Disclaimer: It all belongs to J.K. Rowling. Let's hope she gets the finger out re book 5 soon!
Remember to Forget
When she remembered not to think about how it had all ended, Hermione Granger was quite content. To those who watched her and whispered about her when her back was turned she appeared carefree enough, and to a certain extent she was. Her job at Hogwarts kept her so busy during her waking hours that it was not difficult to block out the memories. She forgot to think about Harry or his final battle with Lord Voldemort at all.
Unfortunately when she was asleep it was so much more difficult for Hermione to remind herself that she wanted to forget.
Which was why she often woke up screaming.
Although Ron would always try to offer her some comfort after one of her all-too-frequent nightmares, he did not really understand why she awoke trembling and crying out Harry's name. But then how could he, when he had not been there? How could he truly understand the horror of what she had seen from words alone? Even if she was willing to share it with him...
He begged her over and over to tell him what had really happened the night Harry died, and then sulked when she refused to. Ron was convinced he knew the reason why she would not speak of his best friend's last moments. Put simply, Harry was the love of her life - everyone who had seen them together in that final fateful year at Hogwarts would testify to that. Ron? Well, he was the one she had settled for after Harry was killed, and even now that he was her husband he thought he would always be second best in her eyes. The fact that she would not share the news of Harry's final moments was proof of that for him.
Hermione did not blame him for thinking the way that he did because had she been in his position, she would have had similar thoughts. But while she was well aware of how her inability to share the truth hurt him, she could not tell him what had happened. For one thing, she did not have the words to convey the full extent of the evil that had occurred that night. How do you describe the indescribable? You don't. You can't. So you don't try, and instead bear the burden alone.
For another thing, she was too busy remembering to forget.
Yet still the images haunted her dreams, constantly tormenting her. She now remembered only fragments of how it has been, but it was more than enough. Actually, it was too much. Each fleeting moment would stay with her for eternity. She did not want to remember. She did not know how to forget.
Voldemort in the shadows, almost completely hidden from her view yet still more terrifying than anything she had ever seen before.
Harry stepping forward, his wand clutched in a shaking hand as he began to murmur the spells that were their only hope.
Snape and Remus being sent flying through the air as they tried to help him. Two great wizards dismissed in an instant by the sheer magnitude of Voldemort's magic.
Her own screams ringing in her ears as Sirius dragged her to safety, shouting all the time at Harry to come back because he was not strong enough to do it alone. Wait, Harry! Wait!
A terrible green flash that blinded her to the world and caused unimaginable pain.
Voldemort's evil cackle as he watched her clutch at her head in agony, scarred for life at the hand of evil.
Harry's outraged yell as he ran forward, wand raised in defiance. A young man pushed to the limit by Voldemort's deliberate efforts to hurt the ones he loved the most.
The glorious moment of Voldemort's defeat; joy and relief mingling as before her eyes Hermione saw him fall, finally vanquished by the Boy Who Lived.
The mounting feeling of horror as she watched him cast his last awful spell and the pain she felt as she saw Harry crumple in the face of a terrible onslaught.
Harry lying unmoving on the ground, his skin white, his eyes wide, his heart stilled forever.
Sirius' face streaked with dirt and tears as he carried Harry's body back to Dumbledore.
And pain. Awful, unending pain. Never anything but pain again, for as long as she lived.
She relieved the final moments of Harry's life every time she closed her eyes, the bittersweet story of both triumph and defeat.
Triumph, because they had won. Harry had defeated Voldemort at last and there was nothing left to fear.
Defeat, because Harry was dead. Harry Potter, who had taken her heart with him as they buried him in the cold, hard ground next to his parents.
She had often wondered if he had known she and Sirius had gone, leaving him alone to face Voldemort. If he had felt betrayed and abandoned by those closest to him in his final moments, or if he had been relieved that he would be the only one to perish and Hermione, his great love, would survive relatively unscathed. She hoped with all her heart that it was the latter, but feared it was the former. One thing was certain - she would never know.
She - the one who had always been so strong and so sure when others doubted - had hidden herself away from the world for weeks at first, weeping constantly for her loss. Not until Sirius came to Hermione and told her that Harry would not want her to be like this did she consider braving the curious stares again. She saw the same shadow of recollection that haunted her reflected in Sirius' gaze and it was some small comfort to her. Harry would not be lost to the history books even if she could not bear to remember him. Even so, it was an age before she would have the courage to face life again.
Finally, at last, she had quietly accepted that she would never see Harry again, and drying her tears for the last time had married Ron. Not for love, because she could not and would not love him as she had loved Harry. No, she married Ron for the memories; memories that she could not bear to have but were too precious to be forgotten entirely.
Hermione bore the mark Voldemort's evil had left on her with a curious mixture of hurt and pride; the familiar lightning-shaped scar inflicted by the same wand that gave Harry his was all she had left of him now.
The rest of it she was remembering to forget.