It had ended six years ago. Today was the anniversary of the final battle. Cheery smiles, rounds of butter beer, and recounts of the battle seemed to fill every household, pub, and shop in the wizarding world. Even those who weren't a part of it made up elaborate stories of fighting next to 'the boy who lived' during the last seconds. The name Harry Potter was included in every sentence around the world. There were so many stories of the hero that wide-eyed children seemed to create him into some sort of God… an idol. All of them were Harry Potter as they played 'defeat the dark lord' with their friends as their parents looked on with approving glances. Victory day was a day of happiness; it served as a day of unity and remembrance.

Only, the real Harry Potter was not celebrating the day with his loved ones. The real Harry Potter was not at all happy during Victory Day. His well-disguised sadness during this particular day had slowly leaked with each passing anniversary. And as the sixth one arrived, his whole mask of cheerfulness had evaporated. No longer did he go along to the parties and dinners. No, the day seemed like a giant funeral to him. It wasn't only the literal death of his friends… his family. But the death of one particular friendship. One of Harry's most valued friendships, Ron Weasley. Ron had never come back after he left the tent more than 6 years ago. He had run off, forgetting Harry and Hermione with every cowardly footstep he to took, to search for the horcruxes alone. Harry had heard news that Ron returned to the Burrow, but most knew not to tell Harry more than that.

It had been a happy day for the media once they got word that the once golden trio had been corrupted. The snarky headlines reminding Harry of his ex- friend seemed to come up every anniversary. And it was this death of a friendship that kept Harry alone in his flat on the holiday…devoted to him.

His friends were out -- most likely getting incredibly drunk. He had urged them to go, Hermione practically begged for Harry to come along. But he couldn't go. Harry thought it would be wrong to be so happy on such a day. But... wasn't it wrong to gloat? A shadow of guilt came upon him as he continued to look outside his window. He'd been sitting on the cream colored chair for at least three hours now. Harry checked his watch. It was close to eleven. Hermione wouldn't be home for at least another two hours he thought.

Harry sighed. This was the only day he allows himself to remember. Tomorrow he would continue his life, but tonight… he would remember.

He barely registered the pop of someone apparating inside of the loft twenty minutes later. The soft clicking of heels on wood told him it was Hermione—his flat mate and best friend.

"Harry?" She called, her voice echoed through the rooms. He heard her peak inside his bedroom. Harry really didn't feel like talking tonight. Why was she home anyway? He thought slightly annoyed. Shouldn't she be partying with Ginny, Luna, and whatever his name was? Don… her boyfriend.

"Harry?!" She called again, her voice a little higher, her footsteps more hurried. She finally reached the sitting room to find Harry in the reclining chair, facing the glass looking over London. His back was to her but Hermione could see that he was unrelaxed. He was sitting straight up in the chair. She didn't say anything as she walked over to him. She put her warm hand on his shoulder and looked out the window. He didn't acknowledge her presence. After a few minutes of the silence Hermione motioned for him to scoot over in the chair. Harry felt another twinge of annoyance but complied. It was a large chair after all. Hermione eased herself into it happily greeting the warm leather on her legs. She rested her head on Harrys shoulder. After several more minutes of the comfortable silence Harry surprised himself by breaking it.

"Why are you here?" His voice was little gruff, from the lack of use for the past day. Harry looked down to see a hurt look on Hermione's face. She removed her head from his shoulder, a frown etched in her brow. Harry shook his head in apology.

"Sorry" He atoned "I mean… why aren't you enjoying yourself out there?" He motioned towards the window. Hermione cleared her throat, her previous expression gone replaced with a look of worry… like she was cautious. This irked Harry. What did she think he was going to…hurt her? Have a temper tantrum?

"I…I keep thinking about the battle. And… not all the glorious parts everyone's set on talking about." She was talking about Ron. This is exactly what he wasn't up to today… another Ron talk.

"I miss him," she whispered. Anger swept over him, but not at Hermione. Towards Ron.

"He's a coward, Hermione he doesn't deserve us to miss him."I said firmly what he had been saying for years.

"I know… but. But...I keep thinking that…I'll stop…missing him, I mean. But… Harry…" Her voice broke. She almost like she was pleading.

"Harry… how could he?" She continued "I keep seeing it over and over again in my mind and I still don't…understand. What did I do?"

Tears freed themselves from her brown eyes. Harry couldn't look at her. It hurt too much. Hell, Ron didn't deserve those tears coming down her face. Harry stared at the window, his eyes determined. He was getting progressively angrier thinking about the past. The happy memories with Ron seemed like lies now. Harry was unaware of his shaking hands. He was dangerously close to the edge. Hermione placed her hands on his, gently squeezing them.

"Harry… Harry look at me." She said trying to sound firm, yet her words wavered. Harry's eyes remained glued to the window, his eyes dark and electrifying.

"Look. At. Me" She said with more strength. His body, though still tense, managed to move his head towards her. They stared at each other, his hands still shaking in hers. Silent rage and pain upon his youthful face.

'We're here now. It's gone. We're here now."

His eyes focused on her face again, and slowly he laid his head on her shoulder.