'I am sitting in the morning

At the diner on the corner

I am waiting at the counter

For the man to pour the coffee'

- Susanne Vega, 'Tom's Diner'

~~~

He moved around the restaurant with ease, the air seeming to bend around him as he navigated the tables and a tray full of orders. He smiled easily, his eyes bright as he greeted the regulars and asked after their lives. It wasn't very often that someone new entered the diner but when they did, he was sure to make an impression.

For a minute, Ginny hardly recognised him.

'Good morning!' he hailed, coming to a stop next to her little table. 'How can I help you…' He flicked his eyebrows up, waiting for her name.

'Ginny,' she blurted. 'My name's Ginny.' She watched his face, searching for a flicker of something in his eyes, perhaps sudden confusion to overtake him.

Remember me, she silently pleaded. Remember us. Remember it all.

He grinned, reaching behind his ear to take the pen out. 'Well, it's lovely to meet you, Ginny. What can I get for you?'

Ginny sighed and deflated. 'Oh, just a coffee, is all. I'm not feeling very peckish.'

He hummed and returned the pen to his ear. 'Got it. I'll be right back, miss.'

She watched as he wove back through the tables, pausing to catch a falling glass before it could hit the floor. He smiled sheepishly as the woman gasped and apologised profusely, at which he raised his hands and assured her that it was all fine and he'd be right back with some more water. He crouched to wipe up the spill with the tea towel at his hip before whisking away towards the back.

Ginny sighed again, propping her chin up on her elbow. Surely, she wondered, he couldn't be very well satisfied with this life. After all, this was nothing like he wanted when she knew him. When he knew him.

~~~

'Where is this coming from?' she had demanded. 'When did you even have the time to decide?'

Harry raised his hands to his face, rubbing his eyes. 'I- it just happened—'

'No, Harry!' she yelled. 'No, something like this does not just happen! How long have you been planning this? How- why did you never even think to- to tell me?'

He was shutting down. She could tell by the way he wouldn't meet her eyes, the way his jaw would keep clenching and unclenching.

'Did you ever think to tell me?' She hated that she had tears in her eyes. She drew a shaky breath and swiped at her face. 'Because this isn't just your future you're messing with, you know!' she told him. 'This is mine as well!' She slapped her hand against her collar. 'This is my life you're destroying as well! And you- you never even thought to tell me?'

He didn't say anything, only looked studiously out the window. His nostrils flared, his eyes blinked furiously.

Ginny scoffed, pushing a hand through her hair. 'Of course, because you never think to tell me anything! 'Oh, I'm not feeling very well and I'm nearing a breakdown, I think I'll throw my entire life away and not even tell my girlfriend!'' She slammed her hand against the sofa. It landed with a not very satisfying thump! 'What the hell is going on, Harry?'

He swallowed and closed his eyes. Quietly, he said, 'There's nothing I can say to make this better.'

Ginny laughed. 'You think? Oh my God, Harry, what- are you listening to yourself?' She stepped towards him, grabbing his face and forcing him to look at her. He kept his eyes closed behind his glasses and Ginny had the overwhelming urge to pry his eyelids open.

'Do you even understand what you're doing?' She shook him a little. 'You're going to forget about everything. About Hogwarts. About magic. About me and Ron and- and everybody. Why do you want to throw that all away?'

He screwed his eyes shut tighter as he whispered, 'Not everybody.'

'Not-' Her hands fell from his face. 'You're fucking me.' She stepped back from him, staring at him. 'You are fucking kidding me, Harry Potter!'

~~~

'Here you are, miss,' he said, setting a white ceramic mug in front of her. 'The weather's been acting up lately, hasn't it?' He took the pot of coffee from his tray and started to fill the mug as Ginny gave a noncommittal reply. She watched as the line of coffee rose, steam rising in curlicues.

Suddenly, it stopped and Ginny looked up at him. A grin was breaking over his face and a pang shot through her as she glanced over her shoulder to see the receiver.

The little bell over the door was finishing its jingle as she swiped her boots across the mat, her hair falling in limp ringlets around her face. When she looked up, a matching smile turned the corners of her lips and she waved a single hand.

He waved back and set the coffee pot on the tray, already heading her way before Ginny could ask him to finish filling her mug.

