Author's Note: Hi everyone…it's been a while since I've posted anything on her. I haven't been feeling too inspirational lately. But I was watching Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind and it got me thinking about memories, which cleared the writing block at last! Hence, this story. I hope you enjoy!
Summary: Harry, Ron, and Hermione travel to Australia to pick up her parents after Deathly Hallows. Not compliant with Right Here, obviously, since I did that version of this story already.
Soundtrack – Untitled, Sigur Rós…take out the spaces: (http:/ www .youtube. com/ watch? v=rTDzh 9hi6h0& feature= fvsr)
How happy is the blameless vestal's lot!
The world forgetting, by the world forgot.
Eternal sunshine of the spotless mind!
Each pray'r accepted, and each wish resign'd;
Alexander Pope, "Eloisa to Abelard"
Memories
Hermione shivered, though she wasn't cold in the slightest. In fact, the air in the tent was probably ten degrees hotter than the air outside the tent; which was already quite warm, since they were in Australia. She was shivering out of nerves; she hadn't planned on stepping foot in a tent again. She would have been quite happy to even burn the thing, just so she wouldn't have to look at. True, it was not the same tent they had camped out in all of last year – it was Bill's after all – but it was the same principle. Same canvas walls, same sloping ceiling, same feeling of apprehension.
The problem was there was nowhere to escape. They had set up the tent in the back garden of her parents' house in Sydney under several very carefully set Concealment and Protection Charms. They couldn't leave the tent at all unless under the Invisibility Cloak at risk of being seen. The three of them were taking it in turns to leave the tent to get fresh air; none of them liked being in here, though the sentiment went unspoken. Harry had the cloak right now, and she kept on glancing anxiously at the opening of the tent to see when he would reappear.
They had been in Sydney for just over a week. They had left two days after Fred's funeral, which made Hermione incredibly guilty for abandoning Mrs. Weasley, but on the other hand she thought the change of location would do Ron some good. And it had; being out of the house and away from his family members seemed to have helped Ron somewhat.
Ron was sitting on the sofa, thumbing uninterestedly through a very outdated copy of a Quidditch magazine which had been left in the tent by Bill. The cover was faded, and the player on the cover was waving warily back at her, shifting uncomfortably on his broom. Ron must have sensed that she was looking in his direction, because he closed the magazine and looked expectantly at her. She blinked rapidly and looked away, blushing furiously.
"Sorry. I was just thinking," she said softly. She heard Ron get off the sofa and move across the tent, sitting next to her on the small, slightly rusty camp bed. He placed his hand in hers, their fingers meshing effortlessly. She marveled at how large his hands were compared to hers.
"About tomorrow?" Ron asked gently, rubbing his thumb along the back of her hand. She closed her eyes at the softness of his touch. Tomorrow she was going to finally go to her parents and talk to them. She could have confronted them the day they had arrived, but something – fear, nerves, anticipation – had prevented her from stepping out, walking up the front path, and knocking on their brightly painted front door. Tonight, over their dinner of crackers and tinned tomatoes, Hermione had announced that she had had it with staying cooped up in the tent; she was going to see her parents the next day. She had known by the look that Ron had given her over the table that he wanted to talk to her about it. And she loved him for that.
"Yes, about tomorrow," she said, her voice barely a whisper. She knew it was ridiculous and irrational; her parents could not hear her from the tent, but she still couldn't bring herself to speak at a normal volume.
"It's going to be okay," Ron said soothingly, removing his hand from hers and instead putting his arm around her shoulders, bringing her closed to him. More than anything, she wanted to kiss him, but they had decided to keep that sort of thing at a minimum around Harry; he still wasn't quite sure what to do around them.
Hermione shook her head, tears pricking the corners of her eyes, though she tried to hide them. "I just hope they don't hate me," she whispered, squeezing her eyes shut as a tear trickled down her cheek. She moved to rub it away, but Ron beat her, placing his thumb gently on her cheekbone and catching it.
"They're not going to hate you," he said sincerely. "You did something incredibly brave, they'll love you, they'll understand what you did and why you did it."
"You really think so?" Hermione breathed. She needed the confirmation from him, she craved it. As stupid as it sounded, she needed the security of his answer.
Ron nodded emphatically. "Yes, I do," he said. Giving a cursory glance at the opening of the tent, where a light breeze was floating in, he turned to her and kissed her, his hand moving from her shoulder to her chin; her face fully cupped in his hand.
They broke apart as Harry reentered, pulling off the cloak and avoiding eye contact. He gave the two of them a slightly sheepish wave as he turned off the lamp beside his bed and climbed in, calling "'Night," over his shoulder.
Ron grinned guiltily too, and Hermione could feel her face turning redder. Ron picked up the Quidditch magazine from her bed and kissed her gently on the forehead before returning to the sofa again. Hermione sighed and climbed into her own bed, extinguishing the light with her wand and lying back on the hard pillows, her stomach jumping with the thought of what tomorrow would bring.
