_The Day You Lost Me_

Chapter 6

"It wasn't the day I left."

Hermione tilted her head to the side, her eyes watching Harry. His eyes on the other hand were focused on something afar, and his fork was absently poking at a slice of toast. She stifled a chuckle at her best friend's lack of mindful presence, and nudged him lightly. Harry turned away from whatever he was looking at, but not before Hermione had managed to steal a glance at – ah.

Cho Chang.

Harry looked away sheepishly, his cheeks slightly redder than they should have been. Hermione rolled her eyes at him, smirking, as she turned back to her own breakfast. She felt slightly giddy as she met Neville's eyes across the table and cupped her mouth with her hand, giggling. Neville chuckled slightly, shaking his head.

And then the words came out of her mouth before she'd the chance to think them over.

"You should just tell her, Harry."

Because with a sigh, Hermione was Harry's best friend. And this sort of thing fell under that category. He was too busy staring at other girls, anyway, and nothing she did could ever steer herself away from her 'Best Friend and Nothing Else' image in Harry's mind.

It was, after all, the logical thing to do.

And logic did hurt, right?

Harry scoffed at her, but his cheeks were still burning as he reached forward for the pitcher of pumpkin juice. His arms seemed to work against him as he knocked Hermione's goblet down in the process and it spilled, leaking past the pages of her book and off the table and onto her skirt. Hermione gasped, her hands scurrying towards the book. Harry jumped a little as well, grabbing the nearest napkin he could find, and handing it to her, his hands fumbling in embarrassment.

Hermione was grumbling slightly as she cringed, rubbing at the stain on her book, and Harry could have laughed if it hadn't been his fault. Hermione was more focused on her books than on her skirt.

Any other girl in the room would have probably paid more attention to their skirt than their books.

But not Hermione.

Hermione was different.


Hermione stared at herself in the mirror, lost in her thoughts.

The week had gone by fast. Every day seemed to unfold into the night, and then she'd shut her eyes, and shut off the world...and when she was back, it was day again. She didn't keep tabs on anything, nothing even the date. Until the night before she noticed that her second appointment to St. Mungo's was due the next day...which is, to say, today.

There are many good attributes to letting the days slip by. The most useful of which she discovered that blankness masked pain. What was out of mind, was truly out of mind. And as she slid open the drawer, and pulled out her watch, her eyes fell on a discarded necklace she knew once belonged to her mother. Her fingers brushed against the chain, before she shut the drawer defiantly and put her ghosts to sleep. For now anyway.

She'd been sleeping in her parents' room the whole stay so far, and barely went near her own room. It felt comfortable and she felt safer in her parents' bed. There was something about the bed that was different from the rest of the house.

The bed told her: I'll keep you warm, and I'll remind you of your family without reminding you of what you did to your family, and that will help you feel safe.

While the rest of the house told her: It's empty. It's empty, and you know why. You should.

And then she'd blink back whatever tears threatened to escape, and whisper to herself, "I did it. I did it and I'm not sorry. I loved them, and that's why I did it. I did it. I did it and I'm not...I'm not sorry."

And despite every logical fiber in her being stating otherwise, it always seemed like she was pleading to the walls and the rooms. That she was explaining herself to the furniture in the hopes that it'd forgive her and make the house feel a little less dead.

She'd be okay after that, taking a deep breath or two, before finding some other way to distract herself. Hermione pulled out some lipstick from a drawer, and uncapped the thing. It was barely used. She pressed it to the mirror, and wrote:

It's not empty.

Then, slowly, she lowered her hand, and wrote with a weak grasp on the lipstick:

Yes it is.

She took her signature two deep breaths, and turned away from the mirror. She stood, ready to face the dreaded dreadful music, and took hold of her purse. Her eyes were trained at the floor, making sure she wouldn't trip over the carpet as she trotted lightly down the wooden stairs.

Then she stopped.

Every muscle came to a jolt and just…stopped.

Her purse dropped to the ground as her hands turned to the banister for support. Her legs would have given out, and she was pretty much sure that all the blood in them was focused on her toes and those awful heels.

She slowly continued the descent down the stairs, taking it step by step, leaving her purse as it was. Her eyes went around the room at an almost alarming rate, jumping from one corner to the next. Jumping from the table to the floor to…everything.

