Disclaimer: Not mine.
A/N: For shardraco, who challenged me to write a songfic with the song Who Knew by P!NK. For mathiasgranger, who came up with the songs for parts two and three after he inspired me to write them.
Who Knew - P!NK
You took my hand
You showed me how
You promised me you'd be around
Uh huh
That's right
I took your words
And I believed
In everything
You said to me
Yeah huh
That's right
If someone said three years from now
You'd be long gone
I'd stand up and punch them out
Cause they're all wrong
I know better
Cause you said forever
And ever
Who knew
Remember when we were such fools
And so convinced and just too cool
Oh no
No no
I wish I could touch you again
I wish I could still call you friend
I'd give anything
When someone said count your blessings now
'fore they're long gone
I guess I just didn't know how
I was all wrong
They knew better
Still you said forever
And ever
Who knew
Yeah yeah
I'll keep you locked in my head
Until we meet again
Until we
Until we meet again
And I won't forget you my friend
What happened
If someone said three years from now
You'd be long gone
I'd stand up and punch them out
Cause they're all wrong and
That last kiss
I'll cherish
Until we meet again
And time makes
It harder
I wish I could remember
But I keep
Your memory
You visit me in my sleep
My darling
Who knew
My darling
My darling
Who knew
My darling
I miss you
My darling
Who knew
Who knew
If someone had told me before Harry defeated Voldemort that in three years, he'd be long gone, well… I probably would have hit them like I did Malfoy back in third year. I would've adamantly declared that they were wrong, that I knew Harry better than that. He promised me that we'd have forever once he was done with Voldemort. Promised me that he wouldn't die in that battle. Promised that everything would be okay between us.
Who knew?
It's been three years as of today that Harry's been gone. He didn't die in that final battle; not physically, anyway. Something inside of him died that day. Things were going so well until he and Voldemort disappeared. I thought they were, at least. Before that blasted Portkey activated I saw that flash of determination in Harry's eyes, and I felt safe. I knew he'd come out victorious.
I was right.
And yet here it is, one thousand and ninety-five ominously long days since he left. I'd give anything to have him back.
<><><><><>
It was almost time; I could tell. The Death Eaters were falling rapidly around me as we fought valiantly, and yet they still kept coming. I'd seen too many fellow students fall to trolls and Dementors, Giants and werewolves. I'd watched as Bellatrix Lestrange tried to kill Neville Longbottom and took a Reductor to the head from Colin Creevey, who snuck up behind her.
I rubbed my cheek in shock, remembering how only minutes earlier Ron had rushed to my side, hugging me and kissing my cheek as he promised that if we made it out of this alive, he had to tell me something. I was fairly sure I knew what it was and I knew it would be hard to let him down after today, but I couldn't very well say anything about it then. I hugged him and whispered `Good luck' before he ran off again.
And then I saw Harry.
He was on my right hexing Walden MacNair mercilessly as the burly Death Eater was trying to kill Ron. He had run right into the path of the man as he had left me. Then Harry fell, clutching at his forehead in pain. Ron managed to stumble to his feet and Stupefy their attacker, while Harry crawled away.
I rushed over to him, and gasped as I saw his face. His scar had split open and was bleeding. That could only mean one thing.
"Hermione, I… I have to go," he wheezed, struggling to stand. I could see the pain he was feeling reflected in his eyes, but it didn't seem like it was just from the feeling of Voldemort trying to cleave his head in two.
"I know," I replied, desperately wanting to fling my arms around his neck and stop him from doing just that.
He turned to go, and then whipped back around so quickly I don't know how he managed to stay upright. He took my hands in his and placed them around his neck, almost as if he'd read my mind. He wrapped his arms around me and rested his forehead against mine. I got fairly bloody in the process, but I didn't care.
"I'll be back, Hermione. I promise."
He looked like he wanted to say more, but didn't have the time.
"You'd better, or who else will put up with me?" I said lightly, trying to get one last smile out of him.
"R-Err… Look, I promise you that you'll have to put up with me forever, alright? I'm coming back."
I opened my mouth to respond but he had already begun to stalk off in Voldemort's direction. I don't know why, but my feet began to move of their own accord after him.
"Harry!" I called out, and he turned to face me.
Before I could say anything else he was closing the distance between us, and his lips were on mine. I didn't know how to describe it. It was like everything I'd ever wanted and was too afraid to go after, and I was drowning in it.
