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Forget Him by VeniceLily
Chapter 1 : Forget Him.
Rating: 15+Chapter Reviews: 37

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~Forget Him~


Two years he had watched her suffer, knowing full well there wasn’t a thing he could do to help her, and hating that fact. It pained him to watch her ache like that. He saw the vacant expression in her eyes everyday since it had happened. He saw that the light he loved about her was dimmed. It seemed to be a hopeless cause. She was empty, and in evident longing. And what could be done?

She hadn’t touched a book in three years. She hadn’t even entered the library. He remembered asking her if a fact he had heard was correct. Her response had been a simple’ I don’t know’ and there had been no rush to her stacks of literature to find the answer. She accepted that she didn’t know, making no attempt to educate herself further. How could she change so entirely? In all the years he had known her, she almost lived in the library. But now, it was as though it’s doors were locked from her, and she didn’t dare try to open them.

She seemed at a loss. A loss of hope, of reason, of meaning. She seemed to have no reason for living. Wasn’t he a reason enough? Wasn’t he, who had been there for her when the other one had not, reason enough for her to keep trying?

Three years out of Hogwarts they had met again, in a freak occurrence. They had run from futures they didn’t want, only to run straight into each other. It took some time, some fights, some ultimatums, and plenty of trust, but they managed to work through it. They managed to make their awkward relationship into something more. Shortly there-after, they had married, for he loved her, and she seemed to love him too. Their friends knew nothing of the matter, as all communication with them had been severed; things happened, and friendships were changed or broken. It was only them at their quiet wedding, and they lived in secluded solitude afterwards.

Both of them had been previously engaged, then backed out at the last moment. No one knew why. No one understood their thoughts. They themselves never spoke about such things to the other, preferring to leave most past occurrences forgotten. One never asked the other about their previous doings. And it was likely for the best; the Final Battle had changed most people. The stories of their past were not accurate representations of their present selves.

And so they lived together, married as a mis-matched couple in blissful ignorance of the other's faults. They knew only the good, which seemed to work for them. As one they were for many years, happily watching the years go by, slowly letting their past leave them, and their future guide them.

They felt they loved each other, and perhaps he really had loved her. She had never had any doubts in the beginning, no one to compare him to, no one else who seemed to want her. She took want she was given with a smile, and tried to build on it. She made a life for herself with her second choice, ignoring the little things that would trigger the memories of her first. He hadn’t wanted her she thought. He had left her, so she had no choice but to move on.

But it was the day nearly 3 years after their marriage that ruined it all. It was their downfall, their breaking point, the one thing that could tear them apart. So small an occurrence to the rest of the world, but the toll it took on her was more then enormous. He never knew the memory of one person to do so much damage. How could a memory do that to her? He had been nothing more than that to her, hadn’t he? He was long since forgotten. But the memories pulled at her, dragging her into a stupor of depression.

All of the memories she had of him. It was all she could see, all she could hear, all she could think about.

It was in all the papers that day; Ronald Weasley was dead, murdered mysteriously in his apartment late one night. He was gone, never to come back, save for the memories that suddenly emerged from the depths of her mind.

It appeared he took some of her with him. She was broken, pieces of her missing.

Two years her husband let pass, hoping she would get over it in time, hoping she would come to him in search of comfort, and then everything would go back to the way it had been. He hoped the memories would fade and disappear, leaving her with space to fill her mind with him, the one still there for her. He hoped she would realize it was nothing, realize there was someone else waiting for her to come back to them. He hoped she would forget him.

But his hope was fruitless. Two years without a spark in her eye. Two years without a smile on her face. Two years passed, and she was too far gone to bring back.

He had to do it then. He had to bring it up to her, to talk about the thing he had so carefully avoided mentioning those years. Maybe it will bring a solution he reasoned with himself. But the back of his mind wondered if it would have the opposite effect. But he had to do something. Was it pointless though? Would it be a waste? Would it push her over the edge, further into the daze? 

If only he knew. 

He sat her down in the drawing room of their Victorian home, and began what he thought would be the repair. He wanted her back. He wanted her to love him.

“Love. You have to tell me,” he said, gazing at her with pleading eyes. Her vacant glance hinted at confusion, but her expression wasn’t used to showing emotion.

“I – What?” She asked. Her voice was a whisper, same as it had been since then.

“You –“ he started, but changed his mind. “Two years I’ve watched you suffer in silence. I’ve watched you change and waited for you to come back. But you haven’t, love. You haven’t smiled since…well since then. “

Tears were in her eyes when she looked back at him. She knew it was true, and she hated what she had done to him. She hated herself for putting this on his shoulders, for bringing her suffering down over him as well. It wasn’t right. He should get to be happy, no matter what the cost was to her. She loved him enough to want that for him.
“I’m sorry” she implored. “But…I can’t…I just…I can’t leave him. Even if it hurts.” Her eyes were begging him to understand. And filled with the guilt of hurting him.