~~~

'Listen to me!' Harry yelled as Ginny threw hex after hex at him. 'Would you- Goddammit, Ginny, would you stop for—'

'Anteloculatia!' Ginny screamed, hurling the curse at him. It bounced harmlessly off his shield, only fuelling Ginny's anger.

'Ginny, please!' He was backed against the corner. 'Don't make me tie you up and take your wand. Just, would you please stop?'

'Avifors!' she cried. 'Calvorio! Inflatus!'

In a second, Harry dropped the shield and ropes wrapped around Ginny, pinning her arms to her sides and her legs together. Her wand flew through the air and Harry caught it in a single sweep of his arm. He sighed, looking guiltily at the Silenced and furious Ginny.

'I warned you,' he said weakly.

~~~

'Hullo,' he said as she shook her umbrella, water droplets patterning across the tiles.

'Hi,' she replied, looking up and grinning at him. 'I figured it'd be nice to visit you at work.'

He hummed and leaned over her. 'A very good lapse in judgment. As always.'

She laughed and pushed his chest away. 'C'mon, Tom. You're on the clock.'

He raised his eyebrows, following her. 'Ah, it's just the regulars. They all love you.'

As if on cue, the occupants started to greet the woman.

'Good morning, Cassandra!'

'It's a big rough out there, innit, love?'

'We love to have you round, darling, you needn't worry!'

'When will you and Tom finally make it official, eh? I expect an invitation to the wedding, I do.'

At this last comment, both of their cheeks blazed red and Tom coughed into his elbow. 'Oi, Stephen!' he said, and tried to scowl but he was smiling too hard. 'We've discussed this!'

Stephen, a man in his late sixties sitting in front of a plate of eggs and hash, shrugged. 'I remember you talking, lad, but I don't remember agreeing to anything.' He winked at Cassandra and went back to eating.

~~~

'You can't be angry at her,' Harry started off. He fixed her with what Ginny called his Auror Look. A firm set of his mouth and a threatening shadow in his eyes.

Never did she think it would be directed at her.

'You can't be angry at her,' he repeated. 'I agreed to it because I wanted to. And not because of some potion or spell or bewitching. This is out of my free will.'

He sighed, sliding down the wall until he was sitting on his heels. 'I'm- I'm tired, Ginny.' He placed his head in his hands, saying into them. 'I don't…' He sighed again. 'I don't want to- I don't want to keep- to keep fighting... And right now that's- that's all I'm doing. Entering the Auror programme. It's just… it's more fighting and I don't want it.'

He pulled his hands down his face, leaning his elbows against his knees. 'And quite frankly, this is the only way I see out of it.'

~~~

Tom led them back to the counter, setting the coffee pot back into the machine and unfurling the tea towel from his hip. He swiped it across the counter as Cassandra started to talk about her morning.

'And so I was halfway through shelving the nonfiction section when this lady comes through. And she's so sweet—' she bit into a bagel, wiping the corner of her mouth with her sleeve as she chewed. 'But then she goes, 'Do you have any books on the sexual practices of primates?' And I just stare at her for a moment, it was incredibly rude of me.'

'Mmhm,' Tom agreed. 'Incredibly. You should be ashamed of yourself. It was perfectly reasonable request: the sexual practices of primates.'

She reached over and smacked his arm. 'And of course, after checking in with the system— I'm probably gonna get pulled aside by Miri for that— and of course, we don't carry anything like that so I put in a request for the other libraries in the network.' She took another bite of her bagel and a swig of coffee before continuing, 'And I take her email and promise to get back to her when we do find anything. I ask if there was a period when she wouldn't want to get word because, I dunno, it could be simply research.'

'Mmhm, research,' Tom replied and leaned forward to press his lips against hers. She smiled against his lips, raising a hand and cradling the back of his neck.

Ginny looked away, staring into her black coffee. She Conjured a small cup of milk, pouring it in and watching as it swirled and lightened her drink into something semi-delectable.

'And she says it's fine. That she's just reading it for enjoyment.'

