A/N: Emma (shy-n-great) very kindly lent me a box of tissues so that I could write this. That is probably sufficient warning.
THC – Round 8 – Slytherin
Class: Potions
Category: Drabble
Prompt: [object] Remembrall
WC: 966
Betas: Aya Diefair, VanillaAshes, shy-n-great
~ glowing red (remember, remember) ~
Harry watches the small crystal ball in his hands slowly fill up with red smoke. It expands and grows into swirling snakes inside the glass sphere, pooling from an unknown source. Each little red tendril of mist gracefully swirls and twirls, dancing to the silent music of his lost memories.
To anybody else watching, it would be a truly mesmerising process, the kind you can't tear your eyes away from. But for Harry, it only brings a sharp tug in his heart, maybe an unconscious clenching of muscles. When he sees the Remembrall flare up red, the only thing he feels is how empty he is.
He's forgotten something, yet again. The Remembrall is almost never clear, nowadays, and it breaks his heart to know that.
"Grandpa?" someone says, and Harry looks up from the crystal ball at the person standing in the doorframe.
It's his twenty-something-year-old granddaughter, Charlie, short for Charlotte. One of Lily Luna's, he has to remind himself. But this he knows. This is easy; Charlie is always coming over to say hello, usually on Tuesdays or when she's got some time off work. Her cousins and siblings also come to visit him, but less often than her.
She was named after someone, though, wasn't she? Didn't he know another Charlie? She's got the most vibrant hair of all of the red heads he's met—which is quite a few—so they must be a Weasley. He's not so sure anymore, and the glaring red Remembrall in his hands confirms what he already knows. He's forgotten.
"You okay, Grandpa?" Charlie says.
"I'm fine, Charlie." He smiles at her, though it's a little sad. He can't bring himself to smile fully, not anymore. Not when he knows there's something missing.
She smiles back, but hers is bursting with youth, like she's unstoppable, which she probably is. He's got a very distinct memory of her running around with absolutely no clothes on, aged five, while Lily Luna desperately tries to catch her. "So, Grandpa, I found this old picture and I was wondering if you could tell me more about it."
She fishes around her bag and grins triumphantly once she's found what she's looking for before pulling out a chair and sitting next to him. She brings the picture out and places it right in front of him. "Mum said it was probably from Dumbledore's Army, but she could barely name anyone."
He takes the picture from her hands while she prattles on, "Of course, there's you, Grandma, Uncle Ron, Aunt Hermione, Auntie Luna and—"
It's an old picture, you can tell because they're all moving, but they're stuck to the paper. Nowadays, pictures come to life like holographic projections. All of them are in their Hogwarts uniforms, smartly standing straight, with their ties more or less neatly tied—he can't help but feel a wave of nostalgia for his first home.
And they all look so serious, that's what surprises him. His memories of Dumbledore's Army are filled with laughter and tricks, and sometimes—he'll admit it—uncalled-for adolescent rages. But he was only fifteen, can you blame him?
The only thing is, he isn't quite sure how come there's a picture. Did they take a picture? Oh, yes. One of them liked taking pictures, but who was it? There, that tug in his stomach again, like he should know, but he's forgotten. The Remembrall glows in his hand.
"Oh, look at her!" Charlie suddenly exclaims, bringing him out of the daydream he keeps slipping into nowadays. "Who is she?"
Harry looks at where she's pointing; a girl, next to him.
"She looks like she likes you a lot," Charlie says with a mischievous grin, "Some girlfriend of yours?"
"I—"
The girl looks so familiar, with warm brown eyes, and a very much goofy in-love sort of smile. But the Remembrall still glows red in his hands: he doesn't know. How could he have forgotten? Dumbledore's Army was like his family, that year. Surely that means something?
When Ginny was still alive, she was his memory, always helping him out whenever he forgot something. Now, he wanders in between the blanks of his memory, hoping something will appear. The Remembrall was supposed to help, but all it does is bring him more sorrow.
But, then again, if that girl is who he believes she was, he doesn't think Ginny could've helped him out. Or maybe she could've, and then yelled at him for dating someone else before her, quite hypocritically, and probably only half-heartedly. The thought makes him smile.
"I'm sorry, I can't remember, Charlie," he tells her.
She shrugs, but he can tell she's a little disappointed. "What about him?"
She points to someone else, but still, Harry's mind is blank.
"And her?"
He hesitates. "A Keeper, or a Chaser, for Gryffindor, maybe?" The Remembrall keeps growing redder and redder. If the red was heat, his hand would probably be burning.
Charlie tries a few more, but apart from a few of them, he doesn't know. "I'm sorry," he says.
"It's fine, Grandpa."
Thankfully, she decided to move onto another subject, telling him all about the new job she's applying for, and how much she wishes the girl she does recreational Quidditch with would just ask her out already.
Just mindless chatter, but it's better than the emptiness.
Harry wonders if the Remembrall is actually useful at all. It doesn't help him remember anything, or anyone—he doesn't even remember where or when he got it, or if someone gifted it to him. All it does is point out what he already knows: he's forgotten.
But still, he clutches it tight. Maybe one day those names, his friends' names, and things that happened that marked his childhood and made him who he was will come back one day.