What We Don't Remember
Title: What We Don't Remember.
Author: aintsosweet.
Genre: Drama.
Rating: PG13
Warnings: Suicide, slash.
Disclaimer: I don't own HP but if I did Percy would have a bigger part!
A/N: My styles just a bit disjointed so be patient. I'm rather new at this and in desperate need of a beta so please be kind and enjoy!
Also bold is filler for you. Italics is memories or flashbacks so to speak. And then there's everything else.
The mind is a tricky thing full of ideas and memories, both useless and useful. But you never understand how important it is, how much you need it till you lose it.
The official report is that he threw himself in the path of a dark curse to save the life of a young wizard. The official report at least which strikes him as funny for some reason, perhaps because there is no unofficial report. It all matters little to him anyway he can't remember it. He can't remember anything. All he can do is rely on people who claim to know him. Subconsciously he knows he should be worried but he can't bring himself to care, in fact instead he feels frustrated and just a little desperate.
The rise to consciousness was gradual for him, not quick and painless but slow and achy. The soft murmur of voices in his ear had become like a dull roar in and out. The darkness behind his eyelids had started to steadily lighten. His lashes fluttered once, twice then opened completely. He was lying on the floor at the bottom of the steps leading up to his apartment.
"What happened here?"
"This man fell down from the third floor."
"How, was he pushed?"
"Witnesses say he jumped sir."
The voices slowly filtered out of his ears. Everything was quiet and he was so tired. The darkness crept in and he knew no more.
The doctors say the memory loss is to be expected with trauma as extensive as his. At least he thinks that's what they said. His attention wavered once the sobbing started. The gut wrenching, heart stopping crying. Vaguely he feels ashamed but mostly he's pleased because that means she cares like a mother should. He needs to know that more then anything. More then the ever present question that lurks just beneath the surface. What's going to happen next?
"It's a miracle he'll be able to walk away from this."
"He's got someone watching over him that's for sure."
"Have we found the next of kin yet?"
"Their on their way."
They treat him like he's made of glass never pushing him, always letting him go at his own pace. It frustrates him because he doesn't know what his own pace is anymore. They should but they look at him like he's a freak for not knowing. They smile sadly; he can't stand those smiles, and whisper behind their hands. Not for the first time he wishes he knew what they were so afraid of. Why all the knives were taken out of his apartment. Why everyday he takes two blue pills in the morning and two at night. They were supposed to help him remember but each day he felt like he was forgetting more.
"Look Percy it's just not going to work anymore."
"Oliver what are you talking about?"
"Us. It's just my career-"
"You're choosing your career over me then? Quidditch over your boyfriend?!"
"Perce-"
"Get out. Get the hell out and never come back!"
The first time he visits him it's awkward. Not so much for him but for the other man. Every time their eyes meet he looks away. It's almost like he's ashamed yet Percy can't figure out what he might have to be ashamed of. Their lovers or were lovers, at least that's what his touch says, so gentle and loving as well as possessive at the same time. He knows he should shy away; this man had hurt him once long ago. Or maybe not, he wonders if it really matters just as long as he keeps him warm at night. He's always cold. Even when he throws on layer after layer, cranks the heat up, starts a fire he's always cold.
"Percy you're sick, you need help!"
"What do you know about it?!"
"Percy the stairs, did you-"
"Yes."
"That wasn't the first time was it?"
"…No."
They want to honor him for his selfless act. Present him with a medal or some other silly trinket. All he wants to do is burrow back under the covers and sleep. He could sleep for hours if they'd just stop bothering him. They never do. Oliver comes by everyday and just sits with him for hours. Sometimes they go out and the curious looks he gives him suggest they didn't used to do this a lot. It makes him happy to make new memories, memories that belong strictly to him now and not the old him.
"You have to stop doing this Percy please!"
"Why do you care? No one else cares!"
"Don't say that, what about your mum and dad? Your brothers and sister?"
"What about them?"
"What about me?"
"I just want to forget you."
He knows his family wants him to remember. There's an answer hidden somewhere in his head. An answer to a question he doesn't even know, won't know unless his memory returns. Vaguely he wishes he could help them. Mostly the question frightens him more then the answer does. He isn't that person anymore, can't possibly be him anymore. For the first time in what he suspects may be a long time he's happy. He wants to be whole and new again for Oliver as well as himself, Oliver who desperately needs for him to forget his old life. Some deep dark secret they have in their past together. It just doesn't matter anymore to him because he is loved. He's pretty sure even his old self would have been content to just forget and live.
"Ma'am, regarding your son's condition."
"Yes doctor?"
"Based on previous psychological tests performed we believe your son might have purposefully thrown himself in the way of the curse as a way of committing suicide."
"You're sure?"
"Well it's impossible to be completely sure but in this case, based on his previous attempts and on his mental stability at the time it is a strong possibility."
"I see. Doctor?"
"Yes?"
"Please don't tell him of this discussion. I'd rather he not know what he did."
"If you're sure. You do realize that certain changes in Percy's daily life must occur?"
"I do."
"Very well then."
How the mind works is a mystery. Only recently have scientific advances shed some light on its inner workings. One thing however remains the same; it's easy to lose your mind much harder to lose your heart.
