Memory Dust

Chapter 1- Living in a Lie

The owl flapped her wings energetically, floating to the window where she always delivered the Daily Prophet in the morning. Finally reaching her destination, she landed on the window from outside, knocking into it with her beak. She soon saw a woman with longish red hair wearing a robe walk into the kitchen, wiping her eyes and stretching. Lazily nearing the window, she opened it and let the owl in. Ginny Weasley quickly took a Daily Prophet from her, shoving two Knuts into a bag she carried. Before departing, the owl had a refreshing drink of the water that always waited for her every morning.

Once the owl was gone, Ginny left the window open to let fresh air in, inhaling the unsullied scent of spring coming. Pulling a chair from the table, she placed it by the window and sat down, opening the Daily Prophet to see whether anything new had occurred, whether there was anything new of Ron and Hermione.

Three years had passed by too quickly; Harry and Ginny hadn't even noticed. They spent the majority of their time looking for their lost friends, without success. Browsing through the pages, Ginny closely examined every piece of information that might finally be the main clue, the key to their mysterious disappearance. A lot of time went by, a lot of days were lost, a lot of moments unnoticed, but Ginny still had hope and even though that hope had not left her, it was slowly but surely weakening. Harry, on the other hand, seemed to have lost his faith long ago.

"Good morning, love," he said from the doorway, walking over to her and pressing a soft kiss onto her forehead. Ginny smiled at the touch of his lips and tenderly ran her hand up his arm. Yawning, Harry went to the kitchen counter and poured himself a glass of cold water. Drinking it in one gulp, he looked inquiringly at Ginny, knowing that searching look of hers by heart. Every morning, every day, her routine was the same. No matter the weather, no matter what else was happening, she needed to look through the Daily Prophet in case she missed something.

"Look!"

Harry jumped at her sudden loud voice. Running a hand through his bed-tousled hair, which was messier than usual, he walked over to her, wondering what on earth she could have seen.

"What is it?"

"Look here, Ron and Hermione are mentioned here. We are, too, but look… there's even a photograph! It's an article about Hogwarts and Quidditch. Oh my, Lee Jordan wrote this and he added photos of celebrations we had in our common room."

Harry couldn't help but smile as the beautiful memories flooded back to his mind. After all, memories of Ron and Hermione were the only things he had left. The photo had been taken in their fifth year; Ron was holding the Quidditch cup, his robes wet from all the butterbeer that had been poured on him and Hermione was clutching his arm, smiling proudly up at him. Harry never knew of this moment, but even though back then he hadn't even considered the possibility of the two of them getting together, he could see that the devotion and admiration had been in their eyes even then.

"Aren't they beautiful together?" Ginny said softly.

Harry nodded absent-mindedly, but returned to reality as Ginny stood up and tore the article carefully out of the paper. Striding over to the cupboard, she opened it and pulled out a black folder, holding it with special care. She highlighted sentences about Ron and Hermione and placed it between a stock of articles, photographs and other papers that had something to do with either Ron or Hermione. There was also a small silky fabric, in which was wrapped Hermione's engagement ring. Ginny ran her fingers across it, but she resisted the urge to take it into her hands and think about everything too intently, as she had done a hundred times before.

"You know, it's such a shame they had so little time for each other." Furrowing her brows, Ginny tilted her head to one side and thought for a second. "Harry? Do you think there is any possibility they may be together?"

"We've been through this, Gin," Harry said gloomily, his pessimistic mood taking over him once more.

Looking up from the folder and to Harry, Ginny couldn't hide her sudden frustration. "Why are you so jumpy every time I talk about them? They may be lost, but certainly not from my heart, so don't ask me to forget them."

Smacking his forehead, Harry shut his eyes and scratched his head. "I never asked you to do that, nor do I plan to… ever. I'm not trying to forget them, but it's just…difficult to go through this every goddamned morning! I know it's hard, believe me that this whole thing is not any easier for me, even though it's been three years. I'm just saying we should move on. We've been looking for them for so long and found nothing."

Closing the folder with a thud, Ginny violently pushed it back into the cupboard and slammed it shut. Without looking at Harry, she stomped out of the room with her arms crossed, leaving Harry by himself. She loathed him when he said things like that. When he was discouraging her and second-guessing her actions. When he looked at her as if she was crazy, chasing ghosts. But what she hated even more was the fact that he was right, and she knew it.

