A/N: I don't mean to sound all picky, but people are reading this and not reviewing. Reviews seriously help me. So please give me any feedback, even if it is abusive. I need to know whether it is worth it to actually carry on this. Meh, here is another chapter. Enjoy all you "non reviewing suckers" ;)

Disclaimer: I would have Malfoy if I owned it. Do I? NO.

Chapter Two

I've never really been a people person. I mean, I've always done stuff for people and talked to people once in a while; but it just never seems to be for me. In my eyes, sitting by yourself and minding your own business is much better than faffing around after other people. This is probably at cause of Dursley Dickhead. Locking me in a cupboard, hiding me from society and treating me like shit really doesn't help. If you don't feel like you are somebody and that you are worth something then other people aren't gonna receive that vibe from you and are going to shun you from themselves.

Being all famous and having people lick the ground you walk on doesn't help either. Everyone is the same. Everyone just wants a piece of me. They don't want to have a conversation with me about mindless jibber-jabber, or have tea with me in the afternoon. They just want to know what is going on in my life, what "makes me tick" or who I slept with last night. To be honest, I don't want to divulge any of that information; and as for whom I slept with last night? It was a girl and that is all I can recall.

Fame brings nothing but people who want you for your money. These people can be used though, as has been shown by the number of people I have shoved my dick in, but sometimes you just want to sit by yourself and think. Or just sit. Just sitting is good. Thinking takes up too much energy and at the moment thinking just revolves back to one situation – my "love" life.

Sex isn't love. Sex is just a part of life. Or even a way of life like breathing or eating pancakes for breakfast. Love is special. Love hurts. Love kills and love is hate. A few minutes of "passion" doesn't equate to waking up with your other half breathing peacefully next you. Shagging in a cubicle doesn't add up to holding a hand with someone you love. Even eating ice cream isn't the equivalent of just knowing that they love you back for who you are and not what you have done in your life. With love comes forgiveness and with love comes friendship.

"So Mr Potter," said a leggy blonde beside who was sitting on bar stool, "Tell me about yourself."

Harry, who was completely ignoring anything that she had said, stared into the golden liquid in his glass. The liquid swirled around as he moved the glass. His eyes had glazed over deep in thought. The blonde took a drink from her wineglass and turned to face Harry. She looked at him and clicked her fingers in front of his misty eyes, "Ahem!" she coughed.

Harry startled awake from his trans. He cleared his throat and run a hand through his hair, "Ahem. Umm, sorry. I kinda just... you know..."

"Ignored me?" she replied, her dulcet voice laced with a harsh tone.

Harry paused, "I wasn't so much ignoring you. I just kinda got lost in thought. I've been thinking too much lately," he laughed, trying to regain that 'trust' again. Well, at least enough trust to get in her pants.

"Who is it? Who is she?" she interrogated, "Do I know her?"

Harry looked her completely bewildered, "What?"

"Well, guys just don't think, do they? They have to have a muse," she replied. Her voice grew more and more frustrated by the word, "Are you even here to speak to me? Or have a date with ME?"

"Yes, yes, of course... erm..." he paused as he forgot her name.

"So why don't you answer my question?" she said, her anger receding from her voice.

"Which question?" he asked.

She laughed as she swirled her drink before taking a sip – her eyes completely fixated on the red liquid, "I'll just pretend you never said that."

Harry looked at her, "I'm being serious. Which question?"

"Jesus, guys are simple," she muttered as she got out her purse.

Harry noticed her packing up her belongings and asked, "Are you leaving?"

"Yes, of course I'm bloody leaving. All night your mind has been wandering somewhere else. Did you even want to talk to me tonight? Have a date? You know, converse with the outside world and not inside your little shell of fame?"

By now, she had shoved 20 sickles on the bar and had grabbed her bag. She stood up, "Or did you just want a night to forget everything? Forget all about her?"

He stood flabbergasted. Somehow she had read him like a book, "I..."

She turned to him, her eyes blazing with fury, "NO! Don't you even make up some shit. I'm through. Other girls might be able to put up with your fancy sweet talking, but I can't."

Harry stood up, fishing for his money before slamming it on the counter. He followed after her, almost running and knocking other tables as he exited the pub. He soon grew breathless as he reached the outside. The cold winter air broke on his face almost as sharp as the crack from her Disapparation.

There he stood, alone, for what seemed the first time in years. For once in his life, someone had seen that all these girls were just a game. Just a game to keep him entertained in his somewhat boring after-fame life. He stared at the point where she had gone in silence. His fists curled into balls and he became tense, "FUCK!" he shouted, relieving the tension.

