Some Memories Are Better Lost
Chapter One;
You can't remember.
You want to, but can't. You sit for hours, staring at the wall, willing memories that are long lost to return.
They never do.
Maybe it's for the better. Maybe it's better you don't know the cause of your visitor's tears, maybe it's better that you can't remember their names, and maybe, just maybe, it's better that they no longer tell them to you.
You wish you couldn't remember your dreams.
You don't dream that frequently, but when you do.. They aren't nice dreams. They're bloody and torturous, and when they visit you, you awake in a cold sweat, heart-wrenching screams echoing in your mind--
It is then that you cry.
You cry until you drift into a deep sleep, and when you wake, you can't remember why there are tear stains on your cheeks. You try to remember, but discover it's like trying to hold water in your palms.
Someone knocks, interrupting you from what thought you can manage, and a girl with red hair enters.
She smiles at you, and takes a seat beside your bed. You frown slightly, but show no other movement as she talks. She talks about her day, about how people miss you. Tears begin to form in her eyes as she repeats that you're missed, and your frown deepens.
She takes your hand.
Immediately it feels as if the walls are closing in, and her skin against yours is all that you can think about as you struggle to breath. The room begins to spin, the colors blurring in front of your eyes, invisible hands tightening around your lungs with each passing moment. You begin to thrash in your bed, silently screaming for her to let go, your entire body shaking with fear. She drops your hand in surprise, tears still running down her cheeks. You gulp in air, but your shaking continues, and you barely notice as a nurse runs in and escorts her from the room.
The moment she leaves, your room stops spinning.
They don't allow anyone else to visit you that day. They say that you're to shaken, and you can do nothing but sit there and agree. Carefully, without touching you, a nurse comes in and tucks you in, softly reminding you of your name.
You don't dream that night, and for that, you are thankful, though it would be unlikely that you would remember it anyways.
You wake, the light from the window above your room obscuring your vision as you lazily open your eyes. When you do, a man is standing beside you. At first, when you look at him, he appears to be an angel, and you wonder if it's your time. You wonder if he is death, beautiful and composed, yet a wanderer and plague of the worlds. You stare at him in wonder, unable to breath.
Somehow, he seems familiar.
His head is bowed, and as you continue to stare, you wonder if his eyes hold your memories. A silly thought, a thought which you try to brush away, but stays echoing in the back of your mind. He moves suddenly, gracefully moving to the lone chair beside your bed and it is then that you realize he is no angel. He is just a man, like you, and the glare of the sun was playing tricks with your eyes. He sits there for a long while, his head bowed, unmoving except for the slight lift of his shoulders as he breathed. He seems sad, and you can do nothing but watch him and wonder.
It turns to be one of the few times you wish you could speak.
The silence around you is suffocating. Finally, he speaks. His voice is soft, barely audible, and somehow familiar.
"I'm sorry," he begins, "for not visiting you sooner. It's been hard."
His voice comes out rational, without emotion. "I was going to hurry home when I heard you had awaken but..."
He trails off, unsure of what he was going to say, and you squint your eyes at him in curiosity, something you hadn't felt for a long time.
"I'm sorry," he repeats.
Moments pass, neither of you moving, and you feel the tension building. With each second that passes, you silently urge him to lift his head. Again, the thought that he could be the key to your memory echoes in your mind.
He takes in a deep breath, suddenly, and you wonder if, like the others, you've driven him to tears.
"Please say something. I need to know you forgive me.. for not coming sooner.."
You know he's waiting for an answer, and you would do anything to give him one. He is a stranger in your mind, and yet you feel closer to him then you do yourself. In your mind you're screaming at him that you can't speak, one of the few things you manage to remember day to day. However, you know he can't hear you.
No one can.
A minute passes and yet he waits, staring at his shoes until finally, he lets out a soft sigh and says, "I guess that's what I deserve. I just.. I'm sorry."
You keep your eyes trained on him as he stands, stuffing his gloved hands in his jacket pockets and looking towards you. His face is pale and slightly on the narrow side in some places, and light blond hair frames his face. His eyes never quite meet your's as if he's ashamed, but they seem to be the color of ash.
"I'm sorry," he said again, turning towards the door. He let out a soft sigh and walked towards the exit, stopping once in the door frame.
He whispered something over his shoulder, his words barely audible. He stood there for a moment, as if he was hoping you would finally make a reply before leaving.
You close your eyes, unable to watch his back retreating around the corner, but the sound of his feet padding away echos in your mind. You lay there for the rest of the day, paying no attention to other visitors, your mind circling around the last words he said.
I love you, Harry.
And as you think, you can't help but wonder what love is
Author's note: This was originally going to be a one-shot, but I was satisfied with ending it the way I did, and yet I knew I wanted to add more. So, it will probably be a few chapters long. How long, I don't know. It basically depends where my muse takes me.
I know I should be working on my other stories, but after my already written chapters were deleted, I just haven't felt the inspiration to rewrite them, and in some cases, re-rewrite them. Hopefully that will change over Christmas break.
Now, if something in this story has confused you, feel free to say so in a review. I think the main thing that will confuse people though, will be why the man didn't know Harry couldn't talk. This is because he was out of the country at the time, and had just gotten home. Harry had awaken a few days prior. He also assumed Harry could talk, even though he may have known Harry couldn't move, because in the Wizarding World, there are charms and such that can be placed to process someone's thoughts into verbal words. More of why Harry was in a coma, and why the hospital staff couldn't just charm away the aftermath of his coma to come in the next chapter.
That about raps this author's note up-- remember to review!