Forget the World

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!”

-->

Disclaimer: Not mine.

A/N: A challenge by shardraco, continued by mathiasgranger. This is for both of them. Forget the World, part 2.

Double Drive - Million People

How could I be so happy

And still feel so messed up inside

I've broken all the records

For the unhappiest man alive

And spending time with you is like

Having a needle in my eye

So how could I be so happy

And still feel so messed up inside

Maybe I was wrong for thinking

There was something there for me

And maybe it's not about the truth

Cause the truth couldn't set me free

And maybe there's a million people

Who could feel the way that I do

But it doesn't eatter to me now

I still got a thing for you

How could I keep on laughing

Just to know we didn't try

To put out all the bridges

But instead we stoke them and feed the fire

And over my shoulder's the smoke

And the gloom that hangs in the air

So how could I keep on laughing

When I know the bridge isn't there

Maybe I was wrong for thinking

There was something there for me

And maybe it's not about the truth

Cause the truth couldn't set me free

And maybe there's a million people

Who could feel the way that I do

But it doesn't matter to me now

I still got a thing for you

It's been three years.

Three bloody years since I left her. And I'm still kicking myself in the arse for it.

I didn't understand. The war was over, Tom was dead, the Wizarding world was safe once more. I was so happy; on the outside, at least. I smiled like a puppet for the Daily Prophet and the Quibbler as they snapped photos and recorded interviews. I accepted my Order of Merlin - First Class without any fuss. I played posterboy for the Ministry because, well, there wasn't really any reason not to anymore. I'd won. They had no reason to argue with me anymore.

And yet, on the inside, I was miserable. Depressed. I wanted to crawl into a hole somewhere and stay there until I felt happy and whole again. I knew it would be pointless. The moment I closed my eyes in that miserable hole I knew I'd see her face again.

I always did.

<><><><><>

I had just taken care of Rodolphus Lestrange when I saw something that made my heart nearly stop.

Ron was being foolish again, like that was any great surprise. For all the brilliance he had in chess strategy, I swear he didn't have the common sense to think one step ahead in his own life. He had just taken down a Death Eater rather brilliantly but rather than focus on the other ones around him he'd gone straight to Hermione.

And put his arm around her.

And kissed her cheek.

And whispered things that I was sure would turn my stomach into her ear.

It was funny, I thought as I watched him take off from her and straight into the path of Walden MacNair; that I could pinpoint the exact moment when I'd begun to loathe him. Sure, he was still my best mate, but there were those times when I wanted nothing more than to punch him in the gut. It had been exactly three weeks ago, when he'd begun actively pursuing Hermione. As far as I could tell she was blissfully ignorant of his awkward attempts, but it didn't make me hate him any less.

I was torn between saving him from MacNair and joining the Death Eater when I knew I had to do the right thing even if I'd kick myself in the arse for it later. I turned my wand on the large man and began throwing every hex and curse I could think of at him while Ron recovered from having dodged that nasty green light so many times. I saw Hermione out of the corner of my eye, watching as I saved Ron yet again. I was really beginning to wish I didn't have that ruddy saving-people-thing.

Then it felt like someone had shoved a hot poker through my scar, whipped it around my skull a bit, and was trying to extract my brain through that blasted bane of my existence. It was Riddle, the bastard, and it was his piss-poor way of calling me out for our duel. I began to crawl away as I heard Ron Stun the Death Eater, when Hermione came rushing up to me.

I could feel the blood beginning to trickle into my eye, and I didn't want it to get any worse. It was time.

“Hermione, I have to go,” I wheezed, wishing desperately that my feet weren't failing me as I tried to stand. It was killing me to look at her, to know that if I died and didn't make it, she would be Ron's girl.

“I know,” she answered me, but it looked like she was holding back. I took her hands in mine and wrapped them around my neck, savouring the delicious feeling of her cool skin on my blazing hot neck. I touched my forehead to hers, temporarily forgetting she'd look like she'd been massacred when I moved.

“I'll be back, Hermione. I promise.” How could I not? If I didn't come back, Ron would eventually wear her down. She was too nice to say no, and I was too far gone on her not to try. I wanted desperately to tell her how I felt, how I wanted nothing more than to come back to her, but I couldn't.

