Time passes- the hand on the clock ticks by on its endless journey, the sand passes through the fjord to reach the hill at the bottom, the hairs turn gray, one by one.
Time heals your wounds, it lets you forget the excruciating pain, it allows you get away with not remembering the exacting detail of every little flick of the knife that occurred that day. Eventually you can even convince yourself that the nightmares are just that- silly little stories that are meant to scare little children channeled into your mind, combined with some old school joke, and spiraled way out of proportion.
It did not happen- it did not occur. You were not tortured out of your mind- you did not scream senselessly, shriek with pain, or cry out for him. It was a bad dream, nothing more, nothing less.
Your skin refuses to take the scars; it adamantly rejects any memory of it. So bubble-gum pink hair that spikes upward and a smile that does not stop becomes the norm. Eventually, the smile begins to stick without making you wince at the end of the day. Sometimes, when you laugh at their jokes, you can breathe freely without worrying that you will regret it later because you will dream of the torture that is only a recurring nightmare, that is only a bad dream.
You forget- Sirius dies. You fall in love with his last remaining best friend, who spurns you out of some stupid noble pride. Too old, too poor, too scarred. You deserved better- you deserved a handsome, rich young man who would sweep you off your feet, who could keep up with you, challenge you, and make sure that you would stay happy even in the hardest of times.
He was too stuck in his noble rut to see that riches got you no where, all the young men were dead or stupid, and those who were handsome were all too often prideful. All except for him, of course. He never saw that he was that person to her.
It took a close call for each of them, the death of Albus Dumbledore, and the taking of the innocence of a youth to make him realize that these things meant nothing in the end.
She had forgotten, later. She had married him, and loved him, and he had loved her. And her mother and father were happy for her, even if they weren't exactly pleased with her choice of husbands.
But the one time she woke up, sweating with a throat that was raw from trying not to scream, he was there. Even though he did not know the why, he was still there.
That was enough for her.
He was there when she had Teddy- so she was there when he decided that he would try to make the world a better place for his son to grow up in.
She was there when their world ended in a blast of green light and the gentle whoosh of the Grim Reaper coming to take his dues.
And they left this world together, all the while knowing that while they would miss Teddy, they would probably never regret trying to make sure he would be safe to grow up to be who ever he wanted to be.
And when she happened to see the Death Eater who tortured her- well, she just gave them a wave as she boarded a train with Remus while he cowered, covered in scabs, trying desperately to convince anyone who would listen that he was a good man.
Time passed- people lived, people died.
You forgot- you remembered.
You breathed, you lived.
You tried to make the world better for those who Death left behind.
Just a thought I had after reading "Another Thin Day" (Kay Taylor)
Reviews appreciated, though not required.
I do hope you enjoyed this, as this would be a total waste otherwise.