I own no one but the OCs.

This was kinda inspired by the song Hazy by Rosi Golan. I also apologize if any of what I say is wrong, I have little knowledge of London – only what I see in TV and what my British father tells me.

I watched you sleeping quietly in my bed

You don't know this now

But there's some things that need to be said

And it's all that I can hear

It's more than I can bear

I sit in the windowsill, looking down at the street six floors below. It's very early in the morning, a blue haze has covered everything and the sky is a darker blue. In my hand, is a quarter-filled glass of the muggle red wine that I love and you hate. I swirl it around a bit and turn my head to look at you.

You're sleeping quietly on your stomach, your head turned towards me, and the blankets only going up to your hips. Your dark brown hair is messy and tousled, just the way I like it.

I never sleep when you're here, in my London flat, in my bed; even when you're not, I barely sleep anymore.

You don't know this now, or maybe you do and just don't show it, but there's some things that need to be asked, need to be said. The questions are running through my head and it's all that I can hear, this now-quiet night, and it's more than I can bear.

I swallow the rest of the wine and stand up, placing the glass where I used to be sitting, before climbing back into bed. You unconsciously roll onto your side, place your arm around my waist, and pull me close. I smile and close my eyes.

That's my Albie Potter, I think and try to fall asleep.

My alarm clock wakes us both up, but you're the first one to actually get out of bed.

"Why can't we just call in sick?" I slur, quite sleep deprived.

"'Some big trauma might come in today," you reply.

"St. Mungo's never gets big traumas," I burrow further under the covers.

"Maybe someone famous will come in," you jump on your side of the bed, still trying to get me to come out.

"Yeah, maybe your dad will drop by and bring you lunch," I peak my head out from under the covers and smirk at you. You quickly grab me under my arms and pull me from the covers.

"Come on," you say as I pick up your tee shirt and pull it over my head. You pull on your jeans and open my bedroom door. "I smell coffee, and I think your roommates are cooking breakfast." That gets me up. I pull on my jeans and follow you out.

Two of my roommates, Dominique Weasley, your cousin, and Wesley Thomas, are cooking breakfast, and the other one, Isla Finnigan, is sitting at the counter, nursing a cup of coffee.

"Walk of shame, eh?" Isla asks in her thick, Irish accent.

"Not really a walk of shame if you're walking out of your bedroom," I reply, smacking her lightly on the back of her head as I walk by. She chuckles and you sit down next to her.

"What's for breakfast, Domi?" I ask the blonde girl, who's bustling about the kitchen, making eggs and waffles and bacon and putting large amounts of them on plates for us to pick at as we please.

"What you see in front of you, 'Lena," she replies with a smirk.

"Ah, my girlfriend, the homemaker," Isla smiles and stands up. Dominique hands her a plate and gives her a light kiss with it. Wesley rolls his eyes at the absolute mushiness of them. Even though they've been together since they were fifteen, and we're nineteen now, they're still in the honeymoon phase and I doubt they'll ever be out of it.

Wesley gets plates for me, you, himself, and Dominique and we all eat our food quickly, while still enjoying it.

You and I eat lunch at around noon in a muggle cafe near St. Mungo's, the hospital where we're both trainee Healers. You order a salad, whereas I order a cheeseburger, chips, and a chocolate milkshake. You occasionally steal some of my chips and I let you.

"We need to talk," I say about halfway through the meal.

"Okay," you take a bite of your salad and swallow. "Shoot."

"Not now, Albus," I shake my head. "Tonight. Come over again and we'll talk about what we need to talk about."

You nod. "I'll make the excruciatingly long trek for you, my darling Helena," you smile charmingly.

I laugh, because you live right across the hall.

What if I fall and hurt myself

Would you know how to fix me?

What if I went and lost myself

Would you know where to find me?

If I forgot who I am,

Would you please remind me oh?

"What did we need to talk about again?" You turn to me in bed at around midnight, after our nighttime tousle. "You mentioned it at lunch."

I sit up and reach over the side of the bed, plucking your button-up shirt from the floor and lazily putting it on myself, buttoning only three buttons.

"Us," I reply. "We need to talk about us."

"Us?" You repeat.

I nod. "If I fall and hurt myself, would you know how to fix me?" I ask.

You smile slightly, not comprehending the seriousness of my question. "'Course, Helena, I'm a trainee Healer, after all."

"Not in that way, Albus," I shake my head. "Not if I hurt myself that way."

It dawns on you how serious I am, and you sit up to face me. You nod. "I'd fix you, 'Lena."

"If I went and lost myself, would you know where to find me?" I ask

You nod again. "I know you inside and out, I'd know where to find you."

"If I forgot who I am, would you remind me?"

"I'd never let you forget in the first place, 'Lena."

I smile. "I love you, Albus Potter."

You smile back, that charming smile that makes me go weak at the knees. "I love you, too, Helena Wood."

Do you like it? If anyone, seriously, even one person, wants more, like a proposal or wedding or kids or a 'their kids going off to Hogwarts' thing or all of the freaking above, I'll do it. Suggest something! Even from this, I absolutely love writing Helena and Albus.