She just couldn't believe it.

By the time she was about to set foot on the wooden panels of the ground, she hunched over and pulled off her heels, carrying them with her as she changed support-systems and leaned against the wall. Now that the blood flow had resumed, she felt a little better, if not awfully shocked.

She entered the living room, and gasped. The heels fell to the ground, and she didn't flinch or glance at them.

Her head felt lighter, and her heart was thumping in her throat. It was like she had a fever, and had taken so much medicine the world was spinning. And there was only one thing she wanted to do: Smile.

So she couldn't help it.

She smiled.

Turning around with a last glance at the living room, she made her way to the dining room, and stepped inside, almost shaking her head and laughing in disbelief. She would have been jumping too if she wasn't too surprised to function properly. She would have been squealing, maybe, if it were a different day, a different time. Her heart just felt warmer then. The entire house felt warmer.

The entire day felt warmer.

She finally settled herself at the dining table, and sat down at the chair that had been hers once long ago, on dinners, lunches and all meals in general. It didn't cast a shadow on her mood. It didn't darken her perspective.

It felt as though the fatigue she felt in the house had apparated away.

Everything was just brighter. And as she reached forward, she touched the daffodil belonging to a vase of what looked like twenty daffodils, and smiled as her fingers clasped lightly onto a petal.

She pulled the daffodil out of the vase of many, and pulled it closer, as though wanting to examine it and determine that it was real.

The entire house was filled with daffodils. The living room. The hallway. The dining room. Probably even the kitchen.

One. Thousand. Daffodils.

She didn't even have to count. She just knew.

One. Thousand. Daffodils.

Hermione smiled as she popped the daffodil back into place and looked around to survey the gift. She closed her eyes, and took a deep breath, almost calmed by the gesture if not the flowers that flooded her home.

Home.

It almost felt like home. Home after a vacation. Home, on a sunny day. Home, on a special occasion. Home, the first day after she got back from school. Home.

She opened her eyes and looked back at the daffodil she'd picked up.

"'Send her a thousand daffodils'."


"Harry, I'm fine," Hermione said tiredly as she left the bathroom, her clothes cleaned and her book open in her hands. The pages were still stained, and when she shut the book, they made a distinct slushing noise. She cringed at it, but still took her seat next to Harry on the bench.

"I'm sorry, Hermione. I wasn't thinking straight," he said honestly.

"You were thinking of Cho," she said knowingly.

Hermione couldn't really try to explain the feeling in her stomach at that moment. She fancied Harry. She really did. But Harry had become quite complicated during the summer.

One example was how easily he would flare up, and how easily he'd blast at her. It did give her a new perspective. Not that she could ever hate him, or grow tired of him because he was moody. She knew that it was just the time, and that it would pass eventually.

It was that he could flare up at her.

Not just groan in annoyance, or become irate.

He'd bellowed his lungs out at her after the first time they'd been reunited for their fifth year. Bellowed at her and Ron, and she did the stupidest thing by almost crying. It had momentarily struck her that Harry had become too comfortable around her and Ron, and that they truly were his best friends.

Some people would say that the best of friends could be determined if there is no conflict. She believed that the best of friends could be determined by the willingness of one person to start a conflict.

Harry wouldn't have ever bellowed at Cho.

Harry would never be comfortable bellowing at someone he fancied, especially if they hadn't done anything substantially wrong towards him.

It wasn't her fault; she was just following instructions.

Always. Following. Instructions.

Harry must have noticed the look on her face, because he smiled, and tapped her on the shoulder.

"What're you thinking about?"

Hermione looked at him blankly, unable to even muster up an emotion. She must have looked clueless. She was bidding her time, trying to figure out an appropriate response.

Her thoughts backtracked momentarily.

Had she come to this now? That she had to pick her words around him, and not just say the first thing that came to mind?

Oh. Right. She was hiding something, after all.

"Hermione, what's bothering you?" Harry asked tentatively.

The bell rang then, and Hermione turned to him, smiling widely to enhance the act.

"Time for class," she said softly.

Harry's eyes were focused on her for a long moment, as though he was studying her. But then he nodded, and they both stood, going their separate ways.