“You'd better, or who else will put up with me?” she said, trying to lighten the mood.

It wasn't working—I knew exactly who else would put up with her, and quite willingly, too. Ron. “R—Err… Look, I promise you that you'll have to put up with me forever, alright? I'm coming back.” Damned mouth nearly betrayed me.

I turned away from her, knowing if I didn't I'd quite happily stay in her arms until Voldemort came after me himself. Every step away from her felt like another signature on my death warrant; I wanted nothing more than to run back to her at that moment.

“Harry!”

I turned around and found her staring at me, the hurt in her eyes all too obvious, and for a brief moment I allowed myself to believe that she returned my feelings. I closed the few remaining feet between us and pressed my lips to hers. She was shocked at first, but then she was kissing me back. I felt like I'd died and gone to heaven, but I knew that if I didn't stop, Voldemort would come find me and kill her right in front of my eyes.

I pulled away from her, squeezing her hand in an attempt at reassurance.

“I promise,” I panted.

And then I took off.

<><><><><>

Sometimes, I wish I had stayed behind with her, that I'd whisked us away to a tropical island where a Voldemort was a particularly vile shot that got you pissed in no time rather than a megalomaniac wizard hell-bent on killing me.

I feel like I've been slowly dying from the inside out these three years. Maybe I was wrong when I thought she was kissing me back. Of course she wasn't. Who would want to kiss a murderer?

It can't be about the truth either, or she would've told me what was going on before I left. Even now, the truth can't set me free. Not until I see her face.

I'd be willing to bet that there's a million people on this Earth who feel the way I do right now, but that doesn't really matter to me right now. It's been three bloody years, and I still have a thing for her.

No, not a thing. It's more than a thing. I've been in love with her as long as I can remember, and was too bloody thick to realize it until it was too late. What I wouldn't give to see her face right now…

How could I keep going on pretending my laughter was real? We didn't even try to bridge the gap that was widening between us. Instead we were feeding the fire, falling further and further apart, and the damned smoke from that blasted fire was looming over my shoulder, reminding me that I'd failed. I couldn't make you love me, I knew that from the start. But how could you not see it?

I must've been wrong in thinking there was something there for me. Maybe you were Ron's all along, and that was another thing I was too thick to realize.

Maybe.

<><><><><>

It was over, the bastard was done and gone. The Portkey activated the moment I brought it to his cold, dead fingers, and I found myself rolling onto the grass with Riddle's corpse following me. Well, at least this time the Ministry couldn't claim there was no proof.

I wanted to lay there until someone else levitated me to a bed, and then sleep for a month. I was exhausted. And then I heard her voice. Her sweet, lovely voice.

“Harry!”

I raised my head just the tiniest bit until she was in my line of vision, just in time to see Ron triumphantly punch the air as he shouted that I'd won, and then kiss her.

The fucking prick.

There I was lying half-dead on the grass, barely breathing, and he was kissing her. If I'd had the energy I would've hexed him where he stood, but I couldn't take it anymore.

My head rolled back onto the ground and I shamefully did the only thing I had the energy left to do—cry.

I vaguely registered that Hermione was calling for me, but I couldn't find the will to care. She was Ron's now. He'd marked his territory, there was no hope for me. I wished Riddle had taken me with him.

“Harry James Potter, you get up right this instant or I'll—“

I definitely heard her that time, but I couldn't stop the tears before she saw them. She came closer and said in the most heartbroken voice I've ever heard, “Oh Merlin, Harry, hold on… It'll be okay.”

She was waving her arm around madly at something I couldn't see, and I wished she'd just stop and hold me. I needed to feel her touch. I wasn't sure if I was even alive anymore.

“GO GET MADAME POMFREY FOR THE LOVE OF MERLIN!”

Well that answers that. She was waving at Ron.

Prick.

“Oh, Harry…” I could die happy just hearing her say my name over and over, and yet I still couldn't stop crying. My head was in her lap and she was running her fingers through my hair. It felt delicious until she poured a potion down my throat and I nearly choked on it. Her cool fingers soothed my burning neck once more as I swallowed.

