Memories of Yesterday

The cabin was silent except for the crackling of the fireplace, which joined the weather orchestra that featured a long rain solo, accompanied by the clash of thunder at an odd moment or two throughout the day. The patter of rain slapping against the roof had become a constant background noise, which had a comforting effect on Hermione. Many might express a distaste for storms, yet she reveled in them. The doom and gloom associated with storms was something that Hermione had always passed off, enjoying storms for giving her the excuse to stay inside curled up with a good book next to the fireplace. Rather similar to what she was doing today. However, relatively recently, Hermione enjoyed storms for a much different reason. They seemed to express how she truly felt. Every time the thunder would roll, she felt it in the marrow of her bones, as if nature understood the deep agony she held inside of her and it was being reverberated throughout the environment as well. Nature would wail with the wind, bellow with the thunder, weep with the rain, and showcase rage with the lightning. In short, nature would mourn with her; she needn't worry about nature's feelings about the subject, or offending it, nature was simply there expressing the same feelings she was going though, the best sort of empathy she had ever experienced before. Much better than any human could give regardless of what everyone had tried to express to her before she had completely secluded herself from the world.

Sighing, she lifted the cup of steaming tea to her lips to cool off the liquid before taking a sip. The warmth of the cup seeped into her hands as the gentle sent of lemon and jasmine with a smidgen of honey wafted to her nose. The book she had near her side was one she had been attempting to read for months. Every night was the same ritual. She would make herself a cup of tea, start the fire, wrap herself in her favorite afghan her mother had made, and pull out the book. Yet every night she would end up staring off into space, the spine of the bound bunch of parchment un-cracked. And each night after having failed to achieve her goal of breaking her routine, she would think that it truly wasn't practical to be reading when one's life had been turned upon its end recently.

A snort was released through her nostrils at the thought of recently. Yeah, Herm, nine months is recent. Why don't you give it up and admit that you're helpless? Frustrated, she threw the mocking book across the room. It landed on the T.V. remote, which was lying strewn upon the floor, switching on the T.V. The movie "Gone with the Wind" appeared on the screen, causing Hermione to let out a snort in wry amusement.

Oh yes, that's lovely. Why don't I watch this extremely depressing movie while I'm in mourning. That should bolster my feelings.

Yet as she went to turn off the T.V, for some reason she was unable to do so, being caught up in what was occurring on the screen. "Gone with the Wind" had always been one of her favorite movies, and books as well, for some unexplainable reason. The nostalgic feelings for a time gone by and melancholy outcome of the characters always drew her in. Yet despite that now was not a time in which she desired to watch the movie, she found herself unable to turn away. Upon the completion of the film, and many tears having been wiped by the handy box of Kleenex that was strategically located near the couch, she stood.

Maybe I'm crazy
But I've got these photographs
I take them out some nights
So I can remember how we laughed

Making sure to tend the fire in an attempt to ensure that she didn't die in her sleep due to neglect on her part, Hermione was on her way to the bedroom when she saw it: the mocking door to the hall closet which housed all of the items that should be kept hidden for the rest of eternity. The items she had purposely placed on the top, most difficult shelf to reach because she had been through this before.

Just once more. I won't look after this one last time. That's all it'll take and I'll be ok to carry on. Well, no. Not this time. Otherwise you won't ever be able to get over this. Yet as she was giving herself this pep talk, her feet were marching over to the closet, stepping on the foot ladder, and pulling down a cardboard box that had no label or markings upon it.

Pulling the top off, she settled herself on to the floor and began to gently pull out one item after another, handling each with care and precision, especially when it came to the photo album, allowing the memories to flood over her. Opening the book slowly, she winced as she saw pictures of herself and Remus Lupin grinning at each other, embracing each other, nuzzling one another, and certain photographs decided to partake in snogging one another. It seemed as if the couple could not seem to keep their hands off of one another, they were so much in love.

In one particular photo, Hermione seemed to be laughing at a snow covered Remus.

A slight smile tugged at the sides of Hermione's mouth as she remembered the events leading up to the picture being taken. The couple had just decided to attempt to make a go at the mutual feelings between them. Hermione had been employed by Dumbledore as Hogwarts' librarian by day and the Order's research assistant by night. The person whom she was assisting? None other than Remus J. Lupin. Hogwarts parents would not allow a werewolf to teach their children no matter how overqualified he was, because of the deep prejudices that ran throughout the wizarding community. However that did not prevent Dumbledore from securing the position of Hogwarts/the Order researcher for Remus. Both Remus and Hermione were to research anything and everything that could possibly be useful in the destruction of Voldermort, be that potions, charms, etc. The task was similar to that of trying to make the brooding potions teacher adopt a more colorful wardrobe, yet that did not daunt the duo. Both had been workaholics in school and were also considered by many to be perfectionists. If there were any two people who would be up to the challenge it would be them, and they proved to be successful.

