Forgetting - Prologue
Disclaimer: The characters in this story belong to none other than J.K. Rowling, with whom I am not affiliated in any way, shape or form. Kay? :)
Reviews appreciated. Flames acceptable.
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Humming softly, the clerk quickly checked her customer's purchases through and expertly fit them into a large white bag.
"That will be twenty dollars and seventy-nine cents," she said in a surprisingly warm voice with a smile on her face. Her customer grinned in appreciation, paid, and walked out swiftly.
The clerk cleared her register, enjoying a lull in the line and wishing she had a cigarette. Glancing at her watch absentmindedly, she was surprised to find that it was time for her lunch break. She sighed. Her car had broken down suddenly that morning and she'd taken a bus to work, so going somewhere was out. The small lunch of hummus and crackers she'd brought suddenly sounded unappetizing, but she resigned to eat them anyway - she still had four hours left on her shift, and she would need the energy. She closed off her register and reached for her purse, which was lodged between extra bags and a trash bin. As she painstakingly worked it out of its niche, she felt a tap on her shoulder. Grunting in exasperation, she yanked her purse out, sending paper bags flying, and whipped around to face her inquirer. Her eyes widened in surprise as he looked down at her in solemn seriousness.
"Hey," he said, his voice nearly a whisper. She found herself unable to speak. "Are you okay?" he asked with concern.
"I'm...I'm fine, Ronald. I was just..." she gulped, "surprised to see you."
"Come on, Hermione. You don't have to be formal with me." A faint smile crossed his lips. She gazed at him with an odd expression on her face: part disbelieving happiness, part denial, and part nearly unreadable grief, as if she were trying to hide it. He stared back as if entranced. The intercom suddenly blared and the moment was broken.
"What are you doing here?" Hermione demanded rather loudly, shaking her head in confusion. Tears began to well up in her eyes.
"I just wondered if...maybe you'd like to have lunch with me? I wanted to talk to you." He looked at her sympathetically as the tears began to run slowly down her cheeks and her shoulders began to shake. Unsure how to react and feeling tears coming on himself, he squeezed her trembling shoulder comfortingly. She jerked away from his touch and was suddenly completely still. She took a deep breath and let it out in controlled silence.
"Are we going or what?" she said, trying to sound casual and failing miserably. Ron just nodded and led the way out.
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Minutes later, Ron and Hermione were seated in a Muggle fast food joint across the street from Hermione's workplace, the supermarket. Ron looked around in uncomfortable silence, unsure of himself in the strange surroundings. Hermione left him in a booth, ordered for them both, and walked as fast as she could without running into the bathroom.
She swung open she door, threw herself into a stall, and began again to cry, clutching on the toilet paper dispenser to steady herself. She had cried many times since Harry died, and her first large, heaving, anguished sobs were entirely unlike the tears Hermione shed in the dirty little McDonald's bathroom. No, these were soft cries, soft but filled with deep sadness and despair. She'd thought she was healed, thought it was done, thought she could go on with her normal Muggle life and forget everything that had happened four years ago. But the sight of Ron reminded her sharply of Harry. The sight of Ron brought thoughts and memories to her mind that hadn't surfaced for years, and she wanted none of it.
All she wanted was the soothing, uncomplicated bliss of forgetting; forgetting Harry's merciless death at the hands of Voldemort, the horror and torture she'd been through only to watch his death happen at the end, her own unconscious betrayal, Ron's desperate declaration of love, her mental and physical breakdown, and her retreat from the magical world. She wanted to float into a warm fog that let her pretend that everything was alright and that she'd never been a witch, that she'd never loved and kissed and held Harry, and that she'd never loved Ron.
She suddenly stopped crying and knew what she had to do. Not caring that her purse was still sitting on the table across from Ron, or that he probably didn't have any Muggle money, or that he would be devastated when he discovered she'd gone, she pried open the small, grimy bathroom window with her manicured nails and inched herself out slowly, tediously.
Looking straight down the road with determined eyes, she began to walk...
