Can't Remember What to Forget

Can’t Remember What to Forget

Author’s Note: Yeah, so I don’t know what’s exactly gotten into me, but my muse has found me, and bitten me, and keeps gnawing on my leg, so here I am, writing more and more. Hope you enjoy this, it is once again a single chapter story.

“Harry, I think you may have had enough.”

“Nooooooooooo, I don’ think so, Ron,” Harry slurred.

“Harry, none of this is helping you at all.”

“Well then, I need to try harder, that’s all.”

“Getting drunk isn’t getting you anywhere near closer to asking Hermione out, and you know it, Harry.”

“Ronnnnnnn, I am trying to forget that. Stay on topic.”

“You can’t keep on doing this to yourself, Harry. This much drinking is no good for you.”

“Onnnnnnn topic, Ronnnnnnn.” Harry chortled.

“Okay, Harry. You really have had enough. I’m taking you home.” Ron put his hand on Harry’s wrist, but Harry yanked it away.

“I’m fine, Ron,” he grumbled. “Just a couple more, huh? Come on, sit with me.”

“No, Harry. That’s enough.” Ron pulled Harry up and threw Harry’s arm around his shoulder. Ron dropped some coins on the table for the waitress. Harry had an account at the bar, even though he wasn’t a frequent drinker, so they never had to worry about paying the tab for the night. They disappeared with a loud crack.

“Time for bed, Harry,” grunted Ron, who was more or less carrying Harry by that point.

“Not tired,” insisted Harry.

“At this point, I don’t even care,” said Ron, as he dumped Harry on his bed. “Ahhh, Hell.” Ron helped Harry stand up. “I don’t think you want to sleep in your robes, Harry,” said Ron as he helped Harry change.

“But ‘m not goin t’ bed,” protested Harry.

“Ohhh yes you are,” insisted Ron. “I’m not babysitting you all night. I’d hate to sober you up now, Harry, but I will if you don’t cooperate.”

“Oooooooh, tha’s not very nice, Ron. Luna’s gonna hear ‘bout that one, lemme tell ya that right now.”

“Harry, saint that Luna is, even she would have a hard time dealing with you when you’re drunk.”

“Uh-uh. Luna was nice to me last time. She stayed up with me allllllllllllll night.”

“Harry, you fell asleep five minutes after she sat down.” Ron pulled Harry’s pajama shirt over his head, but couldn’t get Harry to get his arms in.

“Not true, Ron. We were both ‘wake. Had a nice long chat. She makes lotsa sense, didja know that, Ron?”

“Yes, Harry, I do. She is, after all, my girlfriend.” Ron forced Harry’s right arm into his pajama shirt.

“And an excellent girlfriend she is, my friend, an excellent girlfriend she is. Y’don’know how lucky y’are, mate. Don’ ever letter go, y’hear me?”

“I won’t, Harry, I promise. Now will you please cooperate?”

“You’ll take care o’ Luna? Y’ promise?”

“Yes, I promise.”

“Well, ‘kay then. Now we got that tak’n care of, ‘s time f’r me t’go t’bed.” Harry pushed his left arm into his pajama shirt, with a lot of help from Ron.

“Finally,” muttered Ron to nobody in particular.

“G’nite, Ron,” mumbled Harry as he fell into bed in his pajamas.

“Good night, Harry.”

“Good friend, Ron, y’re a good friend.”

“Thanks, Harry. You are too.” Ron patted Harry’s shoulder, then cast a charm on Harry’s bed to make sure he wouldn’t roll over on his back. He summoned a chair from the corner of the room, and sat by Harry’s bed.

“Wish you’d just ask her out already, mate,” he said softly. Harry was already asleep, and Ron leaned back into the chair. Soon, Morpheus had laid his claim on Ron as well.

A couple of hours later, Harry, still quite drunk, emerged from his bedroom.

“Figgers Ron’d fall ‘sleep in th’ middle of th’ conv…th’ conser…of talking,” he mumbled to himself. “Think he had too much t’drink.” His gaze fell to the fireplace. “Maybe H’rmione’s up.”