“H—mi—nee…”

Bloody hell, I sound like Viktor sodding Krum. I wanted to tell her that I loved her, that I wish I'd said it sooner, but my tongue felt like a lead weight in my mouth and it just wasn't cooperating.

“Shh, Harry. Not now. Madame Pomfrey's coming, you're going to be okay.”

Next thing I knew I was being levitated onto a stretcher and away from Hermione. I waved my hand wildly until it came in contact with hers, and grabbed it tightly. “Forever…” I whispered, her hand slipping from mine.

Madame Pomfrey continued to take me to the hospital wing, and I was disappointed in her medical abilities when she didn't hear my heart shatter.

Forever. Three syllables, one simple word that held so much promise.

And then Ron took it all away.

<><><><><>

Three years to the day since I left. I really couldn't take it anymore. It was hell seeing them like that. Hermione pulled further and further away from me, and I couldn't blame her. I was a murderer - who could love me now? I hid away in the uppermost room of Grimmauld Place, which turned out had a rather dark collection of books stored away in it. It was the closest I could get to that hole I'd wanted earlier, so I stuck with it.

Every time I ventured outside the safety of the room I was greeted with some form of Ron attempting to woo Hermione. It was making me sick. I saw him try to kiss her once. She didn't even smack him or anything for it, just sighed and said “Oh, Ron,” in that disappointed tone of hers. I didn't understand it, but the sight was enough to remind me of what my last meal tasted like. It was like I was a voodoo doll and the powers that be kept stabbing needles into my eyes and heart every time I left that room.

So I stopped leaving.

I summoned food and drink to me, and only left if I desperately needed the loo, and only if I was blindfolded and one hundred percent positive neither Ron nor Hermione were nearby.

There wasn't much for entertainment in that room, so I started reading the books that had been left there by various Black family members. I found a rather interesting one, referring to magical tattoos and their various properties. Most likely it was used by someone studying up on the Dark Mark, I really wouldn't be surprised, but it was rather interesting to see how the tattoos were applied.

Strictly academically speaking, of course.

Well, up until I did it on myself.

It was rather neat, the spellwork that went into a magical tattoo. I used a nearly flesh-coloured ink charm, so it wouldn't really be recognizable, and charmed it to be readable only upon the touch of my wand. Any other time, it resembled some vague runes that made no sense whatsoever. But when I touched it with my wand, the lines flew apart and rearranged themselves.

Hermione.

It was the only way I could have her, and I was determined to enjoy it. I spent many long hours staring at her name tattooed onto my inner forearm, imagining how she'd react if she found out. Probably hang me up by my toes or something equally silly for it. And then she'd soften and realize why I'd done it.

I love her.

The books provided me with an odd sense of comfort—probably because books and Hermione went hand in hand, and it was another way of having her close to me.

Then one night I couldn't take it anymore.

I had ventured to the loo, and had to unfortunately pass by Ron's bedroom to get to it. The bleeding moron had forgotten to cast a Silencing charm, and I could hear him moaning her name from within the walls. I didn't hear any response from her and knew that he must be wanking, but the sound of Ron's ecstasy was enough to make me vomit and flee the bathroom.

I locked myself in my room for an hour before I left it again, with all of my possessions and those books shrunken and stored in my pocket. I went down the stairs, and saw Hermione sitting on the sofa.

“I'm leaving,” I said abruptly, not wanting to change my mind.

She stared at me, not saying a word.

“I should be happy,” I continued, hoping she wouldn't argue with me. “Tom's gone; the world is safe, everyone else is happy. But I still feel so… messed up inside.” Messed up was putting it mildly. It was like a rampaging Hungarian Horntail had taken over.

“I can help you,” she said.

“You? Help me?” Was she insane? How was Ron trying to snog her every five seconds helping? She didn't even try to bloody fend him off! Ever since the battle she hadn't confided anything in me, hadn't even told me she cared. Well, she had, but not the way I wanted. I'd given up. She couldn't help me. “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…”

Oh, she had no idea just how much. I stood up straight, trying to convey the finality of the moment by looking her directly in the eye.

