Remember Tomorrow
A/N: Thanks so, so much to my incredible beta, emmacmf! This was my first beta'ed story, actually! Twas lovely to have her :) Also, a big thank you to urbanmama1 for cheering me on! This story was posted last month for the R/Hr Big Bang Challenge on LiveJournal. There is now a fantastic website devoted to the stories that were submitted, and if you check out that site, you'll also be able to see the fabulous art that was drawn for my story! I'll be posting one chapter a day of the story on here as well if you want to follow it that way, and I'd love some reviews here or there, whichever you prefer, so I can know what everyone thinks ;) It is a completed story, in case anyone was concerned about my mental health, posting yet another fic on here! hah
The website is rhrlove . com (remove spaces), and there are some great works of fiction and art over there to check out! Lot and lots of words of awesome to consume, as the minimum word count was 15,000 for an entry!
Three quick recommendations for stories that I read so far from the Challenge... and adored! First, shocolate's "A Terrible Disclosure". A thousand points to anyone who can figure out what she is referencing in this story! LOVE it. Second, wordsmithsonian's "The Bet". Fabulous writing as usual. And finally, but most certainly not least, mugglemama's "Now What?". All fantastic reads full of R/Hr love :) I haven't finished perusing the rest of the stories, but I'm sure the others are all equally lovely! xx
Chapter 1
August 15, 1998
A young wizard sits in the middle of a silent flat. In one hand he holds a bottle, half empty, and in the other, a thin piece of material, perhaps a scarf or a torn bit of a curtain. If you looked into his eyes, you'd see an 18 year old man. But his features tell a different story - his shaggy ginger hair, thick beard, the scars up and down his arms... he could be twice his real age.
Harry Potter visits him every single day. He even offered to come and live with him in this quiet, deserted flat. But he was turned down and blankly asked to leave. He did as he was instructed only because he knows his best friend so well, understands what he needs better than anyone else ever could. Well, almost anyone...
Before him now, Ron has two choices. He can remain here in solitude, or move forward down the road that stretches out endlessly in front of him. But these days he cannot use his legs the way he used to, or he believes that he cannot. It would take too much effort to travel the distance necessary to see around the next curve, to know what's coming. And he doesn't care anyway.
Today he sits without a sound, almost too quiet to be alive. A pop resounds behind him but he doesn't even flinch. His wand lies useless on the floor to his right, and he does not reach for it, no sign that he has anything to fear. Maybe he has become immune to such emotional attachments to life as fear and paranoia. And after all, he reasons, who has the ability to Apparate directly into her flat? Two people in the world. Here he sits, one of those people. He's never left... and he never will. He knows, by elimination, that this new visitor must be Harry... without even having to see him.
Another pop sounds out quite a bit louder than the first, and in front of Ron now, Harry appears, a familiar crease running across his scarred forehead, a worry that Ron has labeled as pity and has decided against acknowledging anymore. It never did any good to ask Harry to wipe it away, to stop looking at Ron that way when all Ron did, day in and out, was to give Harry a reason to look at him exactly like that. But Ron could not change from the inside, could not transform his soul back into what it once was, because now... the one piece that had held it all together, kept it from breaking and scattering uselessly, was gone forever...
Ron took a moment to wonder why Harry would have Apparated a second time simply to cross a room. But then things like these minute details never really made it past vague curiosity. He didn't have room for them anymore.
"Ron..." Harry said before clearing his throat at the sound his voice made, something stuck between a grunt and a groan.
Ron's lack of acknowledgment was customary, so Harry continued as if talking to a wall.
"Your parents are coming over. They're worried. I told them not to..."
Ron moved very slightly in his chair, a clink of the glass bottle in his hand against the rough wood of the rickety chair he sat in.
"But... I don't really know what to do. Maybe I should stay tonight, at least until they've gone. I'd say we could have a drink, you know, try to talk, but..."
Harry sighed and tried to look into Ron's eyes, but they seemed, as always, so unfocused and distant.
"...looks like you've already had plenty."
Ron cleared his throat, and Harry froze, his body rigid, at attention, eyes widening ever so slightly. This was it. He might hear Ron's voice today... It had been so long, so very long since he had last spoken. Was it a week... or could it have been two? Days ran together, nights flowing into them freely, without warning. The sun would disappear before either of them had the chance to see it sometimes.
But the moment passed. Silence fell once more. The tick of the old clock that used to fill these moments had fallen silent as well. Perhaps it was neglect, something never tended to. But it had only been a few months. And yet somehow, it seemed that everything around them had died, turned old and dusty before their eyes. There had once been life here, happiness. Where was it now? Where could it be hiding? In a grave buried deep underground? In a soul drifting through... whatever came next... waiting to be reunited with its partner?