The next morning, Hermione woke with the same feeling she associated with exam time; intense nervousness, yet a slightly hopeful and happy feeling. That morning it was unnaturally quiet in the tent; Harry and Ron both seemed to be waiting for her to do something dramatic, they kept on giving her covert looks when they thought she wasn't looking. Over a breakfast of cereal without milk, they went over the plan again. They had learned that Hermione's parents had brunch on Saturday mornings at a small delicatessen around the corner from their house. The plan was to wait for her parents to emerge from the house, and the three of them would follow at a safe distance behind. Hermione would come up to them at the restaurant and ask to talk. Hermione knew that a public place was not necessarily the best way to approach her parents but she couldn't bring herself to walk into their house; she couldn't face the memories they had created without her, the life they had shaped in her wake.
They heard the front door open and then shut at eleven thirty. Shakily, Hermione stood from her seat in the sitting room and walked to the kitchen, leaning on the table for support; she felt as if she were about to faint, everything seemed even warmer and her vision was slightly fuzzy. Ron took her hand and the three of them walked out of the tent. They waited for her parents to turn the corner before taking off down the sidewalk, the bright sun falling heavily on their shoulders.
When they arrived at the delicatessen, Hermione was relieved to find that it was reasonably busy; the last thing she wanted was her parents to recognize her. Harry waved off the hostess and told her that they could seat themselves. The table behind her parents was empty, and Hermione – trembling uncontrollably – sat down in the chair directly behind her mother's. She felt a jolt of electricity run through her spine as she bumped her mother's elbow trying to maneuver in the small restaurant. She mumbled an apology from behind her hair and sat down, her face completely devoid of color.
A small, irrational part of her suddenly wanted her parents to sense her presence; to recognize her immediately, so that she wouldn't have to face them herself. She propped the menu up on the table to hide her face completely, even though her back was to her parents and they wouldn't be able to see her face anyway. Ron, who was sitting opposite her, peaked behind his menu and over hers to see if she was alright. She gave him a shaky smile which she hoped was convincing.
Though the room was crowded, her parents' conversation seemed to float above it all; Hermione could hear every word.
"Do you know what you're having today dear?" her mother asked. Her voice was so achingly familiar Hermione had to shut her eyes for a moment to keep the room from spinning.
"I liked what you had last week…the roast beef, wasn't it?" her father asked. Hermione felt tears gather in the corners of her eyes. It had been so long since she had heard his voice.
"Yes, it was. Anyway, as I was saying on the way over here, there's a flea market near Steve and Janet's, we could look around before we head over there this afternoon," her mother said, and Hermione could hear her flip the page of the plastic-covered menu.
Her father groaned uninterestedly, and her mother admonished him: "Come now, last time I found such a nice pair of drapes! They were so lovely, and everything there has a story," her mother said happily.
Her father groaned again. "Fine. Fine! But you are not buying another pot. We have more pots than we have plants; the house is starting to look a bit ridiculous, darling."
Hermione's mother snorted with laughter. "Says the man who insists on keeping that ridiculous tooth bowl on his desk!"
"It was a gift from a patient!" her father replied in mock-anger. "Besides, I can't get rid of it; it's from Martin, after all. He's not just a patient he's a friend."
Hermione had forgotten how to breathe. The words in front of her were swimming and the sounds in the delicatessen had been curiously tuned out so that all she could hear were her parents. She was aware of Harry and Ron staring at her; Ron's hand brushed hers over the table, but she couldn't sense anything but the conversation behind her.
"Who's going to be there today, anyway?" her father was saying.
"Just a few people, honestly it won't be terrible," her mother said. "Tom and Nancy, Richard and Julia," her mother said, listing people who were completely foreign to Hermione. "I don't see why you don't want to go," she added.
"Because it's the weekend and I'd like to spend time with you! Work has been so busy this week I'd just like to relax in the garden and read the paper. Besides, I see Tom and Richard on Wednesdays when we golf," her father said, though his grumpy act was completely splintered by the unquestionable happiness that showed through.
Flea markets. Saturday afternoon parties. Plant pots and Martin's tooth bowls and work and gardens and Tom and Richard and golfing. Hermione was aware that her breath was coming faster and faster; it felt as though she had just run a marathon. She realized that the people behind her, sitting in the bright sunlight and discussing their friends and plans were not her parents. She didn't know who they were, what they did and what they were like now. All of the sudden, she realized what was going to happen. She knew what she had to do, and what she couldn't do.
She also couldn't be here right now. She couldn't sit so close to them and hear them talk about curtains and newspapers. She stood up quickly, and Harry and Ron looked up at her, surprised and slightly apprehensive. She wondered if they had been talking before she had stood up, she had blocked all other conversations from her mind. Ron gave her an encouraging smile and Harry nodded. She pushed back her chair and walked away. Not towards her parents but in the opposite direction, out the door and onto the hot pavement.
