Disclaimer: I don't own anything. Harry Potter, Harry Potter's Universe, and all things relating in any way to Harry Potter belong to J.K. Rowling and various publishing companies that I'm far too lazy to mention. I am making no money, unfortunately. This goes for every chapter. Anything you don't recognise belongs to me unless I tell you otherwise. This is fan fiction, meaning that I am a fan and do not own the materials that I am working with (though I suppose you could be a fan of yourself). Also, I do not support any illegal activities that may or may not be mentioned therein.
A/N: Hermione's P.O.V.
Summary: Sometimes all the answers lie in the questions themselves. Post-War fic. Ootp spoilers. ?/? het.
I Walked Away – Chapter 3, Pretending
Time goes on, and sometimes I wonder what happened to him. I wonder what happened to the Harry that I used to know, that wonderful boy with a smile on his face and a sparkle in his eyes. Or was that all fake? I can't tell the real you from the fake you anymore, Harry, and that scares me. Aren't I supposed to be one of your best friends? I should know whether you're pretending to be someone else or not. I don't. Who is this person inhabiting your body? I can't tell if you've changed or if you're just pretending anymore. Or were you pretending before? Is this the real you I'm seeing now? The fake smiles and old eyes. Is that you, Harry? I don't know. I just don't know anymore.
It's like I'm breathing underwater. There's air down here, just not enough to sustain the human body for a long amount of time. It's like I blinked, and you were some person that I never knew. What happened to us? What happened to the Golden Trio? It all seems so surreal now. Was it all a dream, before? Or is this the dream? Did I ever wake up at all? Will I wake up an eleven-year-old, back in my parent's house, and find out that nothing I ever thought of here was ever real? Will I wake up at my parent's house and get my Hogwarts letter? Is this all my imagination? How do you know what is real and what is fake? Do you ever know? Do you just hope that you're awake, and do what you think is best? Or do you go through life thinking you're asleep, and that all the happiness you ever had could be ripped away at any second? How do you know, Harry?
How do you always know, Harry? How do you always know the answers to the important questions, and when I need them? How do you always know when Ron's been an arse, and I need some cheering up? How do you always know when I'm depressed? I want to know how you know. I know all sorts of unimportant things from my books, but you seem to know all the answers to the important questions. How do you do it?
How do you always know who's going to be happy together? Why can't you make predictions like that for yourself? Why is it that I get to be happy, Harry, and you don't? Why? Why is it that Ron and I can be happy together, but you can't be happy with anyone? Why can't they see you for who you are? Why do you pretend to be someone I don't know? Why can't you fall in love, be happy, and have the family you've wanted for so long? Why is the world against you, Harry, and why am I the only one who sees that?
"Hermione? Are you all right?" asked Harry, sitting down across from her.
"I'm fine, Harry," she sighed.
"No, you're not. What's on your mind?"
"You," she replied.
"Don't let Ron hear you say that. He'd have a fit. I'm sorry, Hermione, but I could never love you like that!" he cried out in a deep, cheep romance novel sort of voice.
They chuckled a bit, then grew silent.
"Harry, why is the world so unfair to you?" Hermione asked quietly.
"Come here," he said, opening up his arms. She snuggled up next to him in his chair, and he hugged her from behind. "Hermione, love, you should know by now the world isn't always fair. The world's crap has to be dumped somewhere. If I'm the only one willing to take it on, so be it. We can't all be happy all of the time. If we were, who is to say we'd know what happiness was? No one would have anything to compare it to, would they? So they wouldn't know any day from another. My bad days may be horrible days, but I don't have that many bad days. And if I have my bad days so that people like you and Ron and Ginny can be happy, then I'll take those bad days as they come. I'm going for a walk, and you are going to forget about the N.E.W.T.s for today and snog your fiancé senseless."
As Harry was exiting the portrait hole, Hermione murmured a question to herself.
"Harry, how do you always know the right thing to say?"
"I don't! I take a chance, spin the barrel, and hope I don't get shot!"
"Russian Roulette." He didn't always pretend to be someone he wasn't.
He walked away.
From the dormitory staircases, someone watched.
A/N: Hermione's P.O.V.
Summary: Sometimes all the answers lie in the questions themselves. Post-War fic. Ootp spoilers. ?/? het.
I Walked Away – Chapter 3, Pretending
Time goes on, and sometimes I wonder what happened to him. I wonder what happened to the Harry that I used to know, that wonderful boy with a smile on his face and a sparkle in his eyes. Or was that all fake? I can't tell the real you from the fake you anymore, Harry, and that scares me. Aren't I supposed to be one of your best friends? I should know whether you're pretending to be someone else or not. I don't. Who is this person inhabiting your body? I can't tell if you've changed or if you're just pretending anymore. Or were you pretending before? Is this the real you I'm seeing now? The fake smiles and old eyes. Is that you, Harry? I don't know. I just don't know anymore.
It's like I'm breathing underwater. There's air down here, just not enough to sustain the human body for a long amount of time. It's like I blinked, and you were some person that I never knew. What happened to us? What happened to the Golden Trio? It all seems so surreal now. Was it all a dream, before? Or is this the dream? Did I ever wake up at all? Will I wake up an eleven-year-old, back in my parent's house, and find out that nothing I ever thought of here was ever real? Will I wake up at my parent's house and get my Hogwarts letter? Is this all my imagination? How do you know what is real and what is fake? Do you ever know? Do you just hope that you're awake, and do what you think is best? Or do you go through life thinking you're asleep, and that all the happiness you ever had could be ripped away at any second? How do you know, Harry?
How do you always know, Harry? How do you always know the answers to the important questions, and when I need them? How do you always know when Ron's been an arse, and I need some cheering up? How do you always know when I'm depressed? I want to know how you know. I know all sorts of unimportant things from my books, but you seem to know all the answers to the important questions. How do you do it?
How do you always know who's going to be happy together? Why can't you make predictions like that for yourself? Why is it that I get to be happy, Harry, and you don't? Why? Why is it that Ron and I can be happy together, but you can't be happy with anyone? Why can't they see you for who you are? Why do you pretend to be someone I don't know? Why can't you fall in love, be happy, and have the family you've wanted for so long? Why is the world against you, Harry, and why am I the only one who sees that?
"Hermione? Are you all right?" asked Harry, sitting down across from her.
"I'm fine, Harry," she sighed.
"No, you're not. What's on your mind?"
"You," she replied.
"Don't let Ron hear you say that. He'd have a fit. I'm sorry, Hermione, but I could never love you like that!" he cried out in a deep, cheep romance novel sort of voice.
They chuckled a bit, then grew silent.
"Harry, why is the world so unfair to you?" Hermione asked quietly.
"Come here," he said, opening up his arms. She snuggled up next to him in his chair, and he hugged her from behind. "Hermione, love, you should know by now the world isn't always fair. The world's crap has to be dumped somewhere. If I'm the only one willing to take it on, so be it. We can't all be happy all of the time. If we were, who is to say we'd know what happiness was? No one would have anything to compare it to, would they? So they wouldn't know any day from another. My bad days may be horrible days, but I don't have that many bad days. And if I have my bad days so that people like you and Ron and Ginny can be happy, then I'll take those bad days as they come. I'm going for a walk, and you are going to forget about the N.E.W.T.s for today and snog your fiancé senseless."
As Harry was exiting the portrait hole, Hermione murmured a question to herself.
"Harry, how do you always know the right thing to say?"
"I don't! I take a chance, spin the barrel, and hope I don't get shot!"
"Russian Roulette." He didn't always pretend to be someone he wasn't.
He walked away.
From the dormitory staircases, someone watched.