aliah_carina wrote 'Remembering' for sweetproserpina
Title: Remembering
Author: aliah_carina
Rating: M (PG-13), just to be safe
Possible Spoilers/Warnings: Post-HBP
Summary: If only she could remember…
Author's Notes: This was fun to write, although I found the prompt hard, I hope you enjoy it! The prompt’s rather….loosely interpreted, sorry. If you’re left wondering what the special power is, you can ask :) Italics indicate speech, not thoughts.
Beta: softlyforgotten ♥
Full name: Ginevra Molly Weasley.
Her fascination with singing had begun when she was a little, little girl. Spinning around the wide open meadows around her house, and then falling into the long, comforting grass. Flowers shooting up all around her, her favorite the small, sweet forget-me-not that bloomed despite her mother’s best efforts. She’d clutch a huge handful of the dainty blue flowers in her hands, the stems desperately overflowing through the cracks in her fingers, and then she’d leap around the clearing, singing a mantra in her high, clear voice: forget-me-not forget-me-not forget-me-not.
She still sung now. Her soft voice was often heard humming along to no particular tune, the most common a little ditty with no words. The healers encouraged singing: They said it was her mind reminding her of what she used to be, what she could still be. It was a reassurance to some of them, an indication that maybe, just maybe, they could be doing their job right and maybe (just maybe) she might be drifting down the long road to recovery.
Many of them had given up the hope of recovery three years ago.
***
Admission date: 16th November, 1997
He came and saw her every day, although she had no way of knowing that. Every day was the 16th of November, 1997 to her. He’d walk into her room, with his white shirt and tan pants. He’d sit down on her chair, examine her. She’d question him, ask him why he had come. It was always the same answer. To fix you. She laughed every day. How can you fix something that isn’t broken? He’d just smile sadly. And such was the extent of their relationship. She didn’t know why, but she always felt at ease with him. She’d do what she wanted to do, she’d draw the flowers outside her window, or maybe even him. He’d simply sit in her plain white chair. At 12:30 they’d go to the lunch room, and browse the menus. Maybe I’ll try something different today! And then she’d pick a curry, the same as every day. Butter Chicken, or Tiki Masala if the cook felt so inclined. I’ve never tried this before! Is it any good? And then they’d sit down at the plain uniform tables, on hard uniform chairs, and talk about whatever came to mind.
On Monday she’d asked him about his childhood. He told her tales of summers on the sea-side, of fair skin that burnt oh-so-easily, and of a blonde queen who would sit and make sandcastles with him all day long while her king watched them. With Tuesday came questions about his friends. He’d told her of a black-haired girl who looked after him when he was little, who had hoped to be something more than a friend but held no grudge when that never happened. Wednesday bought enquiries after his time at high school. A pained expression was worn that day, as he told of being in Slytherin, of the discrimination against him, and of a fateful day in the girls’ bathroom, then showed her the thin white scars that crisscrossed his chest. Her eyes had gone wide as she carefully reached out a finger to feather-light trace the scars, and then she had offered her sympathies, carefully ignoring a flash of remembrance, of a disheveled boy washing his hands meticulously, each red stain fading slowly from skin but remaining emblazoned in memories.
And she remembered those stains.
***
Cause of admission: Irreversible damage to the brain.
The first time he kissed her, she didn’t know what to do. It was her first kiss (and their first kiss) all over again: Soft, achingly slow, just enough to make her want much much more. She’d tentatively touched her hand to his cheek, and he’d examined her for a long time, before pulling her in for another kiss. This time it was passionate and demanding, his hands skimmed over her back through the thin fabric of her nightgown and she arched into him, trying, testing, tasting, and it was as if he had been waiting a long long time for this to happen. And maybe he had. In that moment she remembered this kiss, all those years ago.
‘Three years….’
It was a gently spoken, in the reverent whisper of sudden revelation. His body stiffened, and his hands began to shake a little. He shook his head, not willing to believe, not willing to get his hopes up just to have them mercilessly crushed once more. There was no way she could remember.
But she did.
