Forgotten

This is a story that came to me one day at 4 in the morning. It wouldn't leave me alone until I wrote it down. It was requested that I post this here by a very good friend of mine smurphy!

Here you go, sweetie. Enjoy!

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It should have been impossible to feel such emptiness. Her very soul seemed to ring with the hollow sound. But she didn’t know why. Everyone told her she was happy, that she should be happy. She was alive. So, why didn’t she feel alive?

They whispered about her when they thought she wasn’t listening. She could hear them at night as she lay in bed, staring into darkness. They pitied her – these strangers.

They called her Hermione. It must have been her name; everyone seemed to know it, everyone, except her. She didn’t recognize the gaunt creature in the mirror. She could have been pretty if her skin wasn’t tinged with yellow and her dull, brown eyes not bloodshot from the tears she couldn’t stop shedding. Her lips were chapped and caked with dried blood. They matched the bits of flesh missing around her fingernails where she couldn’t seem to stopped biting them. Her clothes hung off her; and the skirt and blouse might have been the same ones she’d worn three days ago, but she couldn’t be certain. The days were impossible to judge, to remember. Usually someone reminded her when it was time to bathe, to eat, to dress, or to even get up. Had she been given a choice, sleep was all she needed.

She didn’t hurt when she was sleeping. Her dreams were always so lovely, so full of color and serenity. The missing piece was never missing when she lost herself in the vivid hue between reality and that other place. But they wouldn’t let her. She belonged there, with them. That’s what they told her. She didn’t believe it. She belonged where that other half of her was. If she could only grab that little flicker of memory dancing just on the edges of her subconscious – taunting her – then she would know who she was and why there was a fist-sized hole in her chest where a steady patter should have been.

“Hermione?” She blinked, focusing away from her reverie to confront the man crouching down in front of her. His soft, green eyes were filled with worry as they always were when he came to her. Behind him was the other one. He never spoke, never looked at her, but kept staring just over her head as if he couldn’t bear the sight of her.

“How are you today?” he always asked that, following it up with a slight smile that never made his eyes sparkle.

She looked away, wishing they would let her be.

“Mrs. Weasley says you’re not eating,” he continued, possibly too used to her brush off to find it offensive anymore. “You need to eat, ‘Mione.”

Why? Why did she need to? Was there a reason they needed her alive? Why couldn’t they just let her sleep? That’s what she really wanted – needed.

“Please don’t do this.” He’d never begged before. Something about the pain in his voice made her look at him again, curious. This must have encouraged him; the sparkle – although dim – flickered in his eyes. “I… We need you to hang on. Please, ‘Mione,” he took her hand, his were warm and rough around the fingertips and the heel, “If I could change things… If I could make it stop hurting, I would. You have to believe me. I’m only trying to protect you, or I would bring him to you.”

Bring who? Who was he talking about? She wanted to ask, but she didn’t know how to form the words. She just couldn’t remember how. The months – years – she’d spent locked in that room – the one with the smallest window, narrowest, lumpiest bed – where no one had erased her will for everything: living, breathing… speaking.

“She doesn’t understand you, Harry,” the one behind him muttered, sounding annoyed and impatient. “You’re wasting your time. You all are! Just let her—“

“Shut up, Ron!” the one kneeling hissed, snapping his dark head around to glower at the red-headed one. “How can you want that?”

“I don’t!” the one named Ron muttered, stuffing both hands into his pockets, his shoulders hunched. “It just seems more humane, that’s all.”

He was told to shut up again, and Harry turned back to her, his expression heart-rending. It almost made her feel something, but she couldn’t be sure.

“I want you to come back,” he whispered, stroking coarse fingers over the back of her hand. “I know you miss him, but its better this way. You’re safe… That’s all we wanted! Please… You have to understand that!”

She turned away, wanting them to leave. Something about his words invoked a feeling she didn’t like. It was hot, bitter and all she wanted to do was scream and scream and scream until she went hoarse.

“Hermione…”

“Leave her, Harry!” Ron sighed, putting a hand on his friend’s shoulder, and tugging him to his feet. “This isn’t working.”

“What am I going to do, Ron?” Harry rasped, voice breaking with emotion. “This is all my fault! I did this to her!”

“Yea, to protect her,” said the red-head. “You can’t blame yourself for wanting to help.”

“I’ve destroyed her!” Harry yelled, shoving the hand away. “Look at her, Ron! Look at her! She might as well be dead! I killed her!”

“No, he killed her—“

“But I helped! I agreed! For her… I only wanted to help and look what I’ve done!”

“You’re just beating yourself up, mate. Let it go.”

