(A/N): I feel bad that I made everyone wait for this chapter. I promise everyone weekly updates from now on, but the past two weeks have been rough on me. I've been rather depressed and hardly found the motivation to actually sit down and write. To make up for the wait, though, I made this chapter longer than the last. I know it may not be much, but, given the circumstances, I tried. Lol. I dedicated the whole day to getting this finished and typed out. I just now finished typing it, and it's about 4:30am here, so, I'm quite proud of myself for kicking my own ass. Anyways, you've waited long enough, and I'm talking too much. =P

Disclaimer:

Please don't sue! I own nothing! Everyone belongs to JK Rowling!

Besides, I have no money. =S

Enjoy!

Chapter Two:

Good Seeing You

The sun had peeked over the darkened horizon, bathing the quiet, sleeping city of London in clean, golden-pink light. Somewhere on the corner of Rodgers Street and Medowlark a sliver of the early morning light spilled into a charming apartment nestled quaintly amongst a small patch of silver birch.

Harry Potter was curled beneath his duvet in the small, comfortable chair situated beside the large window overlooking Medowlark Avenue. He was quiet and his hair was thoroughly mussed; he cradled a steaming cup of coffee in his hands and stared blankly into the brightening summer sky. Another sleepless night, another day to pretend that nothing was wrong; he wanted to be sick. He took a long drink from his mug and relished in the taste of caffeinated heaven washing over his tongue.

Coffee, apart from specific people at the present, had always been there for him. The moment Hermione had taken him to Starbucks for the first time he had become instantaneously hooked. It had been the best coffee he had ever tasted. A non-fat Venti quad Caramel Machiatto had remained, to this day, his favorite drink. He had even taken to buying Starbucks coffee by the bag; he drank about 2-3 pots of it in a day. Hermione had blamed the caffeine-overload for his sleeplessness, but Harry assured her that the problem was much more complicated than an abundance of caffeine.

Finishing the last of his coffee with a gulp, Harry stood from his cozy spot in his chair, letting the soft duvet fall to the hardwood floor in a warm heap. He padded across the room to the bathroom and turned on the taps of the sink. After checking the water for a comfortable temperature, he dipped his hands beneath the streaming water and splashed his face, massaging his skin to awaken his sluggish senses.

He sulked back into his bedroom, drying his face on a small towel and sat with a huff on the edge of his bed. Glancing at his alarm clock, he saw that it was 7:42am, and cursed softly under his breath. He had to be at work at nine, and he dreaded it like the plague. Finding energy he didn't think he could muster, he stood and made his way to the kitchen, collecting his empty coffee mug from the floor beside the chair with the determined intention to refill it as soon as possible.

As he rounded the corner and entered the kitchen, he did just that; taking the half-full pot from its warmer and poured his mug full, leaving just enough room for a splash of milk. Sipping his coffee delicately, he slid into the dining room and took a seat at the oak table directly in front of his MacBook and opened it; he had an article to turn in today and wanted to proofread it for the ten-thousandth time to be absolutely sure it was perfect. His boss was a prick, and liked to be annoyingly picky about all of the articles to be printed in the magazine, but overall he was an alright guy, but Harry didn't like to try his patience more than was required. He skimmed quickly through the document, inserting a comma here or an apostrophe there, before resigning to the fact that his article was as good as he was going to get it. He shut the computer and stood, placing his empty mug in the sink before heading to his en suite to have a long, hot shower before he had to get ready for work.

Wrapping his bath robe around his dripping form, he emerged from the steam-engulfed bathroom and crossed over to his wardrobe, staring into the collection of clothes, trying futilely to decide what to wear. He finally decided on khakis and a green button-up, the one that made his eyes glisten enchantingly. He rolled his sleeved up to reveal tanned, toned forearms and fought with his severely tousled hair to tame it into some reasonable 'style'.

He looked at his watch and saw that it was half-eight and padded into the kitchen to fill his travel mug with his decadent brew before putting his computer into his satchel and heading out the front door.

x X x X x

In the many months that Harry had been working for Royal he had never experienced a day quite like this one was becoming. So far, the copier had jammed on him - twice, he had spilled coffee on his desk, and Emily, the receptionist, had forgotten to forward two of his calls from very important contacts; today was turning out to be a disaster, and it was only eleven.

Working on his fifth cup of coffee, Harry's fingers pounded away at his keyboard as he began his latest assignment. In lieu of everything that had happened earlier that morning, Harry had developed a splitting migraine. Resting his fingers, Harry removed his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose, trying desperately to relieve the pressure that had manifested in his brain. The throbbing only intensified when the phone on his desk rang sharply, startling him from his moment of rest. He slid his glasses back onto his nose and picked up the reciever, "Potter," he chimed with mock enthusiasm.