Harry visually gave up on Ron, gave up on the idea that he might be offered a few words to cling to. It was, after all, a pain he also felt, not just in Ron's silence, but in his own heart as well. He could not deny the empty space that was left by an absence so huge, so vast, that he wasn't even sure how it had fit inside his heart to begin with. And he knew his best friend, knew Ron so well. If this was Harry's pain, he could not imagine what it must be like for-
"When?"
Harry flinched, so startled by the sound. Had it really come from the man before him?
"Wh-what?" Harry asked in a whisper, though he had heard the word quite plainly, even as it had been choked and forced out of the dry lips and unused throat that had uttered it.
"When? When are they coming?" Ron asked, blinking as he shifted in his chair again, causing several strands of his unkempt ginger hair to limply fall into his eyes.
"Uh..." Harry mumbled, staring down at Ron, waiting, hoping and praying that he'd look up, just one glance... one moment to see into his deep blue eyes, so sad and tormented. It was a torture that Harry longed for, craved. But it did not come. Not today. "I... I think they were planning to bring dinner. Maybe... seven?"
Ron nodded, his fingers weaving through the thin material in his left hand as he closed his eyes.
"I'm not leaving the flat," Ron said softly.
"I know that," and Harry sat in the arm chair that had been pushed back against the wall opposite from Ron. "And no one says you have to."
Ron allowed the bottle in his right hand to touch the floor, and he loosened his grip on it. It swayed, threatening to tip over, but at the last moment, it stopped, caught its balance, and remained upright against the leg of Ron's chair. He stretched out his legs, his bare feet moving smoothly across the carpet, and he tilted his head back, his eyes moving into shadow now.
Harry glanced at his watch. Two more hours before they'd probably arrive. His heart beat faster just thinking of it, his nerves on high alert.
"It'll be fine," Harry muttered, more to himself than to Ron. Besides, the word 'fine' no longer fit into Ron's dictionary anyway. And if he was being honest with himself, Harry wondered if it ever would again...
Harry glanced at his watch moments before the expected knock on the door made them both flinch. Gathering himself, Harry stood from the arm chair he had been silently occupying for the last two hours and opened the door with a creak.
"Harry," Ginny muttered as she entered the flat first.
Mr. and Mrs. Weasley followed very cautiously behind Ginny, Mrs. Weasley clinging to her husband's arm, a bit shaken and visibly nervous as she stepped into the dark, cold living room, her eyes searching for her son. When she located him, it was with great effort that she managed to partially hold back the gasp that overtook her. It wasn't like she hadn't seen him since... since it had happened. She had tried so many times to visit. But he had shut them out. And she had given him the time and the space he needed and requested.
But it was over now. He had had his chance to be alone. Now she was here to bring him back to life, or at least to give him comfort. After all, she knew he needed her now. He had to, didn't he? He was her son after all.
But as she approached him, he closed his eyes, shutting her out as he had done before. And something snapped inside her, something bordering on anger but stemming from rejection and pain, from his fear and revulsion...
"Ron, look at me," she demanded sternly. "Ron."
He glanced up at her, his fist clenching stiffly around the material in his left hand. Her eyes flicked to the balled up scrap, to his knuckles turning white as he held on as tightly as he could.
"Come to tell me it's time to leave?" Ron asked, a hint of disdain in his voice.
"Not exactly," Mrs. Weasley said slowly, shocked at the roughness in her son's voice.
"I don't have anything to say," Ron admitted in a low groan, his words running together and making it difficult to understand him.
"You don't really have to talk," Ginny said as she moved to stand next to her mother. "We're just worried about you."
"We want to help you, Ron," Mrs. Weasley said gently as she reached out a hand towards him.
"Help me with what?" Ron asked, laughter in his cold voice.
"To... to get better," trembled Mrs. Weasley, withdrawing her hand.
"Oh?" Ron asked a bit sarcastically, roughly, meeting his mother's eyes now.
And she saw all of his unshed tears pooling in the corners of his eyes as he squinted in an attempt to keep them where they were, safely tucked away inside...
"Can you bring her back?" Ron whispered.
An involuntary sob escaped Mrs. Weasley at her son's words. He had said exactly what everyone was dreading to discuss, the fact that no matter how long he sat here, no matter how much pain he felt, it could never be eased by a real solution. Time was the only healer now. Time and... well, in his family's mind, comfort and acceptance. But bitterly, Ron was never planning on resorting to any of those things.