She understood that he had had enough, that he wanted to live a normal life, even if it had to be without his loved ones. Ginny also knew that she wasn't helping much since she was 'chasing her ghosts' as Harry once called it when having an argument with her and that happened quite a lot lately. Harry desperately tried to cope with what was left to come, cope with reality, cope with everything. That's what he'd been doing all his life – coping. He had been through a lot and tried to close his eyes before possibilities and false hope, and Ginny knew it was because he didn't think he could take another heartbreak. And that was why he tried to believe Hermione and Ron were dead. Everything led to that conclusion.

Ginny tried as well, she went to bed every night, telling herself she would move on and live with Harry, the love of her life, always remembering her brother and best friend as wonderful people that had great impact on her life. However, every morning, she let that owl in and read the bloody Daily Prophet.

Sometimes inner feelings don't allow you to forget and go on, they make you search and continue searching for the truth until you're out of your mind. Ginny knew she was close to it anyway, but she also knew that Ron and Hermione were somewhere, alive and waiting for her to find them and bring them back. One thing was for certain – Ginny Weasley would not rest until she'd caught all her ghosts.

A young girl hummed to herself her favourite song from Bryan Adams, placing various groceries on shelves in a grocery store. A tag on her shirt read 'Chelsea' and she was about twenty years old, with short brown hair tied into a tiny ponytail. She had big brown eyes and was quite skinny. Out of the blue, a pair of strong arms grabbed her from behind and spun around the whole alley. She giggled, knowing by heart that action her friend would do when she wasn't paying attention.

As she finally landed on the ground, she turned around to look at her co-worker, a man with red hair, blue eyes and the cutest expression on his face.

"Ron! I told you to stop that. You always freak me out!" she laughed, smacking him playfully on his arm.

"Don't lie…you love when I do that," he replied with a chuckle, ruffling her hair, purposely acting as though she were a kid. In reality, she was more than a kid to him, and she knew that. As they smiled at each other, Chelsea walked back over to the shelves, continuing her work.

"What are you doing here? If I had a day off, I would spend the whole morning in bed," she said, smiling at him. Returning the smile, Ron walked over to her and began helping her.

"I woke up early and realized my fridge is empty, so I had to go and do some shopping. I don't like to lay in bed hungry."

As much as Chelsea tried, she couldn't prevent her cheeks from turning red. This happened every time she and Ron joked around, were close or just smiled at each other. She couldn't help herself, couldn't help feeling a deep affection toward this funny, good and high-spirited man. He could always make her laugh and his sense of humour was like no one else's. Ever since they began working together, Chelsea's feelings for Ron had grown stronger and stronger.

She didn't have any idea what he felt for her, because even though he didn't seem like it, Ron was one big mystery, not only to her, but to everybody around. He didn't like to talk about himself or his past and family; sometimes it seemed he didn't know what to talk about and rather remained silent. Chelsea liked him very much despite this and although they were great friends, she wanted more. But she was afraid. Sometimes when he looked at her, she felt as though he shared her feelings, but other times…she was convinced he saw her as no more than a friend. She wouldn't risk their friendship. And what was even weirder…sometimes she felt as though Ron didn't belong to her, but someone else. She could never quite understand why she had that feeling, but in the end she reckoned it was her doubts and worries creating it.

Another thing that Chelsea - and not just her, but other people as well - admired or envied about Ron was his carefree mood. He appeared as though nothing could get to him, as though he never went through anything horrible; he appeared purely innocent, despite his roguish, wild nature.

"Chelsea? Hello! Where are you?"

Breaking back to reality, Chelsea noticed Ron's hand waving in front of her face, his expression amused. Grinning slightly, Chelsea ran a hand through her hair.

"Sorry, I got lost in thought. Anyway, I have a free evening…how about going out to see a movie?" she offered happily, hoping Ron would agree.

Furrowing his eyebrows, Ron tapped his chin. "Hmm, I don't know…you know…my calendar is full…Being me has its disadvantages, what with all the attention and work I have."

Laughing, Chelsea threw a pack of rice she was holding at him, which he dropped. She laughed some more and so did Ron. "Come to my house at seven. We'll go see a film and have lots of fun. Just like last time."

Beaming at her, Ron nodded. "Okay then…I'll be there."

Feeling as though she just hovered a few inches above the ground, Chelsea tried not to look too happy, but inside she was screaming with happiness. They kept doing their work in silence, Chelsea turning pink every time their arms brushed against each other.