The dark-haired man shoved both, pale hands through his hair, tearing out strands. His handsome face was contorted as if in pain. “I can’t do this anymore, Ron,” his tear filled, green eyes fixed on her, “It’s been three years… I can’t let her hurt like this. It’s killing me to see her so broken.”

The red-head frowned. “What are you going to do?”

Harry pulled out his wand, aiming it level with her nose. “I’m sorry, ‘Mione. Please forgive me.”

The last thing she saw was the slip of a silver tear trailing down the curve of his face, then there was blissful silence and she was dreaming of warm caresses, gentle words, loving kisses.

**

“Hermione dear, you need to get up.” Those fingers, always poking, prodding. How she hated them. “Come on, dear,” the covers were stolen from her, leaving her shivering under the chill circling the room, “Up you get.”

The cotton nightgown clothing her, rustled as she pushed upright – knowing the woman wouldn’t leave until she did so. With hands accustomed to caring for infants, the one everyone called Molly or Mrs. Weasley guided her down a small hall and into a smaller washroom. She was eased into a rickety chair as a bowl was filled with warm, soapy water.

“We’re having pancakes for breakfast today,” Mrs. Weasley was saying while submerging a rag and wringing it of access water.

Hermione didn’t respond, allowing the soft, damp cloth to glide over her face and down her neck. She sat like a rag doll, unmoving, unfeeling of anything. Her teeth were brushed, and she was dressed in a dress the colors of soft lilacs. Her hair was combed of its tangles and swept back.

“There,” Mrs. Weasley chimed, beaming. “Don’t you look pretty?”

Hermione couldn’t answer – even if she had wanted to. The older woman refused to show her a mirror anymore. The one in that bathroom had been taken down and replaced with a picture of a young girl playing on a swing.

“Let’s get something to eat, shall we?” Mrs. Weasley didn’t need a response for this, but escorted Hermione down a set of narrow stairs and into a tiny, immaculate kitchen. She was motioned to take her seat, but she ignored it and moved to the window and the chair leaning against it sideways.

The sky was blue, so blue, like nothing she had ever seen before. It draped over a rolling landscape in lush green. Nothing could be seen for miles, except the odd tree, bush and a broken fence. She didn’t know what lay beyond the fence. She wasn’t allowed out, not even to the front porch. Sitting by the window, watching the trees shudder by a breeze she’d never feel on her skin was as close to the outside world as she was permitted.

“Hermione, if you don’t eat, you’ll be sent straight back to your room!” Mrs. Weasley threatened.

Hermione remained impassive. What did she care where she was? They were all the same.

A loud crack broke the stillness in the kitchen and four figures appeared just on the outside of that broken fence. The arm grabbed Hermione before she could get a better look as the figures moved hurriedly towards the rundown cabin. She was dragged forcefully from the room and shoved into the library. The sliding doors were shut behind her, and she was left there to wait.

Bang! Hermione jumped at the unexpected crash of the front door being thrown open wide with severe force. It was such an unnatural sound for a normally quiet place.

Raised voices were quickly followed by things breaking. So many people were shouting, cursing, threatening, and nearly muffling the distinct crash of shattering glass across the kitchen floor. Mrs. Weasley’s shrilling voice was nearly the loudest, but there was another, deeper and snapping with murderous rage. Something about that voice made the dead muscle in her chest twitch. So familiar, so beautiful, she had to know.

The library doors slid open without a sound, and even if they had, no one in the kitchen would have heard it. Her bare feet made no noise as she crept along the hardwood towards the commotion, towards that voice.

“Get out!” Mrs. Weasley was shrieking when Hermione reached the kitchen doorway and blinked uncaringly at the strewn chaos across its once immaculate floor. Bits of china, teacups, food and silverware lay scattered around the five sets of feet – one set standing as far from the others as possible.

“I will not!” the voice snarled. “Tell me where she is, now! Or I will bring this house down around your head until I find her!”

“You stay away from her! You will not touch her!”

“Mrs. Weasley, please--” she recognized that voice – Harry.

“You,” the word was spat as if foul. “How dare you bring him here after the things he’s done! How dare you put that poor child through more torture?”

“Please—“ Harry's pleading was ignored.

“Kingsley, get him out, now!”

The suspense was killing her. She had to know! Had to!

The floorboard beneath her feet creaked, barely more than a squeak, but it drew all heads in her direction like a whip. Faces masked in horror stared back at her, but only one had her full attention.

He was gorgeous. He stood so tall and regal with the fairest skin and brownest eyes. All the anger storming across his face seemed to melt away at the sight of her. The hand wielding his wand trembled and dropped to his side. He swallowed visibly.

“Hermione?” His voice cracked, and she could see the struggle on his face to keep his emotions in check as he took her in from head to toe.