"Ron, please come home with us," Mrs. Weasley half sobbed as she knelt in front of Ron. He glared back at her as angry tears finally fell from the corners of his eyes.
"And leave her flat to rot?" Ron growled. "I told you before, I'm not coming with you. You can't change my mind."
Ginny took a step back from Ron and reached for Harry's hand. He took it surreptitiously, but it didn't matter. Ron saw them. He always did. His eyes narrowed a fraction as his fist clenched tightly once more around the material he held.
"Ron," Mr. Weasley tried, stepping up behind his wife. "You've got to try to move on-"
"Don't even say it!" Ron interrupted, standing abruptly and running a hasty hand through his hair.
"We're trying to help you!" Mrs. Weasley cried as she stood too, facing her son, her cheeks flushed with frustration.
"But I haven't asked for your help, have I!" Ron shouted, his hair falling wildly into his face again. He brushed it away with a shaky hand.
"You don't have to ask," Mr. Weasley said softly. "We're your parents. Of course we want the best for y-"
"The best for me?" Ron interrupted. "I'll tell you what's best. Leave me here and let me imagine that she's not gone." Ron's voice cracked as he struggled to continue. "Let me pretend like it's all going to be alright. When you show up, when you make me face it, then it's real. I can't let it be real..." Tears cascaded down Ron's face as he stood with his family and Harry before him. They all looked back at him with that... pity... that he had come to despise so thoroughly.
"It's not healthy or sane for you to pretend..." Mrs. Weasley began after a long moment. "We're... we're so sorry for what happened, truly we are, but you've got to try, Ron."
Ron took a slow step back from his family, his eyes on the carpet now. He could hear them, but they knew he wasn't really listening.
"Ron," Mrs. Weasley continued, walking cautiously closer to him, "we... we have had so many traumas in our lives... F-Fred and now... now Hermione."
Ron choked on a breath at the sound of her name, sucking in oxygen as he tried to stifle his sobs.
"I know how you feel," Mrs. Weasley added, her own eyes full of tears now.
Ron shook his head and raised his eyes to his mother's.
"No. No you don't know how I feel."
"Of course I do, Ron," she said. "I l-lost a son... You l-lost a brother... We're in this together. And now one of your best friends..."
"She wasn't just my friend!" Ron shouted angrily, bringing to the surface a question that his family had vowed never to ask. But he could sense them all watching him now, waiting to see what else he would reveal... "This is different! You want to know how I feel?" he continued harshly. "Crawl inside my head then."
"We've all lost people we loved, Ron!" Mrs. Weasley cried, an edge to her voice now, defending her feelings against what Ron was implying. "We do know how it feels! What makes this any different for you than it's been for everyone? But we have to pick up the pieces and put them together and live!"
Ron grinned at her words, the sick and horrifying grin of a person who had forgotten how to do it properly...
"When she died... well, I might as well have joined her in her grave," Ron said, his voice oddly steady.
His mother began to shake at his words and his father moved to stand directly behind her, clutching her arms for support.
"I feel completely empty," Ron continued, "but I figured out why. I was only living for her. My whole purpose was her. It's funny because I never knew how much I needed her, how much I b-belonged to her... before..."
"Please..." Mrs. Weasley begged, clueless now as to what she could really do to fix this...
"I don't belong here," Ron said as he slowly moved back to his chair, studying it almost lovingly before sitting in it again gingerly.
"You're right. You don't belong here," Mrs. Weasley said, a note of hope in her voice. "You belong at home with us."
"No, that's not what I mean," Ron said softly, moving the material in his left hand to his lap, touching it gently with both hands now. "I don't belong... alive."
Mrs. Weasley covered her face with her hands to muffle her cries.
"Unless she comes back..." Ron mumbled, but they were all too occupied now with calming down Mrs. Weasley to be able to hear him... everyone but Harry.
Harry's gaze never left Ron's slumped form, distant eyes cast down to the material in his lap... spilled bottle of mead where it had rolled under his chair, its former contents now soaking through the carpet.
Harry moved slowly closer, closer... and finally, when he stepped into Ron's shadow, Ron raised his head. The moment their eyes met, Harry knew...
Harry turned around quickly and took Ginny's arm.
"You should go," Harry said softly to them all. "He'll be okay. I'll stay with him all night. Nothing's going to happen..." he continued, hoping to reassure Mrs. Weasley as they all slowly made their way to the door. "I promise I'll take care of him," Harry added, nodding as they all moved into the hallway and out of Ron's view... finally.
