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Bittersweet Memories
The room was a stark, almost oppressive kind of white, the kind of white that made you feel uncomfortable the longer you looked at it. This was the room where they had first been given the news; it wasn’t the type of room you wanted to hear bad news in, and yet she had heard here time and time again.
She had now been in this room far too many times; she always felt as if her skin was itching whenever she sat in the stiff back chair, and today was certainly no exception. Healer Stones was friendly enough with his serious exterior and bright green healer robes, but at times, she felt as if she wanted to scream at him as he wasn’t fixing her husband, the thing she so desperately needed him to do.
He gave her a sad sort of knowing smile, the one he always offered her, and she had noted whenever he was about to tell her something almost unbearable to hear, he would tap his glasses twice before beginning, “I’m afraid to say there have been no new improvements in my research since we last spoke. There really is not much for it, Mrs Malfoy. Your husband was cursed, and it has taken residency in his mind.” He paused, “now, as we have seen in a rather rapid decline in recent months, I was thinking it might be time to adjust-“
Healer Stones continued on, but she paid him no mind; he was going to suggest yet another change in his treatment plan, which only meant he was going to have to stay at St.Mungo’s for an extra month. She was just waiting for the day he finally said to her indefinitely; it was beginning to look like it was only a matter of time before he did.
She looked to the left of her towards her son, who was eating jellybeans and swinging his legs in the chair, not a clue as to what the healer was talking about and not a single care in the world.
She really wanted to be him at times like this. He was just sat there swinging his legs and not having a care in the world, not knowing what was happening, not fully understanding what was happening either. She watched as he looked down at his hands. There were three beans left, and he seemed to be taking his time in deciding which one to eat next. He chose the pink one and popped it into his mouth. She watched as his face puckered a little, as it was obviously quite sour. Scorpius didn’t like sour things all that much, so she guessed he was working backwards, eating his least favourite flavour until he was left with the very best one till last. His Father did that, too, and his Father had been the one who had taught him to do that as well.
She blinked away a few tears before turning back towards the healer. The same strained, sad smile was on his face, “I suggest another month here. We are continuing with our tests, doing our absolute best at attempting to find a cure.”
She nodded and sighed, standing up and holding out her hand for her son to take, “thank you, healer Stones, it’s time to go, Scorp.”
“Not seeing Daddy?” He asked, his face turning down into a small frown.
She shook her head, “not today, sweetheart. I’m sure next time we will.”
His frown only grew larger as he took hold of her hand, helping him to slide off of the seat, “bye, Stone man,” he waved at the healer.
He laughed, “bye, Scorpius, be good for your Mum, won’t you?”
The toddler nodded.
The pair of them made their way outside of the healer's office, and she clutched onto her son's little hand no matter that there were still sticky remnants of jellybeans on there. She sometimes felt that he was the only thing still keeping her afloat throughout all of this.
“When will I see Daddy again?” He asked as they made their way over to the nearest Floo exit.
“Soon, sweetheart,” she replied, the same response she had given him the past three months.
“Does Daddy not love me anymore?” He questioned, “is that why he won’t see me?”
She stopped walking and shook her head, looking at the sad expression that had taken over his angelic features once again, “Scorpius, your Daddy loves you very much. Can you remember what Mummy told you?”
He nodded, “that Daddy is not very well and that he can’t remember things at the moment?”
She nodded, “that’s right,” she leaned down and picked him up, “are you ready to see Lyra and James?”
He nodded against her chest, and she held him close as the pair of them exited St Mungo’s, calling out Harry’s address to pick up his sister.
Harry was in the living room when they arrived, a hopeful smile on his face. It vanished quickly upon seeing her face.
“How was Lyra?” She asked as she set her son back on solid ground.
“Theo’s with her,” he replied, “hey Scorp,” he waved at the toddler, “Uncle Theo and James are looking after your sister; why don’t you run up and join them?”
He nodded his head eagerly and took off running; she waited until the door was slammed shut before breaking down.
Harry took her in his arms as she continued to cry; he rubbed her back in soothing circles but didn’t ask any questions. She was always grateful that Harry didn’t pry too much. After another failed visit to the healer’s office, she was never quite sure how to answer questions, never quite sure she wanted to admit the truth.
The curse was most likely incurable, and he was just going to get worse and worse until one day, he would just be a shell, a vessel of his former self, not knowing who he was or where he had come from.
“Oh Harry,” she sobbed into his shoulder, “I can’t-“
“Shh,” he replied, “just let it out, let it all out.”
