I Will Remember You

Under the Imperius Curse

Hermione woke up around seven. When she opened her eyes, she saw that it was getting dark. Harry was still sitting in the chair at the end of the bed, but he was asleep. Hermione looked at him. He seemed so peaceful. Then glittering, golden letters on the cover of the book in his lap caught her eyes. She reached out an arm and grabbed the album. She pulled open the curtains on the window behind the bed. It was sunset. An orange light spilled over her back, illuminating the book. The cover read 'Harry J. Potter'.

She checked that Harry was still sleeping opened the book, and froze. A girl that looked just like her was waving at her from the first picture. She pulled the book closer, to see it better. It was her. But she looked so different. She seemed so much happier. She looked the other people in the picture. There was Harry. Standing next to her was a red haired man, who was holding her hand. She stared at them. She looked so happy, she was smiling. Harry and the other man looked happy too. It all seemed so perfect.

Hermione turned the pages and discovered plenty of pictures of Harry, the red haired boy and herself. Sometimes they were joined by a red haired girl who looked like the boy in the photos. She was usually holding hands with Harry. Hermione stared at the pictures for what seemed like hours. She felt a lump growing in her throat. She wanted to cry, but she didn't know why.

Just then, Harry woke up. He opened his eyes slowly feeling a twinge of pain at the base of his neck. He'd fallen asleep on the chair, looking at the album and watching over Hermione while she slept.

'Hermione,' he thought. 'It feels like she's so far away. Like it was all a dream. What if it was a dream ,like the ones I have every night. Not as horrible as that, but just as sad.' He felt fear rise up in him at that thought, and he quickly looked at the bed. Hermione was there. He sighed in relief.

The sunset lit her up from behind, turning her hair gold and copper. She was looking through his photo album. She had a dreamy expression on her face, but her eyes were still cold and emotionless. Harry didn't want to interrupt her. She looked beautiful in the orange light, almost the Hermione he remembered. But he couldn't stand the pain in his neck any longer, so he shifted, causing the chair to creak.

Hermione jerked her head up to look at Harry, with fear in her eyes. "I-I'm sorry," she stammered, closing the album and placing it at the bottom of the bed. "I-I didn't mean to take it."

Harry smiled. "No problem. Besides, you're the one who gave it to me."

"Really?" she asked slowly.

Harry nodded and opened the album to a page showing himself, Hermione, Ron and Ginny. "You, and this boy," he said pointing at Ron, "and this girl," he said, indicating Ginny.

"And they are - dead?" Hermione whispered, trying to fix their faces in her mind forever.

Harry nodded. "Yes."

Hermione didn't answer. What could she say? Then her stomach rumbled again and Harry smiled.

"Are you hungry?"

Hermione nodded, lowering her eyes.

"Lets go downstairs and look for Tom, then," he said, sitting up.

"What?" asked Hermione, surprised, "I can eat twice a day?"

Harry nodded again. "Of course you can. I have a cousin that can eat five times at day. Let's go."

When they arrived downstairs they found to their great displeasure that they weren't alone. At a small table on the other side of the room the merchant was having his dinner. Hermione was scared, and she didn't say a word throughout dinner. She just kept looking in the merchant's direction nervously. She ate fish and chips, and she drank a couple of Butterbeers. She liked Butterbeer a lot, she realized.

"Hermione, is everything alright?" asked Harry, snapping her out of her thoughts.

"Yes," she answered. "Yes, it is. I'm sorry."

"What are you sorry for?" asked Harry, bemused.

"I don't know, I'm just sorry," she answered, smiling.

The merchant, on the other hand, didn't seem to care about the two of them and ate his dinner in silence. But when Harry and Hermione got up and headed for the stairs, he finally seemed to become aware of their presence.

"Please, my dear friend, will you do me the honor of sitting down and having a drink with me?" he said, stretching out a hand in Harry's direction.

Harry stopped, staring at the arm that was blocking his way. "No, thank you, we have to go," he said shortly.