"Thank you," Mr. Weasley muttered, and with a shuffle and a series of pops, they had gone.
Harry shut the door with a slam and spun instantly around to face Ron, his eyes wide with fear.
"Tell me you aren't really..." Harry pleaded, searching Ron's face for a sign.
Harry rushed towards Ron, stopping a few feet from him and standing over him, his mouth slightly open from shock.
"Answer me," Harry demanded.
"What are you on about, Harry?" Ron mumbled.
"Cut the bullshit, Ron!" Harry shouted. "I'm not going to shut up until you give me a straight answer, and you know damn well what I'm asking you!"
Ron's eyes remained cast down towards his lap for an agonizing few seconds before he finally spoke...
"What do you want me to say, Harry?"
"That you aren't thinking what I think you're thinking..."
Ron stood slowly, tightening his grip on the material still in his hand and brushing past Harry. He began to pace the living room, trembling visibly as he spoke seemingly to no one.
"They all expect me to accept this. She's gone and I have to live with it. Well, I can't do that. I can't. So I don't see that I really have a choice. I wish I could explain it, describe it... how it feels."
Harry swallowed thickly, watching Ron with wide eyes as he continued to pace.
"But you know I'm not good at that... I don't know how to say it... I don't know the right words..."
Harry remained speechless, his throat dry, hands awkwardly limp at his sides. Ron passed by him again, nearly brushing shoulders with him.
"What would it be like," Ron continued softly as he slowed to a stop in front of the fireplace, looking in at the cool, dead coals within, "to live forever?"
"What?" Harry managed to choke out, confused and half terrified at what Ron would say next.
"He wanted it, didn't he," said Ron, his voice quiet and distant.
"Who?" Harry asked, though he suspected the horrifying answer to his own question before he asked it.
"You know... Voldemort."
Hearing Ron say the name wasn't the most upsetting thing about this statement... because underneath it lay a truth, a connection that Harry had seen only once before between Ron and Voldemort... only that one night, the lowest and most beautiful night in a forest not so long ago... the night of the silver doe, the night of the sword of Gryffindor... and the night Ron's greatest fears finally surfaced, right there so Harry could see them.
Harry had looked back on that night as a step forward, a resolution to an insecurity that stretched back as far as Harry could remember, as long as he had known Ron perhaps, though Harry's guilt at having been too occupied with himself half the time to notice it played heavily on his conscience. But now, a dark shadow passed over Harry's memory, a shadow that threatened to undo all the good that had been built that night, the moment when he felt that he and Ron had become true brothers finally, understanding each other's very souls and minds more perfectly than any two people could ever expect to.
But truthfully, they had all become one mind, one soul, one being... the three of them. And with such a huge dent now in who they were, it had been very clear to Harry that filling that gap, or at least accepting it, wasn't going to be easy. But this was the first night, the first time, when Harry realized, knew on some level, that even if he could patch himself up some day, Ron... never could.
And this... connection in Ron's mind between himself and Voldemort, some desperate attempt to find a way to conquer something that was never meant to be conquered... never like this.
"Voldemort's dead. He failed," Harry stated dumbly, using the only logic that came to mind.
"Yes," Ron whispered. "But I... I understand him, Harry," Ron admitted, guilt finally seeping into his voice. "If... if someone gave me the key, told me how to do it... to bring her back..."
"You wouldn't," Harry said as he stepped closer to Ron, his heart pounding. "You couldn't..."
Ron turned slowly to face Harry, his hair in his eyes, a dull glow around his pupils, a window to his thoughts and admissions...
"Wouldn't I?" Ron nearly cried, his eyes locked with Harry's. "I was afraid to say it, afraid to admit that we... we might be more alike than you know, me and him. But... it's true. I won't bother lying to you, Harry..."
"No," Harry said quickly, his voice stronger and louder than he expected it to be. "You aren't alike, Ron. There is one difference you're forgetting, one huge difference."
"What?" Ron breathed.
"Your thoughts are clouded by..." Harry paused to swallow, the intensity in Ron's eyes overwhelming him slightly... "by love," Harry said firmly, believing his own words with all his heart. "He never loved anyone... or anything... not even himself. His fear and hatred are what drove him. And you will never be that. You will never be the same. Don't forget that."
Ron nodded very slowly, and as Harry watched him, he knew that Ron had accepted these words, believed them even. And it was a huge relief... until Ron spoke again...
"But then that's why it'll work this time."
Ron looked back into the empty fireplace, his eyes shining with another round of unshed tears. Horrified by the continuation of this line of reasoning, Harry simply stared at Ron, unable to believe it.