He grabbed a handful of floo powder, stepped into the fireplace, and shouted Hermione’s name, surprisingly clearly for one who was in such a state.

He tumbled out of Hermione’s fireplace, making her jump off the couch, where she was reading, and nearly falling over.

“Hi there,” he said into the rug.

“Harry?” Hermione kneeled next to Harry. “Harry are you okay?” He nodded, rubbing his face into the rug. “Don’t do that to me! What’s the matter?”

“Ron fell ‘sleep. We were talking.” Hermione helped Harry sit up. “Think he had a little too much t’drink.”

“Harry, you’re drunk,” said Hermione in a softly scolding tone.

“Shhhhhhhhhh, don’t tell anybody,” he whispered conspiratorially. Hermione rolled her eyes.

“Come on, let’s get you onto the couch.” Hermione practically lifted Harry up, and got him onto the sofa. Harry threw his arms around Hermione and pulled her down with him.

“Gee, Harry, you’re an awfully friendly drunk,” she said, trying not to laugh.

“Who tol’ you I was drunk?” Harry looked betrayed.

“You did.”

“But I said I wouldn’t tell you.” He sounded like a little kid, upset that he couldn’t go outside because there was a hurricane.

“It’s okay, Harry,” cooed Hermione, petting his hair softly. “You couldn’t help it.” She laughed softly. “You’re drunk.”

“I s’pose.”

“I’ll be right back,” she said, trying to stand up. She did not get very far, however, because Harry refused to let go of her, and she fell back down onto him.

“Don’ go,” he said softly, leaning his head on her shoulder.

“I just want to make some tea, I promise I’ll be right back. I think it would be best if you sobered up a little bit.”

“Uh-uh. No. Don’ wanna.”

“Harry, you’re being difficult.”

“Y’see, ‘Mione, ‘f I sob’r up, I won’t f’rget anymore. I’ll ‘member, an’ tha’s no good.”

“What are you trying to forget?”

“I am trying,” he said as if he was pitching a research project to a group of scientists, “to forget that I’m in love with you.”

Hermione stiffened.

“Y’see?” Harry exclaimed. “This is why…I have been drinking. I keep not f’rgetting!”

Hermione, summoning a burst of strength, broke Harry’s grasp and stood up, moving away from Harry as quickly as possible.

“No!” Hermione held her head as she backed away from Harry. “You can’t do this, Harry!” Tears began to form in her eyes. “I have been pining for you for years! I’m finally getting over you! You can’t do this to me, Harry! It’s not fair!”

“I’m sorry,” said Harry in a small voice, looking up at Hermione as if he was a little kid being yelled at for breaking something valuable.

Hermione sat down hard in a chair, her head in her hands.

“I can’t deal with this right now,” she said softly. She took a few deep breaths to calm herself down, and stood up. She turned and walked out of the room. Harry, although quite drunk, knew not to follow her, not to provoke her when she was upset.

She returned a minute later, carrying a pillow, a sheet, and a blanket.

“Get up, Harry,” she said, placing them on the floor next to the sofa, and offering her hand to Harry. He took it, and she guided him over to the chair. Without a word, she set up the pull-out bed in the sofa. Finally, she turned to Harry.

“You’re sleeping here tonight, Harry,” she said, gesturing towards the unfolded bed. “I’m sealing the fireplace, and warding the flat. You’re not going anywhere. I know you tend to wander when you’re drunk, so I’m going to ward the doorways so that if you go through them, you’ll just come back out the same side. You’re staying in here, and we’ll talk in the morning.” She pointed her wand at the fireplace, and muttered an incantation. Bricks spun in out of nowhere, and blocked the entrance. She turned to the front door, and muttered another spell. The door glowed red momentarily, then returned to normal.

“Good night, Harry,” she said, and, without waiting for a reply, turned on her heel and walked into the hall, warding the doorway behind her.

Harry sat in the chair for awhile longer, but finally decided to get into bed. When he did so, he discovered that Hermione had charmed the bed similarly as Ron, so that he couldn’t lie on his back. She had also put an extra cushioning charm on the bed so he would be comfortable. Within five minutes, he was asleep.

