DISCLAIMER: I do not own Draco and his Glorious abs. And of course I don't own any of the others!

A/n; There are no excuses to my tardiness in this particular chapter. I'm sorry. I'll make it up, I promise ;)

Hope you'll like it!

If you ever come back

Hermione Granger looked at the desolate muggle London sky. It was the same colorless gray that greeted her everyday since she bought the flat that she was currently residing in.

It had been about 11 months since she left the Magical world all together. There were things that she had to take care of, of course, but she had smoothed it all down before leaving. Her money and assets were still secure, and so was the inheritance that her parents had left her. She took some money to get settled here in muggle London, the only place that was obvious enough to hide that Harry and Ron would never turn to look at, but the amount barely made a dent to her savings. But more or less, she was living a comfortable life.

She was volunteering at various orphanages and home-for-the-aged in and around the city. It was her way of keeping busy while she figured out what to do next. She had tried to do everything she used to love, but somehow, it felt wrong because everything she used to do she did with someone she loved, so she scrapped the idea altogether.

A tapping sound pulled her out of her thoughts as she looked towards the large glass wall. Outside, Hedwig was flapping her wings and tapping impatiently at her. She chuckled at the sight but instantly her laughter ceased as she absorbed what the letter meant.

None of her friends ha written to her ever since she left. And even though she made it a point to attend every occasion – albeit disguised – no one had breached her request of patience.

So the letter must have been important.

Quickly, she stepped out into the balcony and held her hands out towards Hedwig. The owl dropped the letter and sent her a reproachful glare, as if chastising her for not saying goodbye. She sent the owl an apologetic smile and she hooted affectionately, nipping Hermione's finger before flying off.

With unmasked dread and worry, Hermione oped the letter and she saw, with a bit of relief, sadness and happiness intermingled, Ron's sloppy handwriting. Though, it was nicer than normal – which meant that he had put effort in creating this particular letter.

Hermione went inside, staring at the words but not comprehending what they said. She crashed on a bar stool before trying to comprehend her old lover's note.

Hermione,

It's been so long since we last saw each other, and I know that you specifically told me not to write, but I couldn't resist.

I miss you.

So much.

Do you remember that time in our third year when we were outside and Hagrid was teaching us Care of Magical Creatures? That was the first time that we met Buckbeak, and he was really all posh and polish back then. Harry, of course, was first to take him on. Well, maybe this was mainly because he didn't notice all of us stepping back.

That was the day that we first held hands. Well, at least the first time we did something more intimate than friendship. It had always been a secret, but until that moment, I thought that Harry was the one that you fancied. The two of you looked perfect – the knight and the princess. Who was I, a mere peasant compared to the likes of you two, to hope that you would notice me? So I sat down on the sidelines, a little proud of you, a little sad and maybe even a little envious as you two garnered more attention than I ever could. I know that you won't agree to this, but you should have seen yourself. Back then, you were the Gryffindor Princess, Harry was our Prince and I was someone who held your capes. I was the sidekick – the dumb, idiotic third wheel to the otherwise perfect couple. An of course I was jealous. I resented how Harry got everything he – or rather, I – wanted, and how you got to be so perfect without even batting an eye. And I took all that anger out on the world.

But that day changed everything. When you held my hand, I was shocked at how good it felt. You held it so tight that I was sure that you would have crushed it if you tightened your grip – but I didn't mind, not really. I was happy, because for the first time, I felt wanted. And being wanted, especially someone with the likes of you was more than I could ever wish for. But that isn't exactly why I brought this particular memory up.

This whole relationship that we had for the past few years felt just like the first time that we held hands – surprising, wonderful and relishing. But you know that it was also awkward,and that we had to do it in the dark. But nonetheless, these past few years have been and still is, a roller coaster... the only difference is, that we're not riding in the same cart anymore. There were ups and downs, but we held on.

Also, do you remember letting go? I held on so tight, but we were both surprised that we let go. By that time, I think Buckbeak was at the point of killing Malfoy. We were both so surprised by his scream and obvious pain that you let go and rushed to his side. No, I am not jealous – though, at that time, I admit that the little green monster had been sitting on my shoulder – because I knew that you would have done the same if everyone was in a situation like that. You were always the sympathizer in our little group. Harry was too skeptical on most things to let pity reign. I was too... me.

But when you let go... I felt... empty. It was like the empty that you could feel with houses. Like how you would know if it was permanently vacated or just temporarily left alone. It was also like how I felt when you left... or so I thought.

Back then, I felt empty, yes... but not the kind of empty that was permanent, because I knew, that at the end of the day, you would be with me. That you would hold my hand again. It was as if I could sense that you would come back to me. This time... this time it felt more like a permanent emptiness. And for a time, I feared that I would fall into disrepair if you would never come back.

I know that it's almost been a year since you left, but your things are still here. Just how you left them. I keep them in prime condition, or the condition that I can best keep them in. They tell me that it's futile and that you yourself told them to tell me to move on. They tell me that I'm wasting my time because you weren't likely to come back... but everyone used to believe that redheads have no soul, how wrong was that? So I think that I have reason to believe that you would show up on our doorstep again someday.

I miss you.

I remember the little things that we used to do.

Do you remember our fights? It would be explosive and everything would be smashed and crushed afterward. Then we would end up not talking for weeks. I hated those times. I was always desperate to talk to you. But we were bad at making up... but we always did in the end.

But now... now I wish that you could still give me the silent treatment and your winter wonderland of a shoulder. I wish that you could still give me a hard time with everything. Oh admit it, you were spiteful after every fight. I miss those times – even if I did sleep on the couch on most nights during them.

