Forget Because We Must

Forget Because We Must

"But each day brings its petty dust our soon-choked souls to fill, and we forget because we must, and not because we will."

--Matthew Arnold

Chapter 1

It was a warm summer morning as Ginny Weasley strode lazily down the cobblestone road of Diagon Alley. No, this time she wasn't here to buy school supplies. It had been at least five years since she had graduated from Hogwarts and she was 23 years old, but somehow...somehow it didn't feel like it. So much had changed...so many things were different now...

This trip to Diagon Alley was to serve the purpose of buying a book for her mother. Her birthday was coming up. Ginny thought she would buy her that expensive cookbook that she had been complaining about wanting for months now. Ginny unfastened her cloak and draped it over her arm. It was still pretty early in the morning, but it was getting hot, and the itchy material of her cloak was making her sweaty and uncomfortable. Ginny picked her way down the Alley, stopping occasionally to peruse the windows of the shops. She took particular interest in the jewelry store window, which showed a fantastic gold ring set with a large ruby and encrusted up either side with shimmering jewels she thought must be diamonds - nothing else shimmered like that, Ginny was sure of it.

She tore her eyes away from the display in the window and turned her gaze upon the bookshop across the way. She walked slowly towards Flourish and Blotts. She had last been in there to buy her schoolbooks some five years earlier. She pushed open the door and a bell tinkled somewhere over her head. She frowned at the familiarity of the sound, and her stomach lurched as memories of times so far gone, so long ago played across her mind.

Ginny entered not to find the annoyed, wizened face of the owner staring back at her from over a large stack of magical books, but a young witch with long, painted violently purple nails, sitting at the desk, poring over a large piece of parchment. She looked up as Ginny walked in. Ginny smiled dryly and headed for the back of the store where she knew the cookbooks were. For a moment, she wondered what could have possibly happened to the owner. And then she decided that she didn't care. He was probably killed in the war, Ginny thought coldly. A lot of people died in the war. Although, Ginny wasn't sure how the owner of a bookshop could get himself involved. But, thought Ginny shrewdly, the war brought on an awful lot of unexpected things, and involved a lot of unlikely people. She shook her head slightly...She didn't like to think about the war. It had ended only a few years ago, and her memories of it were not things she liked to explore voluntarily.

Clearing her mind she turned her gaze upon the shelves of books. She set about scanning the rows (which seemed strangely messier and more unorganized than she last remembered) for the book entitled 1,001 Magical Recipes in Less than Five Minutes by Batilda Leghorn. As she perused the aisles, she noticed that she wasn't alone in the tiny bookshop. There was a man standing with his back to her, head lowered, immersed in the book that he held open in his hands. Something about his stature, and the rigid, proud way he stood seemed oddly familiar.

Ginny shrugged, and looked back to the shelf. Finally finding the book she was looking for, she took it from the shelf and examined it. The cover was a glossy burgundy, with stamped gold letters for the title. There was a picture of a toothy witch on the front who was smiling broadly, holding her wand over a large cauldron, and giving a thumbs-up. The pages were even trimmed in gold. It would make a fine birthday gift, Ginny thought happily. Contented, she looked up from her book, about to turn and walk towards the register when she noticed the man in the other aisle had been watching her. When she looked up, he hastily turned back to his book, walking further down the aisle. For a moment she had glimpsed a flash of gray eyes and white-blonde hair. But it couldn't be. Draco Malfoy was dead. Lord Voldemort had murdered him the same night as his father, some four years previous. Everyone knew this. Ginny shrugged and, holding the book to her chest, made her way up to the register.

She put the book down on the counter and the purple-nailed witch looked up from her parchment, eyeing her beadily. She took the book, ran her wand over a small red dot on the spine, and a tiny voice said, "Four Galleons, please." Ginny stuffed her hand into the pocket of her cloak and pulled out a handful of Galleons.