But the picture taken was many months prior to the successful completion of the research. It took place a mere three months after working together. A bit wary of other's reactions to them, the couple had decided that a date consisting of flitching food from the kitchen and taking a walk around the frozen lake was a nice compensation for stares and the possibility of running into an acquaintance and attempting to try to explain something which had barely begun to develop. The walk around the lake had soon developed into a mini snow fight, that is until Remus had slipped on an icy patch, falling to the ground with a thud. Hermione attempted to pull him up, only enabling herself to be pulled down near the victim. The picture had been snapped by a student when attempting to finish a project for Muggle Studies-the comparison between muggle and wizarding pictures. A copy had been given to both Remus and Hermione as a consideration for being an unknown subject of a report.

And when I see your face
I can almost feel you here
I've got to catch myself
From falling under the
spell of souvenirs

The smile grew slightly bigger as Hermione turned to the page of the photo album revealing the next picture: Remus and Hermione's engagement party. The couple had been together for a year before Remus had worked up the courage to ask Hermione to marry him, and Molly had insisted on throwing a party for her "second daughter" upon hearing the news. The twins had been their normal incorrigible selves, yet that did not stop everyone from enjoying the festivities. As a joke, Fred and George had slipped a binding potion into Remus and Hermione's drinks, preventing them from being able to be more than three feet away from each other. Their attempt at simulating marriage for Remus. Molly had been furious when she heard the news, yet the couple used it to their advantage. Whenever the twins were around, the couple made sure to be overly affectionate, using pet names and public displays of attention to get even.

Grinning, Hermione moved into the bedroom with the photo album. Climbing into bed and pulling the comforter up to cover her legs from the brisk chill of the room, she settled the book upon her folded knees and began to look again. One photo in particular grabbed her attention, causing a tender smile to envelope her lips as a single solitary tear found a trail down her cheek. Wiping with one had, she gently caressed the face of the sleeping person in the picture with her left hand index finger.

The morning after her wedding night, Hermione had woke to the sunlight streaming in through the slightly cracked curtains, because, of course, she had wanted to sleep on the side that faced the window. Thus, her body took the full force of the morning sun, shielding her dear hubby from being awoken. Turning gently into his arms, her heart lurched as she took in the sleeping face of Remus Lupin. Content and peace were etched into every fiber of his face, something she had yet to see in her lifetime; the sight took her breath away, and the thought that she had been able to cause even the slightest bit of that nearly made her heart explode with love for the man laying beside her.

Slipping out from underneath the arms that were wrapped around her in an endearing yet slightly possessive embrace, Hermione grabbed her camera from out of her bag and snapped the photo of her sleeping husband: proof that in a chaotic world there could be things of beauty. Remus had never understood why this picture meant so much to her, he was always slightly embarrassed of the picture taken while he was in a REM cycle. Yet to Hermione, this was her favorite photograph ever of Remus.

Damn these photographs
They go on pretending
That you and I ended up
with a happy ending
They give me the same feeling
The very same feeling I get when
I'm watching
"Gone With The Wind"

Glancing from the album to the side of the bed that he had always occupied, and the side of the room where his dresser and effects would normally be, ripped at her heart, causing the silent tears that had slowly been falling to gain momentum. Slumping down, her head fell against his pillow; gathering it towards her she inhaled deeply, craving the smell that was distinctly Remus: a mixture of woods and spice. Yet her search was to no avail, the months of midnight tears and embraces had removed any trace of the former owner. A sob was wrenched from her gut as Hermione realized yet another loss she must suffer. It was as if she had lost the final piece of hope and denial she had possessed, solidifying the end of their relationship. Every trace of anything that had once been was now erased, except for the photographs.

Afraid of opening my deepest
thoughts to you
I hid them in a jar and
pushed away your heart
I wonder if you knew

It seemed as if the last few years had held nothing but loss. Curled in the fetal position, sob after sob was ripped out of Hermione's fragile frame, something which might not seem possible due to the vast amount she had been doing lately, yet her tear ducts had yet to run dry.

The pictures in the album belied the truth the state of the world was in during the time of their being taken. The threat of imminent death at the hand of Voldemort or his henchmen was something which loomed over Remus and Hermione's relationship, creating a sense of urgency and desire to live each and every moment as full as possible. However, in the end, it wasn't Voldemort which tore the couple apart, but the couple's reaction to what occurred during the final battle.

Many lives were lost, and included in the death tolls was Ginerva, Arthur, and Ronald Weasely. The loss of a second father, confidant, and best friend appeared to be more than Hermione could bear. She withdrew into herself, refusing to eat for days, and becoming close to a recluse, it was only after Remus had left that she became a full one.