He pulled back, breathing heavily as he squeezed my hand.
"I promise."
And then he took off.
<><><><><>
How I wish I could touch him again, to play that moment out once more and do things differently. I wish I could still call him my friend, but that opportunity went out the window three years ago when he took off. I would have settled for friend if he wasn't open to any other titles, but I didn't even have that option anymore.
Before the fight had begun, my mother had wisely said "Count your blessings now, child; before they're long gone."
I hadn't known what she meant at the time, but now, three and a half years later, I understand.
I had never considered Harry to be a blessing before. He was my best friend, confidante, and everything I could ever ask for all rolled into one. I never saw him as Harry Potter, Boy-Who-Lived, only as Harry James, boy-who-was-barely-passing-potions. I had never realized that he truly was a blessing in my life until he was gone.
He had been my first true friend, my knight in shining armor when that awful troll came trudging into the girl's bathroom all those years ago. I had been more proud than I thought possible when he triumphed over the Basilisk, and I couldn't think of a single time where he hadn't been his incredible self.
Three years he's been long gone now, and I'm wishing now that I'd known then what a blessing Harry Potter truly was.
<><><><><>
A loud crack announced an incoming Portkey onto the battlefield; it was deafening in the silence. Moments earlier the Death Eaters had dropped simultaneously onto the ground in a gesture so terrifying that the Dementors, trolls, Giants and werewolves all ran for the hills. We had carefully poked and prodded each one of them, and learned that they were all dead. Very dead.
The crack could only mean one thing-Harry was back. Ron and I had watched tearfully as the Portkey activated, whisking him and Voldemort off to Merlin knows where to finally duel it out. I watched as Harry tumbled unceremoniously onto the grass, with Riddle's body thudding behind him. Even from my vantage point I saw the vacant expression in the snake-like man's eyes, and my suspicions of his death were confirmed.
"Harry!" I yelled, wanting him to know that we were there for him, that we'd made it and it was really over and that everything was alright and we could finally live a normal life.
"He did it!" exclaimed Ron triumphantly, throwing an arm around my shoulders. He pulled me closer and touched his lips to mine oh-so-briefly, before pulling back and colouring a faint pink. "So, um… about that talk…"
But I didn't respond; instead I was running across the field as fast as my legs could carry me to Harry. He was crumpled on the ground, most likely from exhaustion, and he didn't seem to be hearing me as I screamed his name.
"Harry James Potter, you get up right this instant or I'll-"
I trailed off as I came within feet of him, and I saw that he was barely breathing or holding onto consciousness. And there were tears, so many of them. Streaming down his face and leaving salty tracks behind that I desperately wanted to kiss away. "Oh Merlin, Harry, hold on… It'll be okay," I reassured him, motioning for Ron to call for Madame Pomfrey.
He stood there blinking for a few moments, the dense git, before I screamed at him to "GO GET MADAME POMFREY FOR THE LOVE OF MERLIN!"
He took off in a mad dash and I turned my face back to Harry, who was still crying. "Oh, Harry…" I whispered, cradling his head in my lap as I brushed his hair from his eyes. I dug into my pocket for a Pepper Up potion, hoping that it might help him as I poured it down his throat.
He nearly gagged, but when I soothingly stroked his throat he managed to swallow it down.
"H-mi-nee…" he struggled to speak, and it nearly broke my heart to hear my name spoken in a manner worse than Viktor Krum could ever manage.
"Shh, Harry. Not now. Madame Pomfrey's coming, you're going to be okay."
Just as I spoke her name the MediWitch came running up behind me, immediately conjured a stretcher and levitated Harry onto it. He grabbed desperately for my hand and I reached for him. He pulled me just close enough to hear him whisper "Forever…" in the most broken-hearted voice I'd ever heard before he was levitated off to the crowded hospital wing.
It wasn't until he was out of sight that I let myself fall to the ground, sobbing wholeheartedly. Ron came over and put his arms around me, trying to comfort me. He pressed gentle, sweet kisses to my temple as he tried to calm me, but it only infuriated me.
I stood and pushed him away from me. "Not now, Ron. Harry needs us, can't you see that?"
Ignoring his cries of protest, I ran off to the hospital wing in search of Harry.
