A/N: (laughs nervously)… err… I know I shouldn't. I really shouldn't have written this. But alas, I did. I failed in my duties and if anyone who reads my other stories is reading this and knows how far behind on updates I am…err… talk to me, and err… persuade me. Please.

Disclaimer: Oh yeah… I own Harry Potter like I inherited the internet.

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Scattered Pieces

Chapter One:
The Unknown Piece

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She had the last piece of him on this earth, due to a careless mistake.

Now she has to pick up the rest of the pieces left behind and leave some of her own.

All she knows is that this piece of him will change everything.

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Blood. Sweat. Tears.

Her legs pounded with determination as she continued to push herself beyond her limit. Around and around again, there was no stopping her. Her head was clear and she preferred to keep it that way and for once in her life, she didn't want to think.

The run was sending endorphins around her body but none were reaching her aching heart. She didn't want to feel anymore. She wanted to be numb under the sun-filled spring skies. She only wanted to push a bit further so that nothing could get her in this state.

Adrenalin pumped throughout her petite frame, despite the tears that were trying to emerge from her chocolate brown eyes. Everything was different now. Everything had changed and the world was definitely altered. The war was over but the aftershock was far from it.

A sob was caught in her chest at the very thought of the war. She swallowed it down, taking deep long breaths as she continued to run around once again. Her muscles ached from the sudden constant long-distance running and she wanted to stop but she couldn't stop herself. She could feel the beads of sweat run from her forehead down her face, trying to cool her down along with the cool air, but she ignored them. She ignored all signs of stopping that her body was urgently trying to send.

Pain hit her in the side, just below her ribs. The sudden stitch caused her to collapse on her seventh lap, right at the edge of the water. She laid there, the tangles of her hair fanned out around her. Her breathing was shallow and ragged. She could feel a sob mix in with her breathing and she couldn't help but let the lingering tears unite with the sweat that poured down her face.

She was a mess. After all that had happened: all the pain, the horror, the grief that everyone had to endure, this was a time to be joyous. Celebrate new life… a second chance. But not everyone would get that. And one person in mind stood out as one that would never get that chance.

What was she thinking when they saw each other that night? That when this stupid war was over, they would get together? That he would choose her like she had chosen him? They would continue from where they left off? What was she thinking? None of those would ever come true… especially not now.

The very thought of him was almost unbearable for her. For years, a silly school-girl crush on him. For years, nothing but taunting and outbursts. Yet that was exactly that made their night together burn with so much passion. All these years of locked up feelings came out when her lips met his. She cried as she traced her lips as if she could still feel their soft touch upon hers.

The saddest thing was not that she would never see him again, not that they would have any future together; but that no one will ever know. No one could ever know. No one should know.

She rolled over, unable to breath from her hard sobbing. A jerk in her stomach came with a heavy breath, and caused her to vomit everything that she had eaten that morning for breakfast. She began to splutter as everything came up from the very pit of her stomach. She could barely control it as it all came back up causing her to feel faint and weak. With a few after-gags and coughs, she slowly moved closer to the water.

She sat up properly and cupped the water with her hands; bringing it to her lips and washing the taste out of her mouth before spitting it back out. She was careful not to drink the water, not knowing if it was safe to drink. She began to wash her face, feeling refreshed as the water hit her skin.

"Are you OK, Hermione?" a familiar voice from behind whispered gently.

"I'm fine, Neville," she answered back, splashing more cool water on her already tear-stained and sweaty face. "I just needed to run."

"You've been doing a lot of that recently. Harry and the Weasleys are worried about you, you know?"

"Oh really?" she murmured. She had been avoiding them for some time now, telling others that she was giving them space for overcoming a traumatic event. "Did… did they say anything specifically?"

"Not really. Just that they haven't seen you in a while. I bet Ron misses you…" Neville trailed off, knowing he had said too much.

"Ronald? Why would he miss me?" Hermione asked bemused.