“I'm leaving.” I turned and headed for the door, but her hands were on my arm and turning me around to face her.

“You're not going anywhere, Harry James!”

James… it had been too long since she'd been mad enough to use my middle name. She looked so beautiful just then, but I couldn't let myself fall for it. I'd had enough. I was in love with her, Ron was in love with her, and things were just too complicated. I wanted to go back to my hole, but it wasn't safe anymore. Merlin she looked beautiful…

I couldn't help myself, I kissed her. And then I left. Disapparated without even ending the kiss.

And here it is, three years later. Six months ago I cracked, I started using Legilimency to check up on her in her dreams, see how she was. And then I cracked again. I would join in her dreams, talking to her like I was really there. One night I accidentally Apparated directly to her because I'd wanted her so badly. And after that I was hooked. Whenever I could, I'd Apparate next to her and spend the night utilizing my Legilimency skills to visit her in her dreams.

What I wouldn't have given to have her know I was really there.

This morning I'd had it. I'd deprived myself of her for three years, and it had been too long. I had to go back and tell her. Had to tell her I loved her. I Apparated just outside the parlour of Grimmauld place, where I heard her talking to Ron.

“..and sometimes…” she was saying as she paused to take a deep breath, “sometimes it's like I can still smell him there. Like fresh grass, and sweat and parchment.”

Oh sweet Merlin, she remembers. And she sounds… wistful? Like she wished it were real?

There was silence for far too long and I crept as close to the doorframe as I could without being seen. Moments pass, and I can practically hear the gears in Ron's brain shifting.

“It's him…” He sounds like he can't believe it. It's me what?! What the sodding hell did I do? Do they smell that I'm here or something?

“I miss him, Ron.”

Oh Hermione, I miss you too… more than I know.

“So do I,” splutters Ron, still sounding shocked.

“Three years,” mumbles Hermione, “Who knew…”

Sod those million people who felt as miserable as I did. She misses me. I can only hope that means she feels something for me.

“Who knew what?” I ask, stepping into the parlour.

Both their heads snap up, almost comically.

“Harry!”

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Disclaimer: Not mine.

A/N: Final part of this three-shot. For shardraco and mathiasgranger.

Snow Patrol - Chasing Cars

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?

Three years of waiting, and a million people feeling just as bad. What a pair Harry and Hermione make, gaping at each other like fish out of water.

They stand there rather awkwardly in the parlour, Ron feeling like he should sink into the shadows or something. Hermione saves him the trouble.

“Ron,” she says evenly, not tearing her eyes from Harry for a second for fear he'd disappear again, “I think Harry and I have some catching up to do.”

“Uhh, right,” he mumbles, backing out of the room. It's one thing to actively pursue Hermione when Harry was gone and he didn't know how she felt about him, though how he'd missed it over the last three years was remarkable. It's another entirely to stick around when she'd officially made it clear that she wasn't interested. And when Harry was back. He couldn't even beat the memory of the man who haunted Hermione's dreams, how was he to stand up to the real thing?

He goes to wait in the kitchen, where he nurses an entire bottle of Firewhiskey as he waits.

“Harry,” says Hermione shakily, almost like she can't believe he's really here, standing in front of her.

He crosses the room in two long strides, wrapping his arms around her and holding her close. She allows herself to sink into the embrace momentarily before she remembers herself and pulls away.

“Where the hell have you been? Why did you leave me? Three years, Harry? Three blasted years and then you appear out of nowhere? What, do you expect me to forgive you and run into your arms?”

Harry shrugs; he'd hoped that was what she'd do, but he needed to do this for himself. “I had to see you,” he manages to get out without choking up.

“You've had three sodding years to see me!” she yells angrily, huffing as she turns and makes a grab for the nearest cushion. She starts wringing it in her fingers nervously, half-wishing that it were Harry's neck.

His face flushes as he silently admits to himself that she's right, it has been three years, over a thousand agonizing, torturous days that could have been spent with her.

“Wait, why do you care?” he asks as he realizes she was here with Ron; that the redheaded bastard is still in the picture.

