For Sylvia, who may not be around often, but I still love her.
Big shout out to Liza who helped me get the general idea of this fic.
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Caradoc holds the photograph of all of the Order members. The war is over, but it's taken so many lives from them. Twenty-four faces stare up at him and nearly half of them are dead and even more are incapacitated. He thought he knew what war caused, but he was wrong. So very wrong. He wasn't ready for this.
Friends and families, lovers and betrayers. War broke him. It took everything precious from him. He stares down at the only photo he has left of Dorcas. She's standing in the back row, wit her dark hair free of it's usual ponytail, smiling at the camera, blissfully unaware of what would come.
He runs his finger down her hair. He had loved running his fingers through it when it was down. "Well, my love, it's over," he whispers to the photo. "We won. The Potter's child defeated He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. Not before he came after you."
He takes a deep, shaky breath. "I wish I would've been there that night," he says, choking on the words. "Mad-Eye found you. Told me himself. He tried to give me the details, but I didn't want to know. I still don't. I hate knowing that you died alone. But I don't need Mad-Eye to tell me what I already know; that you went down fighting."
He pauses because he can't fight the tears.
"I know that you would want me to continue living and be happy, maybe marry someone else and have the life that we wanted. But, love, I'm not as brave as you were. I knew the minute that I found out that I wouldn't live without you. I love you too much for that."
His grip on the photograph tightens. It crinkles at the motion. He can't help himself as he smooths it back down. "Don't worry, love. I'm not planning suicide. I would've have continued living this long after if I was. I knew that you would be upset if I did. What I'm planning is far more intricate and needed a lot of time to implement."
He glances around the room. It's empty except for the bed and a dresser. His Muggle clothes hang in the closet. There's nothing around him to remind him of Dorcas; no dressing gown thrown over the footboard, no women's clothes in the clothes or products in the bathroom.
He left their flat exactly how it was when she was there. He had cleaned up the mess he made when Mad-Eye came to him. They knew that the two of them had plans to marry after the war, so they all came over with dishes of food and their sympathies. But Caradoc never let them know what he was planning.
Slowly, he integrated himself into a Muggle life in secret. He changed his name, falsified documents, made a new life in a different flat with a roommate that the others don't know about. They've won. There's no more need for Caradoc Dearborn - the duelist, the fighter, the lover of Dorcas.
He barely sees the photograph through his teary eyes. He misses them, all of the ones that they've lost. Misses the jokes that James, Sirius, Remus and Peter had. Misses the games of Wizards chess with Edgar. Misses the lookout missions with Benjy. Misses the chatter of dinner and the smiles. Misses the way they used to be before Sirius betrayed them and people started dying.
But most of all, he misses Dorcas like he's missing a limb. He's forgotten how to breathe without her. The others, he could mourn and move on. But he always knew that if something happened to Dorcas, he wouldn't want to live through the war. He only done it because if he didn't, others would die. Innocent people. People with their whole lives ahead of them.
Finally, after he's wallowed in his memories long enough, he stands. He places the picture in his pocket and grabs his wand from under his pillow - a habit he never could break himself of - and heads towards the backyard. His roommate had mentioned plans about going out with his mates tonight, so Caradoc doesn't have to worry about him stumbling home until the morning.
It's cold outside, with snow on the ground, but there's not a cloud in the sky. The stars are shining brightly. It's not unusual for January.
After he makes sure that there's no one watching, he pulls out the photograph and props it against the table outside. He casts his first spell of the night - a weather-modifying spell. A large cloud appears in the night sky. It doesn't take long before it starts to snow, adding to the snow on the ground. Tomorrow, the Muggles will chalk this up to a freak chance of nature. But tonight, he smiles for the first time.
"I couldn't quite resist, Dorcas," he says softly. "It was snowing the first time I saw you, in third year. You and Lily and Alice were all having a snowball fight with the other Gryffindor boys. Benjy and I were just trying to do our homework when your snowball hit me instead. I think I fell in love the moment you apologized."
He laughs. "You were just so beautiful with your red cheeks and your braided hair and sparkling eyes. You were always beautiful. Just know, that no matter what, I always loved you."
He undoes his spell, knowing that the Ministry would recognize that a Wizard in this area had cast a spell if he wipes his memory. He doesn't need the Ministry snooping around and finding him. It would defeat the purpose.
The cold starts to seep into his as he brings the picture up to his mouth. He places a soft kiss against it. "This is goodbye, love. I hope when I see you on the other side, I will remember you."
When he pulls it away, he sets it on fire. He watches as the flame consumes the picture, watches until it takes away Dorcas' smiling face, watches until the ashes spread on the ground. He stands there for a few minutes. The final snowflakes fall, covering up the ashes.
He takes it as his time. He goes back to his bedroom and curls up in his bed. He presses his wand to his temple. "Obliviate," he murmurs.
He feels the tug of his memories disappearing. And his last conscious thought is of Dorcas.