A/N: Wow. This made me cry sooo much as I was writing it, even though I'll swear that it gets worse towards the end. It's amazing that I got the whole inspiration for this story with just one line of a song. I've not much more to say, because just about everything is explained in the story.
Disclaimer: Just about next to nothing in here belongs to me.
*~*~*~*
"Things you forget to say will haunt you down here a million days…"
- 3 Colours Red
*~*~*~*
Never Forget
Ron trudged out of his bed to look out his second floor window. His eyes were greeted by a beautiful day, but to him, it was the darkest day of his life. Harry and Hermione, his best friends to the end, had met that end the day before, and this was the first full day that he would be going through without them.
Looking out the window, he saw a flock of birds flying high above the trees. He winced and turned away. Never again would he look at birds in the same way.
"Oh, Harry, Hermione, why did I have to turn away? Why did I let my temper get the best of me?" Ron hung his head, "Why wasn't I there?"
*~*~*~*
Ronald Seward and his wife Andrea were unpacking boxes upon boxes of belongings after moving to a cozy little flat in Notting Hill. It wasn't much, but it was all that they needed.
Opening a large trunk, Andrea thought she saw something moving. She shut it. There couldn't be anything moving in the trunk, but then again, she wasn't sure because she didn't remember packing it. But what could Ron, who was in the next room, have put in there?
She cautiously lifted the trunks lid again, holding her breath, as her curiosity had gotten the better of her. What she saw was many photographs, haphazardly thrown into the trunk, half hidden by large folds of fabric, which were mostly black, but she spotted a remnant of some maroon fabric with white lace. The photographs were what interested her most. They were moving.
"RON!" Andrea shouted, summoning him to her side.
"Wh-" Ron started to say until his eyes fell upon the trunk. He knew what was in there. He had wanted to forget it forever.
Andrea reached into the trunk and her hand emerged holding one of the photographs. It was of a young girl, about thirteen, with large, liquid cinnamon eyes, bushy brown hair and buckteeth. She was trying to hide her face with a book whose title could not read, but a hand, possibly the photographer's, was trying to take the book away. "What are these?" She asked, "Some sort of hologram collection?"
"Yes. That's exactly it," Ron responded, hoping to evade the topic as completely as he could. "Don't bother with that stuff. Just leave it there," he added quickly, disappearing from the room.
Andrea wore a puzzled look on her face, but she was intrigued by the "holograms" and wanted to look at more of them. The next one she picked up looked like a red and green blur. She couldn't make out any actual figures, but noticed that each color was mostly trying to go to one particular side of the frame. Near the edge of the picture, there were four large hoops suspended many feet above the ground.
"Hmm… red and green… this would make an interesting Christmas decoration," she thought aloud while setting the hologram aside. Christmas was, after all, barely two weeks away.
The next picture that she removed from the trunk was of a tall, orange haired boy swatting at a tiny owl that was circling his head. The teenage boy was wearing odd-looking black robes that barely fell to his ankles. The boy's blue eyes looked so familiar to Andrea, but she couldn't quite place why.
*~*~*~*
Ron flopped down on the couch in his living room and flipped on the television. He still didn't quite understand how it worked, but he didn't really care. It offered him an adequate escape from the world, and that was all he needed.
He ran his hand through his short brown hair and looked around the room that didn't quite yet seem like home to him. It was covered with various Christmas décor. There were icicle lights lining the top of the large picture window, garland strung across the mantle, and a tree, in a corner of the room, which shone beautifully. The ornaments hanging from it were carefully chosen and strategically placed to reflect as much light as possible. But at the top of the tree, where Ron was used to seeing a golden star towering above the rest of the room, was a moving picture of red and green blurs.
Ron recognized that picture. It was the last Quidditch game before he graduated from Hogwarts. As the Quidditch commentator, Ron had a perfect view of the games, and had taken a few pictures of them. He had wanted to play for Gryffindor's Quidditch team, but had never tried out for it. He was too afraid of rejection.
This was one of the many pictures that Ron had stashed away in the trunks with his other possessions that had anything to do with the wizarding world. He had hoped that he would never see any of them again. He then remembered why he wanted to forget that part of his life, which he had successfully done up until this point. He remembered that day all too well…
*~*~*~*
It was the summer after they had graduated from Hogwarts, and Harry Potter and Hermione Granger were staying at the Burrow for the summer, like they usually did. It was late afternoon, and the three of them were on the field that they used to play Quidditch. Ron and Harry were flying around on their brooms and tossing a quaffle around while Hermione watched from below, yelling at them to be careful.
Ron, tired from the afternoon's athletics, had flown back down to the ground and sat next to Hermione. After catching his breath for a few moments, he leaned over to speak to her. "Hermione, I want to show you something."
She looked up and asked, "What is it, Ron?" not quite knowing what to expect.
