I'll Remember You
A/N: This fic was written for the Quidditch League Fanfiction Competition Finals, as Falmouth Falcon's Beater 1. Sadly, this will be my last ever QLFC fic; as of Season 5, I will be proudly stepping up as a Mod on the forum. Therefore, I wanted to write a fic about something close to my heart and I hope I have made this fic count.
My main prompt for this round was: (quote) "One can never have enough socks." —Dumbledore (which was not allowed to be said by Dumbledore in the story)
Bonus prompts:
4. (word) gloves, 7. (word) tenderly, 11. (word) music
Word count: 2984
Thank you to my betas, Arty (The Lady Arturia), Mal (Malhearst) and Red (RedButterfly33), for helping save this story :D
Please be warned, this fic may have triggers for anyone who has ever experienced the devastating effects of dementia (or by extension, Alzheimer's). For you, Nanna. Xx
February 2024
She didn't want to be here—it wasn't right. She should be back in her mother's small cottage, preparing her mother some lunch or ironing clothes, making her better.
Hermione glowered at the fake, smiling faces passing by her as she walked towards the grey building, her shoes slapping against the asphalt.
"Trust me, it's for the best," her husband said, placing a hand on her shoulder.
She pushed Ron's hand off. "I highly doubt that."
November 2020
"Stop fidgeting, Ron, you look fine," Hermione whispered.
"I just want to be presentable for your mother," Ron said, tugging on his shirt's hem. "But I can never...get used to...these ridiculous...Muggle shirts." He threw his hands up in the air and glared at the triangle of material poking out from his trousers.
"They're no different to the shirts you wear every day," she said and helped Ron tuck in his shirt.
Pressing a kiss to his cheek, she rang the doorbell.
"Hermione, Ronald! I wasn't expecting you today!" Hermione's mother, Esther, said as she opened the door. She was wiping a dirty plate with a tea-towel.
Glancing at Ron, Hermione said, "We called yesterday to tell you we'd be here early."
She watched her mother continually wipe the plate, seemingly oblivious to the large, orange food stain on it. When Hermione's eyes trailed up to her face, she saw that her eyes were dazed.
The woman blinked. "That's right, I'm just a bit muddled up," she said. "My, Ronald, you look smart in that suit."
Hermione tilted her head; something was off. She turned to see if Ron thought the same, but he was already walking through the door and into the kitchen, grinning at her mother's compliment. With a sigh, Hermione followed him inside.
"How are things at the Ministry, Ronald? Did you end up catching the man selling singing teapots to us Muggles?" Esther asked, walking over to the sink.
Hermione's worry subsided with the question, happy that she had remembered the boring and very exaggerated case Ron had been working on recently.
"We got the nasty bugg—bloke. Took five of us to restrain him," Ron answered.
Hermione raised an eyebrow.
"What? He was a big guy."
"I'm certain of it. You Aurors seem to have quite the adventures," Esther said.
"We sure do," Ron said, helping himself to a biscuit from the plate on the table.
Resisting the urge to roll her eyes, Hermione smiled at her mother. "The garden looks nice."
"Mmm? Oh yes, I planted roses not long ago," she answered, pouring water into three mugs. "How many sugars do you take? Two, was it?"
"You know me so well," Ron said.
"It's not good for your teeth," Esther said with a smile.
Hermione carried the steaming mugs to the table. Her mother followed her, carrying a few forks. She placed them on each placemat before raising a hand to her forehead and picking them back up.
"Pardon me, I meant to grab some teaspoons," she said with a small laugh.
Hermione took a sip of tea, drowning out the voice in her head telling her that it wasn't a simple mistake.
"It's a pity Rose and Hugo weren't able to come visit," Esther said, walking back to the table. "How are they doing at school? Is Hugo over his fear of Herbology yet?"
Hermione sighed. She hadn't realised that she had been holding her breath, wondering if her mother would remember that Rose and Hugo attended Hogwarts, let alone what they studied there. She did remember, though, and as the conversation continued, Hermione found herself enjoying the time with her.
The feeling didn't last long.
"How rude of me! Would you like a cup of tea, dears?" Esther said.