Saturday seemed to be a popular day to window shop; the pavement was crowded with couples and families, laughing and talking and pointing at window displays. It was so easy to get lost in them; Hermione felt her strides getting longer as she tried to place as much distance between herself and the delicatessen where her parents were. At the end of the street she broke into a run, letting her body carry itself, her mind was completely blank.
Unfortunately, her body didn't know many places in Sydney. The only places they had been since arriving was her parents' house – where she couldn't go right now – and the small all-night market where they took it in turns to pick up food. Hermione found herself standing outside the building. There was a green across the street, which was mainly inhabited by families and children. She spotted a vacant bench and sat down, cradling her head in her hands.
She hadn't expected that to happen. She hadn't expected to feel this way. She had thought – ever since she had called the taxi last June to pick her parents up and take them to the airport – that she would come here immediately and change their memories back the moment she saw them. She wasn't prepared for this, she wasn't prepared for the ache in her chest, the suffocating pain she'd gotten from listening to their conversation. She knew it wasn't fair, but she didn't expect them to like it here in Sydney, she expected them to be mainly unchanged. But her parents looked happier and healthier than they had ever been; they were tanner and thinner and smiled more. Her father played golf now. Judging from the garden in the backyard, her mother had taken up gardening again, which she had given up in the dismal rainy weather of London.
She felt someone sit down next to her, and she knew immediately who it was. She looked up and smiled sadly.
"How did you find me?" she asked.
"There aren't many places to run to here, and since this is only one of two of them, and I knew you wouldn't want to go back to your parents' house, I thought I'd find you here," Ron said, sitting back next to her and stretching out his long legs.
There was a slight pause. Hermione sat back too, removing her head from her hands. "I can't do it," she said softly. Ron turned to look at her.
"What do you mean?" he asked, furrowing his eyebrows in concern and slight confusion.
Hermione shook her head. "I can't change their memories back," she whispered, her voice cracking slightly at the finality of it, because in that moment she knew that it was the truth.
It was Ron's turn to shake his head. "Hermione," he said, "that's completely mental! You have to change them back, you can't just let them be here…"
"Why not?" Hermione said, tears running down her cheeks; this time there were too many of them and they came too fast for Ron to catch them all. "I've been saying since last year that the moment the war was over I'd find them and bring them home. That I'd rescue them from their home here, but they're happy here. They're happy Ron. They have friends and jobs and hobbies and a home. They love it here, and they're in a better place here. How can I take that all away from them? What kind of person would just erase all of that in bring in horrible news and crushing reality?" she said, her voice coming very quickly and louder than she had meant it too.
Ron blinked at her, clearly speechless. "They're your parents Hermione. Don't you want them back? You can't just leave them here and come back home, forget they exist and move on." Ron said.
Hermione sobbed. "I know they're my parents and of course I want them back, but you don't understand. This isn't about me, it's about them. They're happy, and I can't take their happy memories away and replace them with everything that's happened in the last year. I just can't do that to them. I just think of F-Fred and Tonks and Remus and all of the other horrible things that happened in the last year, and they don't know about any of that! And maybe that's a good thing, maybe they don't have to. Maybe they can keep on living here, where things are still good and safe and…and easy," Hermione said, choking out the last sentence before completely collapsing in tears. Ron gathered her in his arms and comforted her.
"So you're really going to do it then?" Ron said after a while, when Hermione's tears had somewhat subsided. "You're really going to let them live here forever without knowing about you?"
Hermione nodded, wiping her eyes, her breathing hitched. She thought of Mrs. Weasley, whose face had aged decades in between the end of the war and Fred's funeral. She thought of George, who hadn't come out of his room. She thought of Hogwarts, which was destroyed beyond recognition. She thought of all the people who were bravely trying to start over and celebrate their victory while mourning the loss of so many. She thought of the last year; how she had spent it and where and what she had seen and what she had done. If there was any way for someone not to witness all of it, she'd do it unquestioningly. And there was. She didn't have to bring her parents along with her as she waded back to the disaster and brokenness of home. Tomorrow, she'd be on a plane to London, where she'd meet everyone's pale faces and wet cheeks with a brave smile, and her parents would be sitting in lawn chairs in the garden, drinking lemonade and relishing in an unencumbered Sunday.
"That's incredibly selfless of you," Ron said, and she saw when she looked in his face that his expression was one of awe. "I thought that sending them here was the bravest thing you could ever do, but it isn't. Choosing to leave them here, choosing to lose your parents over their happiness…" Ron shook his head. "You're so strong," he said, smiling softly at her.
Hermione tried to return it, but didn't quite manage. She didn't feel strong. She felt hollow, completely destroyed by her decision. She tried to picture her future; holidays and birthdays and Sunday morning breakfast, knowing that she'd never see them again. She sniffed again, resting her head on Ron's shoulders. One day she would look back and know that she'd make the right decision. She knew that she would.
Author's Note: Thanks for reading! I don't think that this is necessarily something I'd like to have happen in the Harry Potter universe, I think Hermione should've changed her parents' memories, but this is just a story. Please review!