~~~

Harry pushed a hand through his hair and started to pace in front of her. She grew dizzy watching him and resolved to glare at the floorboards.

'I'm not doing this to hurt you,' he said again, for probably the thousandth time that hour.

Keep telling yourself that, Ginny thought bitterly. Maybe it'll make you feel better.

'It's just—' He huffed and dropped his hands to his sides. 'I should be allowed this, shouldn't I? This- this one selfish thing? After a lifetime of- of selflessness?'

Denial, Ginny sang silently.

'And I don't care if you don't- if you don't like it because- because this- this is what I want to do. Start over.'

With Hermione, Ginny spat. She glared a thousand Bat-Bogey Hexes at him. He didn't even pay her any mind. He just stood in front of her, a sort of half-wistful, half-pained look on his face as he stared at the opposite wall.

'She has it all planned out. It's all completely safe. She's done this before.'

Yeah, with her parents, Ginny snapped. And, not to mention, it's illegal. There's no way on Earth that a legalised Oblivion is gonna agree to Obliviate the fucking Boy-Who-Lived-Again.

'And it's just- I'm tired, Ginny. And I don't know what else to do and we were drunk and she just mentioned it and—' He let out a laugh, the sound shaky and borderline tearful. 'And it just sounded so- so good and then we were sober and I asked again and she told me everything and- and it just sounded perfect.'

He looked at her, his eyes glassy and face a mask of grief. Ginny froze.

Oh my God, she thought incredulously. He's having his mid-life crisis early.

'Don't I- don't I deserve perfect?' he pleaded. 'Something that- yes, it sounds too good to be true, but it's there and it's just so- it's everything. And if I can have it...?'

Ginny lifted her chin and narrowed her eyes, trying to convey her thoughts to him.

He shook his head and sighed. 'I know you don't understand- and I'm sorry. But this is what I want to do. This is what will help me, I think. And yes, I understand all that's at stake but… but there's so much to gain.'

He sighed again and set her wand on the coffee table. 'Please, don't be angry with her, Ginny. Be angry with me, hate me, think murderous thoughts of me, but please... please don't be angry with her.'

Ginny hated that those were Harry's last words to her.

~~~

Now, Ginny wasn't one of those types of pureblood witches, but there was nothing appealing about the Muggle world. Opening the newspaper that a patron left in the booth beside her, she saw it was going through much the same things the Wizarding World was: poverty, politics, and just general distress.

Ginny glanced through her eyelashes to see Cassandra, still leaning over the counter, her legs crossed at the ankle as she grinned at him. Tom was speaking to her, one hand braced against the counter while the other waved around as he spoke.

Unbeknownst to him, the lights brightened, a cheerful yellow amidst the storm passing outside, the coffee maker on the end flicked on with a almost-inaudible click, and minor messes— like dusting of crumbs or the smudge on the table in front of Ginny— disappeared.

Magic. Even if he forgot how to use it, his body still found ways to expel it. Ginny wondered what he thought whenever he was alone and the lamp flicked on or when he was trying to remember what he forgot and suddenly it appeared in front of him.

Or maybe those sorts of things never happened and maybe he never wondered.

~~~

He had all of his things moved out of the flat by the next morning. It was startling in a way that Ginny hadn't expected.

The night before, she had forbidden him from entering their room and woke up the next day to a mostly intact flat. All the changes came dully, in minute, unexpected ways. It just brought all the more starkness to how ingrained he was in her life.

To find a single toothbrush in the bathroom. To see his soap missing from the shower shelf. To see spaces on the walls where pictures he was particularly fond of— Ginny noted with distaste that they were all ones with her in them. There were gaps in the bookshelves where his books had been— though their shelves weren't terribly stocked beforehand either. His clothes were gone from the wardrobe when she went to get dressed for the day. He had left his pillow, which smelt miserably like him.

Because even if he had taken all of his stuff away, the essence of him still lingered.

But Ginny didn't cry.

She had a job to get to. A life to live.