"You're sounding better, Harry," Hermione spoke cooly.

"A mere requirement for work, 'Mione," he chuckled.

"Of course. What time do you get off, love?," Hermione inquired.

Harry sighed softly; he half-hoped Hermione didn't have another one of her 'let's boost Harry's confidence by taking him out for dinner and drinks' nights planned. "Five-thirty, why?," he asked, biting his lip in anticipation.

"Straight to the point, eh Harry?," she laughed. "I thought you might accompany me to dinner tonight." Hermione stopped to wait on Harry's response.

"I don't know, Hermione. You'll find I'm not as fun as I used to be," Harry sighed.

"Harry, you haven't been yourself since you and Aarron got together, not since you two broke up," Hermione sounded the slightest bit reproachful.

"What do you mean, Hermione?" Harry was curious as to what his best friend was on about.

"You never hung out with anyone when you were with Aarron, and don't say you were just busy, Harry, I know for a fact that's a load of bollocks. You told me before, when you guys would fight, that he didn't like you having friends. Bloody hell, Harry, I hardly heard from you when you two were together, let alone saw you," she finished with a huff of exasperation, breathing heavily into the receiver from her rant on his ex-lover's ways. She knew what she had said was bound to strike some nerves, but it was the truth and she had to at least get it off her chest.

Harry dropped his gaze and fiddled with the papers on his desk. He wasn't sure what hurt more: that Hermione felt the need to bring this topic to the forefront when he was still trying to cope with the separation, or, that everything Hermione said had been nothing but the complete truth. He fought back the tears that were dangerously close to spilling over his eyelids. "I know, Hermione, but do you think we can save the heart-to-heart for dinner tonight?" He could almost hear the smile in Hermiones voice:

"I think that sounds brilliant, Harry," she squeaked. "I'll come over around 7:30?"

Harry let a smile graze his lips, "Sounds great." They said their goodbyes and Harry returned to his computer; If he didn't get this article up to speed and ready for print, he would have a very pissy boss to put up with.

x X x X x

Harry slid his favorite pair of dark jeans up his toned legs and buttoned the fly effortlessly. He pulled a striped, blue button-up from its hanger on the over-door hook and pulled it onto his shoulders. He had carefully taken his time in choosing what he would wear tonight; it was hard seeing as how he hadn't gotten dressed-up in quite some time. Smoothing out a few non-existent wrinkles in his shirt he checked the time: 7:15pm. It had been difficult to keep from falling asleep as soon as he stepped foot into his flat after such a pressing day at work, but he had made a large pot of strong coffee, and it seemed the caffeine had done the trick, for now at least.

He took a quick glance in the mirror and tried hopelessly - for the second time that day - to tame his unruly hair. Admitting defeat, he sprayed himself with a sparing mist of his Vera Wang cologne and padded into the living room; Harry noted that his heart was pounding and his hands were trembling. Why was he so nervous? Sure, he hadn't been 'out' in a long time, but it wasn't like Hermione was setting him up with a blind date; she had promised him that she had only done that once and would never try it again. He took a deep breath to calm his nerves and walked to the small table beside him armchair, opening the drawer below the ornate marble top. He withdrew a silver and aqua-coloured box and an orange lighter. He pulled a cigarette from the box and put it to his lips, igniting the end and drawing the crisp smoke into his lungs. He blew the smoke out again into the air above him and sighed. Harry rarely smoked but when he did he reveled in it; nicotine had a way of taking the edge off his frayed nerves. He took a sip of coffee from his half-emptied mug and smiled inwardly; coffee and cigarettes went together like lemon and basil. Harry chuckled softly at his analogy and thought for a moment. It had been ages since he had cooked a decent meal at home. Normally, he was a whiz in the kitchen and could make the most scrumptious meals, but he had to have his heart in it to do so properly and lately that wasn't possible. His heart, after-all, was in a state of disrepair.

Harry was yanked from his thoughts as his door was rapped on loudly, signaling Hermione's arrival. He took a final drag from his Marlboro Smooth before he snuffed it out in a clean ashtray he had taken from the drawer as well and stood, taking the few steps to the front door to let Hermione in. She stood before him in her very stylish jeans and equally flattering blouse complete with, what Harry guessed, Jimmy Choo pumps.

"Oh good, you freshened up a bit," Hermione chirped, flashing him a cheeky grin. Harry rolled his eyes.