“Why do I care?” she screeches in disbelief. “Are you mad? Why wouldn't I care that my best friend disappeared for three years because I was half his ruddy problem? Because I hurt him so much that it felt like he was being stabbed in the bloody eye? Why wouldn't I care?”

“Erm…” mumbles Harry as he flushes a deep scarlet. Then he hits on the words she used to describe him. Best friend. He was right. That's all he is to her, all he'll ever be. She missed his friendship. Not him, not Harry, just Harry. She missed her friend. “Good to see your feelings haven't changed,” he grumbles, wishing that he had his own pillow to strangle right now.

“Like you give a flying pig's arse about my feelings,” spits Hermione, suddenly feeling like cursing is the only way to get her point across. “If you had, you wouldn't have bloody well walked out on me.”

“You would've stopped me!”

“I tried!”

“Letting me kiss you goodbye isn't stopping me!”

“Letting you? Letting you? Like I pitied you and it was the only way I could think of to say goodbye? Oh, you really are rich, Harry Potter. Did you ever stop to consider that maybe, just maybe, I wanted you to kiss me? That I wanted that bloody forever you promised me on the battlefield? That it broke my heart to see you falling apart up there and no matter how hard I tried I couldn't get through to you?”

Harry freezes on the spot. She wanted him to kiss her? She wanted forever? He… he broke her heart?

“Sweet Merlin, Hermione…” he groans, his hand coming up to cover his mouth. He feels like he is going to vomit, he's making himself sick with how stupid he was. Did he ever just stop to ask her how she felt?

As his hand rises his sleeve falls back and exposes his forearm to Hermione, and she gasps as she sees the magical tattoo.

“Harry?” she asks tentatively.

He looks up at her, his eyes watering as he tries to keep the vomit at bay. He's so disgusted with himself that it's nearly impossible.

“Why do you have runes tattooed on your arm? Runes that make no sense?”

Her cool fingers circle his wrist as she pulls his hand from his face, turning his palm and arm over so she can better look at the faint inscription there. She traces her nails along the lines, her face screwed up in concentration as she looks at them. She realizes now that this is the scar she had seen three years ago that she had taken to be self-mutilation. It was nothing but a tattoo of runes that translated into gibberish.

“They make sense,” mutters Harry. He looks deep into her eyes before reluctantly pulling out his wand and pressing the tip to his arm. The runes begin to slide apart and the individual lines reform to spell a faint pink name across his skin. “Hermione,” he whispers, reading his skin.

She looks up at him, tears in her eyes as they seem to ask her silent question. Why?

“It was the only way I could have you,” he says gruffly, pulling away his wand and sliding his sleeve down. “You—you were Ron's.”

“Ron's?” she asks curiously. She was certain she had denied any and all advances he had made, and equally certain that the charm Harry had used to create that tattoo was Dark Magic.

“I saw it all. At the battle. When he hugged you and kissed your cheek before I left. When I came back and he was too busy kissing you to make sure I was alive. All those times in the hallways when he'd ask you out or try to kiss you. And I…I just couldn't. I hate him for it, but how could I say anything? The moment his lips touched yours you were off-limits. I can hate him all I want for taking you away from me, but I couldn't try to steal you from him. I'm not like that.”

“And now? Harry James Potter, if you are dabbling in the Dark Arts…”

Harry sighs heavily, hanging his head and ignoring her accusation. “It's been three years, Hermione,” he rasps, refusing to meet her gaze. “Ron stopped being my friend the day I left and didn't even get so much as one measly owl from him wondering what happened. I don't care anymore.”

“So you've come to steal me away from him?”

Harry nods. “I'll kill him if I have to, Hermione, but I need you. I really can't take this anymore. I'm broken, and you're the only one that can fix me. Hex me for being selfish, I don't care, but for once in my life I want what should have been mine in the first place. I never got to tell you…”

He trails off, leaving Hermione to contemplate the idea of him murdering Ron for her. She opens her mouth to tell him it's not necessary, there's nothing between them, but the words that next come tumbling out of his mouth are so beautiful that she can barely speak.

“I love you, you know.”

Hermione is sure she is hearing things, and looks up at him with wide eyes. “Y-you… you what?”

“I love you.”