***
Spouse/Parent/Guardian(s): Molly Saera Weasley (Prewett) and Arthur Thomas Weasley
And so the memories started filtering back. She made him tell her more and more stories, from innocent things such as her first quidditch match to dangerous topics such as the day of the Death Eater raid, 5 years and 10 months ago. So I’m 21 then? Funny how time whizzes by… She asked about why she was here, what was wrong with her. A bad curse, from one of the Death Eaters….inability to retrieve information from the long-term memory….no known cure. She absorbed this information, noting his strained voice at his final words, as if he had often argued with the healers over this point. She asked him for more information, longing for the one piece of information her mind needed to unlock its secrets. As he answered her questions, talking about little girls screaming and older brothers desperately fighting (What about my brother. Ron? What happened to him? Is he okay? He’s fine. And then she remembers the animosity between their families, and she questions him no further), something fit and suddenly she could remember.
When the wizarding war begun suddenly, Hogwarts had been under siege. It was no longer safe for the students to remain inside the castle walls, and so they fled. Underground tunnels were constructed by the remaining teachers under the instructions of Headmistress McGonagall. Pack only what you need, students will travel in year groups, do not separate from your group, do not go outside. Students quickly learnt what happened if you dared to venture outside during the 3 harsh days they spent in the tunnels. She had heard the screams of Justin Finch-Fletchley and his little sister Anna when they were caught by the Death Eaters staking out in a clearing only meters away from their underground escape route. She had huddled closer to Luna, and tried to ward off the bitter tears threatening to stream down her face. Justin had been in her Advanced Charms class, he had corrected her wandwork when the charm just wouldn’t work. His sister was too young altogether to be in this war, merely a first year who had been hoping to try out for the Hufflepuff Quidditch team the next year. Now she would never get that coveted Chaser jersey. They had all prayed that night, to any god that would listen, that the Death Eaters wouldn’t hear them, wouldn’t find there hiding place. Sometimes prayers aren’t quite enough.
The attack had been sudden, unexpected. It was a brief stop in a hidden away clearing, which one of the teachers had deemed safe. They found out where Snape’s loyalties lay that night. The moment they were all out the black devils were on them, there was no way to stop them. The curse had been fast, leaving no time for her to avoid or divert it. She’d never know who it came from, or if it had been meant to cause such damage. White masks show no emotion, black robes do not falter. Curse one child, move onto the next. Perhaps the memory of that night would have been ingrained in her memory forever, dark phantoms all around her; fear and desperation, shouting and screams, and then an eerie moment of silence followed by a red flash. Then nothing. Perhaps it would haunt her dreams from now on.
She never asked him what side he had fought for.
***
Next of Kin: Ronald Weasley
She quickly moved on to questioning him about the events that happened during her prolonged stay at St. Mungos, focusing on three years ago. Ever since that first kiss, three years ago had been constantly on her mind. Something had happened, that she was sure of, but he wouldn’t tell her anything. As much as she strained, her mind seemed determined to keep such information under lock and key, and she soon worried that perhaps she would never find out what event had happened that was so significant that it wouldn’t leave her brain along 3 years later. But it was not to be. It had been a cool winter’s day, a month or so after that fateful day, and she was doodling in her room while talking to him. Surprise, she thought, would be the best tactic, and so she sprung the question on him while he was quite unaware: What happened three years ago? He refused to tell her point blank, as per usual, but this time she persisted in asking him until his resolve had worn down. He tried to make her shut up, in the best way he knew.
It didn’t quite work.
As soon as his lips had clashed with hers, something sparked inside her and the memories of three years past came rushing back to her. She pushed back from him, back and back until her head collided with her headboard, but she didn’t feel the pain. Her eyes were wide and disbelieving, as the memories filtered through her mind. And through all of it, one thought kept reappearing. Where is he? Where is he? WHERE? He shook his head, not believing that she could remember. But she continued with the same question: Where where where? Where is he? He had to admit he had no idea. The nurses had taken him, almost as soon as he had arrived. They said he was safer not with her, and that it would be easier on both of them.
Her head fell, and her back had lost its tautness. She seemed broken and lost, like a little girl with the weight of the world on her shoulders. He climbed carefully onto the bed next to her, and held her to him. He remembered when he had done this for her the first time she had lost him, three years and one month ago. Her tears had soaked through his careful white shirt, but he didn’t care. He had also been grieving for their loss.