He smiled. "It's a surprise."
She screwed up her face, weighing her choices. She had no clue what he wanted to show her, but by the way he was smiling, it seemed like something good. She sighed, "All right. Why not?"
As she got up, Ron covered her eyes with his hands. When she tried to push his hands away, he whispered, "Trust me." She slowly put her hands back down.
Hermione let Ron lead her away from their Quidditch field, where Harry was flying loops in the air with his beloved Firebolt. Neither of them really knew how long it took to get there, but it didn't matter. And every step of the way, Ron made sure that Hermione wouldn't stray too far.
When they got to the spot, Ron kept his hands over Hermione's eyes and said, "All right, you can sit down."
Hermione slowly lowered herself to the ground, making sure to feel the grass before she sat down. Ron followed in suit, sitting slightly behind and to the right of her. "When can I look?" she asked.
Ron shifted his hands from her face and let them rest on her shoulders. "Now."
With the mask of Ron's hands being removed, Hermione saw that the two of them were up on a hill that seemed to be far away from anything. They were in the middle of nowhere, where they had a breathtaking view of the now setting sun. The sky was streaked with orange and yellow among the blue, and there was a small flock of birds just taking off into flight. Mesmerized, she stared out at the expansive sky. "It's beautiful," she murmured.
Ron tucked a tendril of her fluffy hair behind her ear and whispered into it, "So are you."
She continued staring out towards the sun and said a-matter-of-factly, "Ron, you know you can't compare me to this. I'm not that beautiful."
Ron was taken aback. This wasn't how it was supposed to go. This wasn't what was supposed to happen. He remained quiet for a few seconds, but the quieter he stayed, the angrier he became. He gripped a few blades of grass in his hands. "Hermione, can't you see what I was trying to tell you? Don't you understand?"
She finally looked at him. "Tell me what?"
He ripped the grass out of the ground. "Never mind!" he shouted, throwing the grass up in the air and storming away, leaving Hermione sitting on the hillside.
Walking away, Ron saw a figure on a broomstick approaching. It was, of course, Harry. Ron just looked down and dragged his feet on the ground as he was walking.
"Ron!" Harry shouted from his broomstick, hovering alongside of Ron. "What's wrong?"
"Dunno. Ask her," Ron said coldly, pointing over his shoulder.
Harry shrugged and did as he was told. After all, it wasn't a good idea to try to talk to Ron when he was in a bad mood. Ron kept walking away, until he got to the wooded area that was close to that hillside, but just far enough away. He didn't know why, but he had a sudden urge to climb the tree, one of those that just wouldn't go away until you actually did it. So, without anything else to do, he clamored up the nearest tree.
It was a good vintage point, offering a good view of the area. He could see Harry talking to Hermione, who was wildly making hand gestures when she talked. She only ever did that when she was upset about something.
Ron turned away, not wanting to look at them any more. He didn't understand why Hermione had to ruin the moment when he was trying to tell her something that was very important to him. "Maybe it just isn't meant to be," he told himself while diverting his view to a nearby tree. It was the tree where he and his brothers had scrawled their initials. From his perch he could clearly make out the FNW, GPW, BEW, CMW and RDW that was scratched into the tree. He remembered the day that Fred and George had filched a knife from the kitchen and forever etched those letters into the tree. No, a simple spell wouldn't do…
And then there was a green flash of light. Ron looked up, in horror, knowing what green light meant. He had seen it done before to that spider, and that one time was frightening enough for him, but this time, the scene that his eyes saw was a thousand, maybe a million times worse. Harry and Hermione were lying still on the ground, and Ron saw nothing of the figures next to his friends before the figures transfigured into hawks and flew away, over Ron's head, screeching loudly.
*~*~*~*
Ron sucked in his breath. He hadn't wanted to think about how those two Death Eaters, who were unregistered animagi, had come that day to finish off the job that You-Know-Who had started. The Death Eaters hadn't known what to do when You-Know-Who was finally defeated. They must have lived off the feeling they got when they killed someone, and they had to keep on doing it.
But why Hermione? He had loved her, and that was the time that he wanted to tell her. If only he had told her, Ron thought, maybe she would have never died. Not only was she gone, but so was Harry. Harry was Ron's best friend; through thick and thin he always stuck around. He was always there for Ron, even when he and Hermione weren't speaking to each other and it could have been dangerous to get in the middle of them. Harry was there.
Ron hadn't been able to deal with their deaths when they occurred. His seventeen-year-old mind couldn't accept what had happened, or why it had happened. That's why he banished himself to the Muggle world. He didn't want to look at any of his school things and be reminded of their adventures there, of the times that the three of them had together, or anything about his departed friends.
