Misty Water-Colored Memories.

Disclaimer:

None of the characters are mine. Why would I write a fanfic about my own creation? That’s just silly. Wouldn’t I have instead written seven novels about a boy named Severus and his conquest of the evil Dark Lord with a soppy fairy tale ending? The books are not about Severus, you say, they’re about Harry? Then it’s a good thing I am not J.K., never wrote any of them.

A.N.: Thanks to my reviewers for their encouragement. Thank you for reading.

Beta acknowledgment: Many thanks to Writermerrin for her hard work.

Rose found her aunt in the kitchen, preparing for dinner.

“Hey, Rosie, would you be a doll and help me with the potatoes?” she asked the girl.

“Not that I ever heard of potato-peeling dolls, but I will always help you anyway, Aunt Ginny.”

“Ha-ha! Smarty.”

“What are you making?”

“Shepherd's pie. Here, take them. Uh-uh! Start peeling in the Muggle way. You go to school now, you know the rule of no magic outside Hogwarts.”

“I don’t like the Muggle way,” Rose complained about the method, even though she followed her aunt’s direction.

“Why?”

“I just don’t.”

“Is it because of your dad? Sweetie, you can't go on blaming an entire race for an accident. It could have happened to anybody, any given day. Awful, sad and unjust things happen to good people, too—it's called life, which is hardly ever fair, if at all. ”

“What is it you want to talk about, Aunt Gin? Life? Dad? Fairness?" Her tone was impassive and clipped.

“Who said I want to talk about anything in particular? We could talk about anything you like as we cook. That’s what families do, they talk, they catch up….”

“What did Mum send you up to ask me?”

“Why do you think she would send me up? I can talk to my niece anytime I want, thank you very much.”

Rose gave her aunt the look that told Ginny that she wasn’t fooled. Ginny sighed. “Oh, well, it wasn’t your mum; it was your Uncle Harry. He was worried about you receiving gifts from the Malfoys.”

“Mum always whines about anything and everything I do or feel, and that she sent Uncle Nev… I mean Professor Longbottom to 'investigate' might have been my clue. But how did Uncle Harry know that the gift was from Scorpius? Oh, the owl!”

“Yes, the owl. Your mum loves you. Don’t use anything of the Malfoys’ before having one of us check it out for Dark magic. His grandfather slipped me a diary with Voldemort’s soul inside it when I was your age. I almost died, and the racket the diary caused could be written as a novel. Harry saved the day, of course, and your mum and dad helped.”

"Yeah, I know that story. Dad did most of the helping, Mum was a cat; both of them told us. Dad’s versions were funnier though.” The edgy rudeness veiled in cold sarcasm had left Rose, leaving an eleven-year-old child with fond memories of her lost father in its wake.

Ginny smiled sadly, remembering how goofy her brother had been. She used to pick on him for that, and now she wished she hadn’t. She wished he would come back and be goofy again. Her brothers were like parts of her being, and it felt like she had lost two of the most vital parts of her by losing two of them. She could not imagine how it was for these two little kids. She could not imagine what would happen to her kids if Harry ever….

Rose broke the sudden silence. “Scorpius is not his granddad. He's in my year. He's goo… well, he is okay.” Rose broke the sudden silence.

“I hope for your sake he is, if you are going to be friends with him.” Ginny sounded thoughtful.

“He’s arrogant, though—full of himself."

“Didn’t you see the dictionary? That’s what Malfoy means!”

“Who’s smarty now?”

“Peel your potatoes," Ginny scolded mockingly, and Rose smiled smugly, knowing she had won the round.

SSSSSS

Something else was missing. Often he could hear a voice in his sleep... Granger’s voice. Why the girl insisted on chattering near him, he could not fathom. Perhaps he had died and gone to Hell, and this was his punishment for having been an unfair teacher to all those children. What else would listening to the voice of the one student who annoyed him most—with her insufferable showing off by parroting out her bookish knowledge—mean?

Lately, he had heard it continuously. If he could only open his eyes to know where he was! Is it my classroom? Am I confined to my most hated place? One would think she is reading from books, the way she cites fact after fact. He would consider it cheating if anyone did that in his presence, in his classroom. If only I could manage to take away a few points from Gryffindor! Then again, perhaps he should feel thankful that whoever was controlling his punishment hadn’t made him award points to that House; that could really be hurtful.

Shouldn’t Longbottom and Potter be included, too, if it is my Hell? He would think so from his experience with them. Sometimes, he could have sworn he’d heard them, too. Maybe the underworld had decided on Granger because she had all those books to vex him eternally. She could go on and on and on....

That made sense. He hadn’t paid any attention to what she was saying. Sometimes it would seem like she was pleading for something, but he'd not care. At least he no longer felt as vacant with all this chattering.

Yes, this is Hell. Otherwise he would have met Lily again. She’s not here, Granger is.

Then suddenly all became very quiet, like it had been before. He couldn’t hear Granger anymore. Was she dead, too? Was she suffering her Hell by reading endlessly to him? Was that the reason she was begging something of him? He regretted slightly not listening to her plea.

Probably she had moved on. He didn’t think a girl like her would at all be 'hell-material' if she hadn’t bothered him so much in his life. Longbottom or Potter could not read the way she did, so it would be easier to ignore them and sleep in peace again.

Even though Granger’s constant voice had irritated him out of his peaceful sleep, he supposed he somewhat missed it. He could not call it memory; he didn’t know what to call it, and it seemed to be gone, too. Hmm, he would do what he had meant to do all along… he would sleep some more.

HHHHHH

“Well, it's been three hours since we did it. Don’t you think he would have shown any sign by now if it’s working?” asked one of the faces that were hunched over a bed looking intently at an unmoving figure whose face matched the sheet on the hospital bed. There was no change in the patient’s condition; they'd checked magically and manually.

“Maybe he’s adjusting to it. He was without them for too long. I think I'll keep a watch on him all night. You guys go back home to your families,” the other man told them.

“I could stay," the woman said gingerly. She really did not want to watch another of her failures all night long.

“No, it’s all right. I'll let you know if I see any change in his condition,” Neville replied.

“I hoped it would work. It seemed like the perfect solution,” Harry complained.

“We'll figure something out. I am not giving up on him already,” Neville said. The war had changed him, made him bold, determined and some what obsessive—at least in this case.

“I was wrong to think I could bring him back by giving him what he cherished most. Maybe it doesn’t matter how much I... we want him to be alive; it is only through his wish that he can come back. Maybe it’s not the memory he wanted, maybe it was the love behind it,” Hermione said sadly.

“Life is not a fairy tale, Hermione. There is no true love to kiss one back to life from a deathly sleep. Let’s go home.” Harry let Hermione precede him and followed, after saying goodbye to Neville. He whispered only for Hermione’s hearing, "Besides, I don’t have the stone anymore. I can’t bring Mum back anyway, neither do I like the idea of my mother kissing Snape. It had to be something else—or someone else—if your newest theory is true.”