"You have to go?" he asked maliciously. "Haven't you two already had-"

Harry glared at him. "You are a perverted bastard," he said, touching the wand in his pocket.

The merchant smiled. "No more than anyone else. Come on, sit down, I've got a very good whisky," he urged, pulling a bottle of whisky from his pocket and placing a hand on Harry's arm.

Harry freed himself roughly. "Don't you dare touch me again."

But the merchant wasn't really listening to him. He was mentally ordering Hermione, 'Make him sit down.'

Hermione panicked. "Harry," she found herself saying against her will, "Harry, please sit down. I know his whisky, it's divine," she said urgently.

Harry looked at her curiously, but Hermione was already sitting down.

Reluctantly, Harry took a seat next to Hermione. The merchant smiled at Harry, opening the whisky and pouring it into a couple of glasses.

"Here you are," said the merchant to Harry in a sugary tone. Then he turned to look at Hermione. She looked ten times better than she had that morning. When he faced Harry again, he was surprised to see that he had already emptied the glass. 'That man is a fool,' he thought, as he poured more whisky into Harry's glass. Then he turned back to Hermione, 'Stretch your hand under the table,' he ordered her silently.

Hermione wanted to scream at Harry not to drink. She didn't want to stretch her arm under the table like she was doing. But there was nothing she could do but obey. She felt a heavy, cold blade drop into her hand.

'Put that away,' the merchant ordered. 'I drugged the whisky. He will sleep deeply, and you will do what you have to do. Do you understand?'

Hermione nodded imperceptibly. She would rather have killed herself with the dagger, but she slipped it into her dress.

The merchant kept pouring whisky into Harry's glass, and he looked drunker with every passing minute. Hermione wanted to tell him not to drink, but she couldn't break free from the merchant's control. A minute later, Harry's elbows slipped from the table and the glass fell, shattering on the floor.

"Hey, hey," said the merchant cheerily, "I think you should go upstairs and sleep it off. You're not much of a drinker, are you?"

"Yes, I am," Harry slurred.

The merchant smiled. "Let's get you to your room, friend," he said, pulling Harry to his feet.

"I'll bring him to his room," said Hermione fiercely, feeling suddenly protective.

The merchant glared at her. 'How dare you?' he shouted in her mind.

Hermione frowned, feeling cowed. "B-but maybe you can help me, I don't know if I'll be able-"

"Let's go," said the merchant, cutting her off. Putting a an arm around Harry's waist, he pulled him up the stairs. Harry, in the mean time, was talking nonsense and trying to sing the Hogwarts school song. He couldn't get past the second line, and had to keep starting over. Hermione was impressed by how well he withstood the drug that should have sent him straight to sleep after the first glass.

When they reached Harry's room, the merchant opened it with 'Alohomora' and threw Harry on the bed. Then he unbuttoned Harry's shirt and turned to Hermione.

"You know what to do," he whispered, caressing her cheek.

Hermione shivered, but didn't answer. She just stood still under his touch. The merchant glared at her, but he didn't really care about her defiance, since he knew that she couldn't disobey his orders. So he turned and headed for the door, closing it behind himself.

Hermione looked at Harry for a long time while he snored loudly on the bed. She knew what she had to do, that was true, but she didn't want to do it. She pulled out the dagger and took a step towards him. His chest was marked by several scars. There was a particularly long one near his heart. The funny thing was that it was bolt-shaped, like the one that on his forehead. A ray of moon filtered through the curtains and fell across his face.

Hermione had a sudden urge to run away. But she wasn't allow to do that. She had to kill him, that boy [who she thought she had loved deeply, even though she didn't remember him now. She was on her feet, near the bed. T]he moonlight illuminated her face. She held the dagger up, ready to stab it into Harry's chest.

A minute passed. Two minutes. Ten. A quarter of hour. Her hand started to tremble.

'I'm not going to do that,' she said to herself. "I'm not going to do that," she repeated out loud. Harry didn't stir. She looked at the raised dagger, turned it so she could examine the point. Her orders echoed in her head. She knew what she had to do.

The blade sparkled in the moonlight as she brought the knife down.