The Color of Memories

The Color of Memories

They say a song freezes a moment in time, keeping one's memories in perfect condition. They say one can recall such a moment with perfect clarity each time the familiar strains of music reach their ears. But it is that way with other things too--at least for her.

Yes, there are times when she hears a song and is called back to one perfect moment, but there is another more powerful reminder of him.

Crayons......crayolas.......colors......they have many names, but all hold the same significance. They remind her of him. She buys boxes of them constantly, as if being able to hoard them will keep him alive.......will help her remember.....him.

She fingers each waxy cylinder, wondering how one small thing can evoke such a powerful response in her, a response that makes her realize each day how much she loved him. She remembers.........how she fell in love with him.

Brown - not usually what one would think of as a "favorite color", but it was his. At least that's what he said. To her, it was the color of tree trunks, dead leaves, mud; it was bland and utterly normal. To him, it was the color of her hair, her eyes; it was everything unique in his world.

Blue. Water, the sky.....freedom......flying. He always did like flying. She could never understand how he was able to spend his time on a broom. But, she had to admit, he looked beautiful up there, and so free from all of his troubles. He tried to take her once, she remembers. Said it would be a useful skill to learn, though she always suspected it was his way of trying to include her in his life, trying to give her insight into the things that gave him pleasure, so that she might realize his true feelings. Oh, how she wishes she had taken him up on that offer earlier.

But at least she realized.

Yellow. Ron tried to turn that stupid rat yellow. She remembers this most vividly. It was the same day she met........him. Yes, she'd read about him in countless wizarding books, but this was different. This was history and words come to life. This was......HIM. After that day, something was different. His very presence changed something in her........made her care for him, made her want to take reckless chances to keep him safe, to make him her friend, to be his protector......perhaps even more. She has another memory embedded in her brain.....another time when this color made an imprint. Yellow, she remembers, was the color of the trophy--no, the portkey--he was holding when she thought she lost him. She remembers what it felt like when he disappeared, when she was forced to face the fact that he might not return, and it made her physically ill. It was as if someone had ripped her heart out and poured into its place the crude semblance of a heart, carved from ice......she felt so cold--so frozen. It was the first time she knew what it was to care for someone......maybe even to love them.

Red........hearts.......roses........blood......love. She remembers his story of the end of the Triwizard tournament. She remembers thinking how blood started this thing, and how blood would have to end it. How right she was. But she also remembers the moment red came to signify love--real actual love. She can hardly stand to think back to the day Sirius died, but when she does, she remembers how he looked. So lost, so forlorn......so tired of having to meet the constant demands of the hero everyone thought him to be. She knew better. She knew......him. She knew he was hurting, that he needed someone to talk to, to--dare she think it?--protect him. She knew.......she loved him.

Black. The color of death. How easily it could have been him that day, instead of Voldemort, lying haphazardly on the ground when the smoke cleared. How easily she could have lost him again. How easily he could have been torn from her forever, without ever knowing how she truly felt. It was that black day, she remembers, that she finally told him she loved him--truly, deeply, and with all her heart. She is still amazed that on such a dark day, a day when so many others had been killed, that she could be filled with so much love and so much happiness--happiness that he was alive, that she was alive, that they were alive. He told her he loved her that day too--that day of death, of mourning, of utter blackness. It should remind her of their mutual loss, but she remembers it as the day they both began living.

Green.......her favorite color. The color of life. The color of trees, shamrocks, emeralds..........the color of his eyes. She remembers how they could turn every shade of green that existed, depending on his mood. Oh, how she could look into those eyes......how she did look into those eyes every day after THAT day, and saw in them the overwhelming amount of love he held for her. And how she looked into those eyes the day he asked her to be his forever, and she said yes.

Orange.....the leaves that littered the ground that glorious September day were that color. She remembers nothing of that day until she kissed him, and in doing so cemented the union of a relationship that began so long ago. It was the most perfect day of her life.....of his life. They were still alive, and they were still happy.

White......the color of his face as she gazed at it one last time. So pale, she remembers; so..............cold. She knows she is lucky.......she had him for so long. But she still wishes he was here, wishes he could join her in her reverie of their life together. But he is gone.

So she keeps collecting these colors, keeps bringing them out, as if the very act brings him back for a while. She is glad of these reminders, though. She is glad it is not a song that evokes his memory. Whereas a song can recall only one moment in life, her small box of crayons recalls their entire life together. And she remembers.