They had been a going away gift from Harry, Ron, and Hermione. Ginny was leaving in a few days to study magical healing in France. They had pulled her aside the night before last, at Ginny's small going away party, and gave them to her. At first, Ginny refused to take their money. They had not just given her the four Galleons that she pulled out of her cloak, but over 200. All three were struggling with money right now, so how and where they were able to scrape all this together was beyond her. Ron said he wanted to give it to her because he wanted to make sure she had enough to at least get her started in France. Hermione agreed, and Harry nodded his head in ascent. He was he had been oddly quiet throughout the presentation of the money. He waited until she had taken the small bag with many thanks, and Ron and Hermione had drifted away, hand-in-hand, to tell her what had obviously been on his mind for months. Ginny could see it in his eyes. It's amazing how he was never good at talking about his feelings, but he didn't need to, at least with Ginny. She could tell what was going on inside his mind just from looking into his eyes. It was a hard-earned gift that came with much practice.

"Ginny, I want you to know that I still love you," he said gently, taking her hand in his. Ginny flushed but pulled her hand away. She knew he wanted to get back together. Harry was now the kind of person who wouldn't say anything that left him quite that vulnerable unless there was some other meaning behind it.

"I know Harry, and I care about you too," she said quietly, avoiding his gaze, "but we just can't be together. Not now. It didn't work three years ago, and it won't work now," she said sadly. Harry's eyes widened with surprise that she had caught onto what he was trying to get at.

"But that was during the end of the war! You know what I was dealing with!" he said, a pleading note in his voice. Oh, Ginny knew what he had been dealing with, all right.

"Harry, I'm going away to France. There's no way it will ever work. Maybe in a few more years, when I get back." The words tumbled out of her mouth before she could get a grasp on them. She made to further examine the bag of Galleons as she wiped a tear off of her cheek. Hearing Harry talk like this brought back memories of what used to be, as though it was only yesterday that he had confessed for the first time, his feelings for her.

"Ginny, I'll go with you to France, I love you and I would go to the ends of the earth with you or for you! I'll make it work, I will, I promise! I swear it! I'll quit my job if I have to, I would do anything just to be with you!" he said, almost angrily, tears blurring the green eyes behind his glasses. Ginny looked away dazedly, melancholy etched into every feature of her face. There was once a time when the words Harry spoke now where all that she ever dreamed of having him say. Now things were different. The war had changed her. It had changed everyone, especially Harry. She knew that he couldn't possibly stand to be alone every night in his small flat, but she didn't really care. She was alone too. She knew he would end up going to stay with Ron and Hermione anyway (They were engaged now. They had just made their announcement last week. Ginny wouldn't be able to make it to the wedding.). It was as if he always needed someone, like he couldn't stand the silence of his own mind anymore. Ginny rather liked it when her mind was blank, and silent and not buzzing and remembering everything. She hated thinking about the past. To her, that's just what it was, the past, and behind her is where it should stay. There were the good things that had happened to her, if only for a short while (Harry), that she did not want to forget; and then there were the bad things that she knew she would never be able to forget, hard as she tried. But that was just the thing: she had to at least try and forget. She had to try and forget it all, good and bad alike. The memories were now so painfully blurred in Ginny's mind that she had trouble determining which memories were which, anymore. Trying to forget was the only way to keep what small amount of sanity she had managed to hold onto since the end of the war.

She wanted so badly just to be with Harry, and spend the rest of her life with him, but the war had changed so many things. There was now something vaguely unfamiliar that lurked just out of sight behind Harry's eyes. Ginny knew he would never be the same. She knew that his life, among all the others that were involved in the war, had been changed the most. Ginny shook her head, firmly and finally.

