Disclaimer: *sings* I own NOTHINGGGGGGGGG.

A/N: I love this song this was named after. 'Nuff said.

Nope, but seriously, I couldn't help but feel I needed to write this. Even though it is 11:37 PM.

Smitty.

"Mione?" questioned the shaggy raven-haired boy sitting on the plush cream armchair in the living area of the cozy apartment.

"Yes, Harry?" she answered from her position at his feet, her back resting against his legs as she perused Pride and Prejudice for what was sure to have been the hundredth time.

"How long have we known each other?" Harry queried.

Hermione swiveled on her bottom so that she was facing him. Tilting her head up, she did a few quick calculations.

"Well, we are 23, yes?" When Harry nodded in the affirmative, she continued. "We've known each other since we were 11, so that would mean we've known each other for twelve years."

"Hmmm," Harry murmured. "It feels like we've known each other for way longer. Forever, even."

Hermione merely nodded and resumed her previous position, her head now resting next to Harry's feet on the comfortable chaise sofa.

She couldn't help but agree with him, although forever didn't seem long enough to her.

She suddenly felt the movement of Harry's bulk on the lounge and turned around to see his eyes widening at an alarming pace and watch his mouth form a silent "SHIT."

He stood up on the armchair, wobbled a bit, then jumped over the back of the chair. She watched as he raced into his bedroom faster than the speed of light.

She glanced at her watch, 7:30 – he had an hour until he had to meet his date at the newly refurbished Three Broomsticks.

She sighed, heaving herself off the floor in time for his, "Hermione?"

She knew what would happen now. He would ask her for her opinion on what he should wear, get him to fix his tie and then shoo him out the door so he couldn't run away at the last moment.

Another whine emitted from his room. "Hermioneeee, what do I wear? Who knows what Cho will like… Stupid fashion designers and their stupid fashion." he muttered.

Ah, Cho Chang. Beautiful, smart and a great personality. She had it all, and when Harry had revealed that he was planning on asking her out on a date, Hermione couldn't have acted more convincingly that she was explicitly happy for his new relationship prospect.

To tell the truth, Hermione dreaded when Harry told her about his new dates.

Why? She loved him. Plain and simple, why should it be anything complex and difficult? Everything she felt about the Man-Who-Conquered summed up in three monosyllabic words.

"Wear the black dress pants and the blue shirt."

"Thanks. Now for the tie?"

"The black one should be fine, yeah?"

"Well, you're the expert, love." Her heart stuttered, even though she should be used to his pet names after twelve years of friendship and seven of loving him.

Yep, that's right. She'd loved him since fifth year. She scoffed at the prospect of loving Ron, how anyone thought she felt anything more than platonic affection for him was ridiculous…

Harry emerged from the room to her left looking handsome, as always, and she automatically moved forward to adjust the tie he had donned incorrectly.

As she did so, he smiled down at the brunette fussing over him like a mother, or a loving wife. His heart beat an unhealthy tattoo against his chest at the thought of Hermione as his wife, but he passed it off as a product of over-exertion. Stupid excuse? He knew that.

She smiled up at him. "All ready to go.."

He surveyed his surroundings intently, and grinned impishly when Hermione held out the wallet he had been subtly looking for. He crossed to the door after giving her a chaste kiss on the cheek that sent tingles to her toes, and waved to her as he strode briskly out of sight.

Hermione sunk down onto the couch and put her head in her hands. Putting up the supportive best friend and roommate act was wearing her out. It took so much energy to pretend you weren't in love with someone you were with almost every second of every day.

She laid her sore body down onto the two-seater, which was – thankfully – big enough to fit her body from head to toe. She closed her eyes and drifted off into what she wanted to be a peaceful slumber.

However, what she wanted was usually far from what she got. Recently, when she was alone in the apartment – if Harry was on a date or something to that effect – she would have nightmares. Nightmares about the Second War – or, more specifically, Harry's death.

Tonight she was alone, and she knew that the nightmares would come as equally terrifying and heart-breaking as the ones before.

A flash of green light whizzed past her head with frightening speed. She dodged it swiftly and nimbly, before halting in front of a masked figure. A Death Eater, with their wand outstretched, walked towards her and muttered half-heartedly, "Avada-"

She scrunched her eyes up, waiting for the last word to be uttered and her fate to be sealed, but she neither felt nor heard anything.

Instead, she saw the remnants of a red light as the spell cast towards the Death Eater hit them square in the chest and she turned to see Harry smile quickly before he disappeared from her sight.

She felt an odd sense of déjà vu as she looked down and saw Harry sprawled on the ground, his eyes blank and empty.

What felt like an eternity passed before she could comprehend what she was seeing, and upon the realization that the man she loved had been killed, she crumpled beside his motionless form and shook his shoulders vigorously.

"Harry. Come on, Harry. Wake up!" she wailed. "I love you, you have to wake up!"

Her heart-wrenching sobs grew louder and drew attention from everyone around them, until a pair of large, warm hands wrapped themselves around her and gently pulled her away.