The last fight that had occurred was one which would forever be imprinted into her memory. For months Remus had grown increasingly agitated at her. He kept repeating things about being unable to reach her, that is was as if she had withdrawn into herself and he was frustrated that he was unable to do anything to help her. All she knew was that she was in a sort of fog. That upon hearing the news of the demise of Ginny, Arthur and Ron, she had become almost catatonic. She couldn't help it, her mind wouldn't seem to cooperate with her heart. Inside she desired to run into Remus' arms, and have him make everything all right, yet somewhere her mind knew that it would never be all right. This wasn't something Remus could cure with chocolate; death would not be reversed by a piece of Ghirardelli's.

Perhaps this was the real reason that their relationship did not last; Remus desired to help her, yet knew that there was no possible way that he could, and the lack of ability to truly do anything forced him to leave. Yet whatever it was, that night, the night of the one sided argument and the broken vase, he left and had not returned. No one knew where he had disappeared to, and by the time that the fog had lifted, Hermione sunk into an even deeper depression because the man she loved had deserted her. Yet the difference between this depression and the last one was painful. This time she was conscious of the loss of the person, and it was not a happenstance, this absence was purposeful and a choice.

Damn these photographs
They go on pretending
That you and I ended up
with a happy ending
They give me the same feeling
The very same feeling I get when
I'm watching
"Gone With The Wind"

Hermione at this point had withdrawn fully from the world, becoming the hermit that she now was. During a bout of the deeper depression, she had decided to purge her house of his presence, and stuffed the items she could truly not part with in a box that was shoved into a closet. The photo album was among that group. For the most part the photos were left untouched, for she found that when she did go through them, she would weep for days. Yet for some reason she could not keep herself away, it was like an automotive accident on the side of the road; no one wants to see the wreck yet everyone looks. She knew what the pictures would do to her, yet she could not keep herself away.

Oh, I would give anything if I
could slip inside
These photographs and be holding you tonight

A hand reached out and grabbed the nearest photo from the box, planning to destroy all that had lead to this recent rainstorm, only to stop short upon glimpsing at the picture.

In her hand, she held a snapshot of Harry's second most recent birthday party. A picture had been snapped just as an earthquake had struck. While earthquakes were not rare in England, they were not exactly common either, and for some unexplainable reason, Hermione had a deep fear of the sudden movement of the earth's plates. The quake had been neither long nor a large one, not quite rating a 4 on the Richter scale, yet as soon as the jostling had started, Remus had wrapped his arms around Hermione in an attempt to assuage her fears. The photo had captured the facial expression of a knight saving his damsel. Hermione knew that it had been silly, that he had not truly had any power over the earthquake, and that intellectually, an earthquake of that size should not have extracted as big of a reaction from her as it did. Yet in that moment, her fear was real, and his gesture had been magnanimous. She had known that there was no other place she would rather be than in his arms, for that was where she felt safest.

A yearning to be wrapped in his arms, to take away the pain she was feeling and the fears that she would never heal seemed to consume her. It was as though the pain was a parasite slowly devouring her from the inside out. The desire to have him near her one more time was so great she would have given up her wand in a second for it to be possible. Yet even as that thought flickered across her mind, she knew that it was impossible.

She sunk onto what she considered to be Remus' pillow again and gazed off into space at the entrance into the hall.

He had left her without a trace, without a glance backwards. Despite how much she wanted him, he didn't want her, and that, out of everything was what hurt her the most. Missing him physically, mentally, and emotionally was destructive, yet knowing that while she still loved him as much as the woman in the photographs, he did not love her as the man in the photos was the true heart breaker, and what made her curse the pictures.

Tears began to slowly stream down her face in their ever familiar paths as she also began to curse herself, the woman who kept looking at them, reliving memories that were long gone and completely futile to live through. What little of a life she was living was through pictures that had no hope of ever becoming reality.

Anger, for the first time in months anger began to course through her veins. It took her a minute to realize what emotion she was feeling, for it had been a long while since Hermione had felt something besides numbness and pain. Anger was something new to relish, like the taste of a forbidden fruit or a long denied sweet. Pent up rage over the loss of dear ones, fused with the fury of desertion by the one who had vowed to "love, honor and cherish" her no matter what life had thrown their way.

Picking up the closest picture to her, she began to tear it into pieces. The people in the moving photo ran in an attempt to flee the destruction as Hermione's hands ripped apart the snapshot of a couple walking along the beach. Once the picture resembled confetti she stopped, a slight weight lifted from her shoulders. In a desperate attempt to maintain her brief reprise from pure pain, she blindly began grabbing photos from the box and ripped them to pieces, not daring to look at them. When she could rip them no more, she grabbed fistfuls of pieces, walked to the other room, and threw them into the fire. She continued the process until all that was left was an empty box, which she broke apart and tossed into the fireplace as well.

As she saw the fire lick and curl the paper of her memories, the hopes and dreams of her past, a solitary tear streamed down her cheek. Wiping it with the back of her hand, she settled herself onto the couch with the afghan draped across her legs, in the same position she had been occupying earlier this evening. Her slender hands shakily picked up the book off of the side table and as she breathed in a deep sigh, she opened the pages to chapter one and began to read.