Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or Avril Lavigne’s Song ‘Remember When’.
A/N: Okay, I have gotten back in to listening to Avril Lavigne, as most of her songs seem to describe some particular thing in my life that has happened or is happening. In addition, many of her songs are really beautiful. Anyway, a one-shot for you all to read as I am really properly struggling with writers block at the moment, and need to find my muse again before I can continue with my other stories. A word of caution, I was a little depressed when I wrote this one-shot so it is not a happy one unfortunately…
A year had passed.
A whole year since that dreaded battle that changed everything, during which a single curse flown from the lips of her enemy and her best friend had changed her clarity and the very meaning of the reason she was alive.
It was Him.
She had lived for Him and it took that one moment, that one instant of pause for her to realise this. He had been her constant, the one person who had been there for her through thick and thin, or whenever she needed a shoulder to cry on he offered his without a second thought or question. He had been the strong one when everything went bad; he led them into this battle like the leader he had been born to be…
If only she had seen it sooner…
She had loved him…, more than what a best friend should. He was the very meaning, the reason she had kept on going when things worsened.
Her life ended when that curse was uttered.
Everyone cheered as the enemy fell to the ground, knowing they had won the war. There were bodies everywhere, those still standing were helping the wounded, others were crying tears of relief that the war was over, and others were chasing off the remnants of the enemy that still lingered on the grounds.
She didn’t care…
All she cared about was Him as his wand slipped from his grasp and he crumbled to the ground. She ran towards him, not caring to check where she was going, and she tripped over the body of Fred Weasley, his glassy eyes staring at her…, accusing almost. Her eyes tingled from unshed tears, but she would not let them fall…
She wanted… no, she needed to know that he was okay before she could cry.
She reached him and fell to the ground beside him. His glasses had fallen off during the battle, and she stared into his lifeless eyes…, her world and her life ended in that second.
Voldemort was gone…, but he had taken Him to the grave alongside him.
The tears fell, but she could not accept it. He wasn’t gone; he was just lying in tranquillity, relishing the feeling of being free of fear, pain, and worry. She took his hand, the cold clamminess of it shook her to the core, and a strangled sob escaped her lips and echoed about the grounds.
All around her, the cheering stopped dead as they heard her emitting her pain. Tears were coming thick and fast, blurring her vision as she heard footsteps approaching slowly as they surrounded her.
Not one of them made any move to pull her away.
Remember when I cried to you a thousand times I told you everything, you know my feelings It never crossed my mind, that there would be a time For us to say goodbye, what a big surprise
She felt a hand grasp her shoulder gently, but she never looked up. She didn’t need to for she knew that grasp, that pressure as she had had its calming presence in her life since her first year at the magical school where she had met two of the most amazing people, Harry Potter: The-Boy-Who-Lived and Ron Weasley: A gentle soul.
However, Ron’s newfound gentleness, understanding, and calm aura were not helping her now as the tears dried, and the cold numbness seeped in. She hated it, yet she welcomed it with open arms. She tightened her hold on Harry’s cold, lifeless hand until Ron managed to pull her away somehow, and Medi-wizards moved in to surround Harry, blocking him from her view.
She allowed her mind to close, and the part of her that made her who she was died.
She may have looked like Hermione Granger, but on the inside was an emptiness that clung to her like a thick cobweb. She was in a cold place, a dark corner, and chained to the wall. He held the key…
But I'm not lost I'm not gone I haven't forgot
In her dreams, she saw him. He told her not to lose herself, not to give up…, to be the person she always was, and not this shell. In her nightmares she saw herself running towards him, jumping in front of the curse, but it would go right through her and hit him anyway. He would blame her…, tell her he hated her for not saving him, that he was worth so much more than she was, and no one would have noticed if she had died. It hurt her, tore at her with a mental and emotional pain that ebbed and throbbed as if someone was literally cutting her slowly with a sharp blade.
The pain was very real.
Three long, agonising years passed by, and she never left her room. She had bought an apartment, and sat in a rocking chair staring out of the window, watching the world go by as if she were the one who had died. She envied those that lived out their lives, she hated those that smiled and laughed. She was angry that they were living. She began to resent everything, she hated sleeping, she hardly ate anything, and her body had lost that fullness, that glow that once clung to her like an aura.
She watched the world go by…
Paper clippings from the Daily Prophet adorned her wall, pictures of him strewn everywhere, a constant reminder of that fateful day. A dark obsession had risen in her since that day, and she collected everything that would remind her of that day…, of Him.