"Well… you are his girlfriend…"

Hermione barked out a laugh, "is that what he's been telling you? That I'm his girlfriend?"

"Well… no…" Neville looked a little uncomfortable with the conversation. "But you kissed, right? So doesn't that mean you're dating?"

She didn't know what had possessed her to kiss Ron during the Battle. Maybe it was because of all the adrenaline from the fighting. Maybe it was because he had barely left her side for the last few days prior. Maybe it was because it was about doing something for the last time. Maybe it was simply because he was there. Hermione wasn't sure the reason why she did it, but she had been avoiding Ron like the plague ever since. She didn't really want to divulge into it, like she was sure he wanted to.

"A kiss doesn't necessarily mean anything, Neville. But yes, we did. As for the dating part, I never agreed to anything, not that he's actually asked. But is he really gloating to all you boys about the kiss or something?" she raised an eyebrow at him.

"No," he admitted truthfully. "I overheard Harry asking Ron about it the other night. I don't think either of them were being menacing or anything."

Hermione gave him a small smile, "don't worry, Neville. I believe you." He seemed to relax a bit more after that. "How is everyone?" she asked, sincerely wanting to know the answer.

"Pretty shaken up. I mean, it was a pretty big war," Neville said, sitting down on a near-by rock. "Harry's still holed up in the dormitory… do you think he's alright?"

After he had defeated Voldemort, Harry had excused himself to get some sleep in his former dormitory; and there he had stayed ever since. Hermione and Ron had gone up to see him a few times, try and coax him out of hiding but the toll of the war was evident. He simply looked exhausted as they all felt, and he didn't seem any lighter now his biggest burden was off his shoulders. He had slept through most of the next few days that followed the war, and now almost a week afterwards, he didn't seem much better.

"I think he's coping the best he can," Hermione answered honestly. She felt sad at the thought of her best friend keeping his grief all to himself, but that's how Harry was. He was always cautious to let anyone in, she was perhaps the same way. However, unlike Harry, she found sleep almost impossible. Every noise in the night still startled her, and her mind kept flashing images of death, causing a sickly feeling in her gut.

Neville didn't look comforted by this thought. "The Weasleys are starting to worry about him, I know. They won't say it, they've got other things on their minds but you can tell they're concerned."

"How are the Weasleys?" she asked, latching on to the name change.

"Ron's mum isn't doing too well," Neville responded as he looked at the ground, suddenly finding it fascinating, "she says she's ok about Fred's death, saying that he knew what he was getting himself into but it's clear that she's just putting on a brave face for Ron and Ginny and the others. Can't blame her, though. But she doesn't really let any one talk to her these days. But then again, what do you say to someone who lost one of their children?"

"That's understandable that she doesn't want to talk to anyone. It's all apart of grieving, I suppose," said Hermione, looking over the lake where the Giant Squid was lazily skimming the top of the water.

"Is that what you've been doing? Grieving?"

Hermione looked at him with a blanched expression. "What- what makes you think that?"

"You've been running a lot recently," Neville shrugged.

"So?"

"So… you just seem like you don't really want to talk to anyone. Apparently you don't come to dinner and anytime anyone tries to talk to you, you go off for a run. I'm surprised you haven't already run off right now, talking to me."

Hermione stared back over the water, fighting back the sudden tears in her eyes. She wasn't starving herself; she had her food delivered to her by the house-elves and talking meant thinking, which was something the running gave her an escape from. But a part of her was grateful for this so that she could keep away from Ginny and her family. She could barely look them in the eye anymore…

"And you've been running a dangerous amount you know?" Neville's voice told her and interrupted her thoughts. Hermione shot him a dirty glare. "Well… you are! You never ran this much before and all of a sudden it's nothing but running with you."

"How do you know I didn't run in the muggle world?"

"Well… why would you stop just because you're in the wizarding world? It wouldn't make sense," Neville pointed out. "And even so, if you keep this up, you're going to make yourself sick."