To have a baby is hard on you, but to lose one is even worse.
***
She began to talk to the healers again. She asked them what had happened to her baby. They were shocked, speechless at first. But then after persistence, they explained how he had been adopted out, a small council voting in favor of passing custody of the boy onto a couple more capable of looking after him. She begged to at least know the name of his parents, the name of her baby. The healers insisted it would take a few days to check the records, then they would have to verify their results with the adoption center, and contact the new parents to confirm that they didn’t mind about their identity being given away. He had a few persuasive tricks rolled up his sleeve however. One deadly glare from him later and they were fumbling as fast as they could in the filing cabinet, looking desperately for her record. Finally it was found, and the small file for the baby was extracted from it. One of the young nervous interns read it for them, trying hard not to fumble over his words.
‘He was named by his new parents, ‘Draco Arthur’, after his father and grandfather I believe. His parents were very clear that they believed he should have a strong connection with his family. The last name listed here is….Weasley? Ah, a certain Ronald Weasley and Hermione Granger-Weasley. They applied for care of the baby 2 weeks after its birth.’
And in that moment she found she didn’t care as much that she didn’t have the baby. She knew he was in good hands, her brother and her old friend would look after it well. And maybe, when she was older and the baby was no longer a baby, no longer her baby, she would go and visit him. And as he had said, it’s not like it’s that hard to make another one anyway. She had grinned, and poked her elbow sharply into his side, but his point was a fair one. One thought still haunted her though, making her stay awake long into the night. She asked him the next day, begging him to answer her: Why did you come see me in the first place? Why did you keep coming? He laughed, and shook his head.
“I’ve told you before, Ginny; I came to fix you.”
Release Date: 16th November, 2003
ORIGINAL REQUEST:
BRIEFLY describe what you'd like to receive:
The tone/mood of the fic: Mystery.
A Theme/element/line of dialogue/object you want in your fic: Special magical powers that Draco and Ginny get only when they are around each other.
Canon or AU? Canon.
Rating of the fic you want: anything between G and NC-17
Deal Breakers (what don't you want?): No love triangles, no sad ending.
Author: aliah_carina
Rating: M (PG-13), just to be safe
Possible Spoilers/Warnings: Post-HBP
Summary: If only she could remember…
Author's Notes: This was fun to write, although I found the prompt hard, I hope you enjoy it! The prompt’s rather….loosely interpreted, sorry. If you’re left wondering what the special power is, you can ask :) Italics indicate speech, not thoughts.
Beta: softlyforgotten ♥
Full name: Ginevra Molly Weasley.
Her fascination with singing had begun when she was a little, little girl. Spinning around the wide open meadows around her house, and then falling into the long, comforting grass. Flowers shooting up all around her, her favorite the small, sweet forget-me-not that bloomed despite her mother’s best efforts. She’d clutch a huge handful of the dainty blue flowers in her hands, the stems desperately overflowing through the cracks in her fingers, and then she’d leap around the clearing, singing a mantra in her high, clear voice: forget-me-not forget-me-not forget-me-not.
She still sung now. Her soft voice was often heard humming along to no particular tune, the most common a little ditty with no words. The healers encouraged singing: They said it was her mind reminding her of what she used to be, what she could still be. It was a reassurance to some of them, an indication that maybe, just maybe, they could be doing their job right and maybe (just maybe) she might be drifting down the long road to recovery.
Many of them had given up the hope of recovery three years ago.
***
Admission date: 16th November, 1997
He came and saw her every day, although she had no way of knowing that. Every day was the 16th of November, 1997 to her. He’d walk into her room, with his white shirt and tan pants. He’d sit down on her chair, examine her. She’d question him, ask him why he had come. It was always the same answer. To fix you. She laughed every day. How can you fix something that isn’t broken? He’d just smile sadly. And such was the extent of their relationship. She didn’t know why, but she always felt at ease with him. She’d do what she wanted to do, she’d draw the flowers outside her window, or maybe even him. He’d simply sit in her plain white chair. At 12:30 they’d go to the lunch room, and browse the menus. Maybe I’ll try something different today! And then she’d pick a curry, the same as every day. Butter Chicken, or Tiki Masala if the cook felt so inclined. I’ve never tried this before! Is it any good? And then they’d sit down at the plain uniform tables, on hard uniform chairs, and talk about whatever came to mind.
