards what they discussed, but he remembered the feelings, the atmosphere. It was just like it had been back at Hogwarts in his Magic Memories.

The evening came to a close at almost midnight when Harry invited them to dinner the next Friday.

"It won't be home cooked, I'm an atrocious cook." Harry said with a grin, "But I can promise it will be delicious."

"That's good enough for me!" Ron said as he grinned back at Harry.

Hermione just smiled wryly as she said, "Boys!"

As Harry rode back to his flat that evening he only felt happiness. At that moment in time it didn't matter which memories were real, or if he was dead or in a coma. All that mattered was that he had real friends again.