“Then why did you leave?!” she screams, throwing the thoroughly-wrung pillow at his head. “If you love me so bloody much, why the hell did you disappear for so long?”

“I thought you were with him!” replies Harry equally angrily. “And that you weren't comfortable showing it for fear of how left out I might feel! It'd be just like you to do that, you know, sacrificing your own happiness to make sure I was alright.”

“And what the fuck do you think you were doing for three years?” yells Hermione, barely registering that she has just used the worst curse word she knows of. She is too frustrated to care. “You sacrificed your own happiness, the chance to tell me how you felt, because you thought I'd be happy with Ron?”

Harry nods solemnly, regarding her features carefully. “You just swore.”

“I know I fucking swore but for the love of Merlin Harry, you've been gone for three years, you suddenly appear in the parlour and tell me you love me and you left because of it and you expect me to just take it calmly?”

“Um, this probably isn't a good time to interrupt,” says Ron, staggering into the parlour with the now-empty Firewhiskey bottle in his hand, “but I'm all out of booze and I'm gonna need a helluva lot more if you want me to get through tonight without trying to kill Harry. I'm in no condition to Apparate.”

Both Harry and Hermione glare at him, and he shrugs his shoulders. “Confundus charm it is, then,” and he walks down the hallway with his wand pointed at himself.

Her anger dissipated when Ron entered the room, and Hermione sits back wearily on the couch with her eyes shut. “Do you really love me, Harry?”

He immediately kneels in front of her, clasping her hands in his own. “I do.”

“What are we going to do about Ron?” she asks, opening her eyes and meeting his.

“Sod Ron, we'll do it all—everything, on our own. It's you and me, Hermione. Our whole lives we haven't needed anything or anyone but each other.” He presses his lips to her fingertips, and the ghost of a smile flits across his face. “But Hermione, please… Is there a chance, even the smallest chance, that maybe you could return my feelings? Not now, I don't want to pressure you, but… someday?”

“Oh Harry,” she whispers, sliding down to join him where he is kneeling on the floor. She looks into his eyes and then tugs him back to lay on the carpet with her. ”Tell me something,” she says. “If I just lay here, for however long, would you lie here with me and just forget the world? Forget Ron, forget the Prophet, and forget anyone and anything that might get in our way. Would you? Can you just forget the world, Harry? Pretend it's just you and I?”

“It's always been just us,” he admits, turning his head to see her.

She smiles and they lay there contentedly for some time before Hermione speaks again.

“I don't quite know how to tell you how I feel, Harry,” she admits nervously. She has had three years to prepare for this moment, and yet her usual eloquence and elaborate vocabulary escape her when she needs them the most.

“You could tell me you love me,” he says with a small smile.

She shakes her head and his face falls. “Oh Harry no, it's not that I don't. It's just that, well; I really think those words, those three words, are said far too much.” She pushes herself up on her elbows so that she can see into his eyes. “For us, those three words aren't enough.”

His heart begins to beat faster as she lowers her head to his and their lips meet. There are no fireworks, only the smooth feel of lips on lips as Harry's arm comes up to encircle her back and pull her closer.

“Do me a favour, Hermione?” he says gruffly against her lips.

“Anything.”

“I can forget the world for you. Can you say those three words for me? Even if they aren't enough?”

She pulls back, looking fearfully into his eyes. She knows that once she says those three words, she'll be too far gone to save herself. If he leaves her again, she won't be able to deal with it.

“Promise me you won't leave again.”

“Hermione, understand something. All that I am, all that I ever was… I can see it here, in your eyes. Your perfect, beautiful eyes. All I want to see in them now is all that I can be. And that's nothing without you. I'm not going anywhere. Not as long as you want to be mine.”

She blinks back tears at his eloquence, now realizing where hers has gone. “I love you,” she whispers.

He smiles, a real smile this time, his trademark lopsided grin. With his arm around her waist he lifts his other hand to her shoulder and turns them over, pinning them into the carpet.

“Mine,” he growls fiercely, silently praying that Ron can hear that Hermione is now off-limits to him.

“Yours,” she replies, kissing him.

“Forever.”

<><><><><>

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?

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