Hermione looked down immediately as the elevator slid open and a familiar face jumped in, blocking her way and inevitably forcing her back inside. She tried to escape, but he just caught onto her arm, and gave her that pleading voice he knew always got to her.

"Please, Hermione. Can we just talk for a moment? Like civilized adults?"

She turned almost grudgingly towards Harry, and hung her head at him, leaning against the wall of the elevator. He punched a couple of buttons, and before she knew it the doors were sliding close.

"I have an appointment, you know," she told him quietly, keeping her tone even.

Her heart had still maintained it's warm, fluttering feeling all the way to St. Mungo's, but everything in her seemed to freeze when the doors slid open and she saw his eyes staring back at hers. She couldn't explain it. The flowers were from him. The flowers made her happy. The thought that Harry remembered made her happy.

And yet it still hurt to look at him, it still hurt that she was back, and that four years worth of pain were suddenly clinging onto her like a second skin.

"Your appointment has been pushed back twenty minutes," he replied just as knowingly, and she gaped at him, dumbfounded.

"You pushed back my appointment?" Outrage. Curiousity. And curiousity was getting the better of her.

He fished in his pocket for a second, and held out a vial. It was filled about a quarter of the way with a clear liquid. She noticed that her hand was clenched tight, and he couldn't exactly give it to her. His eyes met hers briefly, before she looked back at his hand holding the vial, and hers which was clenched. And ever so gingerly, she opened her hand, and accepted the vial. She looked down at it, watching the slight amount of what she already knew was potion slosh from side to side as she tilted her hand.

"I think you know what that is," he said, almost smiling.

"Veritaserum," she said, not missing a beat, like she was a student again competing for grades and house points. She blushed furiously in embarrassment. Her body went rigid whereas he relaxed, exhaling in relief.

"'Brightest witch of her age'," he said in a commentary tone they'd both heard many times before.

"'The Boy-Who-Lived; the Chosen One'," she shot back quietly. He just smiled down at her, and she could almost feel the sides of her mouth complying. But not quite yet.

As the doors slid open, Harry held out his arms dramatically, egging her towards what lay ahead.

"What do you want, Harry?" she asked him tiredly.

He shook his head defiantly. "You've already given me what I want: Time to talk. I'm just suggesting we talk here, since it's the most deserted area in this entire building."

Hermione kept her eyes locked on him as she exited the elevator. They were in a ward she was not familiar with, and indeed there were no patients. Plenty of beds were cleared, and then it caught on to her.

"This is where they kept Mr. Weasley before."

"Yes, it is. Less dark magic running around nowadays," Harry said with a raised eyebrow. He began fishing in his pocket again, and pulled out a second vial, exactly the same as hers.

"What are you plan – Harry!" she cried as he drank the contents without another second's thought.

"Come on, join me."

"No. You've lost it!" she said, throwing her hands in the air for emphasis. But her right hand was still enclosed around the vial, and she turned back towards the door. Harry pulled out his wand in one fluid motion, and the doors to the elevator sealed themselves together, with a fiery X across it.

She turned back to him, exasperated, and he shrugged at her.

"'For all I care, lock yourself in a room with her and find some way to tell her the truth'," he quoted.

He really did remember. How could he still remember?

Then again, said a small voice at the back of her head, how could he not?

She felt a small smile creep up onto her lips as she fiddled with the bottle in her hands.

Hermione felt her curiosity resurfacing, and sighed. She fumbled with the vial for a good moment, before uncorking it and raising it to her lips.

Then she drained the bottle.


"I heard a rumor that you spilled pumpkin juice on Hermione," Ron said as he sat down next to the two. They were huddled by the lake, legs stretched out and books and bags laid at the side.

"It was an accident," Harry replied.

Ron shrugged. "I just wish I was there to see it – Ow!" he cried, laughing as Hermione whacked him across the arm. Harry laughed too, but shut up the minute Hermione laid her eyes on him.

They heard giggling, and Harry caught sight of Cho again, accompanied by her friends. He smiled at the sight of her, watching her go by, her eyes momentarily spotting him. Then she blushed and turned away, and the giggling got louder.