It wasn’t curiosity that propelled her deeper into the room. It was the desire to touch him, to feel his warmth beneath her hands that sent her to him.

Without ever removing his wide, glossy eyes from hers, he waved his wand and the debris under her feet instantly vanished, leaving her a clear path to him.

Once close enough to nearly be touching, her hands rose without her consent and touched the smooth contour of his cheek, trailing lightly to the hard line of his jaw.

He didn’t cease her caress, but the muscle beneath her fingertips flexed rapidly as if her touch pained him. He stood so much taller than her, just a little more than a foot-and-a-half, but that didn’t stop her from gliding her fingers over his lips. Why did she know those lips? They felt so familiar as if she’d touched them, kissed them before. Did she know this man? She must. The emptiness was gone from inside her. It had vanished the second she was close enough to be engulfed in his familiar scent.

“What have you done to her?” he demanded, never taking his soulful eyes off her.

“I… I…”

“Spit it out, Potter!” he growled, his straight, white teeth flashing from between the lips she’d been stroking only moments ago.

Hermione jumped, eyes going wide at the feral glint in his once soft gaze as she snatched her hand away.

His face instantly transformed, fury vanishing as he caught her hand and brought it to his lips. “Do not be scared, love, I will not shout again. I apologize.”

She wasn’t. Nothing about him could ever scare her. She’d never felt so safe than she did when he was touching her. So, she turned her hand and caressed him again, cupping the side of his face in a gesture that spoke of her trust in him. He placed his hand over hers, holding her there a moment before turning to brush his lips over her palm.

“Talk, Potter,” he muttered, voice low but vibrating with the temper he was forcing to suppress.

“I was trying to help her,” Harry stammered from somewhere behind her, his voice sounding weak and breathless. “After Voldemort almost won… I didn’t want… he would have killed her! We weren’t sure whose side you were on anymore or if you were even alive…”

For the first time since she’d walked into the room, he tore his gaze from hers and pinned the dark-haired man with a glower of someone just holding on to his control. “The very idea of you assuming I would ever allow harm to befall her is laughable. I would kill you right now, Potter, if I did not have Hermione to worry about,” he hissed while looping a gentle arm around her waist, guiding her into the folds of his robes.

Home. It left her reeling how right it felt being caged in his arms, surrounded by the potent scent of herbs and masculine spices.

His arms tightened around her once he was certain she wouldn’t shrink away. His long fingers fisted into her hair, dragging her head down over the thundering of his heart. Inside her own breast, her heart jerked as it was coaxed by the sound of its mate. A contented smile curved her face.

“I love you,” he rasped hoarsely into her ear, his hot breath tickling the side of her face. “I have missed you so dearly.”

Her eyes closed and she snuggled deeper against him.

“What have you done to my wife, Potter?” he repeated, never loosening his hold on her.

Wife? Her head tilted back to peer into his face, into the face of her husband. Why couldn’t she remember? Her heart knew him, her soul trusted him, but she couldn’t see his face in her head.

Why?

Why?

“Hermione?” His beautiful, caramel-brown eyes filled with concern as he lifted a hand to brush away the tears skating down her cheeks. “What is it, love? What’s wrong?” When she continued to watch him, searching his handsome face, he snapped his gaze to the people standing, watching them. “What’s wrong with her? Why will she not respond?”

“She hasn’t spoken in three years,” Harry murmured, breaking the brief silence. “We… we don’t know what’s wrong.”

His gaze returned to hers, brimming with frustration and concern. “Do you know who I am, Hermione?”

Twin teardrops ran down her cheek when she shook her head.

Something like agonizing pain flashed across his face. He dropped his lips and kissed her brow. “It will be alright, little one. I promise.”

Hearing him say so, made her believe him. He would make everything better. She just knew it.

“We were only trying to protect her,” insisted Harry. “She wanted to find you after Voldemort had destroyed the Order. She was certain someone had talked and given your name as an informant. She wouldn’t listen to any of us when we told her you were fine. It was the only thing I could think of to do to stop her…”

She could feel him trembling around her with censored rage and his voice shook with it. “What did you do, Potter?”

There was a long silence before the other man responded. “I thought I could do it. I’d seen Hermione do it before, and it never seemed that hard, but I think I did something wrong. She wasn’t supposed to forget everything, just you. I tried to fix it, but it wouldn’t work… it only made everything worse and—“

“What. Did. You. Do?” he snarled, breath wheezing through clenched teeth.

“I Obliviated her—“

“What!” he snarled, arms tightening around her protectively when he lunged forward and grabbed the dark-haired man by the shirtfront and yanked him forward roughly. “How dare you, Potter? How dare you take her from me like this? How dare you keep her from me for three bloody years? You had no right! No right!”