After all, she hadn't been the one to throw it all away.

~~~

It infuriated her how much the people liked her. Cassandra. The patrons of the diner adored her, smiling at her whenever she passed by. They were terribly fond of her and Tom especially, going to far as to tease them and retell whatever memories they had of the couple at any chance.

Ginny had only been going to the diner for a couple days and already she knew most of the progression of their relationship.

Cassandra had been with Tom almost every day since the opening of the diner. She had worked, waiting tables, once upon a time. At least, before she got a job at the library, a clerk who helped out any passerby.

The older patrons appreciatively listed her qualities, giving Tom a sidelong glance as they did so.

'She's a clever one, isn't she, Tom?' 'Yes, Bernard. She is.'

'So helpful. Such a lady. She'll make a man happy.' 'Yes, Mrs. Wimbledon. She will.'

'So compassionate. If everybody had an ounce of her compassion and love then the world would be a better place.' 'I couldn't agree more, Mr. Carson.'

She worked during her break, smiling at customers and inquiring their orders before relaying them back to Tom.

There was only one other person who worked full-time at the diner than Tom, and it was a woman, not much older than thirty, who cooked in the kitchens. A kind, gentle lady who didn't say much any of the times that Ginny had met her— which was only once in the three days she had occupied the corner table.

'Here's your sandwich, Miss Lindel,' Cassandra said, placing the plate in front of her with a smile. She placed a hand on her aproned hip, jumping right into easy conversation.

'This is quite the place you've made,' the woman said earnestly. 'It's really perfection.'

'Oh, you flatter us so,' she replied, waving her free hand. 'Tom works hard, is all. And he loves his job, he loves the people he works for. And that just channels into his food.'

'This is my favourite place in the entire city,' Miss Lindel continued. 'It feels just like home. Like I'm taken right back to Stratton every time I walk in.'

She shrugged, still smiling. 'It's just his way. For me, at least, he's always felt like home. Even when we first met—'

You can't even remember when you first met, Ginny thought savagely.

'—He just has that way about him. He makes everybody feel welcome and loved. Like they've finally found their home.'

Miss Lindel smiled, taking her hand. 'The two of you make a truly lovely couple. I hope you know that.'

Cassandra laughed and squeezed her hand. 'How could I forget? Everybody around here sees it fit to tell me every five seconds!'

Ginny scowled into her coffee, unable to fight the bitter jealousy roiling in her stomach.

~~~

The parcel came in the post the next week. It held three things: two letters and a newspaper clipping.

She discarded the biggest letter, knowing that it was surely from Hermione, and looked at the thinner sheet of parchment before turning her attention to the newspaper clipping.

Crash On the Side of A-40

by Ashley La Salle, January 21, 2005

Late sometime Monday evening, there was a crash alongside A-40, going into west Brentford. In the collision were two adults, T. Parker and C. Gallagher. Both suffered from head trauma injuries and are being treated at St. Augustine Hospital and are in stable condition. Police officers speculate that the crash was caused by icy roads and poor tire traction. Keep an eye on the frost levels and schedule an appointment with your local mechanic to check on your tire traction.

More information on road freezes and vehicular accidents, visit the Metropolitan Gazelle news website.

The newspaper clipping must've come from a Muggle paper because the black and white photo below the heading stayed stationary and centered on two totaled cars.

Still, she was confused. Why would Harry send her this? Was it wizarding interference in the Muggle world? If so, why did it matter to her? He was the Auror.

She picked the smaller letter up and unfolded it. Harry's familiar scrawl greeted her, scratchy and confusing.

Ginny,

You're probably wondering why I've sent this to you. I believe that you deserve an apology, and a better explanation.

Hermione's letter— if you haven't burnt it yet— will explain the technical stuff more, but I want to try and explain my own reasons.

I'm not very comfortable writing this, as you're probably not very comfortable reading it. But I'm gonna try my best to help you understand.

I've been The Chosen One for my entire life. Quite literally, ever since Trelawney gave that wretched prophecy. I was The-Boy-Who-Lived all throughout school, and The-Boy-Who-Lived-Again for the past two years, a title that somehow grew worse with each year that passed.

Famousness is supposed to wear off after some time, they say.

