A/N: This was an idea I've had for awhile, but haven't been able to put into a full blown story. All the words in italics are from a poem I wrote, and I had written down in my notebook at school, so when my friend read it, she wrote down the song lyrics. I thought they fit so perfectly with the story that I had to add them. This is a Hermione/Twins fic, I think it's Fred, but it could be either twin. Alright, I'm done rambling, read and review please. I'll love you forever!
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, the twins, or Hermione. (just in case anyone thought I did)
The Scars Still Remain, and The Tears Still Flow
"and our scars remind us that the past is real..."
Scars are physical reminders of pain...
She sat on the floor of her flat, surrounded by pictures and a book labeled Memories. She picked up each picture in turn, glanced at the smiling faces before her, and placed it back on the floor.
Each picture held a memory of her life. Each snapshot holding forever the memory of a particular event. Her life was spread out in front of her, smiling mockingly back at her.
She picked up the book labeled Memories, and opened up to the first page. There she saw three people smiling back at her, waving to her from the framed snapshot. Three large smiles, with arms slung around each other's backs, radiated towards her as she flipped through the next few pages.
People she had met in passing, people who left lasting marks on her, waved at her as she glanced past every last picture until she arrived on the last picture-covered page.
There she found one picture she had hidden away; she found one memory that she kept hidden from the world.
On the last page was a picture of a curly-haired Gryffindor with her arms slung around the neck of a mischievously-smiling red-head. Both parties were smiling happily as they looked into each other's eyes, never once breaking their gaze.
But you can't see my scars, my scars are hidden below my skin.
Hermione closed the book, placing it on the nearby shelf. She began to gather up the pictures, gingerly placing the first few into a shoebox. As she made her way through the stacks of pictures, her anger and sadness grew as tears threatened to spill over.
Tears of a love lost.
Tears of a forgotten friend.
She began to throw the pictures in the box haphazardly as the pile grew thin. After putting the last photo in the box, she closed the lid, and put the box on the highest shelf of her closet.
Her long-lost memories once again put away, never to be revealed to anyone; only to be opened when the sadness and guilt of leaving grew too large.
Her pain was obvious; her sadness blatant.
My scars are found on my broken heart.
As she closed the closet door with a sigh, she slid down the closed doorway until she reached the floor with a thud.
Tears threatened to spill as the pain of heartache overwhelmed her.
She pushed them away.
She would not cry for the one who let her go. She would not cry for the one who betrayed her heart, the one who betrayed her soul.
"I cheated on you."
Four simple words broke her heart into pieces. Four little words, never so simple, wiped away two years of happiness, two years of bliss.
She should have known her world was a fake; she should have known his love was a lie.
He took her heart willingly, threw it on the floor, stepped on it, and didn't even bother to help her pick up the pieces.
My heart was shattered, but slowly the pieces mended...
She ran.
It was all she could think of doing.
She had to leave London, leave the familiar streets filled with endless heads of red-haired, blue-eyed pranksters.
Far across country lines she rested, and made her home. Laden with one big secret, and a small box of a life once lived.
He left her shattered inside.
But he left her an even bigger reminder of the life passed.
Her memories could be shut away in a closet, but his face looked back at her everyday.
She leaned her head against the back of the door.
The tears came.
The door opened to reveal a small figure.
"Hi, Mommy."
But the scars still remain, and the tears still flow.