"You should just pluck up the courage and tell her," Ron said thoughtfully, pulling Harry out of his trance.

"I'm just afraid she react like Fleur did," he said, eyebrow raised as Ron turned a deep shade of purple and it was Hermione's turn to laugh. Harry looked at her, smirking, as Ron sputtered an attempt at words.

Hermione caught him looking at her, and immediately stopped laughing, causing Harry to give her a questioning look that she just shook her head bashfully at, turning away. Harry decided to go for it, since Ron had pulled out his Transfiguration homework and was scribbling away determinedly, trying to avoid conversation.

He leaned towards Hermione, almost bumping into her.

"What is it?" she asked him.

"I'm sorry about earlier," he mustered, unable to think of anything else to start the conversation with.

She waved her hand at him. "It's all right. You were distracted," she said, smiling knowingly again. Then she pursed her lips at him and shook her head, looking at the ground. "You should just tell her already."

"Yeah, mate, you should," Ron contributed.

"Fleur!" both Harry and Hermione shot out, to which Ron began muttering incoherently, his attention once again fixed at his Transfiguration homework. Harry and Hermione shared a good laugh at the situation, before things grew less funny again.

"It won't hurt to try," Hermione said softly, and Harry turned to her.

He noticed how close he was to her, and that she looked as though he were already depriving her of oxygen supply by being so close. He scooted backwards, and Hermione looked down, avoiding his eyes.

"What – what's – Hermione!" he laughed. There was a warm feeling in his chest, and he knew what he had to do. This awkwardness was going to end now.

"Harry!" she laughed aloud as he lunged onto her, bringing her down to the grass, her hair falling onto her face.


"Ask me anything," he urged.

"What's your name?" she mumbled, all trains of thought having disappeared. Harry almost snorted.

"Something interesting. And it's Harry James Potter by the way."

Ah. There was the veritaserum kicking in. Harry noted how nervous he was actually feeling. His hand was clasped around the metal bar of the bed, while Hermione leaned against the wall. He was just bursting with all that he wanted to say to her. And if she didn't soon he'd –

"I've missed you." It came out before he could think any better of it. And he felt glad that it did. There was a burning at the back of his throat as he said it aloud.

Hermione looked up from the floor, and he could see that there was something genuine to the look she was giving him. Like…maybe…just maybe –

"Did you miss me?"

Hermione opened her mouth for a moment, and Harry waited, holding his breath.

"Yes," she said, in almost a whisper.

Harry let out a breath of relief once more, and managed to let go of the metal bar. This was going to work. This was going to work. He'd been up late into the night for the past five days planning for this to go well. He was usually on so much coffee his sentences rarely stretched beyond three words. They rarely did. See? They rarely did.

He just wanted her to forgive him. He just wanted to talk to her again. To be able to confide in her, and tell her his darkest secrets and most secret thoughts…and have her do the same with him.

"Why did you leave?" he asked.

"You told me to," Hermione said with a sad smile.

Harry frowned at that. "Yes, I know I did. But I've told you many things before, Hermione, and you've managed to ignore them."

Hermione was looking at her hands, and Harry was given a brief moment to admire the fact that she was in the same room as him. It was her. It really was. The same brown hair that was just as untamable as his own. The same deep brown eyes that seemed to go on forever that one would surely be lost if they looked into them. The same porcelain look – that she was so breakable. The same fire in her gaze when she looked up, her Gryffindor courage almost kicking in and her lion's heart beating.

"I just couldn't stay," she said softly, and it was the slight quiver in her voice that told him it was the truth.

Hermione stared at her hands, not wanting to go on. She guessed that it was the veritaserum that pushed her, giving her that feeling in her chest and urging her to just get everything out and start talking and never stop. It wasn't as though she hadn't fought this certain feeling before. But now, four years later, being in a room with Harry again...it was different. It just wouldn't go away. Not until he knew everything. And then maybe he'd look back and look at her and see that she was different from who he thought she was.

"Was it Ginny?" he began, before she cut him off.

"No. No!" she said, the second 'No' coming out stretched and exasperated. "It was you!" Hermione practically snarled at him, taking a rushed step forward, then taking an equally rushed step backward, her hands flying to her hair as she began fiddling with the strands. "You, Harry. It's always been you. I was just so confused…and I didn't know how else to be not. I have always wanted you to be happy –"

"I'm only happy if you're there, Hermione."

