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Remembrance by SilentConfession
Chapter 1 : Remembrance
Rating: 15+Chapter Reviews: 7

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Note: Before you read this little blurb, all I want you to know this is a sequel to The Cloud Dancer. I've tried really hard to make this a stand alone piece. I hope I've pulled it off, but please let me know if you found yourself confused or there wasn't enough back story here. I also wanted to make it more hopeful and cheerful than it is, but this came out as I wrote and... well you can decide for yourself about the rest of it. :) 

There was a subtle feeling in the air. It reminded her of Hogwarts, sixth year, when anything was possible. The air felt different then. It made a person feel invincible simply because life seemed never ending. Like everything would just keep on. It had been beautiful. She’d just started dating Ernie. Their relationship was as new and light as the summer sun. 

That was then. 

 Before the war. 

Before she saw Wayne die. Or Colin - or Ernie being tortured till he was almost dead (again and again and again). 

Everything had changed after that for her. The sun didn’t shine, the clouds would dance through her, and she’d see their faces. She understood how bad it had been for her. Nearly a year and a half had passed before she could sit straight. Before her dreams weren't plagued with visions of Wayne asking why she didn’t save him. She gave them life in her dreams. She saved them from obscurity after their death. 

Christmas had now passed. Five months would mark the second year anniversary.  She knew the ghosts would return then. She couldn’t stomach the thought so she pushed it away, and instead found herself pacing her small little flat of stone. She still found it humorous in a droll sort of way that she thought buying a flat carved out of stone was whimsical. This is where they visited her. Perhaps because it looked so much like the walls of Hogwarts. It was perpetual hell. 

Colin would dance circles around her. Tonks would scream for her child. Lavender would come and wish for her life back. Her real life, not the one she currently has. Winning was supposed to mean things would be better, right? That they could be happy again. It had seemed easy the first month or so after. (It might have been called elation, the joy of the survivors). It was so strange. That was when she moved in here, but then the nightmares started. The walls sucked her into their cold facade. 

Sometimes, she’d wake up and the place was engulfed in flame. 

She stopped by the counter and pulled out a packet of crisps. She needed something to distract her hands. To distract her mind from clouding over. It would not happen again (not again, like so many other times). She would not let the world of the dead claim her as one of their own. She could see herself. Actually see herself now, the way her bones jutted out of her skin like ridges of a mountain. She saw that. 

It wasn’t just the look of a corpse, she realized. It was the look of her. It scared her. So, she’d sit up in her chair a little straighter. She tested her feet and realized she could walk, if only for short spurts. Corpses don’t do that, humans do though. 

She shoved a handful of crisps into her mouth, crumbs fell back down into the bag as she crunched. The noise cracked through the hollow flat like fire. She heard the joyful cries of the people in the street. She cautiously wandered close to the window and peered out. If any of them  happened to catch sight of her in the window, they’d probably think they saw a ghost. However, no one looked up to the window with the pale yellow curtain. People were lining the street instead, some, she saw, were crowded around a pub, pints in hand, while others were busy going towards the city centre. 

New Years, she thought. She sighed and leaned her head against it, her breath fogged up the icy window. She drew a snowman in the wet residue and smiled slightly when the figure smiled back and then slowly melted away. 

Ernie would be home soon. He’d asked her to come out to see the fireworks tonight. She said she’d think about it, and she knew it would be good to feel the fresh air on her skin. But she held back, not fully giving into the idea of joining the masses towards city centre. The bustle of people, bodies all massed together, pressed in on one another like vultures. No, the idea of being out there didn’t appeal to her, even if it meant new beginnings. Possibilities. That weird feeling had been building inside her all week. She had eaten more. She paced in her flat increasingly. There was movement and she found that perhaps this was improvement.  

She listened closely to the howls of the wind. Watched as the sky opened up and small snowflakes were falling down from the heavens. Each so perfect and so individual, making their way to earth, only to melt and be forgotten. It was a lot like life. Their life (it just kept happening, perfect, until suddenly everything melted away). 

But this was not the time. She knew that now. Wayne wouldn’t have wanted this for her. Wouldn’t want her to shrivel up and die a corpse, another post casualty of war. She’d keep that in mind as the night wore on. He always was the most optimistic of them. He’d have looked for the light in the demon filled world (it was hard to think that one even existed as the clouds and smoke rose around them). 

Sometimes, she saw his face and he’d be crying, begging. But then it seemed like he was crying for her. Begging her to stop. For a long time she thought he wanted her to join them, to give them life- to do something. But maybe he just wanted her to live. To let them blow away with the clouds and the mist. Maybe she was holding on too hard to Colin- to Wayne- to Tonks. To them all. They were what she knew. 