On Monday she’d asked him about his childhood. He told her tales of summers on the sea-side, of fair skin that burnt oh-so-easily, and of a blonde queen who would sit and make sandcastles with him all day long while her king watched them. With Tuesday came questions about his friends. He’d told her of a black-haired girl who looked after him when he was little, who had hoped to be something more than a friend but held no grudge when that never happened. Wednesday bought enquiries after his time at high school. A pained expression was worn that day, as he told of being in Slytherin, of the discrimination against him, and of a fateful day in the girls’ bathroom, then showed her the thin white scars that crisscrossed his chest. Her eyes had gone wide as she carefully reached out a finger to feather-light trace the scars, and then she had offered her sympathies, carefully ignoring a flash of remembrance, of a disheveled boy washing his hands meticulously, each red stain fading slowly from skin but remaining emblazoned in memories.
And she remembered those stains.
***
Cause of admission: Irreversible damage to the brain.
The first time he kissed her, she didn’t know what to do. It was her first kiss (and their first kiss) all over again: Soft, achingly slow, just enough to make her want much much more. She’d tentatively touched her hand to his cheek, and he’d examined her for a long time, before pulling her in for another kiss. This time it was passionate and demanding, his hands skimmed over her back through the thin fabric of her nightgown and she arched into him, trying, testing, tasting, and it was as if he had been waiting a long long time for this to happen. And maybe he had. In that moment she remembered this kiss, all those years ago.
‘Three years….’
It was a gently spoken, in the reverent whisper of sudden revelation. His body stiffened, and his hands began to shake a little. He shook his head, not willing to believe, not willing to get his hopes up just to have them mercilessly crushed once more. There was no way she could remember.
But she did.
***
Spouse/Parent/Guardian(s): Molly Saera Weasley (Prewett) and Arthur Thomas Weasley
And so the memories started filtering back. She made him tell her more and more stories, from innocent things such as her first quidditch match to dangerous topics such as the day of the Death Eater raid, 5 years and 10 months ago. So I’m 21 then? Funny how time whizzes by… She asked about why she was here, what was wrong with her. A bad curse, from one of the Death Eaters….inability to retrieve information from the long-term memory….no known cure. She absorbed this information, noting his strained voice at his final words, as if he had often argued with the healers over this point. She asked him for more information, longing for the one piece of information her mind needed to unlock its secrets. As he answered her questions, talking about little girls screaming and older brothers desperately fighting (What about my brother. Ron? What happened to him? Is he okay? He’s fine. And then she remembers the animosity between their families, and she questions him no further), something fit and suddenly she could remember.
When the wizarding war begun suddenly, Hogwarts had been under siege. It was no longer safe for the students to remain inside the castle walls, and so they fled. Underground tunnels were constructed by the remaining teachers under the instructions of Headmistress McGonagall. Pack only what you need, students will travel in year groups, do not separate from your group, do not go outside. Students quickly learnt what happened if you dared to venture outside during the 3 harsh days they spent in the tunnels. She had heard the screams of Justin Finch-Fletchley and his little sister Anna when they were caught by the Death Eaters staking out in a clearing only meters away from their underground escape route. She had huddled closer to Luna, and tried to ward off the bitter tears threatening to stream down her face. Justin had been in her Advanced Charms class, he had corrected her wandwork when the charm just wouldn’t work. His sister was too young altogether to be in this war, merely a first year who had been hoping to try out for the Hufflepuff Quidditch team the next year. Now she would never get that coveted Chaser jersey. They had all prayed that night, to any god that would listen, that the Death Eaters wouldn’t hear them, wouldn’t find there hiding place. Sometimes prayers aren’t quite enough.
The attack had been sudden, unexpected. It was a brief stop in a hidden away clearing, which one of the teachers had deemed safe. They found out where Snape’s loyalties lay that night. The moment they were all out the black devils were on them, there was no way to stop them. The curse had been fast, leaving no time for her to avoid or divert it. She’d never know who it came from, or if it had been meant to cause such damage. White masks show no emotion, black robes do not falter. Curse one child, move onto the next. Perhaps the memory of that night would have been ingrained in her memory forever, dark phantoms all around her; fear and desperation, shouting and screams, and then an eerie moment of silence followed by a red flash. Then nothing. Perhaps it would haunt her dreams from now on.