"– and yet I am always so sad. I mean. I just. It was a bad time for me…and I just couldn't take it anymore. So I ran."

"Did it make you happier?" he asked her carefully, his eyes steering her towards the answer. There was just something so beyond everything about his green eyes, and the way he was looking at her. Like she was Hermione Granger, his best friend, whom he wanted to laugh with and be with. Like she was still the same girl she'd been four years ago.

"I missed you," Hermione said with a sad smile. "But time heals all wounds," she began, and he stood up, the bed almost screeching backwards at his sudden force.

"Not mine," he bit off, taking her by surprise. "Not mine, Hermione. You took off like that and I wanted to follow you –"

"What rubbish –"

"Oh, really? You were selfish and stubborn! What was so bad for you that you had to run away? What couldn't we have fixed?"

"My parents!" she shrieked at him. She gazed around the ward warily, before turning back to him, her eyes almost glazed. "My parents. My life." She swung her hands around, trying to pull out good reasons from the air. "Everything!"

"We're all orphans here, Hermione," he told her, his voice almost breaking. "I lost my parents too. And I can tell you from experience that it's better to be with friends than on your own."

"They just meant – they just meant – you just don't know!"

"Ofcourse I don't," he muttered, scoffing.

"They used to talk about you as much as I did!" she shouted, tears springing to her eyes. "I used to mention you in almost all my letters! You were one of my first friends, Harry! FIRST! First after eleven years of lonely existence!"

"And you were one of mine!"

"That's the point!" she sniffed. "That's the point! You were the only sure thing after that! You changed everything! They were muggles – they couldn't fully grasp the wizarding world – they just – they could only go so far. It was like I lost my parents the day I accepted that letter. They could understand science and math – but potions and charms? No. No. No. No." She swung her purse at the bed next to her, and then sat down. "I could no longer talk to them about school."

And Harry recalled, once again, that fifth year prefect he'd known the summer at Grimmauld. That fifth year prefect who'd asked him quiet shyly if she could borrow Hedwig to owl her parents.

Prefect was something they could understand.

"What else was there to talk about then? My day? Their day? The weather? I told them about you. I know. It sounds stupid. But it made them happy. I had a friend. They even though that…that…" Hermione swallowed. She took her good two breaths, and shook her head calmly. "It doesn't matter anymore. I just…I'm sorry I just left like that. It wasn't fair."

"Do you really believe that?" he asked her.

"What?"

"Do you really believe that it wasn't fair? That it wasn't some act to punish me?"

She looked at him with wide eyes and shook her head fervently. "I would never punish you, Harry."

"But it did," he said clearly. "It did, Hermione."


Harry managed his way that he was next to her. He gave her a light push on the shoulders so that she wouldn't try to sit up. Once Hermione nodded, he lay himself next to her but in the opposite direction, so that his feet were pointing towards Ron and Hermione's were pointing towards the lake. He scooted even more so that their cheeks were almost brushing against each other. He could almost feel the burning of Hermione's cheeks as she flushed a deep crimson.

"Oi, you two!" Ron called.

"Fleur!" Harry called back out loudly.

"Fleur!" Hermione added, just as loud.

"FLEUR!" Harry shouted, cupping his hands around his mouth.

"Fleur!" Hermione shrieked inbetween a fit of giggles.

"I'm going to the common room then, if this is the company I have to put up with," Ron snapped at them, before grabbing his things and marching out.

"Ron!" Harry called out without bothering to sit up. He could spot Ron walking towards the school, but felt no urgent need to follow him. It wasn't as though Ron were angry; he was just embarrassed.

"Should we go after him?" Hermione asked, her laughs subsiding.

"I dunno," Harry replied. "I'm too comfortable to run after Ron right now."

He placed his left arm behind his head as a pillow, and stared up at the clear blue sky. They spent a good few minutes like that, just staring up at the sky, and trying to relax.

Then she spoke again.

"She won't turn you down," Hermione said in a whisper.

"What –"

"She won't send you away," Hermione said, speaking louder.