"I... l-love her. And that's what will bring her back. I know... I know it'll work. It has to. I... I've planned it out."
"Oh my God, Ron..." Harry breathed, his eyes perfect circles as he stared at his best friend's profile.
There was no hesitation in Ron's voice, no second guessing. He had this all planned out. He wasn't turning back. And nothing Harry could do or say could change his mind. He knew that. And it was the most terrifying thing he had ever felt, to be helpless to stop it, to have no control whatsoever...
"You can't..." Harry said automatically, though he might as well have remained silent. His words would never reach Ron where he was now... "She wouldn't want it this way! You know that! You have to know that!"
Ron's eyes narrowed a fraction as he faced Harry fully once more, but he said nothing, his expression blank and unreadable.
"She hated the idea of the Resurrection Stone, remember?" Harry continued. "Thought it was mental. If she knew that you were..."
Harry paused to gather his thoughts, so horrified that he could hardly continue. But he had to...
"Ron, why do you think it is that all the ghosts we know are the ones who had petty priorities in life and died with these links to their former lives on Earth that they can't seem to shake or give up? Hermione... she was too smart for all that. She's... moved on. She's probably somewhere wonderful... why would she want to-"
"Moved on?" interrupted Ron abruptly. "Moved on to where?"
Harry stared at Ron for a long moment before shrugging, defeated.
"Do you really believe that, Harry?" Ron asked, begging with his eyes for a truthful answer.
"All I know," Harry sighed, "is that there's something out there, something waiting for us when we've finished living this life. Can't you feel that?"
Ron looked down at the carpet, his arms limp at his sides, his fingers moving gently over the material in his hand.
"I hope that's true... I really do... but..." Ron looked up again, his eyes pleading once more. "Harry, I can't go on without her," he nearly cried, and Harry's heart broke at the sound of Ron's voice. "I know it, Harry! If I never see her again... I'll never be happy again... not for a moment..."
Harry stared at Ron, clueless as to what to say next. Ron visibly resigned from the conversation, turning back to face the empty fireplace.
"You should go home, Harry."
"So should you!" Harry shouted, the words forming and releasing themselves too quickly for him to know what he was saying or to stop himself.
Ron turned again and looked down his long nose at Harry.
"You should stop paying for it, you know, my flat," Ron said dully.
"How did you-"
"Ginny," Ron sighed. "She told me. She tried to guilt me into going back there."
"Ron..." It was true, Harry had been keeping up Ron's flat, hoping that he'd return to it soon, that once enough time had passed, he'd want to leave Hermione's old place and return to his own... That time had not yet come, and Harry wasn't to the point of being impatient with Ron yet, no matter how his family had been feeling. After all, it had only been two months since...
"I promise you," Ron said, his voice low and rough, "I won't ever move back there."
"Then let me stay here with you," Harry begged, aware of the fact that they had had this conversation so many times before, this exact one, only to end without a resolution. Harry would leave Ron to himself, the way he wanted it. Harry had thought that Ron needed the space to heal. But now... now Harry knew that he had been a fool, tricked into abandoning Ron so that he could plan...
"Go home, Harry," Ron repeated, but Harry shook his head.
"Ron, you're going to be okay... you're going to be fine..." Harry half-whispered the words, trying to convince himself of them even as he spoke them to Ron.
Tears rolled silently down Ron's face and Harry squinted to hold back his own as he watched.
What if Ron's right? What if this is it, if he'll never be himself again, never be happy... never be complete?
And in an instant, something snapped in Harry. He saw Ron's tears, and they weren't obstacles anymore, not something he had to mend.
"Prove it," Harry said firmly.
Ron met Harry's eyes, confusion in his expression.
"Prove... what?"
"Prove that what you say is true, that you'll never be happy without her. Prove it and I'll listen to your plan."
Ron's eyes widened and he sniffed.
"You will?"
Harry nodded.
"Okay," Ron said slowly, nodding as well. "Leave. Forget we had this conversation. Come back in six months. I'll stop planning, stop everything. I'll try, Harry, really I will. And if you find me the same, if nothing has changed..."
"Then I'll listen," Harry agreed, "I'll hear what you've got to say and we can discuss it... I'll... believe you."
A very distant hint of a smile somehow slipped onto Ron's face. It was a sight that Harry had dismissed as possible, and seeing it now was nearly infectious. Harry could have managed the slightest upturn of his lips...
"Well, looks like I've got some drawers to lock," said Ron, and he walked steadily out of the room, out of sight, leaving Harry with his thoughts.