"Ron? Tell me some childhood stories. I mean, you must've been a very goofy kid," grinned Chelsea, thinking that childhood stories couldn't ruin anything. She expected Ron to start speaking excitedly, but to her surprise he leaned an arm against the shelf and furrowed his eye brows. Looking confused, Ron held his chin in his fingers, this time really looking thoughtful. "Ron?"

"You won't believe this, but…I don't remember any."

Wincing, Chelsea fixed her eyes upon him, thinking it was another of his jokes, but he looked quite serious.

"Really," continued Ron, shrugging his shoulders. "I mean, as I try to remember, there are some clouded moments, but I cannot quite…remember. I see images and some faces I don't recognize, but…that's all."

"What? How about your parents? Siblings? Friends? Are you suffering from amnesia?" she asked jokingly, but soon realized it might've been the cause.

"Um, well…I remember them…I guess I'm an only child and my parents died."

"Sorry," Chelsea said quietly, avoiding his gaze.

Casting a sideways glance at Chelsea, Ron averted his gaze, looking at his watch. "Yes. So anyway, I'll be going. Meet you at seven, bye!" Without any further ado, Ron left, but before that, he pressed a small butterfly kiss on Chelsea's cheek, who suddenly forgot all about the fact Ron just ran away from answering her questions.

Ron exited the store, hands in his pockets. It was a beautiful day, the last snow was finally gone, because it was already spring. But Ron's mood suddenly reminded a cloudy autumn day. Walking down the streets of Edinburgh, Ron couldn't stop thinking about what has just occurred. It wasn't the first time it had happened, but somehow he always pushed those thoughts away and convinced himself it was just due to his exhaustion or hazy mind. Now, for the first time, he truly realized that he had almost no memories. He actually didn't even remember how he began working at his job, living at his flat. All he remembered was just that he…did. He never belonged to that group of people who constantly ponder their existence and purpose; Ron went with the flow.

Most of the times, Ron ignored this. He was living his comfortable life, enjoying his friends and every single day. He had what he needed and he didn't bother thinking about his life in a deeper way. However, there were moments where he felt as though something was missing. He felt that his life was somehow incomplete, as if it was a puzzle, missing a piece.

But why?

Who cared about the fogged past when he had such wonderful present? He had friends, steady job and Chelsea. He liked her very much, not as much as she liked him, but still…he liked her more than a friend. Yet that didn't always feel right. Chelsea was lovely, but Ron still couldn't quite open up to her, because he wasn't sure he loved her.

Shaking his head at the confused thoughts running through his mind, Ron decided he would not think more of it. He didn't care. It didn't mean anything. He would just concentrate on here and now, not try to dig in his past. For what? If he was missing and lost his memory, someone would find him…it wasn't that hard these days.

As Ron thought about everything, he didn't notice that he walked carelessly into the road and his mind, and personal world, was suddenly interrupted and shattered when a car hit him. He didn't even feel the pain, everything just went black.

"Jean, Jonathan is here. Should I let him in?" A young woman with glasses, sitting behind a desk, looked up from her papers to the redhead in the doorway.

"Really?" she asked with a sigh, taking off her glasses and leaning back into her chair. Her brown bushy hair was in a state of frenzy and her brown eyes looked tired but alert. "Well, I guess you can let him in. Thanks Sheila."

"Okay then," replied Sheila and disappeared behind the door. Jean stood up and strode over to a small mirror resting on a shelf loaded with heavy binders full of paperwork. Upon seeing her reflection, she just rolled her eyes and pulled her thick hair into a neat bun. Right that moment a tall, handsome, dark haired man walked in, wearing a suit. He was carrying a box in his arms and a sombre expression upon his face.

"Hey," he said, trying to sound casual. He set the box on top of the desk in front of Jean. "This should be everything."

Jean gave him a polite nod and looked inside the box, inspecting the objects emotionlessly. A couple of shirts, sweater, washed sets of underwear, neatly folded, and a toothbrush.

"What about my-"

"I'll send the books by my assistant later today, it was three heavy boxes, Jean," he replied, with a hint of annoyance. Jean settled back into her chair and avoided his gaze, instead looking around the room guiltily.

"You could've just sent this box along as well," she said, trying not to sound too ruthless, but games weren't something she had time for.