And began to forget again.
Disclaimer: The characters in this story belong to none other than J.K. Rowling, with whom I am not affiliated in any way, shape or form. Kay? :)
Reviews appreciated. Flames acceptable.
--------------------
Humming softly, the clerk quickly checked her customer's purchases through and expertly fit them into a large white bag.
"That will be twenty dollars and seventy-nine cents," she said in a surprisingly warm voice with a smile on her face. Her customer grinned in appreciation, paid, and walked out swiftly.
The clerk cleared her register, enjoying a lull in the line and wishing she had a cigarette. Glancing at her watch absentmindedly, she was surprised to find that it was time for her lunch break. She sighed. Her car had broken down suddenly that morning and she'd taken a bus to work, so going somewhere was out. The small lunch of hummus and crackers she'd brought suddenly sounded unappetizing, but she resigned to eat them anyway - she still had four hours left on her shift, and she would need the energy. She closed off her register and reached for her purse, which was lodged between extra bags and a trash bin. As she painstakingly worked it out of its niche, she felt a tap on her shoulder. Grunting in exasperation, she yanked her purse out, sending paper bags flying, and whipped around to face her inquirer. Her eyes widened in surprise as he looked down at her in solemn seriousness.
"Hey," he said, his voice nearly a whisper. She found herself unable to speak. "Are you okay?" he asked with concern.
"I'm...I'm fine, Ronald. I was just..." she gulped, "surprised to see you."
"Come on, Hermione. You don't have to be formal with me." A faint smile crossed his lips. She gazed at him with an odd expression on her face: part disbelieving happiness, part denial, and part nearly unreadable grief, as if she were trying to hide it. He stared back as if entranced. The intercom suddenly blared and the moment was broken.
"What are you doing here?" Hermione demanded rather loudly, shaking her head in confusion. Tears began to well up in her eyes.
"I just wondered if...maybe you'd like to have lunch with me? I wanted to talk to you." He looked at her sympathetically as the tears began to run slowly down her cheeks and her shoulders began to shake. Unsure how to react and feeling tears coming on himself, he squeezed her trembling shoulder comfortingly. She jerked away from his touch and was suddenly completely still. She took a deep breath and let it out in controlled silence.
"Are we going or what?" she said, trying to sound casual and failing miserably. Ron just nodded and led the way out.
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Minutes later, Ron and Hermione were seated in a Muggle fast food joint across the street from Hermione's workplace, the supermarket. Ron looked around in uncomfortable silence, unsure of himself in the strange surroundings. Hermione left him in a booth, ordered for them both, and walked as fast as she could without running into the bathroom.
She swung open she door, threw herself into a stall, and began again to cry, clutching on the toilet paper dispenser to steady herself. She had cried many times since Harry died, and her first large, heaving, anguished sobs were entirely unlike the tears Hermione shed in the dirty little McDonald's bathroom. No, these were soft cries, soft but filled with deep sadness and despair. She'd thought she was healed, thought it was done, thought she could go on with her normal Muggle life and forget everything that had happened four years ago. But the sight of Ron reminded her sharply of Harry. The sight of Ron brought thoughts and memories to her mind that hadn't surfaced for years, and she wanted none of it.
All she wanted was the soothing, uncomplicated bliss of forgetting; forgetting Harry's merciless death at the hands of Voldemort, the horror and torture she'd been through only to watch his death happen at the end, her own unconscious betrayal, Ron's desperate declaration of love, her mental and physical breakdown, and her retreat from the magical world. She wanted to float into a warm fog that let her pretend that everything was alright and that she'd never been a witch, that she'd never loved and kissed and held Harry, and that she'd never loved Ron.
She suddenly stopped crying and knew what she had to do. Not caring that her purse was still sitting on the table across from Ron, or that he probably didn't have any Muggle money, or that he would be devastated when he discovered she'd gone, she pried open the small, grimy bathroom window with her manicured nails and inched herself out slowly, tediously.
Looking straight down the road with determined eyes, she began to walk...
And began to forget again.