But I was tired of it, you see, Ginny?

I was stuck being the famous one, forever. So long as I had a place in the Wizarding World, so long as I had my name and my scar and my past, I was going to be trapped in this famousness.

And maybe you didn't care, because I was always Harry. Or at least, after a while, I became Harry. I don't know how you saw me. I don't know when you stopped seeing me as The-Boy-Who-Lived.

But I didn't want to be stuck in that life— I didn't want to drag you into that life. Already, you were rather famous with your work with the Cannons, but that kind of famousness and my famousness were two different things (that's not to say that you aren't important or— forget it).

And I didn't know how to get out of it. I didn't know how to unstuck myself.

And so, as I always do, I went to Hermione. Because, well, it's Hermione.

And she was drunk (yes, truly) when I Apparated to her flat. She was sloshed through and through. Could hardly even stand.

And I suppose that's why she told me, because she was drunk and had no idea what she was telling me.

She admitted to me that she didn't want the famousness that came with being a part of the Golden Trio. She didn't want to be known as The Girl amongst me and Ron, she didn't want her life to revolve around whom she was going to end up with. She wanted to be appreciated for her abilities, not her reputation.

And she told me that she missed the Muggle world. Even if she did love magic and all it's wonderfulness. She missed the way that Muggles, as flawed as they were (though who isn't), lived. She missed walking down the street in the rain and being stuck in bed for three days with the flu (which, quite frankly, was a bit hard to understand, but I understood her nostalgia and wish for the past nonetheless).

And so she revealed to me her plan. The next day, she was planning on Obliviating herself. Going into hiding. Creating a new life for herself, outside of the Wizarding World.

And it sounded so wonderful.

A life free from all the camera flashes and obsessive witches and wizards. I wouldn't drag everyone I knew into danger just because of my name. Nobody would even know my name. I would just be another nobody. Another person caught under the rain in the streets.

And so that morning, I demanded that Hermione include me in her plan.

At first, I asked her to give me a life separate from hers, because after all, it didn't do to seek refuge from knowing and be stuck with one of your best friends from the very past you're forgetting.

But after a while, she suggested that we start out together. That, should the universe want us together, that'd we'd become friends again. And if not, we would simply be strangers who had a single moment together, just like any other.

And I agreed, because if I didn't, I feared she would back out of our deal and not give me this freedom (but it was stupid. This is Hermione; she would've helped me no matter what).

And so, we made our plan. And it's been done.

You're probably wondering how you've gotten this newspaper piece, if I had been Obliviated by the time the paper came out. Well, I've left Kreacher with you.

There was a crack! of Apparation. Ginny shrieked and jumped, the letter fluttering to the floor.

The old elf, wizened and prune-like, stood beside Ginny, scowling.

'Kreacher is here at your service, miss,' he grumbled. 'Master Harry had given me into your service.'

Ginny placed a hand against her chest, panting. 'Oh,' she said simply. Quite frankly, she didn't have many good memories of the house elf. 'Well…' She blinked and bent over, retrieving Harry's letter. 'Okay.'

I trust him into your care— and you into his. If you don't want to keep him, I'm sorry to leave him with you. I suppose you could do with him as you wished. Perhaps give him to Draco Malfoy, if anything. He would probably be happy to be back serving under a Black house.

Anyways, I'm not exactly sure what else to say. Except perhaps I'm sorry. I'm sorry I've left you such a mess to clean up. I'm sorry I couldn't explain this better.

But I want this, Ginny. I know I do.

And I don't think I've felt any better than I do now, knowing that I could have my freedom.

After all, isn't that what everybody wants?

Thank you, for your friendship. For whatever understanding you're willing to give me. For whatever reprieve you gave, for however long it lasted.

You're a brilliant young woman, Ginny. I trust you won't let this stop you. Nothing will.