"Yes, 'Mione. I figured I should since I came down from the bell tower and had my hump fixed." Harry mock glared at her as she giggled fervidly.

"C'mon, you," she said, "I'm starving." Hermione grabbed his hands and pulled him through the door frame. He fumbled with his keys for a moment as he locked the door before allowing Hermione to link her arm through his as they made their way through the twilight.

The walk to the restaurant was fairly silent, save for the random conversation about work or Hermione's recent activities with Ginny's wedding planning. The walk took about ten minutes, but they didn't rush; the night blooming before them was too lovely to take for granted. Harry broke the silence, "Where's Ron, 'Mione?"

"He's still in Italy, working on some Ministry business. I don't know, it's not like he tells me these things or anything," Hermione smacked her lips and sighed, shaking her head slightly in mock-disdain.

"Who would have thought Ronald Weasley would be the career-oriented workaholic?," Harry chuckled to himself. Hermione's distinct cackle cut through the air and they soon were a giggling, stumbling mess, struggling to walk and stay upright, their arms still locked in vice. They slowly composed themselves and soon found they were outside the restaurant Hermione had chosen for their dinner date. It was a lovely, modern restaurant in one of the more posh areas of London; Harry had been here a number of times with Him, but he quickly shoved the thought away. He had full intentions for this evening to remain pleasant and enjoyable.

The place was fantastic; there were dozens of ambient lanterns throwing warm pools of light in all corners of the restaurant and quiet jazz playing behind a dull clamor of quiet conversations. They found a table near the rear of the room and were approached by a handsome looking young man, wearing a white button-up tucked into sleek, black trousers, pulled together by a black necktie. "What can I get you to drink?," he asked, his pen poised on his notepad expectantly.

"I'll have a Chardonnay," Hermione said decisively. The waiter's pen moved vigorously before he turned to Harry, smiling softly.

"I'll have one as well," he said pointedly. The pen moved again before the waiter introduced himself as Chad and turned to fetch their wines, chancing a wink in Harry's direction before doing so. Harry's eyes darted to his flatware, picking up his fork to turn it nervously between his fingertips. Hermione watched him carefully.

"Harry, you shouldn't be so nervous. He just winked at you. I mean, look at you, who wouldn't," she laughed. "Besides, it's not as if he dropped his trousers and asked you to have a go," she sighed; Harry blushed. "Just don't think of things like that right now. We're here to have a lovely dinner and catch up." She touched his hand to reassure him further and the tension in his shoulders began to loosen. She was right; this was no time to be paranoid or anxious. This was dinner with his best friend.

Chad returned moments later with their wine and took their orders. Again, Chad seemed to have locked his eyes more firmly on Harry than Hermione and held a very goofy grin on his face. Harry couldn't lie and say that it didn't make him uncomfortable, but it was unnerving to say the least. 'Just ignore it.'

Hermione spoke and cut the silence like a hot knife, "So, what's been going on, Harry?"

Harry shrugged, "Nothing really, work–"

"Not that," she interrupted, "I mean, with you. How do you feel?" Hermione's eyes were pensive; they held concern and worry.

Harry bit his lip hard. He wasn't entirely sure he was ready to have this conversation even though he knew he had been running for far too long. He drew a shaky breath before he spoke, "Numb is the only true way to describe it. Like I'm not whole." He let his gaze fall again. He could taste the metallic liquid pooling from the gash he had dug into his lip and licked his dry lips. "He broke me down and just left me to pull myself back together. I just don't understand how someone who says they love you and care about you can just up and leave, and not even try to talk to them, even if it's just to make sure they're okay. Especially since the someone they left gave them everything. I gave him everything I had, Hermione. I would give my life for him. He obviously just doesn't care, but I tell myself that he'll come back. That after he has had time to think and get things straight he will want to pick up where we left off . . ." Harry trailed off, his eyes becoming glassy with impending tears the more he poured out the feelings that normally were kept under lock and key inside him.

Hermione's eyes matched the teary gleam of Harry's, though hers held a more analytic feel. She studied him for a few minutes, carefully choosing her words before enunciating them "Harry," she began, "think about this for me: If he did come back, would you really want to put yourself through this again? He loves controlling you. He hates you having friends, he never trusted you, and for what?" She paused for a moment to take in Harry's expression of despair. "Everyone knows how much you love him, Harry, but you shouldn't let someone control every aspect of your life. That can't make you happy! I know for a fact that there is someone out there who will love you and give themselves to you mind, body, and soul, and that person will make you so happy you'll start saying 'Aarron who?'," she saw Harry flinch slightly, but kept going, "I'm not telling you what you should do, because you've had too much of that already. All I'm saying is you, of all people, deserve to be happy. I have never met someone as kind, generous, sweet, and loving as you, and it blows my mind as to how Aarron can't even appreciate that." Hermione took a deep breath and clasped her hands with Harry's, shooting him her characteristic sweet smile before concluding, "I just want you to be happy, love."