"No, I'm…" at that moment, much to her surprise and horror, a sudden wave of nausea washed right over her, causing her to throw-up whatever was left (if there was anything left that is) in front of Neville. "Sorry," she apologized wiping her mouth with the back of her hand.

Neville looked a little disgruntled by the sight, "that's exactly what I mean. You are making yourself sick, Hermione."

"I'm fine Neville," she insisted. "When you run without much experience, your body has to get rid of the toxins in your body. And the best way to do that is… well…" she motioned to the small puddle of sick in front of her.

"If you say so," he said, unconvinced.

"What time is it?" she asked, changing the subject.

"Um… almost noon."

"Oh really? I have to go then…"

"Go where?" he frowned.

"To the dormitories. I better take a shower before leaving."

"Leaving?"

"Well… I have to get my parents back from Australia. I got the Ministry letter yesterday, they found my parents in Sydney. I have to go get them and reverse the memory charm," she explained to him. As a reward for their efforts, the Golden Trio were told that they would be allowed to ask the Ministry of Magic of any single favour within reason. Hermione had put hers to use straight away, asking for help to locate her parents so that she could bring them home once more.

Neville frowned at her, looking concerned for his friend. "Hermione, what about the funerals?"

She knew how it sounded. There were dozens of funerals to attend in coming days, to give the fallen the worthy send-off that they deserved, and to give the grieving friends and families an outlet to pay their respects. To bail out before what should be an entire week or two of mourning, seemed incredibly callous.

"If I wait much longer," Hermione began with a sigh, "my parents' memories will be permanently altered. If everything goes smoothly I should be back in… in time."

"Oh… right." He sounded doubtful, and Hermione couldn't blame him; she was a flight risk.

"I'll be back," she vowed. "If I don't say goodbye, tell the others I do, will you? I'll send an owl when I get there."

"Are you taking a portkey?"

"No," she shook her head. "The Ministry has enough on their plates without organising a portkey for me. I don't have time for the paperwork, really. I just… really need to see my mum and dad, you know?"

"I understand," Neville said with the faintest smile. Hermione knew he would be one of the few who would understand a need to be with your own parents. "So how are you getting to Australia then?"

"Oh… um… I'm taking a plane to Sydney from London."

"A plane?"

"A muggle transport for travelling overseas."

"Oh," was all Neville could say.

"I better get going," Hermione said, trying to find her balance as she got up. She could feel the ache in her legs as her muscles protested to being in use again. "The Hogwarts Express will be leaving for London in an hour."

"Oh okay…" Neville began but Hermione already began to take off on a run to the castle.

She yelled over her shoulder, "Tell the others!" Hermione didn't hear a response as she pounded her legs once more in the direction of the castle. Just reaching the old structure, her legs gave in as a stitch returned to her side. She stopped and took deep breath, shocked that sudden tears were falling.

Hermione leaned against the stone wall, more tears merging from her eyes. Neville had said his name and now their night together was returning to her memories. The night still replayed itself in her mind and she didn't want to feel anymore. She wanted to be numb. She couldn't do this anymore. She had to give up that piece of her heart for her sanity…

She just had to.

A/N: I am NOT a runner. Far from that. But that is what I assume it would be like and why some people love it so much. But I do happen to know that people can throw-up whilst running… don't ask.

And no, this isn't a Neville/Hermione story. Neville was just there coz I expected the others to be in a grieving process of their own. And Neville probably was the nicest guy who didn't have the most to deal with straight after the war.

So anyways just like my other stories, DH compatible but not the epilogue.

Yes, I did post this one chapter before, and never pursued the rest of the story for… well, years. But the idea returned to me recently and has plagued my mind ever since, but I needed to rewrite this chapter before I could get on to the real story.

So what's everyone's opinion? I will not be giving up Say Something for this story, I promise you. I will do my best to maintain both stories to the best of my ability. I just really needed to get this story out of my mind and onto the page.

Review, review, review. Will love you forever if you did.

Infinite X's and O's,
Creative Touch
xxx