Harry thought quietly for a moment, letting the silence drift between them again. "How do you know?"

"I just do," Hermione said after a beat. "It's…it's a girl thing," she lied.

It was not a girl thing. It was a Hermione-thing. It was a I-Know-She-Won't-Because-She-Isn't-Crazy-Enough-To-Turn-You-Down. It was also an observation, but she wasn't going to say that.

"And how do you suppose I tell her then?" Harry asked, though the edge in his tone told Hermione that he was just playing around with the conversation then. He wasn't taking her explanation seriously, and he definitely wasn't taking her word.

She supposed she would've normally felt hurt at that. But it wasn't as though she'd been completely honest with him either.

"I dunno," she said, shaking her head slightly. She took a deep breath, and began rattling off possible ways. "Take her out for coffee. Give her something of yours to remember you by." Harry gave an undeniable chuckle at her words, and she felt herself heat up slightly at that, but ignored the feeling. "Send her a thousand daffodils," she suggested.

Then he laughed. He actually laughed, as though she'd said something deliberately funny. But she didn't, and it only made her head feel hotter.

"Oh for Merlin's sake, Harry –," she exclaimed at that point. "For all I care, lock yourself in a room with her and find some way to tell her the truth!"

"Hermione, wait, I don't understand," Harry huffed as he turned onto his stomach. Hermione was already wobbling to her feet, and heading toward her bag. "Hermione. I'm sorry I laughed. I just…I didn't think you were serious –" He got onto his knees, and stood. "Your suggestions just seemed so Muggle-like it seemed impossible that Cho would…go for them…" Harry trailed off lamely, giving Hermione a funny look.

She faltered under his stare, and shifted on the spot uncomfortably.

"I just…Sorry. It was my mistake," he said suddenly, switching directions with the conversation. He walked forward to collect his own things, and handed Hermione her own things while he was at it. She reached out to take her bag from him, but he pulled it back last minute, smiling at her. "Is that what you'd want then? If you were Cho?"

"From…from you?" Hermione asked quietly, her cheeks threatening to go red in a flash.

Harry gaped at her momentarily before catching himself. He almost snorted at her, but thought that it would have been too cruel. It wasn't her comment he'd be snorting at; but the look on her face. She looked dazed and lost, and it was a very funny look to see on Hermione Granger's face. But trust Hermione to maybe get things mixed up.

"No. I mean…from a bloke. Not from me."

Hermione scoffed.

"No," she said. It was the truth. Well, it was partially true. She shook her head at Harry, and made her way toward the school. Harry just watched her, smiling.

He knew she was lying. It was obvious.

But Hermione knew she wasn't technically lying.

She didn't want that from a boy. Not some 'boy', some hypothetical being.

She wanted it from Harry.

It was always Harry.


"I'm telling I was wrong, Hermione. I'm apologizing. I just – wait. Please. I just – if it made you so miserable to send your parents away like that, to that extent, why then? Why do it?"

"I did it for you, Harry," she sighed, sitting on the bed across from him. He followed her motion and sat down as well. "I've done a lot of things for you. Six years at Hogwarts," she said, shaking her head. "One year out of it. And everything wasn't exactly going perfect for me. You know this, Harry. You know how difficult it can be to go from normal to…to not normal."

"To extraordinary," he corrected.

She shook her head again.

"I've never been extraordinary."

"You are to me," he told her frankly.

"Don't lie," she whispered.

"Veritaserum," they both said at the same time, Harry almost grinning and Hermione cringing. Hermione let out a long breath.

"What did your parents think of the infamous Harry Potter?" he asked her quietly.

Hermione gave him this blank look he'd remembered from sometime before. It was like she was a deer-in-headlights. Her lips were slightly parted, and her eyes were staring straight at him, looking so cornered and unaware.

"They always thought there was more to you than I let on," Hermione finally said after a moment. "Like I wasn't telling them about all of it."

"Was there?" he asked. "Was there a line between the Harry you told them about and the real me?"

Hermione fixed him with a sad stare, and sighed. "There are always lines, Harry. Children never tell their parents everything. My parents used to – used to ask a lot. They wanted to meet you. To take you out for dinner. For lunch. For something."