Much love,

Harry.

~~~

Ginny stood, eager to get out before the buffer of patrons left, leaving her relatively alone with Tom. It was always around 4 o'clock in the afternoon that the crowd died down, a fact that Ginny had realised the hard way during her first few visits to the diner.

She still remembered the silence, stiff and charged, when Harry swept around the desolate diner, whistling softly and speaking to her only to make awkward, desperate conversation or to refill her coffee.

Ginny stood up from her booth, gathering her things— which really wasn't much, only her response to her most recent interview request. She rarely did in-person interviews any more; all people wanted to talk about was Harry.

Even his name sent a pang into her heart.

She clicked her ballpoint pen, the nib falling cleanly away. She loved writing with quills and parchment, of course, but the ease of the ballpoint pen and the cheapness of leaf paper was too hard to refuse. Plus, it saved her a lot of time with Illusionment charms.

She pulled her knapsack over her shoulders, tugging her hair over her shoulder and downing the last of her coffee. She left two tenners on the table, paying for the sixteen cups she had been drinking since eight that morning.

'Hey, excuse me!'

She stopped at the door, whipping around. She opened her mouth, a retort coming instantly to her tongue. But when her eyes saw him, an apron tied around his waist and a tea towel over his shoulder, looking so- so Muggle-like, the words died before they touched her teeth.

'Is something the matter?' she asked instead— civilly, politely, the tone felt wrong directed at him.

'I just—' he raised a hand to his neck, rubbing it— 'I dunno,' he finished. 'You're in here all the time but you're not… you're not like the others.'

Why, she almost scoffed, because I'm not obsessing over your love life? Because I don't order any other than coffee and sit silently in my corner all day?

But she didn't say any of that. She only raised an eyebrow, shifting her weight onto one of her legs. 'And?'

He shrugged, and Ginny's heart clenched. The motion was so… so him. 'Cassandra— that's the girl who always pops around—' he said it like Ginny wouldn't have noticed. She wasn't that dim. 'She's always asking about you. She's a little worried.' He laughed lightly.

'So you're just checking on me?' she asked.

He flinched a little, his cheeks blooming bright red. 'No! No, erm, I mean, well, yes, but—' His face went even redder as he took the tea towel off his shoulder and started wringing it between his hands.

Ginny felt her face heat as well, the words had come out meaner than she intended. She took a breath and tried again. Even if he would never admit it, this was probably one of the reasons why he left.

'I'm sorry,' she said. 'I didn't mean to sound rude. But I'm fine. Truly,' she added.

He looked at her, a little warily. 'You're sure?'

Ginny nodded. 'Yeah. Yeah, I'm sure. I don't mean to worry her, the girl... Cassandra. I like it here… it's comfortable. I just don't… I don't like talking to other people.'

He nodded, the towel stilling between his fingers. She wondered if he even realised he had started twisting it in the first place.

'It's all right,' he told her gently. 'I understand. And I didn't mean to pry or to come off as rude. But, well, it's kinda my job, as the owner, to make sure everybody's all right.'

Ginny furrowed her brow. She couldn't remember the last time someone who worked at The Leaky Cauldron had even spoken to her, besides the bartender with a gruff grunt whenever she ordered.

'You've got quite the place here,' she said, a hand on her bag.

Tom's face lit up and he grinned. 'Yeah, I like to think I do. You know, stop me if I'm oversharing, please, but— well—' he threw the towel over his shoulder, placing his hands on his hips before continuing— 'I was in a car accident. Some time ago. Lost a lot of my memories. All the important stuff, it seems. I mean, it was kinda odd, y'know?' He frowned at the memory. 'I still remember all my motor functions and stuff, all the regular stuff like maths and reading and writing. But names and faces and events, everything was gone. I don't even know who my parents were.' His expression turned a little sad. 'I guess it doesn't really matter, since nobody was at the hospital when I woke up.'

So it didn't even work, Ginny thought, almost bitterly, he still feels grief over his family.

He continued, 'But then there was Cassandra. She was the other one in the car accident.' He laughed a little. 'It's funny. She was afflicted in the same way. Her car was totaled, much like mine, and we both had the same head trauma. It's pretty funny, if you think about it.'

Ginny forced herself to laugh.

'But she… I don't know. Nobody came to see her either. And we already had this— well, she calls it a meet-cute, whatever that means. And she helped me a lot afterwards. That's just the sort of person she is. And we became friends. It seemed we were all the other had, with everything. No family or anything, as weird as it seemed. And we bonded over that, well, that and a strange love for pumpkin juice.' He laughed again, his cheeks flushed with emotion. 'And we sort of fell in love. And— where was I going with this?' His face twisted in confusion.

Ginny cleared her throat. 'You were talking about your diner,' she supplied.

His eyebrows shot up. 'Oh, right! Well, she helped me with this—' he gestured to the restaurant. 'I suppose that's why everybody's so nosy about our lives. This place was built on our love. And I try everyday to channel all of my love into what I do. Love for her, love for the people, love for life.'

He gave her a smile, one of his dazzling, paparazzi-worthy smiles. Even after everything that happened, it still made Ginny swoon.

'I think that's what I'm trying to tell you. That life's good, even if it doesn't seem like it. That there's always something out there, or maybe it's already there, that's worth loving, worth living for.'

He shook his head. 'I'm probably just being stupid. I'm sorry if this sounds all… all stuck-up of me. I don't know anything.' He waved his hand, ducking his head.

Sensing that he had finished his spiel, Ginny turned again to go. Her heart was breaking in two. Maybe he was still feeling grief over the loss of a family, but it was evident that he was happier. She could hear it in his words, see it in his eyes, devoid of all the weight and horror it held before. It was happier than she had ever seen him, and it made her heart ache that she hadn't been able to give it to him.

'You're welcome here, any time you want,' he said to her back. 'I promise I won't corner you again.'

Ginny didn't reply, as rude as it was. She had to get out of that diner, before she dissolved into a puddle of tears.