<><><><><>
Sitting here in the parlour isn't helping the memories at all. It's where I last saw him, before he left. It was six months to the day of that final battle, and he had stood here in front of me looking more broken than ever. His eyes were dull, his hair lank, and as he moved his arms I would have sworn I saw faint pink lines tracing the insides of his forearms from underneath the sleeve of his shirt. I'd heard of self-mutilators before, but it didn't look anything like that. It was almost like they formed some sort of inscription or picture he'd inflicted upon himself, and when I tried to get a closer look he shied away.
"I'm leaving," he had said abruptly, staring into my eyes as I was sure he was gauging my reaction.
I sat there silently, staring him down. I knew what he meant, but to me it felt like he had left right after the battle. He was still there, walking around, talking, eating, sleeping, but it was like Harry wasn't home up there. It was just a shell that Harry used to inhabit. But now that shell was leaving, too. I didn't know what to say.
"I should be happy," he said woodenly. "Tom's gone; the world is safe, everyone else is happy. But I still feel so… messed up inside."
"I can help you," I said, unsure of what else I could offer. I'd tried to talk to him after the war ended, tried to draw him out of his hiding place, but he wasn't budging. The best I could do was offer help and hope he would take it.
"You? Help me?" he had scoffed, and I flinched at the harsh tone of his voice. "Hermione, you're half the problem! Every moment I spend with you is like having a needle permanently embedded in my eye. I can't take it anymore. It hurts… so much…"
He stood straight just then, and looked me directly in the eye.
"I'm leaving," he repeated his earlier statement. He turned on his heel and headed towards the door, but I jumped off the sofa and forced him to look at me.
"You're not going anywhere, Harry James!" I said vehemently, silently praying he would heed my demand.
He stood there silently for several long moments, his eyes searching mine. In what seemed like no time at all his lips were on mine as they'd been six months earlier at that last stand, and then he was gone. He'd Disapparated before his lips even left mine, the git. I was torn between trying to follow him to smack him senseless or to talk some sense into him and make him come home.
But he was gone.
And here it is three years later, the anniversary of the day he Disapparated out of my life, and I still can't get that last kiss out of my head. He promised me forever, and I'm determined to get it.
Ron comes into the room, and sees me sitting on the sofa as I always am on this day.
"Oh Herms," he says softly, pulling me up from the cushions for a hug. "He's not coming back."
"NO!" I shout angrily, pushing away from him and pounding my fists on his chest. "I don't know why you can't understand this, Ron! He wouldn't leave me, not like that! He promised me… he promised me forever."
"So did I, and have you taken me up on it? What makes you think that Harry would believe you would if you can't even be with me?"
"I'm not in love with you!" I yell back, sinking back into the cushions of the sofa.
Ron sighs, and pinches the bridge of his nose. He must have a headache coming on. "Hermione, it's been three years."
"You don't have to remind me." I say stubbornly. He falls silent at my remark, probably unsure of how to deal with me. He never knows how to speak to me on this day. It's the one day of the year I'm completely closed off to him. "He visits me in my dreams," I say offhandedly, examining my fingernails like this is such a casual conversation and the dirt underneath them is so much more interesting.
"Like Legilimency visits or you just dream about him?" asks Ron.
"I don't know," I admit, sighing. "Sometimes it feels so real, and when I wake up it was like he was just there, and sometimes…" I take a deep breath, "sometimes it's like I can still smell him there. Like fresh grass, and sweat and parchment."
Ron's eyes go wide as I say this, and I know he is finally realizing, finally connecting the dots. He remembers vividly my description of how the Amortentia smelled to me in sixth year, and when I had said grass and parchment, he had hoped it was him. Grass for Quidditch and parchment for all those hours spent correcting his homework.
The sweat is what throws him, and then he realizes. He never hugged me after a game. Not once. He was always too nervous, but Harry never cared. He knew I'd still love him even if he stank up the whole pitch, and would always hug me after a victory.
"It's him…" he says softly, like hearing it being said out loud was the only way he'd believe it.
I look up at him, tears dancing in my eyes as I hug my knees to my chest.
"I miss him, Ron."
"So do I," he chokes out, still wrapping his head around the truth that I'm pining for Harry because I'm in love with him, not just because he's my best friend.
"Three years," I mutter softly. "Who knew…?"
"Who knew what?" says a familiar voice.
Both our heads snap up.
"Harry!"
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