Hi guys! It's Zoey. This is the first story we posted, but I'm the only writer. I am in love with the Script (hence the penname), so I decided to do a bunch of HP fanfics with Script songs. This one is to Nothing. LOOK IT UP IF YOU HAVEN'T HEARD IT! ! I'll give you… ummm…well… virtual SUGAR! Yummy, yummy sugar (provided you review too)! Kendra will be editing for me, but this chapter isn't edited, so feel free to point out mistakes. Okay. Here is the first chapter of Scripted!

"Hey, mate. How are you?" asked Seamus nervously, clapping Harry on the back. It was the first time the young man had met his friends in months. The Boy Who Lived managed a weak smile.

"I'm fine."

"Look, Harry. She doesn't deserve you. You're much better off without her," intoned Dean. This comment irked Harry, but he was so…numb that he could only state monotonously,

"I wish I had died in the war. I wish I had never tried to get her. I'd have been better off."

"Look, chap, don't talk like that. Tell you what. Let's go down to the pub. I'll buy us all a round. Alright?" offered Ron. Harry tried to smile, but it was more of a grimace. The men, just four years out of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, made their way down to the Three Broomsticks, Harry in the back with his head down. They found a table in the corner and nodded to Madame Rosmerta. Neville got up to order the drinks and soon returned with five fire whiskeys, tossing the bill to Ron.

"This ought to help you forget that bird," he said, putting the drinks down. The five men silently downed the alcohol. Seamus ordered another round. This went on late into the night. Harry lost count at fifteen.

Despite the fact that he should have been completely blitzed, her face was clear in his mind. Those large, beautiful eyes, the way her hair fell in her face, he forgot nothing. He noticed that Seamus, Neville, Dean, and Ron had stopped drinking after about three rounds. They were now peering nervously at him.

"How d'you feel, mate?" asked Neville.

"I… really ought to get back to the Aurors' office."The other men sighed. They had accomplished nothing.

"Mate, I just want you to know that we'll be here for you," promised Dean. Seamus nodded and Neville clapped Harry on the back. The Chosen One managed a weak smile. The men one by one left until only Ron and Harry remained. Ron looked him straight in the eye.

"You're going to go after her." It wasn't a question- he was stating it. Harry felt the effects of the alcohol set in as he nodded.

"I don't want to see you get hurt, none of us do. Just… be careful, okay?" He gave Harry a quick glance and then left.

Harry sat down. I miss her, he thought, quite tipsy, She was so…. pretty. In a drunken stupor he lost himself in memories. He didn't realize how long he had been sitting there until Madame Rosmerta came up.

"Bar's closing, dear."

He stumbled out of the pub. Somehow he managed to make it to his flat before falling. Laboriously, he pulled himself up and made his way to the fireplace. He scooped up a fistful of the green powder and tossed it in for the 500th time. Before he had gotten nothing, but this time would be different. Drunkenly he slurred her name, just clear enough to get through to her. He heard her voice.

"I mean there's got to be someone- anyone waiting for me, right?" she questioned her friend, who Harry recognized but couldn't put a name to in his drunken state. Her friend looked at her rather coldly.

"There is no one waiting."

She seemed to have realized something and she sank to the ground, neither of the two women noticing the drunk man in the fireplace.

"What did I do? He- he loved me," she cried in despair.

"Yes," her friend agreed.

"He probably hates me now," she hiccupped.

"He couldn't hate you if he tried," her friend stated. It wasn't meant to be comforting, as she said it in an emotionless voice, yet despite the lack of emotion, the way she said it made it obvious that it was a fact that no one could question.

"What do I do?"

"You want advice? I can't fix this for you. You have to do that on your own," her friend said. Harry was becoming less drunk now and managed to put a name to the friend. Hermione. No wonder she was listening to her. Hermione was always right.

"I know. Thank you, Hermione," she said. "I… need to do something. I…miss him."

She walked out. The Floo powder went out and the flames in Harry's fireplace returned to gold. She missed me? he puzzled, But she… she hates me. She…told me.

Now, quite sober, he thought back to that fateful day.

6 Months Previously

Harry Potter, the Chosen One, the Boy Who Lived, was scared. Sure, he had faced certain death more times than he could count and had defeated the most feared dark wizard ever, but that was nothing compared to what he was going to do. He, Harry Potter, was going to propose.

The young man held the roses close to his body, nervously, as he saw her approaching. The velvet box with the ring that he had spent months searching for was heavy in his pocket. He was confident that he had found the right one. As she drew closer, he smiled at her and bent down to give her a hug. She pulled away. He looked confusedly down at her, but quickly brushed off any suspicion. He must have imagined it… right?

"Hallo, love," he smiled down at her.

"Hallo…Harry," she responded coolly. He was confused. He obviously hadn't been imagining her reluctance.

"Are you alright, dear?" he asked, nervous. Her eyes hardened.

"I'm fine." Her words were like a knife on frostbitten skin. Cold and unbelievably painful, despite the lack of malevolent words.

"Come on, darling. What's wrong?" he prodded.

"Nothing." They continued on like this until she snapped.

"Just tell me what's wrong, sweetheart," he solicited.

"What's wrong? You want to know what's wrong? Listen to me Potter, I'll tell you what's wrong. You always have to be perfect, right? Amazing Potter. The Boy Who Lived. When people hear my name, all they think is "Oh, Potter's girlfriend." NO. I. Am. Not. Just. Potter's. Freaking. Girlfriend. What have you done? Anytime you do something wrong, you expect me to kowtow and forgive because you're the "Chosen One." Oh, and a side note, we're "in love." You know what? I don't love you. I… I HATE YOU POTTER!" She threw the flowers at him and ran away. He just sat there looking at her retreating figure. Then the Boy Who Lived cried. For a while he felt nothing. Empty. Then the pain set in...

Harry still had the ring. He never left home without it, no matter how much it hurt. He lost himself in thoughts of the good times he had had with her, the time they had shared a broom, the time when he showed her the muggle world, the time she spilt her butterbeer on him when he told her in detail about the dragon in Gringotts.

Unable to stand it, he grabbed his cloak and went out of his flat. Maybe a walk shall help me clear my head, he thought. He went to a park near his flat. Thankfully it was empty. For some reason she couldn't get out of his head. She was everywhere. It hurt, and yet he wasn't sure if he wanted the pain to leave. It would hurt more to forget her. He suddenly heard a voice.

"Harry?" He turned. He saw the shaking form of a woman coming up to him.

It was Ginevra Weasley.

So what did you think? Please REVIEW. Or I will get Luna to set the Nargles on you!

~Zoey