~~~

Weeks went by before Ginny finally gathered the courage to pick up Hermione's letter. Granted, she had to put aside a whole lot of bitterness.

She was very busy as well. The entire Wizarding World had found out that Harry Potter and Hermione Granger, two of three of the Golden Trio, Saviours of the World, had gone missing. And every single media outlet was pressing against her door, eager to get a statement out of her.

But finally, she opened the letter.

And it was exactly what you'd think a letter from Hermione Granger would be.

Dear Ginny,

Obliviation has been a Wizarding practise for the past 2000 years. It started in Ancient Rome, as a form of old Roman punishment, an alternative to crucifixion or flogging, used almost exclusively for witches as bearing physical punishment to women— besides burning at the stake, for some reason— was seen as sacreligious.

Over the centuries, however, the practise was refined from the cruel, painful experience that ancient wizards and witches experienced to the painless, coma-inducing procedure that we implement now. Additionally, laws have been enacted, safeguards put up, to reduce the rate of accidental Obliviations and any liabilities that follow. However, Obliviation is still used primarily as a form of punishment, an alternative to the Kiss.

To register to become an Oblivion or even to have the procedure done is a rigorous process, taking decades to complete because the Council has to oversee the applications. By the time that a witch or wizard is authorised to go through with the procedure, they usually no longer feel the desire to be Obliviated, which is the point entirely.

It happens more often than one would think, that a witch or wizard applies for Obliviation. For most cases, it's out of mental instability, thus explaining the long, drawn out process, to avoid any hastily made decisions from coming to fruition.

I planned on Obliviating myself a couple years ago. I've been entertaining the idea for some time, never really having much reason to go through with it until recently.

And no, it has nothing to do with mine and Ron's break-up, but rather, I broke up with Ron because of this. Nor am I going to divulge any information as to what's tipped the scales into the favour of the execution of this plan.

I know you don't trust me, considering I'm not a legal Oblivion, and I'm sure the fact that I've already performed this procedure only strengthens any wariness you have towards me.

But I know what I'm doing.

I've fine-tuned my magic over the years and I've gone through all the risks, lowering the rate of them until I'm certain that any chance for this to go wrong has been lowered significantly from what it started as (I've attached all of my notes on the matter as well, whether it be to your scrutiny or the media's, I don't care).

In regards to this letters and the aftermath that Harry's disappearance is sure to cause, it isn't to my concern what you do with them. It's to my knowledge that Harry is planning on attaching information that alludes to our new positions as Muggles.