I miss you. I love you. I... I just want you to come back. I would accept anything that you're willing to give me. I can be a friend. I can be the person you'll tell everything to. I can be... I can be a stranger. Anything at all.

A girl told me that I should never do this. I would appear clingy. But I couldn't resist.

I'll leave the latch off the door if you ever want to come back,

Ron

Hermione sobbed as she closed the letter. This was the thing that made her stay awake all night. The thing that swayed her resolve. It had been a year but every time she remembered her friends, she was always tempted to come back. But she knew that no matter how much she would break Ron's heart, he never would convince her to come back – not at least until she found herself again.

That was just it.

She was having a hell of a time in finding herself. It was easier to convince Professor Snape – may he rest in peace – to sing Broadway style than to find the missing thing.

She shook her head and proceeded to ready herself. She would need some fresh air if she was ever going to resist visiting the Wizarding world and ruining all the progress that she had done.

Quietly, as if not to disturbed the nonexistent sleeping people, she made her way to the bathroom. Once there, she stood in front of the large ornate mirror, still shocked that the girl staring at her with equal flabbergast was herself.

The girl in the mirror had long wavy hair that reached her hips. It was not the short, bushy mane that she donned back in her youth. Its color was also off. It was lighter than she had ever remembered, almost blonde – an effect of her being outside more often than she ever had before. Her face still held the same delicate fragility, but it also held a sadness that she never dared show before. Her body was still slight and willowy, but her long days dealing with sugar-crazed children gave her the body of a girl who worked out. And she also wore contacts, blue ones, since she figured that she had changed so much that only her eyes would ever give her away if ever her friends decided to look for her.

She looked a whole new person, yes, but that never changed her personality. Her flat was neat and tidy, and only one room held chaos – the library. It was stacked with books, hundreds of them. It was in a neat disarray – just how she liked it.

She quickly splashed water at her face and pulled on a crème Cardigan sweater, navy faded jeans, and black knee-length boots. She pulled on her scarf and proceeded to the door. Tears barely staying inside her.

Standing on the old, forgotten arch bridge and looking out towards the gray river was relaxing to the brunette. It was a reminder to her that no matter how time seemed to stand still, everything would still continue to flow. There would always be change, no matter how small or large.

The street was deserted, save for another man that was also looking out towards the river. He seemed vaguely familiar to Hermione. He was tall and lean, athletic. His face was chiseled and he was pale as paper. His hair was dark brown and his eyes were the most familiar thing about him. They were almond shaped and stormy blue-gray. The man was handsome, but there was a sadness to him that stuck even though he looked indifferent. r

Suddenly, a gust of wind blew and Hermione's scarf flew right off her neck and into the air, the navy blue a sharp contrast to the outlandish grey. The man deftly caught it in his hand before it flew towards the muddy river. Hermione ran up to the man who held her scarf, staring at it as if it had been an artifact of magic. It was a silly thought, of course, since this man was most likely muggle since his clothes, though undoubtedly expensive, was suited to blend in.

"I believe this is yours," The man said as Hermione approached. He looked at the scarf with such intensity that the girl felt as if it would burst into flames.

"Yes," She breathed. "Thank you."

He held out her scarf as his green eyes gazed intently at her face. He was studying her with a trace of familiarity. "I think this might be weird... but didn't you go to a boarding school in Scotland with me?"

Hermione's eyebrows shot up at this. Hogwarts was in Scotland. And this man wasn't a muggle. That was sure. "I don't know. Which school?" Hermione shrugged, trying to act nonchalant. If this man would recognize her, he could tell it to the press and everything about her normal life today would vanish and crumble.

"It doesn't matter." the man sighed as he gave her one last long look.

"Oh..." Hermione mumbled. "Okay."

They both stood there in silence, both absorbed in their own thoughts, both captive of memories best left alone and unseen.

Hermione fingered the navy scarf and sighed quietly. It had been a long time since she stood with anyone and felt this much peace. It was refreshing. And yet, it somehow reminded her of days when all she did was sit on the Lake and reminisce.

"I... I should really go." She mumbled after a minute. The man looked surprise to find her beside him, as if he had forgotten that she was ever there. "Thank you so much for catching my scarf. This is one of my most treasured items."

Hermione began to walk away, but the stranger sighed and said, "A gift? From a boyfriend, or parent perhaps? People only treasure things that are given to them by the ones they love the most or the things they earned to get. You don't seem like the knitting type."

"Yes, I don't knit. But actually, it's from my ex-boyfriend." Hermione whispered at she glanced at the sky. It was almost colorless at this time of day. The kind of gray that hints of something beautiful and better to come. "And no, I don't keep this because he gave it to me. I have so little to remember the past that I cling to anything to remind me of it. It's a reminder too, not just a gift. That's why I treasure it."

"Then why run away then? Why runaway when you love the people in your past so much?" the man asked and for a split second, Hermione thought that he was referring to her particular episode in the Wizarding world, but then the man added. "You look lonely and... you just look alone. You wouldn't be alone if you hadn't run away or done something like that."

"I do love them still, you know." Hermione whispered, walking towards the way she came. "Sure, I left. But that doesn't mean that I stopped loving them."

The man was silent, as if contemplating what she said. Without another word, Hermione walked away, but she stopped when the man called out, "Xavier. I'm Xavier. Your name! I didn't catch it!"

Hermione smiled as she continued to walk, saying " I never gave it." She laughed. "But if you must know, it's Jean. Jean Wilkins."

A/n; Thank you, Hplover143; HermioneSelene11; and Winterwood11