Final Time

1. Professionalism

Disclaimer: I have the great fortune of using J.K. Rowling's characters but I do not own any of them even though I do brutally throw them into one scrape after another.

The Final Time

Chasing Cars

Snow Patrol

We'll do it all
Everything
On our own

We don't need
Anything
Or anyone

If I lay here
If I just lay here
Would you lie with me and just forget the world?

I don't quite know
How to say
How I feel

Those three words
Are said too much
They're not enough

If I lay here
If I just lay here
Would you lie with me and just forget the world?

Forget what we're told
Before we get too old
Show me a garden that's bursting into life

Let's waste time
Chasing cars
Around our heads

I need your grace
To remind me
To find my own

If I lay here
If I just lay here
Would you lie with me and just forget the world?

Forget what we're told
Before we get too old

Show me a garden that's bursting into life

All that I am
All that I ever was
Is here in your perfect eyes, they're all I can see

I don't know where
Confused about how as well
Just know that these things will never change for us at all

If I lay here
If I just lay here
Would you lie with me and just forget the world?

Chapter 1

Twenty-three year old Hermione Granger warily eyed her Muggle watch. The London pub was crowded. Filled with men and their racy girlfriends, ofcourse. She couldn't help but being critical. In this place, she could hear the shouts of celebration but also the silence of loss. The dark-lit pub reeked of beer and vomit. Occasionally, Hermione breathed into a paper napkin providing temporary relief from the unpleasant smell. Oh, how she hated pubs!

But he always agreed to meet her here: in this unnoticeable shady building. He had moved out into Muggle London conveniently enough. He was an Auror now. Quite a successful one at that. And he was late once more.

Slowly she grazed a finger against the cool water droplets on the brim of the glass as she sat alone in a booth. She had ordered another shoddy glass of lemon water. Again, she found herself analyzing her situation in those quiet moments when she was left to her thoughts. She had finished her set of rounds at St. Mungo's earlier than usual. So she had decided to return to the lab to do more tests on the potion. None of the results were favorable.

She hated the Transformation potion. She really did. Why? Well, it was just too painful to recount. It allowed him to immediately transform without having to go through the hassles of a Polyjuice Potion. He simply needed a clear image of the persona he wanted to assume. When Slughorn had invented it, Harry thought it was a miracle. Hermione had not been so sure about it.

Her mood shifted from lethargic to irate quickly. Hermione pulled at her long, curly brown hair. She glared at a strand. She was proud of her hair. She quite remembered its previous springiness in her youth. However, she could care less for it now. It was just another obstacle to clear thinking. Despite everything, she was going to tell him this professionally. No emotional strings attached.

Hurriedly she searched for something to tie her unruly hair with. After plunging her hands into her pockets and finding herself unsuccessful in procuring the fated object, she proceeded to empty the contents of her purse.

He entered the pub and noticed her at once. She was where she said she would be at the very last table. He missed this sort of dependability - Hermione's steadfastness. He approached her.

“Is this what you were looking for, Hermy?” a red-haired man asked sitting down across the table. In his outstretched hand lay a barrette. He had bought it for her birthday but she had accidentally left it in his apartment the other day after she had shown up in the middle of the night.

“Thanks. You're late. And will you please unmetamorphosize? Red is very unbecoming.”

“I'm shocked, Hermione. I thought you loved red,” he said laughing. Quickly, Harry gulped down the silvery contents of the vial he had just brought out of his pocket.

She glanced at him. “Not particularly on you. Thank you very much.”

“Oh come on, Hermy, I wasn't that late!” Harry said.

“I'm not talking about you being late. And stop calling me Hermy.”

“All right, all right!” he said leaning towards her, chastely pecking her on the cheek.

Suddenly, Hermione felt her anger - at their circumstances, his lateness, and the test results - dissipate. She sighed as she watched Harry transform into himself.

“I like you better this way,” she said gently removing his now jet black hair from his eyes.

Harry chose to ignore the comment. “Why did you call, Hermione?” he asked.

