"I'm only pretty sure, that I can't take anymore
Before you take a swing, I wonder
What are we fighting for?
When I say out loud, "I wanna get out of this"
I wonder, is there anything I'm gonna miss."
Harry sighed. It had now been two years since his graduation from Hogwarts, and he was now "happily" settled in a small flat in London. He had a good job, a nice home, and many friends. But still, something was missing.
"I wonder how it's gonna be, when you don't know me,
How's it gonna be, when you're sure I'm not there?
In another flat far across London, Hermione Granger paced her room. She shook her head. So many things we didn't finish, So many things left unsaid She sat down on her bed. God, why did it have to end that way? She couldn't go on this way, living regretfully in the past. She had to move on. But it's so hard!
How's it gonna be, when there's no one left to talk to,
Between you and me, cause I don't care, How's it gonna be?
Harry walked into his living room. On the highest shelf in the corner was a small wooden picture frame. It had obviously been left alone up there for quite awhile, for the frame was face down and covered with dust. Harry stood on a chair and slow picked up the photo. Under the glass was a wizard's picture of 3 young people, students. They were standing together with their arms around each other's shoulders, smiling and waving excitedly. So happy, so innocent.
Where we used to laugh there's a shouting match,
Sharp as a thumbnail scratch. A silence I can't ignore.
Like the hammock by the door where we spent time in,
Swings empty I don't see lightning like last fall
When it was always about to hit me.
Hermione was pacing again. She couldn't let it go, not yet. No, I can't given in. There's so much more to be said. She rubbed her forehead. She walked in to her large closet, and slowly began to search the shelves. There's still time
How's it gonna be, when it goes down?
How's it gonna, when you're not around
How's it gonna be, when you've found out there was nothing, between you and me, cause I don't care, how's it gonna be?
Harry sat down on his sofa, picture in hand. Hermione, Ron, and himself. The inseperable three. They'd been friends since their first year at Hogwarts. And here they were on graduation day. Hermione had received top grades and Ron had done well too. They were all extatic on that day, Harry could remember clearly. It was the last day of school, and starting the very next day they were out on their own. No more school, no more parents, no more Draco Malfoy. What could possible ruin all that? They had vowed to stick together, to keep in touch , even if they moved. No matter how busy their lives became, their old friends would always come first. Too bad not everyone meant it Harry thought bitterly.
Hermione finally found what she was looking for. The letter was faded now, a year and 1/2 in a closet box will be hard on any thing, she supposed. She hoped it was still readable. It was. The paper may have been worn, but the words were still readable. Tears slowly filled her eyes as she read on. How she missed her old companion. He had always been there, all but once. She began to cry bitterly.
There's only one way to finish this, to end it all . She took a deep breath, and reached for the phone.
Harry finally woke himself from his deep thoughts. He stared at the picture one last time. Then, knowing what he had to do, he walked slowly into the kitchen. Picking up the receiver, he slowly began to dial Hermione's number.
It had been over a year since Hermione had called Harry, but she still remembered his number. She could do this, just do it slow, one number at a time. She took a deep breath and placed the phone to her ear.
Busy
Harry slowly set down the phone. He hadn't called her in over a year, hadn't tried even once, and now, the one time he tries, she has to be on the phone with someone else. Probably talking to her new friends the nasty little corner of his mind sneered. Friends who have time for her, friends who care! "Oh shut up!" he yelled at himself. He stalked off to his room angrily.
Hermione collapsed onto the sofa. She didn't even care that the phone was off the hook. That horrible busy signal just kept coming and coming. It mocked her, rubbed salt in her already sore wounds. It was a constant reminder that her old friends were gone, too busy for little old Hermione. She walked to her room and cried herself to sleep. Well, he was always too busy for me anyway, too famous and perfect. It's not like calling him would have helped. He probably didn't even want to talk to me anyway
How's it gonna be?