Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter

A/N: For Tigger101. Please review.

We're all haunted

He walked into a bar, his cloak pulled firmly over his head. Glancing around himself, Harry noticed the suspicious glances directed at him. He should have expected this. Everybody had become increasingly wary of hooded wizards and witches ever since the Battle over five years ago. It was perfectly reasonable, of course – the Ministry was still gathering up stray Death Eaters, and wasn't it just last week that a group of Death Eaters murdered three Muggles? Still, he thought. Being mistaken for a Death Eater was just marginally better than being known to be The Boy Who Lived

He strode over to the barman, ignoring the people who stared and muttered under their breath and slid into a seat.

"Butterbeer," he said, dropping a handful of coins down onto the table. The barman paused for a moment and nodded, disappearing behind the counter to retrieve the drink. He slammed the drink down, swiping the coins from the table and nodded testily, before returning to his cleaning. Harry shrugged and took a swig, glancing up momentarily as someone slid into the seat to him.

"Hermione?" he exclaimed. She looked at him blankly for a moment and he stared. She was pale, paler than he remembered her, and her curly hair was long and unkempt. Rubbing the bridge of her nose, she scrutinised him.

"Harry?" she asked, her voice hoarse and crackly.

He shrugged. "Long time no see, huh."

Hermione smiled and for a moment it was just like the old times, except they had five whole years and a couple of deaths between them. "Yeah," she breathed. "So what have you been up to?"

"Nothing interesting," he replied, because it was true. "What about you? Did you take S.P.E.W. anywhere?"

"No …" said Hermione with a ghost of a grin. "Been out the country – travelling."

"Oh," he said and their conversation halted.

There was so much between them, so much left unsaid – so much that he wanted to ask – but their relationship had changed so much that he wasn't sure what to ask. And by the looks of things, it was the same for her.

"Have you seen Mrs. Weasley?" she asked. Did you go visit Ron and Ginny's graves?

"No. I didn't think she'd want me there." No. I couldn't.

Hermione looked down at her hands. "I miss him, Harry," she said quietly. "I miss him too."

He shrugged once more, looking at his Butterbeer. "Yeah, well." He looked at her hand, cracked from some allergy and glanced away once more. The whispering behind him seemed to grow in intensity to his ears, and he closed his eyes momentarily, trying to will it all away.

"I miss you too," her voice was soft and reluctant.

He opened his eyes to look at her. "Yeah," he said, reaching out to rest his hand on top of hers. "There could have been an 'us' once, 'Mione."

Her eyes were wide and searching as she met his gaze. "Once," she repeated, closing her hand over his and clinging onto it tightly.

"Once," he said, his breath catching in his throat. He leant forward and kissed her on the cheek, as she sat perfectly still in her seat, memories glistening in her eyes. Gently disentangling his hand from hers, he stood up, leaving his half-empty tankard of Butterbeer on the table. "Once."

She looked up at him, a word half-formed on her lips, before she seemed to change her mind. "Yes," she said quietly. "Goodbye Harry."

He looked at her searchingly, committing her image to memory. Nodding, he pulled his cloak tighter around him and the hood firmly over his head. Turning, he stalked out of the bar, melting into the crowd on the street.

There were too many ghosts between them.