“I was worried. I did more tests on the potion and I noticed some new unexpected developments in our research.”

“What sort of new developments?” Harry said motioning for a drink.

“I don't think it's safe anymore.”

Harry suddenly fumed. He should have known what to expect from her. This was certainly not about old frie- old whatevers- meeting up.

“Oh yeah? Well, I'm perfectly happy with the results.”

Harry, putting it simply, was losing his cool. For the first time since the end of the War, he could roam the streets; he could act like a normal person. Not Harry Potter: The Savior of the Wizarding World. Was a loss of identity such a great price to pay for sanity? And so what if he wasn't perfectly happy? Perfect just didn't exist anymore. And dammit, he only used the Transformation potion when he wasn't at work.

Hermione sighed. “Goodness, Harry, just listen to me. This is hard as it is. I tested the potion on different subject matter. I wanted to know if it was safe and the long-term effects are not positive.”

Harry stared at her.

“God. I'm so sorry. I'm really sorry.”

Angrily, Harry turned around to look at the crowd in the pub. He needed time. More time. Just a bit more time.

Hermione saw the flurry of emotions passing through him. She had to act as professional as she could.

“As a physician and a researcher, I have to ask you to discontinue using the potion effective immediately. You know that Professor Slughorn was just stabbing at a possibility, Harry. It wasn't permanent. You can't use it 15 hours a day!”

He stayed silent brooding. His eyes flicked dangerously to a darker hue. He flexed his hands later running them through his disorderly hair. Meagerly dressed girls glanced appreciatively at his well-toned, muscular body. Yet, Harry was oblivious to their thinly veiled attempts at catching his eye. Hermione was glad of this.

Finally, he spoke. “Hermione, I can't discontinue it.“ The desperation in his voice was clear. “Please, don't ask me to do this. For once, I'm free from the public gaze. I don't have to answer anyone's questions anymore. No more endless speculation. None of those frivolous interviews.”

“You make it sound like they're driving you away. Harry, at least, be honest with me. Is it me?”

“Hermione, no. It's not you. Don't even say that,” he said reaching for and squeezing her hand. He continued, “I have other reasons part of which is the media. You know what they have said. According to them, I am a psychotic lunatic who can't let go of the past. I'm collecting the leftovers of the War.”

“Even though they know that I am tormented by dreams of my family and then my friends dying one by one, they continue to delve into my personal life and the lives of people I love,” he said touching her hand.

“I want to be left alone. I want no part in the web of lies they keep spinning. Do you know how I wake up in the night in cold sweat with the stench of death in my nostrils?”

She silently nodded.

:They will never understand that and they will continue to kill any possibility of happiness for us. They have affected everything. Everything. I cannot forget nor am I allowed to forget my losses.”

His harsh words resonated in both their minds.

“This is no way to live, Harry. Why do you care about what they say?”

“Because sometimes it's hard not to feel that they're right. Maybe I am grasping at the last few straws left.”

“It's not true, Harry. It's not true. You know it isn't.”

Hermione felt fifteen all over again. Her stomach clenched and unclenched. I won't cry. I won't cry. I won't cry. But the tears filled her eyes. He didn't deserve this especially after what he has gone through. But she wouldn't let him take the potion. She wouldn't let him live like this in someone else's being until he lost his own soul - his essence of being. She cared about him - she loved him too much.

He saw her face scrunch up as she tried to stop the tears. A wave of guilt washed over Harry. He felt awful. `She was only trying to help,” he told himself silently,` Why was he so pig-headed sometimes?'

Abruptly, he stood up.

“Let's go. This place is suffocating,” he said paying for their drinks. He patiently waited for her to gather up the items she had strewn over the table previously in search of a hair band. He watched guiltily as she bowed her head trying to angrily wipe away the escaped tears. When she was done, instinctively he reached for her hand as they silently walked out.

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2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

They strolled towards the river comfortable in the silence of each other's company. Hermione unconsciously smiled as they neared the path called Lover's Lane. She glanced towards Harry but he was deep in thought. She sighed.