It had started off innocently enough, forgetting the day every now and again, not remembering someone’s name or a place they had been to. It had happened so gradually at first she had not paid it any mind, not really noticing how much he was struggling. He kept losing his wand, putting it down in places and not remembering where it was. They had always laughed. She cursed just thinking about it all. The times they had laughed over his simple slip-ups. She should have suspected there was more to it when he started locking his office. She had thought foolishly that he had been having an affair, but in reality, he had been embarrassed by the amount of sticky notes he had plastered all over the place. She’d managed to enter one day and had gasped in shock at all the things he had written down all over the many tiny pieces of paper, from important dates to names; even his own had been on there.
Harry had been his Auror partner at the time, and he had confided in her that something was up with him; he couldn’t remember strategies and his magic had been playing up. She could remember she had just found out that she was pregnant with Lyra at the time, and a time that should have been joyful was suddenly filled with stress over what was a matter with her husband.
She’d confronted him not long after, and he had quickly denied everything, telling her she was overreacting, but she had dragged him to St Mungo’s. That was where she had first met healer Stone. His diagnosis had been hopeful at first; memory curses were his speciality, and he was determined to figure out what was a matter with Draco as quickly as possible and send him on his way.
He had test after test thrown at him, but every single one had ended up the same. They couldn’t figure out what it was that was causing his memory to slowly disintegrate, easily slipping through each of their fingers like fine grains of sand. Robards had ultimately had to let him go, too. He’d been moved from fieldwork to paperwork, but he was even beginning to struggle with that. He’d just sit there staring at it, not knowing what to do with it, not understanding how he had done certain tasks with such practised ease at one point.
Things had really started to take a turn once Lyra was born; she’d woken up on more than one occasion with Draco having his wand aimed at her head, calling her a mudblood and demanding to know why she was in his bed. Still, she had persevered. He was having more good days than bad, and besides, she loved him and had made vows with him. The whole ‘sickness and health’ thing, the sickness had just come earlier than she had ever anticipated.
But it wasn’t just affecting her. It was affecting Scorpius, too. She’d watch as his bottom lip would tremble as his Father had asked who he was and refused to pick him up. In the end, Harry and Theo had begged her to think about admitting him to St Mungo’s. She had two children to look after; she couldn’t look after her husband too. She had been stubborn about it, not wanting to admit defeat, and so she kept dragging her feet. Healer Stone had agreed it was the best course of action, claiming he would be out and as right as rain as soon as possible, he would be able to keep a better eye on him, run more tests, and finally have a solution.
She visited him almost twice daily, and he had good days and bad. His face would light up sometimes when he saw her; sometimes, he’d think they were still dating, other times, he’d think they were planning their wedding. The bad days, however, were dreadful; he’d throw things at her sometimes, calling her a mudblood, other days, he would look at her and just not know who she was.
Healer Stone would tell her he had never seen anything like it before, but he wasn’t giving up hope; he would fix him up.
The fixing never came. The curse reversal never came, never changed. There was never a solution.
He no longer knew who Scorpius was; she’d realised that about six months ago, whenever she turned up with him, he’d glare at him, or his face would turn completely vacant.
Scorpius didn’t understand it, couldn’t understand how his Father no longer knew who he was. He just wanted him to play with him, wanted him to read to him, wanted to look after him just like he used to. Seeing his face become sadder and sadder every time she brought him to see him was enough to convince her it was time to stop his visits.
She brought him along to the monthly checkups, telling him they would see what the healer had to say about it and that he might be
able to see him. Perhaps it was wrong to say that, to lie to him like she was, but she was at a total loss over what to do. She had been for the past eighteen months ever since he had been put into St Mungo’s on a month-by-month living basis.
She was still struggling to accept that her daughter would most likely never know him. She didn’t even ask after him. She wasn’t sure what was worse, what little memories her son had of him or the fact that her daughter would most probably have none at all.
“He’s not getting any better,” she admitted, “I don’t think he’s ever going to get any better.”
She was right; it was the first time she had truly wished she was wrong.
His monthly rolling contracts turned into quarterly, and she knew one day they would turn into yearly.
“Mum,” Scorpius spoke from the breakfast table, “can I show you something?”
She nodded eagerly, drinking down her coffee as she twirled her wedding ring around her finger, “of course, you can, sweetheart.”
He excitedly jumped from his chair and scurried out of the kitchen.
“He’s showing you his school project,” Lyra told her.
“The one that he’s been keeping a secret?”
Hermione nodded and continued on with her breakfast, a book in her other hand. Lyra was so much like she had been at that age.
When Scorpius returned to the kitchen, he had a shoebox in his hand. She nodded, and he enthusiastically took off the top of the box, showing her what was inside.