"Hermione… Hermione," a voice whispered. "Wake up, love. Come on, wake up."

Harry couldn't have been less pleased about the outcome of his date with Cho. They had both arrived at the Three Broomsticks at roughly 8:25, which gave them plenty of time to get seated.

The date was fine for the first few minutes, until a young woman and her boyfriend sauntered up to their table to ask Cho for an autograph. She wasn't the wizarding world's most famous designer for nothing, you know.

Anyway, as Harry observed the scene playing out before him, he noticed Cho's subtle flirtatious glances towards the boy and the way the boy returned them with hidden fervor.

When the couple meandered away, finally, Cho began to discuss her business.

Now, any man would know that the male specimen's idea of the perfect date does not include a discussion on the pros and cons of using silk and lace trimming on red lycra jumpsuit collars. However, Cho obviously did not.

Harry shuddered.

Fortunately, Cho received an urgent call from her sister, who was going into labour, and they had to cut the date short. Harry almost jumped for joy, but it was short-lived after the waiter delivered the bill.

He had promptly paid and walked as fast as possible away from the scene of the crime.

And now, here he was, about to open his door and walk in to the comfort of his home.

He opened the door, and sighed contentedly. There's no place like home.

That is, there's no place like home until you notice the figure sleeping on the lounge, thrashing around and whimpering.

"Hermione." he thought.

Rushing to her side, he knelt down beside her head. He could barely make out the words she was whispering painfully into the darkness. He wondered fleetingly what she could be dreaming about, before lifting the upper part of her body up off the lounge and sat in its place. Cradling her body like a child, he whispered, "Hermione… Hermione. Wake up, love. Come on, wake up."

Hermione felt her eyes flutter open and it took her a few seconds to get her bearings and realize that she was being held close to a very warm body.

She stared into the bottle-green, sparkling eyes and gasped.

"Oh, God. What did I say in my sleep? What did he hear?"

Jumping up as quickly as possible, she laughed almost hysterically and said, "Harry! What are you doing home so early? I thought Cho would have captivated you for another few hours, surely!"

Harry sat there dumbfounded. A few moments passed where Hermione was standing there, chest heaving from the effort of talking so quickly, and Harry looking at her like she had grown a second head from her bellybutton and started dancing around a Mexican hat.

Hermione broke the silence. "Well? How was the date?"

Harry shook his head. "Didn't go so well, we had to cut it short." He patted the space next to him and when Hermione sighed and sat down, he said, "Are you okay?"

A nervous, almost manic giggle escaped her. "Why would you think otherwise, Harry?"

"Maybe because when I walked in you were thrashing and writhing around in your sleep, and then when I woke you up you had tears streaming down your face and you were shaking." he said, rather bluntly.

Hermione's eyes widened and she retorted shakily, "Well, I can't really remember it that well. It mustn't have been that bad if I can't remember it, right?" She was surprised at how easily and fluidly the lies spilled from her lips.

"Uh, yeah, sure. Whatever."

Harry stood up and walked solemnly into his room.

"I'm her best friend, am I not? How can she act like nothing is wrong, when it is so blatantly obvious that there is? Why doesn't she think that she can talk to me about anything? We killed Voldemort for crying out loud! How can she think that she can't trust me after that?" he mused. He suddenly felt depressed for some odd reason.

By this time, he had situated himself on his bed, and was on his back staring at the ceiling. He only sat up when he felt the pressure of a second person on his mattress. He raised himself up onto his elbows, and upon seeing the curly-haired brunette sitting next to him, collapsed back onto his back and placed his forearm over his eyes.

"Harry?"

He grunted in reply.

She continued. "Are you alright? You don't have to answer me, but it would be nice if you did. I am your best friend, yeah? So you can tell me anything."

Harry mumbled something under his breath that Hermione didn't catch, so she asked, "Sorry, what?"

He took a deep breath. "I said: Exactly, so why don't you tell me anything?"

"It's different…?" She meant it as a concrete statement, but his proximity and the desperation in his hypnotizing eyes shook her to the core, and it came out as a question – a shaky one, at that.

Harry stood up, fury blazing in his eyes and turning them a dark green – almost black. "No, Hermione. No, it's not. It's exactly the same, and you don't get it!"

Hermione stood up too, and cautiously moved over to where he was now standing, head and arms resting on the fireplace mantle. Placing a cautious hand on his back, and ignoring the spasms of fire running down her fingertips and through her arm, she rubbed her hand in soothing circles.

He shrugged it off, and missed the disappointed and hurt expression that marred her features. He missed the salty tears that welled up incessantly in her eyes and he missed the silent sob that racked her body.

He paid no attention to her when she didn't try to replace the hand, and tried to figure out why he, all of a sudden, missed the comforting pattern Hermione's hands gave and the warmth she exuded.

He expected her to have returned to sitting down on his bed, and expected her to have been waiting for him, ready to comfort him when he sat down beside her.

But, when he finally turned around, she was gone.