“I’m sorry for making you suffer,” she said. It pained her to see the hurt in his eyes.

He nodded, sighing. He felt as though the wind was knocked out of him. Was she saying what he knew she was saying?

“But there would be no suffering at all, if only you would forget him,” he said, reaching for any last trace of hope, wishing he wasn’t understanding what was going on.

“But I can’t!” she exclaimed. “I can’t forget him, don’t you see? Everyday, he’s all I think about. I cannot forget him. I can’t just let go!”

“But, Love, you can’t live like this,” he said, trying to make her comprehend this. Trying to bring her back to him.
Her expression flickered to life for a moment; she was hiding something. But he missed it. His eyes were watering. He had lost her, he knew it wasn’t worth it to keep trying. There wasn’t anything he could do.
“I – I know,” she stuttered bluntly. “And I’m sorry.”

He sighed again, and stood up, running a hand through his hair. He left her then, to sit in silence, praying for a change by morning, and knowing full well it wasn’t coming. He didn’t want to let her see him cry though; she was hurt enough as it was.

It was the last time he would see her alive, the last time he would see her voice.

She didn’t come from the room that night. He didn’t question it. He had tried. It was up to her now. He had lost the battle, that he knew. But perhaps he hadn’t entirely lost her. Perhaps she would decide that he loved her, and it was all she had left. Perhaps she would make a grab for that little piece of happiness she could have again with him. But he doubted she would. All the same, he left her to her thoughts.

He’d forever regret that. What if he had checked on her? Would he have prevented it? Would he have saved her? Or was she already beyond saving? Would he have at least prolonged the inevitable?

It was the sound that woke him, like a firework. But it wasn’t a holiday. And it wasn’t a firework. He sat bolt upright in his bed, already fearing the worst. He knew in the back of his mind that she was gone, but he was too determined to fully believe it. She couldn’t be gone. She wouldn’t take herself away from him. Wouldn’t she know what that would do to him?

But what if it hadn’t been her? Did someone else do it? Did someone take her from him? Or had she already been stolen?

He sprinted to the drawing room, praying all the way there. But what he found, was much worse then he could ever have imagined. It would haunt his dreams for the rest of his life, and wake him screaming in the night. How could such a thing happen to someone once so beautiful?

She lay in a heap on the floor, tears marks still on her pale face, the muggle thing called a gun still in her hand, her finger on the trigger. Her chest was still. She wasn’t breathing. She was dead.

A gun she used to make it more important. It showed she meant it, that this act was intentional. She meant to distance herself from him entirely, a fact that punched a fresh new hole in his already mangled chest.

He screamed her name, bending over her, holding her limp form close to him. He didn’t care about the blood, about the gun, about anything but her. She had to come back. He begged her to come back, to not leave him. He said he needed her, he loved her, he was sorry. He cried, saying her name over and over, rocking back and forth in a ball of misery, letting himself unravel. He couldn’t accept it. ‘She can’t be gone. You can’t leave me’ he chanted over and over. But nothing he could say would bring her back. She was gone, and he was alone.

He held her until her body was cold and stiff. Until he had no more tears in his eyes. Until it all sunk in. Until he realized there was nothing he could do.

Then he saw the note. Hope flickered through him, hope for the writing being something other then what he knew it was. He grabbed at it, eager to know her reason behind it, eager to see that she had left him for him, to keep him happy. He wanted to know she loved him. Maybe then, he would be able to accept it.

He gently laid her aside him, a few last tears escaping, as he held the note.

His hands were trembling as he unfolded it, eager for the one thing that might keep him from falling into the depths of despair that were pulling at him.


I’m sorry. For everything. I thought I loved you. I wanted to love you. But now he’s gone. And I can’t live without him. I can’t do it. I’ve tried, and this is me failing. It just hurts too much. I need to be with him. But I’m sorry to leave you. Please don’t be angry. It’s for the best. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry Draco.
To quote you, there will be no suffering at all, if only you would forget me.


So she left me for him. She took her life to be with him. But why? I loved her. I took care of her. What did that blood traitor ever do for her? Nothing, that’s what. He forgot about her when he left her at the alter. He never made any attempt to find her, to win her back, to confess what he did wrong. He never did a thing for her!

But I did! I gave her a life! I put aside all of my prejudices against her, against her family, against her impure blood. All in an attempt to make her happy. And she was. Wasn’t she?

I thought she loved me. I thought she loved me! I loved her! But…she left me. For him.

He was a mess with her gone, and it certainly did not help that had she taken her life to be with someone else, someone he had thought meant nothing to her, someone he hated.

But maybe he would get over her. Maybe he would move on. If only he could forget her.



AN: The quote --> "There would be no suffering at all, if only you would forget him" is from the movie, The Forgotten. Thanks to Tacey for the wonderful challenge.


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