He stomped against the ground like a wailing baby, "FUCKING HELL!" he screamed.

Soon, his tension broke to tears. It was the first time in years that he had cried, "The Chosen One doesn't cry," he muttered to himself as he dragged his feet home.

He reached his door, holding back his sobs, and unlocked it. As he closed the door behind him, he leaned against it and quickly slid to the floor. Tears rushed from his eyes. Tears of realisation that he couldn't do this anymore. He couldn't carry on with this lie he was living – this suppression of feelings he had endured for years. He curled up on his side letting the anxiety leave him.

Night had left Hogsmeade and the sun rose on a Saturday morning. Harry Potter remained in the foetal position he had fallen asleep in, his muscular body blocking the door. Sun streamed through the small gap at the bottom of the door which reached Harry's face. The bright light woke him up.

He opened his eyes and grunted, "Eurggggh," he said groggily.

He stretched and let out a yawn and he fumbled for his watch, "11am? Oh, Merlin. At least it's a Saturday," he added as he closed his eyes again.

Almost as soon as he had closed his eyes there was a loud knock from the door behind him. His eyes opened with a start, but decided to ignore it. It was most likely just going to be press anyway. Closing his eyes for the second time, there was another knock.

A voice spoke from the other side of the door, "Harry? Harry let me in!"

Harry turned away from the door, "Piss off," he answered blearily.

"No I won't "piss off" Harry. Trust you to be so kind," the voice snapped, "Now get your lazy arse off where ever you are and open this bloody door."

"Eurrgh," he said, for the second time this morning. Grunting was definitely his favourite form of speech.

He stood, opening the door which he had obviously had forgotten to lock the night before, and was greeted by a fresh faced Hermione.

"Morn – oh dear," she said, quickly changing a more concerned tone, "What happened? I didn't think you usually went out on Friday nights..."

"I don't," he said as he turned his back on her and walked towards the kitchen.

"I guess I'll just take that as a "come in"..." she mumbled incoherently, following him into the house.

She carefully closed the heavy, wooden front door and turned to the direction in which he had disappeared. The stench of "male" that had greeted him the evening before filled her nostrils. It really wasn't as bad as she anticipated. In fact, it was quite pleasant. It smelt like Harry. The smell that had accompanied her for 15 years. She'd grown to like it.

A kettle whistled, "Tea, one and a half sugars, no milk, stirred twice?" he called from the kitchen.

She smiled, "You know me too well Mr Potter."

She walked to the kitchen and lent against the door frame watching him make the tea. He handed her the tea and she took her usual spot sitting on the counter top, and him on the counter opoosite next to the oven. It had become routine really.

"What blesses me with your delightful presence today, Miss Granger?" he said taking a swig of his coffee.

She smirked, "Well, actually, I have a favour to ask you..."

"Go on," he said.

"Neville, Luna and I are going out for tea," she explained, "And they told me to ask you. And I thought because I cancelled on you yesterday..."

"Why did you cancel on me yesterday?" he interrupted, putting down his mug next to him.

"Well, I really wanted to come because it's our thing and everything..." she said, "But I kinda got asked on a date."

"A date? Do I know him? Who is he? Where did you go?" he interrogated.

"Wow. Well at least I know now how to get you interested..." she trailed off before taking a sip.

"I'm just concerned for your safety, that's all," he replied.

Yes, he thought, safety. That's a good excuse.

"Well, his name is Dale."

"Dale? As in that dick-faced Dale who works in Magical Law Enforcement?"

"No. As in my date from last night Dale who works in Magical Law Enforcement," she replied.

"So dick-face then," which she replied with a sigh, "What's so appealing about him?"

"He doesn't have a dick on his face!" she exclaimed.

"Meh. Was he a good shag? Did his face dick..." he asked.

"You are so vulgar sometimes! Not everyone "shags" people just after meeting them."

"So you didn't sh.."

"HARRY! Stop using that word. It's so... disgusting. And objectifying."

He took a drink from his mug, "You love it."

"You wish," she added and took the last drink from her mug. Standing up, she said, "I'll see you at 7.30. I'm knock on your door. Make sure you aren't sleeping behind it this time."

He stood up and embraced her. She kissed his cheek briefly and left the room, "I'll let myself out. Bye."

"Bye," he said after her. By God, she drove him crazy.

A/N: Please give me a review – without them, I can't breathe. Do you really want me to die? Is a FanFiction death what you want? If you really want one, I'll write one into the book. But my death? NO.