I only ask that you refrain from sharing this information with the media. Give a statement to Skeeter, retell this story with Witches Weekly, blame me, whatever. But please, if only out of respect for Harry, please don't share any information regarding his new whereabouts or life. He can only go so far in his life if the authorities intervene, and I fear all that we've done won't amount to much if they do.

Ginny, I know I may not be your favourite person at the moment, but I promise you, that I'll make sure this ends with how it's supposed to. He will be happy. He will find his peace.

I'm only sorry that it wasn't in the Wizarding World.

Sincerely, Your Friend,

Hermione Jean Granger

The letter itself was shorter than Harry's. The main bulk of her letter came from her 'attached notes'. A few pages of it were statistics of Obliviations, analysis of the wand movement and incantation, a break down on the magic behind the spell and arithmetic and her own commentary on reducing risks like 'recurring memories', madness, 'loss of information other than memories', and injury towards different parts of the brain, labelled in words she didn't know like 'prefrontal cortex' and 'hippocampus'. There was even a few inches about the risks of their magic and Obscurials, all of which her research and thinking concluded that it wouldn't be a problem. That because they were grown adults, and because they had already gone through magical training, that their magic would find ways to expel itself through silent, unconscious ways.

The part that Ginny was most interested in was the inches upon inches of background information about her and Harry's new identities.

Hermione herself would become Cassandra Gallagher, graduate from some small Muggle university, a nobody from a nowhere town in the Midlands. Harry would become Tom Parker, a university dropout, also a nobody from the Midlands. There were copies upon copies of legal documents, each of them bearing the names 'Cassandra Jane Gallagher' and 'Thomas James Parker'.

Apparently, Hermione didn't like her middle name.

Ginny sat on the floor of her front room, surrounded by the mess that Hermione's twisted mind came up with.

It was brilliant.

It was perfect.

But it had still taken Harry away from her. And could Ginny forgive that?

Would she forgive that?

~~~

It was embarrassing, really, how often she frequented that restaurant. Reduced to every other day, after that encounter with Harry.

She even started to befriend them.

She found out more about what Hermione did for a job— whilst she worked at a library, she also worked at the homeless shelter, a fact that Ginny took with begrudging annoyance because of course, even if Obliviated, Hermione Granger had to be a goody-two-shoes.

She heard the full story of their relationship. How they slowly found pieces of themselves whilst in the mental ward of the hospital. Listened to them regale their stories of those months spent trying to figure out who they were as people.

She found more about why Tom had decided to open his diner— it was because, he joked, that the only thing he seemed to be good at was cooking. At which Cassandra smacked his arm and said, more seriously, that it was because Tom loved to care for other people, and because he was too scared of blood to become anything medical or to enter public service.

And it was true.

Harry was happier.

He was happier with Hermione, though Ginny didn't know if that was because she was just there or if maybe it was always there, and they had just been too blind to see it.

Or maybe it was because he was Tom, and she was Cassandra, and perhaps, if maybe Harry hadn't been born Harry, Ginny could've been his Cassandra. Ginny could've been his happiness.

But Harry was born Harry. And Hermione turned out to be Cassandra. And Ginny had to be all right with burning the contents of the parcel, she had to be all right with being the girl who sat in the corner booth, and drank only coffee.

~~~

A/N:

para mi pinche, te tengo en todas mis obras.

So, this story inspiration came to me because lately I've been listening to AnnenMayKanteriet and the Giant Rook's cover of 'Tom's Diner'. And Harry and Hermione Obliviating themselves to live as Muggles just seemed like the most logical thing to do with such a theme song.

If anybody's interested about Harry and Hermione's new Muggle life or perhaps more on how Harry and Hermione got to their decision, I'm open to writing another fic from this train of thought. :)

If there's any grammatical or editing errors, don't hesitate to bring them to my attention! I always strive to have formatted stories to the best of my ability, however, my editing eye is prone to skipping over things.

As always, read and review. And have a wonderful day, wherever you are in the world.

God bless you, E.

"Keep reading. Keep writing. Keep fighting. We're all still here." (Acknowledgements, How to Lose the Time War)