Inside the shoebox was almost an exact replica of their old living room from their previous house. It had hurt her to sell the house and move somewhere new, but after a while, she could no longer face living somewhere that had once been theirs, something shared. She needed something separate to bring up the children alone. It looked as if he had spent hours colouring and shading and just crafting different bits of it. It was as if he was trying to remember every single part of it. She was surprised by the detail of it and how much he could remember; he’d been so young when they had lived there.
In the middle of the sofa were two cut-out males; one was a blonde man, the other was a matching blonde boy sitting next to him and in between them was a bag of jellybeans.
She blinked back tears and gave him an encouraging smile to continue showing it.
“We have to show our favourite memory to class,” he explained as he pointed to all the elements inside the room, “my favourite memory is when Dad would give me jellybeans on the sofa.”
She smiled, “It’s wonderful, Scorp,” but she found the more she tried to resist her tears, the more they fell down her face.
“Why are you crying, Mum?” Lyra asked as she got up from her chair and moved to where she was sitting. She turned to her brother, “I told you you shouldn’t bring up Dad. It always makes her cry.”
She shook her head, “nonsense.”
“Sorry, Mum,” Scorpius apologised as he closed the lid, “I didn’t mean to upset you.”
“You haven’t upset me,” she replied. She then opened her arms up wide, “Come on, you two, give me a hug before Aunt Pansy arrives to take you to school.”
The pair each wrapped themselves around either side of her, and she took turns kissing the crowns of their heads, “don’t be afraid to mention him. I may cry a little, but they are never sad tears. Both of you can always ask me anything about your Father,” she informed them, “I want you to ask me.”
“Really?” Lyra whispered, “can I?”
“Of course you can. You can ask Aunt Pansy or Uncle Theo; they have lots of stories from his childhood. He’s not dead, my little loves. His memory just doesn’t work like it should.”
“GRANGER,” someone shouted from the hallway, “I’M HERE TO COLLECT MY FAVOURITE LITTLE RASCALS.”
The pair of them tore off and away from her. She sighed, letting her arms drop to her sides. There was no action plan for this. Even after seven years of hell, things weren’t getting any better. Scorpius would be off to Hogwarts next year, and her husband was sitting in St Mungo’s with no recollection of ever having any children. She leaned back in her chair and caressed her forehead, trying to stop the headache that was beginning to form across the front of her skull.
“Fuck should I call Ron?” Pansy asked when she had arrived at the doorway, “I’m shite at emotions.”
Hermione laughed, “your husband really isn’t much better.”
Pansy snorted, “emotional range of a teaspoon?”
Hermione nodded and then started crying again; Pansy gently shut the kitchen door and headed over to where Hermione was sat crying, “why didn’t he leave them both something?” She asked, “why didn’t I make him write letters or something, anything to help with this? We should have planned something after finding out about the curse. We never even discussed what would happen if things continued to get worse.”
“You had no idea it was ever going to get this bad,” Pansy replied, “you can’t think of what ifs and whatnot.”
Hermione sighed, “It’s hard not to. They don’t even want to mention him in case it upsets me.”
Pansy patted Hermione carefully on the back. Hermione knew it was an act that was meant to comfort her, but it felt so awkward and un-Pansy that it actually made her laugh instead.
“How are either of your sons normal?” She questioned, “You can’t even rub someone’s back.”
Pansy shrugged, “Ron’s the cuddly one."
Hermione laughed, “and what are you?”
“Tough love,” she replied, “and school work. How did Ron pass OWL’s by the way? Was it you?”
Hermione nodded, “that’s one way of putting it.” Hermione glanced at the kitchen clock, “I’ve got to get to work. Thanks for taking them both, by the way.”
“It’s no problem,” she replied, “I’m still not used to not having the twins around, so I quite look forward to the school run.”
She said goodbye to each of her children and headed to the Ministry. At one point in time, her job had been one of the best things to happen to her; she had enjoyed rallying around causes that she wanted to make changes in. After Draco had started losing his memory, she found that the passion that had once driven her had burnt out. She wanted to focus on getting her husband better when she realised that was most likely never going to happen; she hoped that the fire would return, but it never had.
She would often visit Draco during her lunch hour; he no longer knew who she was or who he was either. He hadn’t worsened in the past few months, but then, could it get much worse than not knowing who you were? His hospital room was barely even personal these days. Healers had to take out all photographs and mirrors, as he no longer knew who was staring back at him. He had broken a fair few mirrors over the past few months until the healers had decided enough was enough.