"I never met them," he told her, and she knew just as well as he did that he never really did.

"You were special, Harry. Eventually you became so special that…that you became something else out of their reach," Hermione stated in a low-tone.

He frowned slightly at that. What did she mean? 'Special'? 'So special'?

"Hermione, I don't –"

She waved her hands down at him. "I'm sorry," she said suddenly, barely breathing the words out as she gave him one last look, then stood up. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry."

"Wait – Hermione," he said, turning and catching her by the hand. "You have to stop running!" he said desperately as she turned away. It wasn't as though she could really go any further unless she took the stairs. The door to the elevator was still sealed off. "You have to stop running, and just turn around and deal with all this."

"'Cause you're the expert, right?" she said, frustrated. "You've got all your problems solved. You're Harry, bleeding, Pot –"

"Ginny and I are unbonded!" he said, cutting across her.

Hermione froze, gaping again at him.

"Unbonded?" she deadpanned. "There are only two ways to become unbonded," she rattled off. "Death or…or…"

"It was the other thing," Harry supplied. "We just…you were right. It wasn't a good idea."

"I'm sorry," she found herself saying again. But this time she wasn't walking away. "It must have been terrible. You both didn't deserve that. I thought you were happy. I thought you were getting the life you should've had. You know: Family. Job. No dark wizards trying to do you in."

"So did I," he said, nodding. "But life never seems to work out the way we plan it. I wasn't the best husband. I wasn't the best person, really. Sometimes I'd…well. I'd lose it. Everything would be going well and then I'd lose it."

"Harry…"

"It was just…it was difficult. I couldn't let go, Hermione. I couldn't let life go on while I had forced my best friend away from me. Things weren't suppose to be like that. I was shocked, and then angry. And then just really, really empty." He paused. "Like something was missing. Someone was missing."

"I've heard that the best of friendships can do that to you," she said quietly. "I guess I went by it differently. I kept pushing the thought of you and London away. Kept myself busy nonstop. But it was my fault. I shouldn't have let…things get to me. I kind of lost the logic there for a while," Hermione said, feeling the words just slip off her tongue. The veritaserum was making things easier for her. The load that usually lay above her head when she had to tell the truth was just gone. She could say anything now, and know that she had no possible way of regretting it. "I'm sorry, Harry."

"I just wish I could understand, Hermione. Because I don't. It's like you took off and everything I'd assumed, or collected about you over the years just disappeared. I didn't know you. I thought I had. When Ron left the tent and you stayed behind, I thought that –"

"Ron was different, Harry!" she blurted. "Ron isn't you."

"Who the heck am I then? Why is it that the only person that can make you leave me is ME?" he demanded.

"Because YOU were different! You just were. You were Harry, the one person who always cared. Who could deal with me and my incessant insanity. Who would stand up for his friends and fight for what was right! AND NO! That wasn't the Boy-Who-Lived. That was just Harry." Hermione could feel her cheeks burning, almost feeling the pain as she let out all these words. Most of which she rarely ever thought to herself. And now she was telling him everything. "You were just Harry. Just. And I thought I had this stupid insight and that you were different to me because I didn't grow up hearing your named revered." She took a deep breath. "Because when we met we were just Harry and Hermione. And when we became friends, we were just Harry and Hermione. You never became anything else to me."

He was stunned into his own silence. Her words hit him, giving him a new string of unrealized thoughts. He'd never been able to appreciate the difference his friendship with Hermione held against all the others. He'd never really pictured her as just a normal girl – just Hermione. And he'd never really thought that someone he knew could just look at him as…as just Harry. No titles, just round glasses and upsetting hair.

"And I don't know, okay?" she said to him, gripping tightly onto her purse, her knuckles white with pressure. "I let it get to me. And I thought for one silly moment –" her voice lowered "that maybe…maybe you'd look at me one day and not just see me as just your best friend." She was speaking as quietly as possible, but with the emptiness of the room he still heard her voice as clear as day. "I thought that maybe, just maybe, you'd look at me one day and see me just as much more."

He could almost feel himself go numb at the words. Just maybe.

Special. So special. Just maybe.

