Disclaimer: I don't own the characters. They belong to J.K. Rowling.
Notes: Post-war.
Forget
By Bohemian Storm
He wonders why he doesn't remember things the way he used to. He really thinks that the world should still be clear and sparkling blue, like he remembers the sun looked on the whitecapped ocean. It's not, he thinks, clear at all. It's turning brown and murky and there's something in the once beautiful ocean that's stalking him, trying to bring him down into the depths where the monsters live.
He never used to be so forgetful, but he supposes that loss of memory is something that comes with old age. He has to remind himself every now and then that he is an old man. There is no turning back the hands of the clock to when he was young and (not so) innocent and full of life. He remembers his friends on occasion, remembers their smiles and their laughter. Sometimes he remembers a rat; a fat rat squirming away and he thinks that it must be significant somehow, but he can't quite place it with a real memory.
He thinks that the rat's name might be Peter and that amuses him. He sits alone in his rocking chair and laughs his creaking, old man laugh as he thinks about this. One of his best friends was named Peter, why in the world would he name a rat the same name? Rats are slimy and deceitful. Peter was never like that, he remembers. He thinks he remembers Peter being good and quiet and sort of pitiful. Nothing like a rat.
Sometimes they bring him warm meals, but for the most part all he eats is dried fruit and cold soup. It's not that they've forgotten about him, (at least, he doesn't think they have) but they're busy. He understands that. They didn't expect him to live this long, not after all that has happened.
He remembers some things very clearly. His mind is still as sharp as the day they met when he thinks about Sirius and James. He can remember the outline of their faces and he can almost feel their warm skin under his hands. He misses the rugby games Sirius would force them to play ("It's a Muggle game! It'll piss off my mother!") and remembers being slammed headfirst into the dirty grass, Sirius's weight upon his back.
Someone enters his room and he looks up, smiling his empty smile. She knows that he's gone elsewhere, so she moves forward to leave the dinner tray on his bedside table. He stares at her, wondering who the pretty red headed woman might be. He thinks he should know her name, but he doesn't remember things like he used to.
"Are you a friend of Harry's?" he asks.
She smiles tightly and he wonders why she looks as though she's about to cry. "Yes, Remus. I'm a friend of Harry's."
He nods. "I'll bet he likes you."
She shows him the sparkling ring. "We're getting married."
He admires it politely. "It's a very pretty ring. I'm sure you'll be very happy together."
"Thank you," she says quietly. "I brought you dinner. Hermione helped to make it."
He smiles. "Hermione." He remembers her. How could he not? She was his favourite student, though he'd never admit it, and she was by far the most intelligent and powerful witch he'd seen in years.
"I'd like to see her," he tells the redhead.
She nods. "I'll tell her."
She turns to leave, twisting the ring on her finger nervously, when she hears his breath catch in his throat. She hates this. She loves him, but she hates what he's turned into. This doddering old man with no memory and no ability to care for himself. She loves him so much that it hurts; he raised her after her parents died in the war, but she hates when he cries.
"I miss Sirius," he says in a hoarse voice.
She stands against the door frame, leaning on it for support. Silence falls over the room.
"I miss you," she whispers, then leaves the room and closes the door behind her.
End