These feelings I can't shake no more, these feelings are running out the door I can feel it falling down, and I'm not coming back around These feelings I can't take no more, this emptiness in the bottom drawer It's getting harder to pretend, and I'm not coming back around again
Two more years passed and she was fed up with all the constant visitors, mainly therapists wanting to help her, mental nurses that fed her pills and forced her to eat, a hypnotist that would trick her into believing that dreams and nightmares didn’t exist. Slowly, achingly slowly, the paper clippings began to disappear off the wall.
Then one day, Hermione rose from her rocking chair and went to her computer. Switching it on, she sat down in the chair, and began to type. The other people there, visiting her, watched her with curiosity as she opened a new word document and began to type like a woman possessed. The title at the top was ‘Our Story’, and she wrote her biography.
Two more years passed, Hermione’s book was published. People from all over the world bought it, and Ron was glad to see some colour returning to her cheeks, the emptiness in her eyes lifted to be replaced by recognition and before long, a small speck of warmth returned.
It took almost a decade for Hermione to show any sign that she was still amongst the living, and everyone was proud of her.
On a cloudy day in November, she sat down at her computer again as Ron placed a cup of tea in front of her and watched as she wrote down two words on the screen…
“Remember when?” he asked her quietly.
Hermione nodded lightly, “Remember when,” She whispered.
“What’s this one about?” He asked gently.
Hermione closed her eyes, envisioning the words in her mind, “Everything,” she answered and began typing once again. Ron nodded and left her to her musings.
I remember when it was together till the end, now I'm alone again, Where do I begin? I cried a little bit, you died a little bit, Please say there's no regrets, and say you won't forget.
But I'm not lost, I'm not gone, I haven't forgot.
A year passed by and Hermione stopped typing, sitting back in her chair, and leaning her head against the back. Ron glanced up, wondering if she had finished the book and he asked as much, but she just shook her head in the negative. She stood and walked over to the mantle where a single picture stood of Him, herself, and Ron, taken just before the final battle.
A solitary tear fell from her eye to mark the floor.
Ron stood and walked over to her, placing a gentle hand on her shoulder, much like he had that night. He didn’t need to speak, to ask her what was wrong. He knew she had loved him; hence, there had been no man in her life since. She had turned down every potential suitor, even Draco Malfoy had asked for her hand once the war had ended, and he was no longer under the influence of his father.
She had declined all offers.
She sighed, “What would he be doing if he was here?” she asked to the room rather than Ron.
Ron shook his head, a small smile gracing his lips, “Playing with your kids I imagine,” He answered and Hermione turned to look at him questioningly, her lips forming the question that would not slip out, “Before you ask, he did love you. He was… going to ask you to marry him after the battle. He wanted to be with you… no one else,” He whispered as he gently wiped away the tears that were now falling freely from her eyes.
“I loved him too…, I would have said yes…,” she whispered and let Ron pull her into his arms.
These feelings I can't shake no more, these feelings are running out the door, I can feel it falling down, and I'm not coming back around, These feelings I can't take no more, this emptiness in the bottom drawer, It's getting harder to pretend, and I'm not coming back around again.
It took a further 3 years for Hermione to finish her book, and she proudly handed it to the publisher. Another year passed before it was published, and it was another hit. Everyone who was anyone bought it; even Muggles bought it, believing it to be a fantasy book as magic was mentioned. She lived her life, and even began going out with her old friends from Hogwarts.
However, something was always missing.
She had always wanted to get married, have kids, and live a normal life, but it wasn’t to be.
She would never want anyone else, only Him.
She lived a comfortable life, the money she received from her books, and the interest it entailed made her wanting for nothing. She watched her friends marry, have kids, and spoiled them rotten, taking her place as ‘Aunt Mione’ but she envied them.
She wanted that as well.
That was then, now it's the end, I'm not coming back, I can't pretend, Remember When…
She never married.
She never had kids.
She outlived her friends and family.
Hermione lay in her bed, ill with a fever, and at her age that was almost deadly. She had lived her life, knowing that was what He would have wanted her to do. At age 130, she had lived a full life of pain without Him, but had known that was what would happen after he had died that fateful day.
She looked over at the picture on her bedside table, worn with the years but still moving and he smiled at her. A smile formed on her lips, and she closed her eyes, letting death welcome her in its warm embrace.
She loved Him.
Knowing He had loved her back was enough for her, and she fell into the blissful eternal slumber, her worries gone.
She would meet Him there.
These feelings I can't shake no more, these feelings are running out the door, I can feel it falling down, and I'm not coming back around, These feelings I can't take no more, this emptiness in the bottom drawer, It's getting harder to pretend, and I'm not coming back around again...