“Harry, I was scared about the potion from the start. I mean the dangerous side-effects were obvious especially the temporary invisibility. And God, I don't want you to live so vicariously. The fact that you take on someone else's appearances changes your perspective. I don't want that to happen. I mean, if you continue to use the potion, you could just disappear one day. Just disa-”

“Five years later and I can still hear his screams,” he said interrupting her.

She was sitting on a hard, cold bench facing the river. She couldn't see his facial expressions as he leaned over the rails separating the river from the platform above. Hermione moved to join him.

“Five years later and his screams are more piercing than any other.”

“You used to fight with him so much especially in Sixth Year. Everyone thought you two were going to end up together. Even I did. Well, I sort of didn't like thinking about it,” he said chuckling taking hold of her hand once more.

She smiled. “You were too dense to see the signs to the contrary,” she said.

He laughed and continued. “Then in Seventh Year, everything changed,” he said as he slowly fingered shapes into her palm. He seemed unable to let go of her hand.

“And then he was gone,” he continued, “He was the brother I never had. I looked up to him. Sometimes, I was even jealous of him. He had everything I didn't. I just felt so broken down after the anniversary of his death.”

He said this all smoothly. His voice unchanging. But Hermione knew he was suppressing his emotions.

“Harry, I know. I know. I miss him too. He was my friend as much as yours. But I am not going to start hiding because of the entire stir the media is creating,” she said looking into his eyes.

“Look, Harry, I don't want you to separate yourself from me like this. I miss you.” She finally admitted.

`Maybe it's time,' she thought taking in the somber London view. He had proposed here.

“Harry, I need to tell you something.”

“Hmmm…”

“Gosh, I don't know how to say this. Hermione Granger, speechless! Where is the bloody press when you need them?” she said nervously.

“Hermione, are you okay? Is something wrong?” he said suddenly worried.

“Damn it, I don't know why I keep on crying,” she said withdrawing her hand from his in frustration wiping her tears away, “The waterworks just won't stop.”

“Hermy, what's the matter? Look I know I'm being an arse ending the engagement and everything but I thoug -”

“I get the nightmares too.”

Harry was shocked. His mouth hung open for a minute. It all made sense. Hermione's frequent insomnia. Her showing up in his Muggle London apartment in the middle of the night. He thought it had everything to do with his leaving. But he had never been more acutely aware of her lack of presence. She had always been there for him.

They had shared an apartment after the War. Separate rooms, of course. But they were in love. They had announced their engagement. However, everything had gone wrong after Ron's death anniversary. So he had tried to separate himself from her in the excuse of a potion. But in all these years, she had never told him about the nightmares. He would have done anything to take away the pain.

She looked at him teary-eyed. “It started right after the War. At first, I thought it would eventually go away and it wasn't that bad. But now it's getting worse. I'm so afraid. I keep on seeing you fall into the Veil before the Final Battle and fearing you won't return. And sometimes, I hear Ron uttering his last words: `Take care of him, Hermione'. And I wake up. Dammit, ” she said finally fiercely staring at him.

It was 2 A.M. He had a long day ahead of him. He was barely awake. However, someone was furiously knocking on the door. Reluctantly getting up from bed, Harry opened the door.

She was wet. It had been raining the whole day.

“Hermione, are you ok?”

She cried in his arms that night. She wouldn't tell him what was wrong. They had not seen each other for a week. This was the longest time they had been separated since The War.

Harry felt angry and upset. “Why didn't you tell me this before?” he said kissing the top of her forehead.

She was beautiful with her large brown eyes and pouty lips. She was modest & plain. She never wore make-up. She didn't need any false reassurances about her appearance.

“How could I? You left after you started using the potion because of the invisibility effects. And the mood swings. But you seemed happy. Even if it was away from me. ”

He took the potion Slughorn suggested. It was one of his bad days. He called in sick. She had come home & found him transformed crouching on the floor holding his head. He seemed to be fading in & out of his physical body.