She liked it most when he slept, for in his sleep, he looked no different. There were no frown lines marring his forehead as he desperately tried to remember something that was no longer there. She would clutch at his hand and pretend just for a short while that everything was okay, that the pair’s hands had come together as they both slept. It was something that had happened to them on occasion. The pair had always laughed about it. Draco had said something about them always finding one another, even in their semi-unconsciousness.
She had never planned for a life without Draco in it, and she found that even after all these years, she still could not get used to it.
The irony wasn’t lost on her that the people she had loved the most she had all lost to shattered memories. First with her parents after discovering her obliviate spell was irreversible, and now with Draco and the mysterious curse that had presented not too long after his thirty-third Birthday.
When she returned home that day, she found that Scorpius’s shoebox had been smashed in, and Theo was desperately trying to get her son out of his room.
“What’s going on?” She asked.
“Granger, thank Merlin,” he breathed when he saw her, “I have no idea; he wouldn’t speak to either Lyra nor me on the walk home, and as soon as he got in, he stomped on the box and ran straight upstairs, locking his room.”
“Does Lyra know anything?”
“NO,” she called from a room a little further down the hall.
“Right,” Hermione sighed before tapping quietly a few times on her son’s door, “Scorp, it’s me.”
“GO AWAY,” he called, “I WANT EVERYONE TO LEAVE ME ALONE.”
“What’s happened?” She asked, “you can tell me.”
“YOU DON’T UNDERSTAND,” he called, “NO ONE EVER UNDERSTANDS.”
“Scorp,” she tried again, “let me in.”
“NO.” He replied, “LEAVE ME ALONE.”
She sighed and turned to Theo, “thank you for looking after them both. You can go home to your own family now.”
He shook his head, “but-“
She smiled at him, “Come on, Harry, James, and Albus will be waiting for you.”
“Gra-“
“Honestly, Theo,” she replied, cutting him off again, “it’s fine. Thank you again but I can take it from here."
He looked as if he were about to protest, but he nodded and walked over to the staircase, descending the stairs two at a time. She heard the Floo go off, and then he was gone.
“Scorp,” she tried again, “Uncle Theo’s gone it’s just me now.”
He didn’t respond, “we can talk like this if you’d prefer.”
He didn’t respond again, so she thought of things she could say, “your Father’s favourite colour is blue, not dark blue but light blue, similar to the colour of the sky.”
“His favourite muggle food is pizza; he says wizards just can’t get it quite right.”
She heard the quiet footsteps of her daughter, most likely listening in, wanting to know more about the man she hardly talked about, the man she had never come to know as her Father. It suddenly dawned on her how unfair she had been on both of them. It may hurt her to talk about him, but it was important that she did. His children deserved to know everything about him; they deserved to understand what type of man he was before his memory started to dwindle down to nothing.
“He loves watching the sunrise, and his favourite season is winter. He hates it when it’s too hot. He always moans.”
“He’s a sweet person; chocolate, pies, anything he can get his hands on; I’m surprised his teeth haven’t gone rotten from the amount he’s eaten over the years.”
She heard the door click, and a blonde head appeared through the crack, “but he thought muggle jellybeans were the best, far better than Bott’s every flavour bean.”
She nodded remembering it all over again herself, “That’s right, his favourites are the green.”
It didn’t go unnoticed by her that her son’s eyes were red and puffy, “they laughed,” Scorpius told her, “they laughed at my memory, laughed that my favourite memory was from my Dad who doesn’t know who I am.”
She shook her head, “he does know you, Scorpius,-“
“He just can’t remember,” he cut in, nodding, “that’s what I told them, but they said that only old people get Alzheimer’s. What is that?”
Hermione shook her head, “it’s a muggle disease,” she sighed, “you don’t have to be old to lose your memory.”
“Will I lose my memory?” Lyra suddenly asked, appearing at her side, “like Dad has?”
Hermione shook her head, “no, you won’t. Your Father’s memory is because he was cursed during the war, and they can’t find a cure.”
They both nodded, “Just because your Dad cannot remember you doesn’t mean he does not love you.” She looked at her son and smiled at him, “you know he read so many books about pregnancy when he found out I was expecting you, Scorp he was determined to know everything there was to know.” She turned to Lyra, “and he couldn’t believe we were having a girl when he found out about you, Lyra. There hadn’t been a girl born into the Malfoy line for generations.”
They both nodded again, “he does love you,” she assured them both; she tapped the side of her head and then her heart, “it’s in there somewhere; it’s just a little lost, but it’s not gone, it will never be gone.”
The years continued on just as the three of them. It was strange the longer time went on, the less Lyra seemed to want to know, and yet it was the opposite with Scorpius.