**********

In the kitchen, Hermione sat over a cup of hot tea, her head in her hands. She felt like her insides were churning. She so wanted to believe Harry was in love with her, but she couldn’t trust anything he said while he was drunk.

“Why couldn’t he have said that when he was sober,” she asked herself angrily. “He always has to make stuff like this hard.” She felt tears threatening to escape again, but she refused to bend to their will.

A tapping noise sounded from behind her, and she turned around, to see Hedwig rapping her beak against the kitchen window. She let Hedwig in, and the old snowy owl hopped onto the kitchen table, and peered into Hermione’s mug.

“No, Hedwig,” said Hermione with a smile. “That’s not for you. Remember what happened last time you had caffiene.” Hedwig immediately hopped backwards away from the mug. A few months previously, Hedwig had sampled a bit of Harry’s tea. They hadn’t seen such a hyperactive owl since Pigwidgeon, and Hedwig had not enjoyed the experience. She was exhausted for two days, unable to fly, cooped up in Harry’s room. Obviously she was not eager to repeat the experience. Hermione brought over a bowl of water for Hedwig, which she drank from gratefully. About halfway through the bowl, however, she stopped.

“Hedwig?” Hermione peeked down at Hedwig. “You okay?” Hedwig stood up, and held out one talon, as if she had just remembered she had a letter attached to it. Hermione laughed softly. Hedwig was getting a little eccentric in her old age. Hermione untied the letter and started to read. It was a frantically scrawled note from Ron telling her that Harry had gone missing, and to send a reply back as soon as possible. Hermione sighed. She scrawled out a reply, telling Ron that Harry was safe, and would be staying at her house, and tied the reply onto Hedwig’s leg.

“Okay, Hedwig,” she said softly, giving Harry’s owl a treat. “I need you to hurry back to Ron, okay?” Hedwig hooted, and hopped out the window. Hermione sighed, and, ignoring her tea, went to bed.

**********

The sun shone dreamily on Hermione’s face the next morning, and she sat up. She took her usual couple of minutes to sort herself out, and when she remembered Harry’s appearance in her living room the previous night, she frowned, laid back down, rolled over to get the damned sun out of her face, and went right back to sleep.

**********

Harry awoke with a groan on the fold-out couch in Hermione’s living room, sat up, and instantly regretted it. The world spun around him as images from the previous night flashed before his eyes, as if somebody had captured it on film, and was showing him a teaser trailer. Hangovers. Hangovers were his problem. Memory loss was never a problem for Harry, but he would have gladly traded memory for pain relief at that stage. He felt as if somebody had tightened a vise around his head and grown a chia pet in his mouth. Even the minimal light in the room that peeked in through the closed drapes stabbed through his eyes like white-hot pokers.

“Brilliant, Harry,” he muttered softly. “Absolutely brilliant.” He lowered himself back down onto the pillow gently. He groped about, searching for his wand, and instead found a glass filled with a hangover cure that Hermione had thoughtfully left for him last night. He drank it eagerly, and nearly instantly felt better. At least physically.

“I need to get out of here,” he said, composing himself. He couldn’t face Hermione after what had happened last night. Despite what she had said, it had been quite clear to Harry that she didn’t return his feelings, and he had well and truly screwed things up completely.

He was about to go to the fireplace, when he looked down at the bed briefly. He could see Hermione had put extra spells on the bed so he would be more comfortable, and a sharp pang of guilt overwhelmed him, so much so that he had to sit down. After all that she had done for him, even now, without giving a second thought, and he’d thrown it all away because he’d had too much to drink. Right then and there, he decided he was never going to drink again. He held his head in his hands.

“She deserves better than this,” he muttered. “I have to try and fix this.”

He stood up and looked to the fireplace. The bricks covering the entrance only served to remind him again of how much she cared about him. She obviously didn’t want him to try to floo somewhere and get lost while he was drunk. It was no secret he tended to wander when he was drunk.

He decided to make her breakfast. It was really a rather feeble gesture, but he had to start somewhere. Heading towards the kitchen, he walked through the doorway, and found himself walking right back into the living room.

