House: Slytherin
Category: Short
Summary: For the last twenty years, Draco Malfoy has watched his wife of the last century wither away until she was practically nothing. With one final act of kindness, he presented her a vial of her memories in hopes that, when the time finally comes, she'd leave this world knowing that she was loved and that he did everything out of his devotion for her.
Prompts: Potion Vial [Object]
Word count: 2000 (Excluding Author's Note, but including entire Short and Title)
As always, enjoy
-Carolare Scarletus
.~.
Forgiveness in Memories
.~.
A warm summer's breeze met them as they gazed into the open arena of the late evening. The sun was close to finishing its voyage across the sky, the birds chirped enthusiastically at the call of night, and an almost near perfect sound of recluse passed through the expanse of the garden; even the world itself stopped to listen this harmonious tribute, there was something missing from this blissful haven. The wind did not rustle the leaves as it used to; the brush, which held such extraordinary promise, was heavy with uncertainty and restraint, and there was a singular chance of trepidation that hardly went unnoticed by all except for one. Dropping their gaze to the gloomy scene below, the pair watch with indifference at the beauty passing by them. Its influence was profoundly satisfying, but the promise of it was tragic.
"You can't tell me you don't remember." He told her softly, caressing her hand as they stared into oblivion. It was a playful statement, meant to rouse laughter, but it didn't. The sun was shining rather brightly on their skin. The radiant course breathed life into their wary bodies; it was the refreshing bit of magic that they so craved. He stared outward, licked his lips, then turned to look at her, trying again to get her to speak. "We had a wonderful life together."
The old man, aged with years of merriment, was broken from the dreadful retellings of his nightmares. He turned to look at his wife of almost a hundred and twenty years. She was just as beautiful as the day he met her. Raucous white curly hair, brown eyes that plummeted into the deepest chambers. She epitomized the very essence of beauty. He had taken her from the confinement of their home after finding her gazing out the window in their bedchamber and brought her outside. They'd walked a short distance and were now sitting with her in front of a small patch of grass with the engravement that neither of them cared for. In the distance, wild winged beasts soared, causing quite a stir.
He looked around, embracing what little tranquility he could manage. But, as they walked, he couldn't help remembering why he'd taken her from the safety of their hours and outside. He held in his hand something he hope would help her find peace. It was a small purple vial, and inside, it contained the memories of her forgotten past.
Other than that, the surroundings were quiet.
Serene, almost.
A part of him hoped that it would be a good day. It was days like these that he dreaded. Not being able to know how she would act, if she would lash out and fight had to be one of the most frustrating and hurtful thing he'd ever done. Either she remembered, or she didn't. He prayed that she did, just to make the day easier.
"Isn't it nice?" he asked her then, trying to get her to speak. The sun shined above their heads, and he looked up. He let out the deep breath that he hadn't meant to hold onto. Truly, it was a beautiful sight and his breath was again caught in his throat. "This is your garden, I made it especially for you."
Her eyes lifted to the grove.
He felt his heart tighten. Somewhere deep down, she recalled walking the route of her beloved garden and being there as they planted the first seeds that eventually blossomed into the magnificent Eden that her garden was today.
He could remember it, but could she?
Of course, she did. Her mind refused to let her see.
"It is," she told him softly, moving her hand a little. "What is this place?"
"Your garden, love."
He was met with silence.
Beside himself with agitation, he looked to the grove before them for answers. As always, a familiar whisper shook him, and he was left to ponder the flower's message.
"My garden," she murmured, looking around as if in remembrance. "It's nice."
"It is." he told her, his heart breaking. "We come out here every day, you know. As long as it didn't rain, of course." She loved the rain, but last time he told her that they got into an argument that lead to her having to be escorted back inside their home. After ten years of this, he learned all the signs of her meltdown. Her troubled mind, once as sharp as her mouth, was not that hard to figure out. "Remember when we planted the jasmines? And the lilies? I remember, your favorite are the carnations. Nasty little flowers, they are. Too- "
"-bright," she finished for him, rekindling the hope in his soul that she recalled their life together. His wife looked at him, a kind of smile he had lived for forming on her lips. She nodded slightly, brows furrowed, trying to remember. "You never liked them." she told him eventually.
"Too right you are," he told her with a smile that rivaled her own. "You know, you were the one who made me love those damned things. I didn't want to, but you insisted."
"I did what?"
"Made me love them."
"I like this place," she told him softly, forgetting herself.
"I know you do." He sighed, pausing. "It's quiet here. You used to take naps under that tree over there." He pointed to a rather peculiar terrace of moss and muck. The tree's canopy was rapidly growing, and only magic could be used to fix it. "Used to catch you over with books. Never seen an unladylike sight, mind you. Almost lost a nerve when…"
He immediately stopped talking when he realized she wasn't listening. She tended to do that from time to time. So, he didn't pay it much mind.