His own voice was creaking out before him. He knew it was true. He knew what he was about to say was true without her having to literally spell it out for him. And on veritaserum, what else could he do but speak the truth?

"You fancied me."

It came out as a whisper, and he knew he sounded stunned. He was disbelieving, almost to the point of bewilderment.

Hermione? Hermione who'd helped him throughout all his years? Who'd stuck by him throughout all his adversaries? The same best friend who'd helped him comprehend Cho? And Ginny? His mind just went blank.

Girls who fancied their guy friends wouldn't help their guy friends understand other girls, right? Particularly girls their guy friends fancied. Right?

A thousand thoughts and memories were rushing into his head. He felt like it was blood creeping in, making his head feel awfully light, and his body feel awfully heavy. It was a realization that almost shook him.

And he found himself looking at all their experiences together, and furthermore…all their moment. Theirs, and no one else's. All of it from a different perspective.

Hermione, who never gave up on him. Until the day she left. Hermione, who always stood by him. Until the day she left. Hermione, who could crush everything out of him with her loving hugs. Until she was gone, and couldn't hug him anymore. Hermione, who wanted to see him happy…even with someone else.

Hermione who – who…who had kissed him on the cheek at the end of their fourth year.

"The day you left…" he found himself murmuring.

She was slowly backing away towards the door, shaking her head.

"Don't leave yet!" Harry called, and Hermione felt a pang at her chest.

Don't leave yet. Don't leave yet.

Her chest was almost reaching that familiar place. Chest heaves up. Chest heaves down. She couldn't cry now. Not now. Please, just not now. He called her again, and she could almost feel the chills running down her spine.

"Hermione."

His voice was full of emotion. Pain. Fear. He just couldn't let her leave now. He couldn't have her suddenly leave again after all they'd said to each other. He couldn't just take five steps forward to walk a mile back.

"Hermione."

She turned around, and her pained eyes met his again.

There was something broken inbetween them.

And she could see it all in his eyes just as he could see it in hers.

He inhaled deeply as she stood there, feeling dumber by the moment for actually waiting. For not leaving. If she left, she could still close up this huge gap in her chest that was beginning to sting as it ripped itself open again. She'd stitched it up over four years, just to have it ripped open again.

Harry kept his gaze fixed on hers, not letting up for a second.

He didn't expect his plan to work this well. He had hoped, prayed, banked everything on the fact that Hermione would take the Veritaserum and not ask any questions about it. That had worked.

What he hadn't planned was what he'd say to her afterwards. What he'd say to her now.

Potions, spells, they don't work on her. Luna's words.

"Veritaserum doesn't work on you."

Hermione gaped at him, eyes already watering. He'd lied. He'd lied. LIED.

"I just - I needed to know the truth. I swear, I didn't know. I wish I had. Back then. I didn't know."

He'd lied. She'd told him everything on her own conscience. He'd lied.

She'd told him everything.

"It works on me though. I'm on Veritaserum. And I thought that if you believed you were under it, you'd be honest with me."

She'd told him everything. How could she forget? How could she trust him, and not recall? They didn't work on her. Nothing worked on her.

Everything. She'd told him everything.

"Please say something..."

She found her voice, blinking back tears.

"I didn't leave, Harry." Off his confused expression, she said, "You said earlier 'The day you left...' but I didn't leave." She pushed the door to the stairs open, and gave him one last look. "It wasn't the day I left."

She bit her bottom lip, which trembled as she fought to get the last bit out, Veritaserum or not.

"It was the day you lost me."

A/N: AHHHHHH. Okay. I posted this since I started feeling guilty that I hadn't been updating. College life is keeping me busy, and I don't want to start writing while I'm feeling all apathic, since that'll just ruin everything for me and you guys.

And yes, Harry still has two more off the list to accomplish: Take her out for coffee. Give her something of yours to remember you by. Which he will, in the next chapter. I promise.

He's not going to let her just walk out of his life this time.

Also, have any of you guys watched Definitely, Maybe? Because I'm sort of reminded of that here. Or that reminds me of this. How Hermione is like April. The best friend who wanted to be the girl friend. The one the guy figures out he's in love with after all this time.

Just saying.

Anyway, you guys know this: Review? Favorite? Story Alert?