#so so soft and sweet
Written for @drarrymicrofic with the prompt “blossom”.
Rated M + warning for memory loss.
“How did you get those scars?” he asks, green eyes narrowing as he runs his fingers all over you, as if mesmerised by the traces he left on his skin.
He may not remember, but you will never forget.
“Car accident,” you lie, but he doesn’t seem to believe you.
“Do you have more?” he asks, hands fumbling with your belt, trying to sneak into your trousers.
“The Healers said it’s a bad idea,” you remind him, gently pushing him away. The hurt in his eyes stings more than the dittany did on your wounds.
You know he’s been rejected most of his life. You promised him it would never happen again, not with you. You swore when you married him, and yet you’re hurting him.
“Right…” he mumbles, but you take his hands in yours and kiss them tenderly.
“We’ll get your memories back,” you whisper, trying to blink away the tears. “I promise, my love.”
You take him to Godric’s Hollow, but he stares at the graves as if they belonged to strangers.
You hold his hand as you walk down the Hogwarts corridors, hoping he will remember something, even the ugly sides of your.
You run down the hill where you got married, the wind in your hair as he looks so alive and laughs when you both stumble and end up in a tangle of limbs among the wildflowers and the grass. You kiss his lips, and they taste like lemonade and sunshine. You let him take you there, slow and feverish, his lips parted on a gasp as he sinks inside you, and he still doesn’t remember.
You take him to Tromso to see the Northern Lights, and he stares at the sky with the same awe and wonder as the first time.
You take him to Marrakech to get lost in the souk with him again.
“We used to travel a lot,” he notices as he hugs a koala in Australia, a delighted expression on his face.
“You’d never been anywhere,” you explain, “so I took you wherever you wanted.”
You scream as you zoom along the zipwire to see the gibbons in Thailand, and he turns to smile at you, so full of life and yet empty of memories of you.
“Want you,” he whispers against your skin in a Venetian calle, his hand sneaking under your t-shirt, thumbing at your scars. He loves them because he can’t remember he put them there, and you won’t tell him.
“I love you,” you confess, as if the matching rings on your fingers were not enough. “Always, even if you can’t remember me.”
He doesn’t say it back.
You take him everywhere. Machu Picchu, Grand Canyon, Paris.
He’s eating a cherry blossom ice-cream in Kyoto when it happens, and his green eyes widen.
The ice-cream lands on the floor with a splat, and his hands shake as they grab the front of your shirt, pulling you closer.
The memories come back, one by one, your awful past and his mingling together, finding a reason to belong.
“I love you,” he says, and you smile through the tears.
He’s back.