Hermione stared at her mother, her mouth open. She had only drunk about a third of her tea, and steam was still slowly unfurling from her mother's own cup. The woman gathered up their mugs and bustled over to the sink.
"Did you see that?" she whispered.
"Yeah. I hadn't finished mine yet," Ron said. "Ah, well."
Hermione watched her mother pour the hot tea into the sink. "I think she's losing it."
Ron shrugged. "Everyone forgets things; Mum's always calling me Percy."
"This is different. I think… I think maybe it's my fault."
"Your fault?"
"Yes, with that memory charm I performed during the war. What if this is some lasting effect from it?"
"Nah, your parents were fine; the Healers checked them over," Ron said. He must've seen her face, however, because he then took her hand and rubbed his thumb over her knuckles. "It's probably just a silly little moment, alright?"
Esther came back over with new cups of tea. "I heard Rose wants to be a Prefect next year," she said.
Ron squeezed Hermione's hand and smiled as if to say, "See? Everything's normal."
Hermione returned the smile, but it didn't quite meet her eyes.
Hermione almost didn't go inside, even when Ron held open the door for her.
She could understand why an old man, dressed in a brown suit, ran up to them and tried to get out. When a nurse closed the door before he could, she memorised the lock code, wanting to free him and everyone else inside.
"I'm sure your mother is safe here," Ron said, ignoring her scowl.
December 2022
"Do we have to visit? I have a tonne of homework I need to finish!" Hugo said.
"Since when did you start caring about your homework?" Rose asked.
"Since now."
Hermione sighed. "That's enough. You won't get to see your grandmother until the summer holidays; treasure this time," she said.
"Dad didn't have to come," Hugo muttered.
Hermione nudged Hugo forward. "He got called into work; you didn't."
She stopped short, however, when she saw her mother standing in front of the cottage gate, looking up and down the road. Although the snow wasn't predicted to fall until Christmas day, the clouds above threatened cold rain. There was, therefore, no reason for her to be dressed in just a T-shirt and skirt.
"Merry Christmas, Mum," Hermione said. "What are you looking for?"
"Mmm? I'm just waiting for the train. It never seems to be on time anymore," Esther answered and checked her watch.
The children snickered. Hermione waved her hand at them to be quiet, unable to take her eyes off her mother's face. Her green eyes had that faraway look to them again.
"The train?"
"Yes, yes. I'll be late," Esther said. Then, her eyes seemed to refocus, and she turned back to Hermione. "Ah, you're finally here. How are you?"
Hermione blinked. "I'm fine. Aren't you cold?"
Her mother looked down at her clothes and frowned.
"Of course I know it's chilly," she snapped. She opened the gate to the cottage and ushered them through."I was just about to grab my coat and gloves, but I was too busy waiting for you."
Hermione's heart gave an uncomfortable jolt; her mother never lost her temper.
"Would you like me to make a cup of tea?" Hermione asked, following Rose and Hugo into the kitchen.
Esther, no trace of the defensiveness from a minute before, nodded.
As Hermione walked to the sink, she noticed a bundle of wool and knitting needles sitting on one of the chairs.
"Have you taken up knitting again, Mum?" she asked, picking up one of the knitted items.
It was a pale pink baby's sock. A dozen or so other socks were on the chair, all the same size.
"Oh, that, yes, I thought I'd get back into it," Esther said.
"Who are they for?" Hermione asked. "Has the neighbour had a baby?"
"I made them for Rose."
"Rose? As in my Rose?" she asked, looking over at Rose. Her daughter shrugged and went back to reading a magazine.
Esther looked over, blinking a few times. "Yes, well, I started years ago."
"I see. All of them?"
Chuckling, her mother took the sock from Hermione. "One can never have enough socks."
Whilst Hermione made tea, she watched her mother sit down and talk with Rose and Hugo. Hugo grunted away, but Rose conversed easily, answering her grandmother's questions about school.
"Rose was just telling me about a handsome, yet insufferable, blond at her school," her mother said, accepting her tea. "If I recall correctly, it sounds a lot like how you used to feel about a certain redhead."
Hugo snorted, causing Hermione's mother to look his way. "Don't you laugh, mister, you'll be into girls soon enough."
The tips of Hugo's ears reddened. "Yeah, right."