Harry's tears began to fall freely from his forest eyes as he let Hermione interlock their fingers. As much as he hated to admit it, she was right. As for now, all he could do to show he had understood what she had said was to nod; his heart wasn't ready for such open exclamations on the subject just yet.

His tears slowly subsided and his breathing returned to its normal rhythm. He wiped the leftover tears from his cheeks with the heel of his hand before he flashed a smile gingerly at Hermione, muttering a tiny "I'm fine" to her quietly. "I thought I might check into some therapists in town," he said with finality. Hermione's smile only brightened.

"I think that's a marvelous idea, Harry," she said, patting his hand soothingly. They barely had time to draw their hands from the center of the table before Chad had returned with their food. Harry just then realized how starving he was before he tucked into his Greek salad. They chatted idly as they each savored their meals and their wine, talking more about work and Hermione telling Harry about Ginny's upcoming marriage to Dean Thomas. They were both startled as a cool, silky voice rose from behind Harry:

"Hello, Hermione," the voice drawled. Harry was about to turn and look for the owner of that sweet voice before a tall, slender blonde appeared beside the table, smiling happily at Hermione.

"Oh, hi, Draco," she said cheerily, returning the smile. "What brings you here?" Harry's eyes roved over the man before him, taking in his appearance appreciatively. Draco Malfoy was dressed in business casual attire, his platinum hair hanging precisely about his delicate brow, as if each strand of the golden locks was placed, one by one, carefully into the perfect position. His bright, grey eyes sparkled vividly and his pink lips were curled into a warm smile. Harry noted, to himself, in the back of his mind that he looked very handsome.

"I'm having dinner with Pansy," he said in a slightly bored tone. "She's grating my nerves a bit but what are friends for?" He laughed, almost to himself, joined thereafter by Hermione. Harry had turned his emerald eyes, still holding evidence of his recent tears, back to his plate before he was discovered staring at the gorgeous blonde. He, too, had laughed with Malfoy and Hermione, albeit more quietly, but it didn't go unnoticed by the other two.

Draco Malfoy turned his gaze to the brunette man sitting across from Hermione, having not paid attention to who it was before. He had not seen the man's face, but he could recognize that unruly black hair anywhere. He caught Hermione's eye and motioned with his head to the man, arching an eyebrow and mouthing "Harry?" She nodded quickly, studying Malfoy with her chocolate eyes, the gears and cogs of her brain working relentlessly. Malfoy knew that look; she had that look whenever she was formulating a plan or when she was piecing together something of conflict. Malfoy ignored her and turned to Harry.

"Hi, Harry," he said, his smile fading when Harry looked up at him. Harry's eyes were sort-of puffy, like he had been crying not long ago.

Harry gave him a quizzical look at the casual tone of which his first name rolled off Malfoy's tongue, but shrugged it off, smiling the best he could at the ex-Slytherin. "Hello, Draco."

Draco smiled again at hearing Harry use his first name. Hermione looked at him, noticing his eyes gliding over Harry slowly. Draco locked eyes with Hermione, shrugging and flashing her his signature smirk before speaking, "I guess I should be getting back to Pans'. It was good seeing you, Hermione. You too, Harry." Harry looked up at Draco, giving him a nod as Draco flashed him a grin and winked. This, however, did not go unnoticed by Hermione, then again, not many things did. She smiled to herself, noting Harry's cheeks had turned a delicate shade of pink.

As Harry continued his meal, Hermione sipped her wine, losing herself in thought. Her mind was working overtime to process the onslaught of thoughts and she smiled to herself again, masking it from Harry's view with her glass of wine. She was so lost in thought she didn't realize that some of her thinking had actually verbalized:

"I wonder . . ." she whispered. Harry looked up from his salad, a look of bewilderment plastered upon his features.

"What?," he asked.

Hermione was jarred from her thoughts and realized the slip she had made. Biting her lip, she composed herself and smiled warmly at Harry. "Nothing, love. More wine?".

(A/N): Reviews would be lovely. The more reviews I get, the more motivation and inspiration I seem to find. Funny how that works, eh?

And I'm still looking for a Beta. If anyone's interested, just let me know.

This time I promise a continuation in a weeks time, no more fortnights. Lol.

=]

-D