Summary: Sometimes people will walk out of our lives, but we'll always be left with reminders that they once graced our existence.
Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
Author's Note: A short one-shot that I did the final edit for at 4:00 in the morning. That would explain any mistakes you find.
If you like it, let me know. That's what reviews are for.
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You spot him on the other side of the busy street, casually standing outside a small shop. You almost jump up from your seat at the outdoor café and run to him before you realize he's lacking two very important things: a lightening bolt shaped scar and glasses.
Yes, now that you look closer, you can see some subtle differences. This man's nose is slightly larger and he's not as tall.
There are some very noticeable similarities though. The eyes are the same, except this stranger's aren't as full of sorrow as Harry's. This man also has the same unruly raven hair as your best friend.
You sigh as you stare at him longingly. It has been ages since you've last seen Harry. Almost two years now.
You can vaguely hear your mum beside you, talking to the waiter. You look away from the mysterious stranger long enough to order a cup of tea.
When you return your gaze to the other side of the street, the man is leaning back against the wall with his hands shoved into his pockets.
You ache inside, wanting to see Harry again. To hold him, and to take in his heavenly scent. If only you hadn't come clean about your feelings for him. You pushed him off the edge he had been teetering on for so long.
You think back to the last time you saw him. The day he had run out of your life, taking your heart with him.
"Stay out of my life, Hermione!" He had yelled as he pulled his coat on and took off down the corridor away from your flat. "I don't need you, or anyone!"
Those had been the last words you heard him spit out of his beautiful mouth. Words that had stung you and left you in a state of despair and heart break.
The only reminders you have that he had existed in your life are a few random pictures, and the scarf he had forgotten in your flat on that cool fall day. You've stashed the pictures away though. They're too painful to look at.
The Harry reminder across the street continues to casually lean against the wall. You suspect he's waiting for someone.
You're waiting for someone too, but you're starting to wonder if that person will ever return. You've been waiting so long.
You've tried many times to rid yourself of nagging thoughts of Harry, but you never succeed. You're not meant to forget about him.
The only thing that seems to keep you going is the reassurance you feel when Ron tells you about the letters he has received from Harry. Letters that say he's well. If he's well, then he can return.
Finally a pretty girl joins the man you've been observing with such passion. They walk off down the street, disappearing from your sight.
The autumn wind bites at your ears and blows your hair into a bigger disarray than it already was.
You attempt to return your attention to the table and you discover your mother is looking at you curiously. You smile weakly at her.
Your tea arrives at the table and you quickly take a couple sips. The hot liquid burns down your throat, matching the burning sensation you feel prickling behind your eyes.
You fight back tears and excuse yourself from the table, claiming you need to visit the bathroom.
You make your way away from the small café not really caring if your mum wonders where you're really going, you don't even know.
People bustle all around as you pull his scarf out from your jacket. You hold it close to your face and shut your eyes. All traces of Harry have long ago faded away, but it still serves as a comfort to you.
You try to tell yourself that one day he'll return. He has to. It must be awful cold without his scarf.