Instead, he leaned back and let out a breath he'd been holding. "I know you don't remember. Everything probably seems so foreign, so confusing. But, I want you to know something. Everything I did, I did it for you. The garden, the flowers, the bushes, the creek- everything. I know it may seem confusing now, but I promise it will get better. Just be patient with me."
He didn't mean for his voice to crack; it happened on its own.
Draco looked at his wife of the last century, trying to come to terms with what he'd done. In his hand was a single potion vial that contained all her memories. Shortly after her first incident, he began to store her memories away in hopes that, one day, he'd be able to give them back to her as a thank you for the gifts she's given him. It was far from a cure; even the Muggles were still struggling to figure out how to solve the conundrum that was the disease. None of it was easy; knowing what the pain he was about to inflict upon her. Every hour they've spent together lived in his heart, so long as she was happy, so was he. But, this sort of pain was unforgivable; he had taken her trust and destroyed it, and now, he was paying the consequences by flirting with the natural order of things.
"What is that?" she asked, becoming nervous at the sight of the small object. In her eyes, the telltale signs of anxiety arose from the depths. Hermione flashed her still brilliant brown eyes at him, questioning his intentions.
"Ready, love?" he asked, uncorking the vial and offering it to her. "It's time for your medicine."
"I don't want to," she whispered, looking him in the eye then back at the offensive item. Draco's heart stopped, and he looked down at the vial clenched in his wrinkled hand. Everything that he'd worked for resided in the small vial.
"You've got you, Minnie." He told her softly. "Don't you want to remember?"
Hermione didn't say anything, trusting, once again, that her husband knew the answer. With a final defiant furrow of her brow, she nodded, her eyes not quite reaching him. He knew she was trying, and that's all he wanted from her.
To that, he administered the single vial to her. Slowly, he moved closer to her and she took it. The opaque contents were poured into her mouth, and she swallowed, grimacing at the foul taste that the memories of the last hundred years. He'd spent years trying to figure it out. Finally, his hard work paid off and all her suffering would come from a single douse of the potion instead of steady increments. It was the least he could do for putting her through so much, for allowing this disease to take hold of her and destroy her. Now, she would be like her old self so long as she was willing to accept it. Even for a short time.
Hermione fell silent. Her body remained still. For one explicable moment, he believed he'd lost her, until she burst into a loud, raucous scream that shook him to his very core. And, to that, he knew the potion was taking affect. He could see the change in her demeanor; the memories practically floated all around him in one undisturbed piece, all carried by the wind and landing in some impregnable tomb inside of her mind. The screaming lasted for what seemed like hours. Then, she grew silent. The first thing she did was looked at her hands, tears already streaming down her lovely cheeks. The pain had subsided, but there was something else wholly forgotten, and that was betrayal.
"You did this to me!"
"I know," he told her, his voice cracking. "I just wanted a nice, easy life. What's wrong with that?"
Hermione pulled away from him, angry at what he'd done. Fragile body shaking with absolute fury, she sobbed, "I didn't want to remember!"
"I know, Minnie. You made me promise, but I couldn't bear it." Now, it was Draco's turn to cry. "Don't you want to lie down with me, one last time?"
Hermione looked at him through a fresh onslaught of tears. With little resistance, as she'd done in the past, she took his hand and they walked over to the small patch of grass underneath the tree. Their walk was tediously long. All the while, Draco held onto her hand until they arrived at the small patch of grass, right next to the gravestone. With a smile, he reached out and helped her. Once she was sitting on the ground, he dropped down as carefully as he could, wincing slightly at the discomfort in his hip.
"I don't want to go."
"I know love, but I think it's time." Draco told her, squeezing her hand and looking at the woman one last time before helping her to lie down.
The two of them laid in the silence for what seemed like ages. Only their mingled breaths filled the waves of precarious silence that engulfed them. Staring up at the approaching twilight, Draco had come to know two truths. Inevitability was only a state of mind, and any chance of deliverance would come when time deemed it. Seconds of waiting turned into minutes, and finally it happened. The light above them grew brighter, opening the golden gates of freedom that they so longed to see with such force that it nearly blinded them with its brilliance. The long-awaited moment arrived, delivering them from this needless pain of the last twenty years. Draco closed his eyes, feeling the tears stain his skin.
It is in the memories that they were finally able to breath and let go.
"It's beautiful," she told him, turning her head to look at him one last time as the light reached out and caressed their skin.
Draco nodded, squeezed her hand one last time, and whispered," It is."
He knew that she was gone when, in the next moment, he heard her stop breathing.
Not long after that, he followed her.
~Fin~