He packed away everything that had anything to do with Hogwarts or magic, and tried to change just about everything about himself, including his name. He got the name Seward from a Muggle telephone directory. He had just opened to a random page and chose the first name that he saw. He had dyed his hair a dark shade of brown so that no one could recognize his bright orange hair and inquire, "Hey, aren't you one of the Weasleys?"
Ron now realized how much of a mistake that whole thing was. By forgetting about Harry and Hermione, magic, and even his family, he had just prolonged the agony that he was to feel for Harry and Hermione's deaths. He was prolonging the agony of lost love.
He stared blankly at the television. The channel had just been coming in fine, but now the picture was getting all fuzzy. He squinted at it as the picture came back. No, it couldn't be. It wasn't…
"Hermione?"
The apparition on the screen nodded. Ron was in disbelief. He couldn't be seeing her here. She was dead and had been for at least ten years. Why didn't he see her as a ghost until now?
"Oh, Hermione, I've missed you… and Harry…" The tears started rolling down his cheeks. He couldn't stop them, and wasn't sure if he really wanted to. He studied Hermione's ghostly form in the television. She hadn't changed one bit since the last time that he had seen her. Her hair was even still tucked behind her ear, just as he had left it. It was the way he had left it right before he had whispered into her ear.
He had loved her hair. It was so nice to touch, silky and soft, and there was lots of it. It extended down to the middle of her back, where she had a light blue ribbon ties around the ends. Ron used to constantly untie that ribbon just to get her attention, but he only succeeded in annoying her by doing so.
"Hermione," he choked, "why are you here?"
"To tell you something," she whispered, almost lacking emotion. Ron wasn't sure whether it was because of what she wanted to tell him, or because emotion is only for the living. But, he remembered, Moaning Myrtle had feelings. He remembered them all too well. So, Hermione must have been trying to keep her composure. As hard as this meeting was for him, maybe it was harder for her.
"What is it?"
"Ron, you can't forget what happened, and you can't forget what you are. You are a wizard, and that is part of you. You've been missing a part of you for all of these years. Harry and I are a part of you. You can't forget us. You just can't…" she trailed off. Ron saw that she was crying. He hadn't stopped to think how she would feel about him forgetting her.
"I'm sorry Hermione… I'm so sorry… I didn't want to forget about you. It was the hardest thing I ever did, but it was the only thing I could do at the time. All I wanted to do was numb the pain. It was so hard, losing Harry," he sobbed, "and you."
"Ron, promise me you won't forget about me again," Hermione said, in a commanding, yet soft manner. The way she said it made Ron feel like such a fool for running away from his old life.
"Never. I'll never do that again. Hermione, I love you too much…"
She looked down for a moment before saying, "I loved you, too, Ron. I was afraid to say so. I was afraid you didn't love me back. I was angry with myself for turning you away that day the way I did, and then, it happened. There was no way to reverse what I had done after that day. How I've wished every day that I could have behaved differently, said something different, and maybe everything might have been different. Harry and I might even have lived…" she trailed off, not able to go on speaking. Ron felt so sad for his friend and lost love, because he himself didn't know what it was like to be dead.
"Hermione, don't blame yourself for it," Ron said, not realizing what he was saying. Who was he to say not to blame yourself when that was all he ever did before he decided to forget the whole thing ever happened?
"Don't blame yourself either," she replied, as if reading his mind. She knew. Ron wasn't sure how she knew, but she did.
Ron couldn't say any more. He was too overcome with emotion, overcome with the grief of losing his two best friends, overcome with remorse for forgetting about a whole part of himself, and overcome with a million other inexplicable emotions.
"Promise me you won't," Hermione said, putting her hand on the inside of the television screen.
Ron knew what he had to do. He put his hand up to hers on the television. His hand dwarfed hers, because of the fact that she was only an image on the screen, and she wasn't actually there in her bodily form. Ron felt that her presence was more than just an image on the screen, though. "Hermione, I promise you. I promise, and I'll never forget you. Never again."
She smiled, her eyes gleaming through her tears. "Ron, I have to go now."
"No, please don't go; stay here. Stay with me. Please," he pleaded. He hadn't seen her for years, and he didn't want to see her go now.
"I'll always be with you, Ron. Always. I'm a part of you, remember?"
Ron couldn't argue with that, but he didn't want to lose sight of her. He wanted to be able to look at her forever. More than that he wished that she was still alive, and he could be married to her, not Andrea, even though he knew he loved Andrea very much. But Hermione was his first love, and he would always love her. "Hermione, I want you to remember this… I love you. I'll always love you."
She rubbed her hand on the screen, and Ron could swear that he felt her hand against his, even if it might have been only static. He knew that it was her touch that he felt. "I'll always love you, too, Ron." She was starting to fade. "Don't forget me…"
With his hand on the snowy television screen, the light of it reflecting onto him and seeming to penetrate to his soul, Ron was left standing there.