Disclaimer: I don't own... H...Harr... Oh fine. I don't own Harry Potter. Happy?
*sulks and crosses arms*

Written for The Title Challenge, which can be found on the HPFC Forum.


Our last kiss was on a Wednesday.

I remember that, because Wednesday was when he took time away from her to spend time with me, the one for whom he held supposedly real love.

Ah, yet another of his wonderfully woven lies.

On Wednesdays, he would make some flimsy excuse to get away from her, to be with me at some place that at least wasn't work-related. We'd sometimes carefully plan our activities, a secret dinner- of course secret, I think bitterly- before retiring to a hotel that either one of us booked. Sometimes, we'd forego the plans and hide in my flat, shedding all our clothes and clinging to each other for dear life.

And at the end of our few short hours together, he would make some flimsy excuse with me before he returned to his official other. Ha, those two words sound absolutely vile even when I'm not saying them out loud.

Oh, how badly I wanted to be that other.

I absolutely loathe Wednesdays, and Thursdays are no better, because it was a Thursday when he came and eradicated any traces of his presence-his very existence- from my flat.

How terribly unfair, I think glumly, and take another long swig of Firewhisky, straight from the bottle. The burn in my stomach is said to rival no other, and yet it is but a small sting compared to the icy burn in my chest. Each heartbeat causes the pain to get worse, and I wish fervently for it to stop. Just… stop.

The traitorous thing keeps on its incessant beating, however, and I sigh to myself. Who else would I sigh to? Picking up my wand with trembling fingers, I charm the chair that I sit in to turn, so that it no longer faces the empty fireplace-it's gathered quite a lot of dust from disuse, to the window on the side, with its curtains pushed open. It's currently the only source of light in this damned cold flat.

Lately, it seems, my body is constantly shaking.

It used to be just my legs. When it first started out, it wasn't much, just a slight quake that I could easily ignore. But one morning it got so bad that I woke up (Did I actually wake up? I never really sleep anymore, after all.) to my bed shaking as though it was in the middle of an earthquake. They didn't stop, even when I cast my modified Petrificus spell on my legs-

Ah, the spell? Well, I needed it when the shaking got in the way of my daily life, which was rapidly and now always happening. I've learned to live with it, though, when my body doesn't feel up to cooperating with me or my magic.

Now where was I? Oh yes, the spell. They didn't react, and that was the first time that something didn't; they just kept on shaking. Determined as I was nevertheless to get out of this infernal four-post prison, I swung the shaking limbs over to the side, and tried to stand up.

I crashed to the floor and lay there for several hours, unmoving.

Ah, now I remember. I smile to no one in particular, temporarily snapping out of my reverie to take another long gulp. I remember now, why it got so bad.

That day had been a Wednesday.


Our last kiss was in June.

May was when things started to turn sour between us. We had our first fights, real fights with curses and hexes and kicks and punches thrown, since Hogwarts, especially since his engagement, I sneer, to her was publicly announced. We started to see less and less of each other, because he was busy hanging out with her friends and family, celebrating her good news.

May was also the first, and last month that he started missing our Wednesdays.

In June, I pulled out all the stops: shouting, yelling, arguing, bargaining, even crying and begging and pleading that this wasn't true. That he was just pulling some elaborate joke. And even with that smile that I only ever gave to him plastered on my desperate face, the face that he used to look at with such warmth and love and adoration, he gave me the cold shoulder and said that this was his decision, that nothing I could ever do would possibly change the inevitable.

And then he gave me one last kiss, on the cheek, and walked straight out of my flat.

I stood there, and I never figured out how I ended up on the floor, or how morning had mysteriously turned into night.

I remember, because the month after May was the first birthday in a long time that I'd celebrated without him. Heh, I laugh; a hollow sound that didn't really reach my ears. Bastard had the decency to do it before my birthday.

I don't quite remember when my laugh turned into a sob.


Our last kiss was in 2004.

I remember, because in July 2004, the Daily Prophet had been so fucking pleased to announce that your wedding date had been finalized. It was to be held on the fifth of June, 2005. My birthday.

Is it you, or her that's trying to spite me?

On New Year's 2005, I was supposed to be making plans for our belated celebration on Wednesday, the same itinerary for every Saturday, of every week, of every month, for the past six years.

Old habits die hard, it seems, because I found myself doing exactly that not a minute after midnight. God, how I disgust myself.

But I guess that I disgusted you too.

2004 was supposed to be a great year, with yet another memorable passing of the day the Boy-Who-Lived killed Voldemort. It was apparently made even better because the Boy-Who-Lived, became the Boy-Who-Loved.

2005 was made even better, because now the Boy-Who-Loved took it up one notch, becoming the Man-To-Be-Married.

And me? The ex-Death Eater, I suppose. Same as every year.

I sigh heavily, my chest constricting more until it seems to collapse in on itself. When have I started talking as though you are actually here?

I always said you'd drive me insane, but who would have ever guessed you'd finally achieved that when you're not actually there to do it?


Our last kiss was a year and two days ago.

Now I remember this, just as I have faithfully remembered each and every day, because of the day that I have come to dread with all my heart.

No, it's not because you're getting married tomorrow.

It's because tomorrow marks yet another year of failures, and yet another year of my pathetic existence.

Okay, maybe it's also because you're getting married too. But never mind.

I finally turn away from the view of those blasted stars twinkling at night. They remind me too much of a man long gone. The Firewhiskey has, unfortunately, done nothing to dull my nerves, which have long been frayed due to the sheer fatigue of simply existing. All it has done is give me a very bad stomach ache.

Wearily, I rub a hand over my face and close my eyes to get them used to the darkness again. Funny, how I can remember how many days it's been since I last had contact with anyone- father dead, mother somewhere in France, friends nonexistent- yet I don't even remember what I did today. I really got my priorities straight, didn't I.

Oh, look! The doorbell's ringing. How nice of my insane little self to imply that someone will actually care this year to come, and at such an ungodly hour too! You know, that was one of the things that I loved about you; that you cared when no one else didn't, even if it wasn't real or that it wasn't for as long as I would have wanted.

And now. I have no one.

Oh, will that bell please shut up? And you! Stop your annoying little laugh that sounds like music to my ears. You sound too much like him already. Or do you sound like you? Never mind.

Opening my eyes, I start the long trod from my bedroom, across the hall, and into the living room to the front door. I could have just stayed in the living room anyway, like I usually did (I worked at home now because, simply put, I was destined to a loner's existence) but it seems that I needed an extra helping of meaningless memories assaulting me.

Almost there, already! The intervals between each ring are getting shorter by the second. You know that my legs are still shaking, why must you torture me so? I'll be sarcastic to myself if I want, you are not allowed to punish me for that. Not after you punished me a year ago.

Finally here. I cast a quick Petrificus on my fingers, and they seem to obey me this time. Wouldn't want my guest to be freaked out. Hey... where are you? Where have you gone? Where's your deep baritone that never ceases to remind me of what I've lost?

So does that mean I'm really, truly, alone in every sense of the word?

I suppose I am.

I open the door, and am wholly unsurprised to find one Harry Potter at my doorstep.


This was originally meant to be a one-shot, but I wanted to write two different endings, so that I shall do. I am so glad I got this title!

Oh, and I'm sorry for it turning somewhat sarcastic near the end. I felt pretty sarcastic too, when I wrote this. I am also sorry for totally butchering this title, it really does deserve better.