Ether stood up and walked into the living room. "I have a picture of a young girl in my purse which I'm sure will have you changing your mind toute suite."
"Oh Mum, make her stop," Hugo moaned.
Hermione gave him a pat on the back. "That's what mothers d—"
"Right, who took it?" Her mother stormed back into the room. Her eyes were narrowed and her hands on her hips as she looked from Rose to Hugo.
"Took what?" Hermione asked.
"My purse! I always keep it on the coffee table, but it's gone now. One of them took it!" she said, pointing to Rose and Hugo.
Both opened their mouths to protest, but Hermione shook her head at them. "Neither of them would take your purse," she said.
"Then where is it? It didn't just get up and walk away."
Her mother marched back into the living room. Shooting Rose and Hugo a comforting look, Hermione followed her. Pillows were strewn about as Esther searched the lounges.
She was right; the purse wasn't on the coffee table. It was, however, sitting on the side table where the older woman sometimes left it. Picking it up, Hermione held it out to Esther. "Here it is."
Her mother snatched the purse from her and counted the coins inside. Something flickered across her face, and after a moment, her frown disappeared.
"Oh, yes. I—I must have put it there this morning. Silly me," she said, not quite able to meet Hermione's gaze. "How about that cup of tea, then?"
Hermione could only nod, a lump forming in her throat.
Her mother was certainly not fine, and the more Hermione saw, the more her suspicions were confirmed. The memory spell she had cast all those years ago had backfired, and only now she was to deal with the consequences.
Classical music was playing throughout the hallways as Hermione and Ron walked to the 'activity hall.' Hermione rolled her eyes at the nurses' incompetence; most of the patients, being between seventy and ninety years old, would most likely have listened to rock 'n' roll music when younger like her mother.
Her mother was sitting at a table with another, sleeping, elderly woman, drawing away on a piece of paper. Taped to the walls around them were similar, childlike pictures of sunflowers and rainbows. They were probably there to brighten the room, but it only made Hermione feel worse.
"Oh look, Agnus, my brother has come to visit!" Hermione's mother called.
"Hello." Ron pecked a quick kiss on her cheek.
"Who's this?" Esther said, pointing to Hermione.
"Hermione; my name is Hermione," she said.
"Lovely name. Have you met my long-lost friend, Betty?" she said, referring to the snoozing old woman.
Ron smiled and pulled a chair out for Hermione, but she couldn't sit down. She wanted to yell at her mother, tell her that she had never met 'Betty' before, but her throat was dry. Her eyes felt hot and heavy, and as Esther turned to Ron and asked if he was still brushing his teeth like a good little boy, Hermione turned on her heel and walked away.
What had they done to her mother—no, what had she done to her mother?
January 2023
"I'm afraid your mother has dementia."
Hermione's heart plummeted. "Are you sure?"
She was positive that her mother was suffering from her spell. After insisting something was wrong with her, Hermione had finally managed to convince Ron that she needed help. They had gone together to visit several Healers, but no one had been able to connect the spell with her mother's change in behaviour. They had only said that it was a 'natural' cause, and now that the Muggle doctor had confirmed as much, Hermione could only blame herself for spurring it on.
"Quite sure. Dementia is a form of Alzheimer's—"
"Yes, yes, I know," Hermione interrupted.
The doctor pursed her lips. "I know how you must be feeling, Mrs Weasley, but I'm afraid we must discuss the options for Esther. I feel that it is best if you begin looking into finding a Care Home—"
Hermione leapt up. "Absolutely not. My mother is not some old woman that can just be passed off like some inconvenience!"
"Hermione," Ron said, pulling on her hand to get her to sit. "It won't be that bad."
Hermione glared at him, ripping her hand away. "She's my mother. I'm not going to let some strangers take care of her, especially when it's my fault she's like this."
The doctor cleared her throat. "Mrs Weasley, please understand, this is not your fault. Dementia is just one of those things that happen."
The doctor didn't know that she was a witch, did she? How could she say for certain it wasn't her spell that caused this?
Ron tugged on her hand again. Hermione looked at him through watery eyes and took a deep breath.
The doctor's eyes softened. "I understand your concerns. There is always the option of a home carer helping your mother, so she is able to live with the comfort of her own home. I take it Dr Granger is no longer with us?"