“I didn’t know how to tell you!” Harry shouted, face ashen in fear. “After Voldemort’s defeat… I was hoping it would wear off, but it never did, and nearly everyone from the Order was gone or didn’t know how to counter the spell…”

“So, you decided to tell me my wife was dead, is that it? You thought you could simply bury your little treasure and no one would be the wiser?”

“I was going to tell you!” Harry protested. “I just didn’t know how you would react now that she’s like this. I didn’t want to hurt her.”

“Did you honestly believe that I would ever love her less, Potter? She is – and always will be – my life!”

Harry nodded, licking his dry lip. “That’s why I couldn’t do this anymore. I couldn’t watch her waste away.”

He growled deep in his throat. His fist around the other man’s shirt shook. “Three years, Potter! You stole her from me, leaving me to mourn thinking she was gone from me forever. Do you have any idea what that can do to a person? The thoughts that go through one’s mind when they think they have nothing left? The things they are willing to do to make the pain stop? I don’t suppose you would understand, not when your wife and children are safe at home.”

“She’s my best friend, of course I understand!”

With a hard shove, he threw Harry to the ground and pointed his wand at him, all the while keeping a secure arm around Hermione’s waist. “Do not dare pretend that you were looking after her well-being, Potter! You were merely keeping your sorry hide safe from my wrath, but that will no longer protect you because now I am going to kill you!”

Something about the sight of Harry in distress tickled a memory in the back of her skull and she was grabbing the wand-baring hand, shaking her head rapidly.

He stared into her pleading eyes, and growled. “He deserves it, Hermione! We lost three years because of him! I lost you because of him!”

Again, she shook her head, wrapping her arms around his neck and holding him close, letting her body language talk for her. He clutched her close, exhaling into her neck.

Suddenly, he stiffened and drew back.

“What did you use, Potter? Obliviate or the False Memory Charm?”

Pushing up onto his elbows, Harry glanced at Ron. “Uh… I can’t remember. Why? Does it matter?”

“Of course it matters, you dunderhead! Had you spent any time at all listening in class you would have known the False Memory Charm can be reversed!”

Harry looked elated for a moment as he leapt to his feet, but the glow died quickly. “I said Obliviate when casting the spell…”

“Show me exactly what you did.”

Harry pulled out his wand and did a flicking motion with his wrist, muttering the spell at the same time. Everyone watched him, no one speaking until he turned green eyes to the sullen man boring into him with the force of a furious bull. But despite the flames flickering in his gaze, he gently led Hermione into a chair and knelt at her feet. He stared up into her eyes, his knuckles brushing her cheek.

“I will not harm you, do you understand?”

Hermione nodded, turning her face into his touch before he had to pull back and get to his feet.

She didn’t flinch when he pointed his wand at her, trusting him completely not to cause her harm. When he waved his arm and murmured the incantations, Hermione felt the spell make contact with the center of her chest with the force of a Bludger. It momentarily knocked the wind from her lungs, and she gasped, clutching the spot as she was flooded with memories, things she’d forgotten for too long. It was like watching a movie on fast-forward, a scrambled mixture of rushed, blurry pictures and sounds. They were things she wondered how she could ever forget, things that meant so much to her.

Her first kiss with the man she loved. Their wedding. The times they spent together. They were all returned to her like a long, lost child returning home.

“Hermione?”

She lifted her tear-filled eyes into her husbands’. “Severus--”

He had her in his arms before she could utter another sound, holding her so close her bones cracked with the force. “I will never let you go again. I swear it!”

Tears soaking the front of his robes, Hermione clutched him with all the longing and happiness inside her, and replied, “I’ve missed you so much, Severus. Even when I didn’t know who you were… I couldn’t stop wanting you. I love you so--“

He silenced her with a kiss so hot and passionate, she nearly melted on the spot. It was solely by the fabric scrunched in her fingers that kept her upright as he consumed her with all the hunger and desperation flowing between them.

“Let’s go home, little one,” he panted when they broke for air.

Hermione nodded, eagerly, face glowing with exhaustion and contentment.

“’Mione…”

“You will keep away from my wife, Potter!” Severus growled, glowering at the man over Hermione’s head. “I had better not see any of you again, or nothing will save you from what I will do to you!”

He didn’t wait for a response as he swept Hermione into his arms as if she weighed nothing and stomped from the room. Hermione wrapped hers around his shoulders and nuzzled her face into the column of his throat, drizzling the warm flesh with kisses. Neither glanced back as he carried her bridal style from the cabin and beyond the broken fence towards their future in the horizon. She was finally where she belonged. Someone had finally found her.