"No," she said in a barely audible whisper. "We can't, Harry. I can't. I'm sorry," she said, tears flowing freely down her cheeks now, as she didn't try to wipe them away or hide them. She looked up and saw that Harry, too, was crying. There was something strangely depressing about seeing a grown man cry. She had never seen her father cry, but waves of pity poured from her as she looked at Harry's despondent and hopeless expression, tears pouring down his cheeks and splashing onto the front of his robes. She started towards him and they both enveloped each other in each other's arms at the same moment. Ginny blindly pressed her face into the crook of his neck, wrapping her arms around his waist, crying freely now, on the verge of sobs. He rested his cheek on the top her head and she knew he was still crying too. They remained like that for what seemed like ages. Ginny lapped in the musky, sweet smell of Harry, forcing down bile at the memories that washed over her, as he tried to memorize the smell of her hair, which he was running his hands through. Ginny pulled away at last, wiping her eyes on her sleeve. She looked up into his tearstained face, knowing she was making the worst decision of her life. He was offering his life to her. He had just told her that he would pretty much quit his job and move to France just to be with her, and be poor, poorer than he had ever been. She knew very well that she would never allow that. She also thought sadly that she would probably never be made such an offer ever again. She smiled weakly, wiping the tears from Harry's face. He gave her a watery smile and made to kiss her, but she moved her face out of the way and, placing one hand gently on either side of his head, she softly planted a kiss on his forehead. They shared one last glance and Harry retreated, looking sullen and downcast.

Ginny was brought back to reality by the impatient huffing noise the young witch at the counter was making.

"Oh right, sorry," Ginny mumbled, dropping the four Galleons onto the counter. The witch handed Ginny the book in a thick paper bag, and Ginny took it. As she was leaving, she noticed the strange man coming up to the register from the back of the store. But before she could get a good glimpse, she was shunted aside by a large burly wizard carrying stacks of boxes, trying to get through the door. Shrugging, she walked back down Diagon Alley towards a small fountain. She always liked to Apparate from this spot. She didn't know why, it was just a favorite spot of hers. She stood by the fountain, taking in once again, the beauty and warmth of the morning, and clutching the bag to her side, she Apparated to The Burrow to give her gift to her mother.

* * *

Ginny Apparated right outside the front door of The Burrow, with the wind whipping furiously at her hair. She heard shouts in the distance and looked over her shoulder to see Harry and Ron on their broomsticks over the orchard, playing a pick-up game of one-on-one Quidditch. Ginny sighed, taking in the familiarity of the scene. It was as if someone had torn it right out of Ginny's childhood, and pasted it right there in front of her eyes. She turned her eyes away from the distant orchard, suddenly nauseous, and pushed open the door. She was greeted by the aroma of breakfast. Mrs. Weasley was hunched over the stove, stirring something with her wand in a metal saucepan. She turned to see Ginny enter, and she beamed at her.

"Ginny, dear!" she said delightedly, enclosing Ginny in a tight hug. Hermione was sitting at the table, mincing onions. She looked up and smiled, and then went back to her onions.

"Mum, I bought something for you," said Ginny, smiling broadly, holding up the paper bag.

"Oh Ginny! You didn't have to - I mean, whatever for -," she stammered, looking pleased. It wasn't everyday that she ever got anything new.

"For your birthday, silly! It's coming up in a few weeks, and you know I won't be here for it, as I'm leaving for France the day after tomorrow," said Ginny sweetly, shoving the paper bag into her Mother's hands and kissing her cheek. Mrs. Weasley smiled again and sat down at the table to unwrap the package. When she took the book out, she went into transports of delight, hugging Ginny several more times.

"Oh Ginny!" she said again. "You didn't have to get me anything! I really wasn't expecting - Oh I do wish you would have given this to me before I started cooking breakfast!" she said, opening the book and turning back to the stove. Ginny sat down next to Hermione, taking up an extra knife and helping to mince the onions.

Half an hour later, Harry and Ron trudged through the door, looking sweaty. Mrs. Weasley was just setting the last dish on the table.