"My father passed away two years ago," Hermione said. "I'll do it, though."
"What about your job?" Ron asked.
"It can wait."
The doctor surveyed them. "It won't be easy, but if you are up to it, I will gather some information for you."
December 2024
It wasn't easy, but Hermione found caring for her mother better than expected. Apart from the nights when Esther would cry out in her sleep, she thought the woman was improving.
Walking into her mother's bedroom, Hermione decided she would get the bed ready so Esther could have an early night and so she could get back to researching ways of improving her condition. She took off the pillows and pulled down the blankets.
A large, wet stain covered the centre of the sheets. Frowning, Hermione realised that her mother had wet the bed again.
Esther appeared in the doorway. "I came to ask… ask…" she said, her face puzzled as she stared at the floor. She then looked up and smiled. "How was school today?"
Hermione stared at the woman in front of her. She looked like her mother—she had the same greying hair, the same green eyes—but this woman wasn't her mother.
"Oh dear, it looks like Graham has wet the bed again," she said, unaware that Hermione's great uncle was neither a child nor alive anymore.
Hermione helped her mother pull off the sheets. When the doorbell rang and the front door could be heard opening and shutting, Esther exclaimed, "That must be your father home early!"
Hermione closed her eyes for a moment, taking a deep breath. When she reopened her eyes, she saw Ron standing in the doorway.
"How is everything going?" he asked.
"You know, I have a daughter your age that would love to date you. Let me fetch her number for you," Esther said, bustling out of the room.
"Hermione, I know you don't want to hear this—"
"Then don't say it."
"—but I think it's time."
"Hermione… wait," Ron said, running after her. He grabbed her arm, stopping her from storming out of the room, and tenderly brushed a strand of hair from her face. "Hey, it's ok."
Hermione looked up at him through watery eyes. "It most certainly isn't ok! She doesn't even know who I am. I need to fix this, to take care of her myself."
Ron pulled her closer. She tried to push him away, her tears leaving sticky tracks down her cheeks.
"You're smarter than that," he whispered. "You know it's not your fault. It's just something that happens to old people."
Hermione sniffed. "But my father wasn't like this."
"Exactly, and you used the same spell on him." Ron tilted her chin up, forcing her to look into his blue eyes. "Unfortunately, it's just the way the world works. The main thing is that she's here now, getting the help she needs."
She opened her mouth to protest, but Ron held up a hand. "You did a fantastic job yourself, but look at your mother now. She's happy here; the nurses have said she hasn't had any negative mood swings since she arrived."
Hermione looked over at her mother. She was chatting away to the snoring lady. Her eyes were twinkling, a new life seeming to have ignited in them.
"I know it's not the life you imagined she'd have, but she's enjoying herself," he said.
She knew Ron was right; that he had always been right.
Ron pressed a kiss to her forehead. "Besides, now you have time to work on that cure I know you will find."
Hermione let Ron wipe away her tears and lead her back into the room.
"Hello dear, how was school?" Esther greeted.
Ron squeezed Hermione's hand. "It was alright," she said and sat down.
Although her mother's memories were slipping away, Hermione's own memories of her mother would always remain. Even if it wasn't her fault, she would not give up trying to help her, and now that she knew for sure that she was safe and happy, everything would be alright.
Additional A/N: The content of this was derived from both research (including the change in behaviour and emotions) and my own personal experiences (unfortunately, my nanna suffered from the disease, complete with nightmares and screaming out in the night, and now my father is displaying the early stages). Special thanks to Arty (The Lady Arturia) for also sharing some of her own experiences. Dementia is an awful disease, in that it can completely change a person, and its development is usually slow. I hope no one finds my last story 'boring' and I sincerely apologise if it comes out that way; I sincerely hope I did this justice.
One last thing: Ron is an Auror and really does complete dangerous work. The work mentioned in the story is simply for laughs, and because I imagine in that stage of his life (around 40 years old), many of the 'Dark Wizards' would have been captured, or just happened to be quiet. I don't mind Romione as a ship, and I hope you like how I have done them in trying to keep with their canon characterisation (including a rather angry and self-doubting Hermione).