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The Way We Were

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter. Otherwise, Tom would have killed Ginny in Book 2, and a character named Albus Severus (really, what kind of illegal substance JKR was taking when she wrote this?) wouldn't even exist.

AN: Okay, so, I started a new fic (post DH). I didn't like the book- and I'm not talking about the final pairings but the book itself. I hoped an amazing book- not this. Of course it isn't horrible, but I've read better fanfictions, and there were so plot holes and Hermione looking like a squealing fangirl...

Oh well, but what is done is done. So, I started this new fic. It's Harry/Hermione (of course!). Adult. And takes place <i>after</i> the Crap!Epilogue. Yes, Albus Severus, Hugo and Co. are here. Ah, this won't be an affair!fic and it IS a HHr. I didn't like the Epilogue, but it's canon. We like it or not.

I hope you like it.

Thank you, pinktribechick for the beta and LadyStarlight for the beta and wonderful ideas!

BTW, my other fics will be updated...soon.

Harry/Hermione. Post Epilogue

The Way We Were

Memories
Like the corners of my mind
Misty watercolor memories
Of the way we were
Scattered pictures
Of the smiles we left behind
Smiles we gave to one another
For the way we were

So it is the laughter
We will remember
Whenever we remember
The way we were

(Barbra Straisand, 'The Way We Were')

Chapter 01/Prologue: Miss Sad Eyes

London, England

December 15, 2018

"An espresso, please," thirty-eight year-old Harry James Potter asked the Muggle attendant, as he sat down at the balcony. Taking a tired breath, he took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes. He was feeling tired, exhausted, to tell the truth.

Ginny was often telling him to slow down his rhythm of work, complaining that he was working too much; too hard. "I want to enjoy a little more of my hero," she had said. "After all, I'm what? The first lady of the Wizarding World, right?" And she could always laugh after saying that. "I got the hero."

Harry shook his head briefly, putting the glasses back.

"Here it is, sir," the attendant said, placing Harry's espresso on the counter.

"Thank you," the wizard replied, and the attendant gave him a curt nod before turning his attention to another client.

The dark haired wizard seized the cup and gingerly brought it to his mouth, taking a sip of its contents. Dean Thomas was right when he said that this was the best espresso in the whole of London. Sometimes, he missed simple moments like that; to be unknown. To be just an ordinary Muggle, drinking a cup of coffee. Harry loved magic; there was no doubt about that. Magic was part of his life, part of himself. However, now and then, he felt himself like in cage.
Unable to move.

Even after twenty years, there were still so much expectations, so much hope about what would he do, how would he life, who was he going to safe. They just couldn't understand that Harry Potter couldn't safe them all. He couldn't solve all problems, all the injustices.

He was just human.

Harry heaved a sigh, taking another sip of his drink. 'I shouldn't complain,' he chastised himself.

He had a life. He had a good life. He had three amazing kids; three young human beings that he would do anything - anything at all - for them. Nothing in the world was more important than his children. Not even his wife.

Ginny. Sixteen years of marriage. Sixteen years and still, there were times when he could find himself wondering if she knew him after all. Harry loved her. She was his wife, the mother of his children. They did have a good life. It was just that -

He just wished that after so many years, Ginny could see him as just - only - a man.

"Look, Chloe, Miss Sad Eyes has just arrived." The attendant's soft voice broke Harry's reverie. The man was talking to a waitress, who was standing by Harry's side, resting a tray on the counter.

"Missus, Nathan, missus. She has a ring," the light-brown haired girl responded, shaking her head. "Two waters for table four."

"You know what I mean," he said as he took two bottles of the Evian from fridge behind him. "It's just an expression." He put the two bottles on the tray. "Glasses?"

"No," the waitress said. "I know, I was just teasing you."

The man nodded absently, his gaze fixed at some point behind Harry's. "Beautiful, yet such sad brown eyes," Nathan said quietly, almost to himself.

The young woman named Chloe shook her head with a smile, before taking back the tray and walking back to the tables.

Nathan heaved a sigh, lowering his stare. "I wonder why she looks so sad," he commented, looking at Harry.

Harry gave him a helpless shrug, not really knowing what to say. As a matter of fact, he wasn't in mood to start chatting with a stranger.

"She comes here almost everyday," the man continued, "always looking so sad . . ."

Unable to control his curiosity, Harry turned his head to see the person the man was talking about. "H-Hermione?!" he gasped as his curious gaze found his best friend's wife. Harry adjusted his glasses, as if was making sure it was really her. It was. There was no doubt about that.

Hermione Jean Granger-Weasley was sitting at one of the tables. She was reading something (perhaps a book, he couldn't be sure) and seemed oblivious to the fact that her husband's best friend was there, staring at her.

And Harry couldn't take his eyes off her. It was like he was seeing her for the first time. At first sight, there was nothing different about her. She looked like the same Hermione Weasley he had seen in the Ministry in that same morning. She didn't seem any different from the Hermione who'd had dinner with him and the rest of the Weasleys at the Burrow just a week ago.

However, she was different; she looked different. She looked overwhelmed.

Sad.

Her shoulders were curved, in a defeated position. When the waitress brought her coffee, Hermione looked up from her book, thanking her with a small smile.

Even with the distance, Harry saw it. Her poignant gaze.

He wondered if something had happened; and his chest tightened at the thought. Maybe some problem at the Ministry? Ron? Their kids?

No, Ron would have mentioned if something was wrong. They were best friends.

Best friends.

Hermione Granger used to be his best friend too; the voice of his conscience when he was younger. That girl - no, woman - had given up so much for him. Maybe more than anyone else.

When exactly did she turn into only the wife of his best friend? At which point of their lives everything had changed?

Harry closed his eyes, breathing heavily; a wave of emptiness invading his system.

He knew those answers.

Harry turned back to the counter, taking some Muggle money from his pocket. He placed it on the counter. "For the espresso. Keep the change," he said before standing up.

With fast steps, he walked towards Hermione's table.

"Hermione?" he said quietly.

Hearing her name, Hermione's head snapped in surprise, her eyes leaving the book on the table. She looked up and her gaze immediately met his green stare.

And then, looking into her brown eyes, Harry realized something.

It wasn't just sadness. It was loneliness.

TBC