"Nothing escapes you, does it" he replied icily and stood up abruptly. "Well, if you really want to rub it in...I wanted to see you, maybe for one last time? You see, this break-up came as a sort of surprise to me, I thought things were going fine!"

"Yes, things were fine, but a little too fine, and a little too fast."

"A little too fine? What's that supposed to even mean? You're leaving me because we were doing great, because I was good to you?"

"I tried to explain this to you many times, and you would never listen, you never hear me out, just dismiss whatever I try to express to you that doesn't suit you. We have different opinions about what 'doing great' means."

"Dismiss what? You claiming you feel like a changeling, that your life somehow doesn't fit? You think you're special just because you're having a bit of an existential crisis like every other person out there-"

"This is it, this is exactly it...I'm done, I don't have to explain myself to you anymore. I'm busy."

Jonathan was about to snap something back, but the finality of her last statement solidified him to the ground. He stared at her, almost purple in the face, but from the little time he spent with this woman, he knew there was no point arguing with her. He didn't know how.

"Fine, have it your way. Be alone, that's what you do best." He put his hands into his pockets, turning for the door. "Can I have my key back?"

Without a word, Jean stood up and strode to her purse and took out a set of keys. In one swift movement she pulled his key off the hook and handed it to him.

"Jonathan, I really am sorry, for my part in this whole mess," she said quietly, and she meant it. But he just scoffed and shook his head sadly.

"Yeah, sure, whatever. Take care," he mumbled, and as easy as that, he was out the door and out of her life. Jean leaned with her back against the door and sighed somewhat sadly, but on the whole it was a sigh of relief.

He had been a nice enough man, intelligent, well-to-do, an engaging personality, and still she couldn't make it work in her mind. Things in her life were hard to explain, even more so since it was quite an ordinary life she had. She had tried to explain it to him, how sometimes she would get a sinking feeling of being so disconnected from her life and reality she would stumble. How on some mornings she would wake up and struggle to remember who she actually was. How even her relationship with Jonathan, the first serious relationship she ever remembered having, felt like living in a lie.

"That's it then? No more Mr. Handsome Lawyer guy?" Sheila remarked with raised eyebrows, as they walked down the hospital corridor toward the coffee machine in the corner.

"I'm afraid not. I feel better this way. It's the only way I can ever maintain a feeling of normalcy, not having to deal with conflicting feelings of being with someone I don't feel connected to."

"Maybe you just haven't found the right one."

"Maybe it's not necessary to, at all. I don't want to have to find someone to feel complete. I kind of have to figure this on my own," Jean said, depositing the coins into the machine and crossing her arms as the pop of the plastic cup falling out of the machine announced her coffee was on the way.

Shrugging, Sheila didn't say anything. She heard enough about Jean's feelings of incompleteness and feeling torn and out of touch from the life she had. She had very little to offer except understanding. Wasn't everyone in this time lost, one way or the other? Jean grabbed her coffee and inhaled it gratefully, stepping aside to let Sheila get her drink, but the shrieking of the ambulance sounded from the distance, getting closer and closer. Suddenly a pair of wheels screeched in front of the main sliding doors and the paramedics burst in, pushing injured people in front of them.

"A car accident in the centre…this one's really injured!" He referred to a man that laid on the bed, his blazing red hair sprawled around the blue pillow with his head bleeding. For a fraction of a second, the world around her didn't reach Jean. She just stared at the man blankly, feeling a bit strange and dizzy. Suddenly her head began to hurt and her eyes water. Without realizing, Jean dropped her coffee cup to the floor and felt herself dragged to the side by Sheila, out of the way of the paramedics.

She was drinking in the man's appearance, his long nose and freckles dotting his skin, and a desperate urge to run to him and help him overcame her so swiftly her knees buckled.

Doctors swooped in from nearby offices and corridors and were already tending to the unconscious man on the stretcher. Sheila went to pull Jean away from the scene, but Jean wouldn't budge. She stood rooted to the spot, unable to look away as faint buzzing filled her head. Seconds later, however, the doctors with the patient disappeared behind sliding doors. She was left there, standing in the pool of the spilled coffee, feeling like something precious had been taken away from her.

Author's Note: Hello hello, if you are new to the story, please welcome, thank you for reading, and please read on. If you're reading this again because of the edits, hope you will like the updated and refreshing version of Hermione's story as much as I enjoyed writing it. Thank you!