She rushed towards him asking:

“Harry, is something wrong?”

He looked up at her. His dark eyes bored into her being. They contained an unusual stirring madness. She had never been more afraid. She gripped her wand tightly.

“Accio Potion!” she whispered.

She walked closer. She gripped his wrist and felt the powerful magic coursing through his veins. On impulse, she kissed him. Hard and demanding.

Soon, she felt his arms encircle her waist. When they broke apart, his eyes had turned its normal emerald shade. She withdrew from him silently pleading that he take the antidote of the Transformation potion.

He gulped it down cringing from its bittersweet taste.

She realized she had been shaking with fear the whole time. The next day, he moved out.

Gently, Harry cupped the sides of Hermione's face. “Don't say that, Hermione. I thought I was protecting you from everything by moving away, for God's sake. It was an excuse - even the Transformation potion - all of it was a bloody excuse.”

“Harry, I don't need protecting. I just want you to be there. I hate the distance that the media and especially the potion have put between us. I know you have the chance of a lifetime. You can be out of your skin. You can be whoever you want to be. But I don't want you to be anyone else. ”

“Harry, what would I have done if something had gone wrong with you? You're risking your life by using that potion. Can't you see how much I love you?” she cried her knees begging to give way under her.

He smiled and brought her closer to him. She leaned her weight on him.

“I want you to come back. Promise me you'll never drink the potion again.”

“I can't say No, now, can I Hermy?”

“I guess you can't… But you might as well say it anyway,” she remarked playfully.

“Yes.”

Hermione hugged him fiercely knocking the wind out of him.

“I guess I should return this to you then,” he said removing a chain from his neck that he had hidden under his sweater.

Harry watched as Hermione's eyes lit up. The emerald ring on the thin gold necklace shimmered.

“You carry it around with you?”

“Yes to the glee of all the men in the Auror Department.”

Slowly, he unclasped the chain removing the ring. He then placed the ring on her fourth finger.

“Your hand looked remarkably bare without it,” he said kissing her knuckles.

Harry remembered when Hermione found out that they had accepted her as an intern at St. Mungo's. At about the same time, he was allowed into Auror training. They had odd working hours but they rejoiced in the different atmosphere. They were not fighting anymore or searching for Horcruxes, they were joining the normal world albeit without Ron, a casualty of the war.

At first, both Harry and Hermione were afraid of their budding feelings for each other as they tried to put their past behind including Ron's death. Each doubted that one returned the other's feelings. But living in the same apartment just brought them closer. They were undoubtedly in love. They soon announced their engagement. But old classmates remembered the `sexual tension' between Hermione & Ron only too well. Soon, ol' Rita Skeeter emerged from retirement.

“Hermione, I want to say that I'm sorry. I should never have taken the Transformation potion. I didn't realize how much I was using the potion as a defense mechanism. After all the media craziness started, I just wanted to escape.”

“I am a haunted man, Hermione. I always will be. I was afraid after we announced our engagement. I wanted to protect you from the press and their implications. And then of all things, I started to think that maybe they were right. Maybe I was the first runner-up. The convenient choice. The consolatory prize once Ron had gone.”

“Harry, you always knew that was not true.”

“I thought maybe I could just forget everything. Start all over again.”

“But I'm a stupid man. I didn't realize that one fundamental piece was missing in my equation. You,” he said pausing. “Can you ever forgive me for being such a head case?”

“I guess if you buy me all the books that I want,” she said lightly clearing the tension from the air, “And you'll probably have to move back in to do all of my cooking.”

“I would never leave you alone in the kitchen anyway,” he said kissing her passionately whole on the mouth. She had no time to protest.

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3. Author's Note

Author’s Note:

This is a really special story that I wrote as a senior in high school. It’s still one of my favorites, and I thought I would share it with all of you once again. I love the characterization here, and I would love to write something new in the coming week. Please let me know your thoughts on this story. The feedback is much appreciated!