The door opened and she dropped the bag of crisps. The remnants scattered on the floor. Ernie came in, his blonde hair was slicked back and his thick rimmed glasses were resting on the top of his head. He only ever used them to read. 

“Hello, love,” he said. It hurt. To see him still. She didn’t understand it, not quite. But looking at him hurt.  She was supposed to love him, but all she felt was pain. She could still see his empty eyes after the torture. See that man— that Death Eater laughing when he thought he’d actually killed him. She’d see all their faces (again and again and again). 

“Hi,” she whispered back. She couldn’t ruminate anymore. She couldn’t be stuck where her bones became ridges and her thoughts mere mist. 

He dropped his black briefcase and came and sat down on their couch. She hurried to the kitchen, it hurt so much to look at him. To see his hazel eyes. The rose in his cheeks. The soft turn of his lips. She knew them so well, but the pain that happened whenever she looked at his face haunted her like some disease. 

“Hannah?” He called to her. She heard the desperation in his voice. How he’d reach out to her. She remembered when all he would do is lay down beside her and let her breathe. She’d cling to him because she thought he was her hope. Her way of getting better. But she saw the horror in his eyes. She saw Wayne in them. She’s always see Wayne there. Their best mate. The one who always made them laugh. The two of them almost didn’t make sense without the third. 

Their love wasn’t the summer sun. It was a cold winter. 

She breathed deeply because she knew what she’d been trying to do this whole week. She knew somewhere in her soul that it had to be this way. The feeling was so rare and so fragile she couldn’t ignore it. (It may never come again.) She rarely knew exactly what had to be done. But, perhaps she had to kill the symbol to ever climb the mountain. 

“Love, I’ll make us tea, not to worry,” Ernie said, coming into the kitchen. She looked around at how clean the place was. She was lucky, to have him. He should have been able to bring her back to the living. Her eyes hurt. Her mind swirled and she was back (again and again and again). 


“I can’t do this,” she whispered. The words floated out between them, caught in some imaginary air wave. She couldn’t take those back. 

He stopped (was he remembering those months when she’d lay on the ground, claiming that the sky was taking her away to them?). Her breath caught, she wouldn’t take the words back.

“What do you mean? You’ve - you’ve been doing so much better,” Ernie said. There was another stretch of silence. His hands gripped the counter and his knuckles were white (he was devising a way to save her). She was unbraiding her long blonde plait. A cry of joy could be heard from the streets below. 

It was nearing midnight. 

“Us,” Hannah whispered. It was there (the remembrance). It was here. His eyes. The one who’d been with her through it all. “You - You can’t save me, Ernie.” 

It was killing him (her as well, it would be silly to think she wouldn’t drown in remembrance). She smiled slightly, it cracked into her skin as if she’d been a statue till now. 


He looked at her, his face so white, like a corpse himself. It had been so long. It almost didn’t seem fair of her. He’d always been there (Selfish, she told herself). 


He moved from the kitchen to her and took her cold hands into his. She frowned and turned away. It was no good. No good at all. 

“I’m letting you be free,” she said. 


It was all they ever wanted. It was what they fought for, and she’d become his jail. She’d lived in hers, believing that life could be given in dreams. She should have seen it all along. 

“I never said I wanted that,” he whispered. His voice caught and she saw the pain. It was ripping into him. Perhaps she’d misjudged. 


The noise was getting louder. The pavement full of people and more pints were bought. The fireworks would be going off soon. Yet, their flat was still as night. 


But no- everyone wanted their freedom. Their chance to fly. Isn’t that what this time of year was? To soar as if a person still could?


She shook her head and finally peered up at him. His hazel eyes were red. Holding back and holding on. (He didn’t have to say it). 


They remained still as the bubbling excitement filled the air. The calm surrender that things could begin again (she’d nearly lost two years in slumber). It wouldn’t happen again. The remembrance would suck out her soul even more fully then any Dementor. 


“I’m sorry,” she whispered. She found herself at the window again. This time though, she threw it open, letting the crisp air in and surround her. She breathed it in. She could feel it. It had to be tonight. 


There was a subtle feeling in the air. It reminded her of Hogwarts, sixth year, when anything was possible. The air felt different then. It made a person feel invincible simply because life seemed never ending. Like everything would just keep on. It had been beautiful. She’d just started dating Ernie. Their relationship was as new and light as the summer sun. 

That was then. 

Before the war. 


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