“Of course,” he said, running his fingers through his hair. It only made sense that she’d isolate him from her, especially if she was mad at him. She had to know, though, that once he was sober, he’d be able to break most wards. He did, after all, have an immensity of magical power behind his thick-rimmed glasses.

“Now, if I know Hermione, it’s not a physical ward, so much as a mental block.” He concentrated all his willpower on crossing through the door, into the adjoining hall, and walked through the door. At the last moment, however, he found his mind wandering back to the living room, and he emerged there again. He frowned.

“Think, Harry, think. How would Hermione try to keep you out?” She knew how stubborn he was. She had to know he wouldn’t stop trying until he got through…

“Of course!” Harry smiled, and turned back to the door. Focusing on walking through the doorway into the living room, he stepped forwards, and emerged in the hallway.

Harry had been at Hermione’s flat many times before, and on several occasions cooked dinner for the trio, so he knew his way around her kitchen easily. Making Hermione’s favorite breakfast seemed to Harry like the best wasy to start trying to fix things. Just as the eggs were getting on close to being done, and the toast was just about to pop, Harry heard a noise in the hallway. A few seconds later, Hermione emerged in the kitchen door, fully dressed, with her wand pointed straight at Harry. When she realized it was indeed Harry, she lowered her wand with a sigh.

“You broke through the wards,” she said, shaking her head. “No wand, and you broke through the wards.” Harry said nothing to this. He simply put the finished food together, and brought two plates to the table. Hermione sat down at the table, and Harry took the opposite place.

“Oh, Harry,” she said, smiling softly. “I don’t know how I ever stay mad at you.”

“You have every right to be mad at me,” replied Harry, sipping his tea.

“Remember, do you?”

“I always do.” He sighed. “I’m so sorry, Hermione. You deserve so much better. I didn’t want you to find out at all, but I never would have chosen you finding out like that. It wasn’t fair to you.”

“No, it wasn’t,” she agreed, setting down her silverware.

“I hope you know that I am truly sorry,” said Harry, reaching across the table and taking Hermione’s hand. “I never wanted to put you in a situation like this. It wasn’t supposed to happen this way.”

“I know, Harry,” she said softly, unable to look him in the eye. “It’s just, after all this time, just when I’m getting close to starting to get over you…” Hermione’s eyes began to tear up, and a lone teardrop ran down her cheek. “I was just getting used to the fact that I wasn’t good enough for you.” Harry stood up.

“No, Hermione, never ever think that,” he said, quickly moving around the table and taking Hermione into his arms. “You’re the best girl in the world.”

“Well what was I supposed to think?” She pulled out of his embrace. “For three years I’ve been trying to get over you! For three years I’ve been trying to figure out why I can’t get over you! And in all that time, you never showed the slightest bit of interest in me!” She folded her arms and turned away, her voice dying down to a whisper. “Tell me, Harry, what was I supposed to think?”

Harry had nothing he could say to that. Each word was like a blow to his stomach. For three years he had been responsible for Hermione feeling the pain of a broken heart. He felt like his own heart was breaking for the pain he had caused the woman he loved. Small penance, he supposed.

“Do you want me to go?” Harry asked softly.

Hermione shook her head.

“No. I don’t want you to go. I want you to be with me. I want to be with you forever.” She turned to face him again, tears still flowing freely down her face. “But I need to know that this is going to work. I need to know that this isn’t just some whim that’s only going to last a little while. I’d never get over that, Harry. I can tell you right now, that would be more than I could stand. If you’re not absolutely sure about this, about us, then you should go. I may be able to get over you in time if that’s what you decide. But if you know, deep down in your heart, that this is going to work, that we will be together for the rest of our lives, then stay. But be sure, Harry.”

Harry didn’t even have to think. He gathered Hermione in his arms, and pulled her to him, pressing his lips against hers. They taught their tongues to dance, beginning with a slow dance, and progressing right along to a tender waltz, and moving quickly to a heated tango. Never in either of their lives had either Harry or Hermione experienced such a kiss. When it finally ended, Hermione rested her forehead against Harry’s.

“That had better not have been a kiss goodbye, Potter,” she said softly.

“It wasn’t,” he replied. “It was a kiss hello.”