She never asked him what side he had fought for.
***
Next of Kin: Ronald Weasley
She quickly moved on to questioning him about the events that happened during her prolonged stay at St. Mungos, focusing on three years ago. Ever since that first kiss, three years ago had been constantly on her mind. Something had happened, that she was sure of, but he wouldn’t tell her anything. As much as she strained, her mind seemed determined to keep such information under lock and key, and she soon worried that perhaps she would never find out what event had happened that was so significant that it wouldn’t leave her brain along 3 years later. But it was not to be. It had been a cool winter’s day, a month or so after that fateful day, and she was doodling in her room while talking to him. Surprise, she thought, would be the best tactic, and so she sprung the question on him while he was quite unaware: What happened three years ago? He refused to tell her point blank, as per usual, but this time she persisted in asking him until his resolve had worn down. He tried to make her shut up, in the best way he knew.
It didn’t quite work.
As soon as his lips had clashed with hers, something sparked inside her and the memories of three years past came rushing back to her. She pushed back from him, back and back until her head collided with her headboard, but she didn’t feel the pain. Her eyes were wide and disbelieving, as the memories filtered through her mind. And through all of it, one thought kept reappearing. Where is he? Where is he? WHERE? He shook his head, not believing that she could remember. But she continued with the same question: Where where where? Where is he? He had to admit he had no idea. The nurses had taken him, almost as soon as he had arrived. They said he was safer not with her, and that it would be easier on both of them.
Her head fell, and her back had lost its tautness. She seemed broken and lost, like a little girl with the weight of the world on her shoulders. He climbed carefully onto the bed next to her, and held her to him. He remembered when he had done this for her the first time she had lost him, three years and one month ago. Her tears had soaked through his careful white shirt, but he didn’t care. He had also been grieving for their loss.
To have a baby is hard on you, but to lose one is even worse.
***
She began to talk to the healers again. She asked them what had happened to her baby. They were shocked, speechless at first. But then after persistence, they explained how he had been adopted out, a small council voting in favor of passing custody of the boy onto a couple more capable of looking after him. She begged to at least know the name of his parents, the name of her baby. The healers insisted it would take a few days to check the records, then they would have to verify their results with the adoption center, and contact the new parents to confirm that they didn’t mind about their identity being given away. He had a few persuasive tricks rolled up his sleeve however. One deadly glare from him later and they were fumbling as fast as they could in the filing cabinet, looking desperately for her record. Finally it was found, and the small file for the baby was extracted from it. One of the young nervous interns read it for them, trying hard not to fumble over his words.
‘He was named by his new parents, ‘Draco Arthur’, after his father and grandfather I believe. His parents were very clear that they believed he should have a strong connection with his family. The last name listed here is….Weasley? Ah, a certain Ronald Weasley and Hermione Granger-Weasley. They applied for care of the baby 2 weeks after its birth.’
And in that moment she found she didn’t care as much that she didn’t have the baby. She knew he was in good hands, her brother and her old friend would look after it well. And maybe, when she was older and the baby was no longer a baby, no longer her baby, she would go and visit him. And as he had said, it’s not like it’s that hard to make another one anyway. She had grinned, and poked her elbow sharply into his side, but his point was a fair one. One thought still haunted her though, making her stay awake long into the night. She asked him the next day, begging him to answer her: Why did you come see me in the first place? Why did you keep coming? He laughed, and shook his head.
“I’ve told you before, Ginny; I came to fix you.”
Release Date: 16th November, 2003
ORIGINAL REQUEST:
BRIEFLY describe what you'd like to receive:
The tone/mood of the fic: Mystery.
A Theme/element/line of dialogue/object you want in your fic: Special magical powers that Draco and Ginny get only when they are around each other.
Canon or AU? Canon.
Rating of the fic you want: anything between G and NC-17
Deal Breakers (what don't you want?): No love triangles, no sad ending.