He asked her questions, which were sometimes uncomfortable, especially regarding the war and the role his Father had played in it. He knew the role that she played; it was only fair that he knew his Father’s too, so she was always honest in telling him about the scared boy from his youth who turned into the man she fell in love with.
He started accompanying her to visits again after a while; Lyra would come on the odd occasion, too. She liked having them both there; she found there was more to talk about when two people accompanied her.
There was a knock on Scorpius’s door, “come in,” he yelled.
“Are you going with Mum to visit today?”
“Yeah,” he nodded, “why?”
“I just don’t think Mums up to it.”
Scorpius nodded, “I’ll just go then. Do you want to come?”
She shook her head, “not today. I think I’ll just stay with Mum.”
Scorpius nodded, “if you change my mind-“
“I won’t,” she assured him, “I have no idea why you like going there so much. I find it rather sad that I’m staring at my Dad, a man who will never know me.”
“He can’t help it La.”
“I know,” she nodded, “but it doesn’t make it any easier. I don’t have anything to remind me of him either.”
“I’m sorry,” he replied, “I wish you did.”
She shrugged, “I’ve made peace with it, I suppose.” She rolled her eyes and gave him a small smile, “you know, I even forced myself to like jellybeans just to have something in common with him.”
Scorpius laughed, “I think I may have done that too. What’s your favourite flavour?”
“I like the pink ones,” she shrugged.
That was the day Scorpius took over from Sunday visiting; sometimes Lyra would accompany him, and sometimes she wouldn’t. He found he didn’t mind if she was there or not, and he liked knowing his Mum didn’t have to go every single day. He even had special permission to leave on Sundays from Hogwarts, as did Lyra. He found that it was never hard to visit him, even though they had the same conversations week in and week out.
“Hello,” Scorpius said, “I’m Scorpius.”
“Hello,” Draco nodded, “I’m,” he pointed to himself, and Scorpius watched as his jaw clenched and unclenched. He desperately tried to remember who he was and where he had come from. He looked down at his hands as if trying to remember what he had to do with them.
Scorpius shook his head, “your name doesn’t matter.”
Draco nodded and looked away as if he was ashamed; Scorpius then took the spare seat next to his Father and looked at him. He looked old suddenly, his memory loss ageing him far more than his biological clock.
“Have you been here before?” He asked.
Scorpius shook his head, “no.”
Draco nodded.
Scorpius then dug into his robe pockets and fished out a bag of rumpled jellybeans; he opened them up before leaning closer and offering one to his Father.
“What are they?” He asked.
“Jellybeans,” Scorpius replied, “they’re tasty. Why don’t you give them a try.”
He eyed the bag suspiciously before he slowly leant forward and put his hand in. He picked one out and stared at it for a few seconds, wondering whether it was safe for consumption or not. He’d always pick a green one. Funny enough, it seemed his hand remembered something his brain had long forgotten.
He held it up to the light and inspected the strange transparency of the green-coloured bean before dropping it into his mouth and chewing it over a few times.
His face turned into a frown, “it’s rather chewy.”
Scorpius nodded, laughing, “but tasty?”
He nodded in agreement, and a slight smile formed on his face, “you know, I think I might have had it before. The taste is familiar.”
“Really?” Scorpius asked. They had had the same conversation over and over again for years now, but for some reason, hearing him say that he remembered the taste never seemed to get old.
He enjoyed watching just the glimpse of something pass over his face, as if he might remember something, even if it was just for a few short seconds.
Scorpius knew he would be happy to visit forever if it meant he could share this one same memory with his Father over and over again.
He nodded, “may I have another?”
Scorpius smiled and pushed the packet into his hands, “of course you can, help yourself.”
His Father started eating them one after another. He stopped and went to hand them back over, but Scorpius shook his head, “I’ll be back next week, and I’ll bring you some more.”
“Really? But you don’t even know me.”
He shook his head, “anyone who likes jellybeans is my type of person.”
They sat there silently for a while as he happily chewed and chomped, eating his way through the packet.
“You know, remind me of someone,” Draco said, turning to him and inspecting him from his seat.
“Really?” Scorpius replied.
“Yeah,” he nodded, “although I’m not sure who.”
“Perhaps I have one of those faces,” Scorpius replied.
Draco shook his head, “it’s more than that.”
His Father’s smile grew then; it morphed into a large, carefree one that lit up his face, reminding him of the ones he could only just about still remember. He was suddenly back to being a tiny teeny little boy who would sit on his Father’s knee and smile up at him as he ruffled his hair.
The response was small, the action barely much of anything, really.
It was enough.