"Hello boys!" she said happily. They really were no longer "boys" but Mrs. Weasley insisted on referring to them as though they were. It was another after-effect of the war. "Ginny's just bought me a new cookbook!" They murmured their approval, and sat down. Harry sat down at the opposite end from where Ginny sat, delicately avoiding her gaze. He had been doing this since after Ginny's party. Ginny ignored the sinking feeling in her stomach, as she loaded her plate and began to eat. The table was eerily quiet. It had been like this for years now, and still Ginny would never get used to it. Just one more reason to get away from here, she thought bitterly, listening to the scrape of silverware against dishes. She finished eating, cleared away her plate and retreated to her old room. She couldn't stand being at the table with them all anymore. Not since her father's death. But she couldn't stand to go home to her depressing flat, either. The war had claimed her family, and most of her sanity. Her life anymore was a sick rendition of what it used to be.

Ginny lived alone in a small flat at the heart of Muggle London. She hardly ever spent any time there now...it was depressing and lonely and all of her few things were packed away in trunks and boxes, ready to be moved to France. For a fleeting moment, Ginny wondered whether going to France was such a good idea in the first place. She scolded herself at this thought. When the offer to study magical healing in France presented itself to Ginny last summer, she jumped at it, knowing full well what it would mean. She would finally be able to start over, with a fresh piece of parchment. She could write the story of her life any way she pleased, once she got away from this god-awful place. All that was left here were memories. Sad and happy alike, they all made Ginny sick. She needed a new place, where things were unfamiliar, and no one knew her face; A place where not every last thing reminded her of something, or someone. She would study in Paris, and maybe even meet a new love interest there. She thought for a moment of Harry, and a guilty knot developed in her stomach. Ginny flopped back onto her bed, wondering what on earth she had done to deserve this. Over the past year, the knowledge that she would soon be leaving this memory-ridden place was the only ray of light in her tiny, sadly darkened world.

Ginny sat up on her bed and drew her legs to her chest. She could hear footsteps climbing the stairs and knew it was probably Hermione coming to see if she was OK. There was a soft knock on her door and she choked out a "come in." It was not Hermione who entered, but Harry. He closed the door with a gentle click and looked at her.

"What do you want," she asked somberly, staring at the bedspread. "Do they need me to help clean up downstairs?" She raised her eyes to Harry's face. He said nothing, but came and sat down on the bed next to her, taking her hand in his. This time, she didn't object. She wasn't in the mood. They sat there like that for a few minutes, hand-in-hand, completely silent. Harry turned to look at Ginny and finally broke the silence.

"Please don't go," he said quietly. "Please don't leave me here. Don't go, or let me come with you, please," he said, squeezing her hand. Ginny flopped back onto the bad once more, breaking her grasp on Harry's hand. She sighed.

"Harry, we've been through this," she said sternly, a hint of impatience in her voice. "I can't stay and I don't want you to come." It was a lie, a downright lie. She wanted Harry to come with her, more than anything. But the memories of what used to be still haunted her and she knew that bringing Harry with her would also bring her past with her, something she was trying so very hard to forget and to leave behind. She was running, she realized bitterly. She was running from her past. She knew that eventually she would have to face it, but not now. Not today. Not any time soon. Maybe when she was an old woman, laying on her deathbed, she would force herself to remember, to confront the feelings and fears she'd held inside her for what seemed like a millennia. To her right, Harry let out a low sigh. He was remembering. He lay back on the bed next to her. She turned on her side, propping her head up on her hand. He turned to face her and did the same. For a while all they did was stare. She knew he was recalling the thousand scenes like this that they had shared. She knew he wanted to have them back, knew he wanted more. But Ginny's mind was filled with a blank buzzing. She did not want to remember. Ever.

"Do you remember -," started Harry. Ginny sat bolt upright, and threw herself off the bed. It was as if a bomb had gone off inside her head. She marched herself to the door and swung it open. She stopped before she closed it and turned to Harry. His expression couldn't be more obvious - he had no idea what was wrong. Typical. Typical Harry, typical men. So tactless.

"Don't talk to me about remembering," she said fiercely, "when I am trying so hard to forget." She slammed the door shut, ran downstairs and through the house, ignoring everyone, and their questions of where she was going. Without a backward glance, or even a goodbye, she stepped outside and Apparated home.