The key was roughly stuffed into the key shaped hole as he found himself nearly falling into the flat, Neville tumbling in after him. They were laughing about some stupid joke Ron had made seven hours before.

“Shhhh!!!!" Harry sputtered with his finger in front of his mouth, spitting with every word. “Don't wake up Ron!”

“Harry,” Neville laughed. “Ron doesn’t live here!” The two of them roared with laughter as Harry rested on Neville’s already-tipsy body.

“You’re right!” Harry gasped. “It’s a good thing he’s not!” The two continued to laugh as she made her way down the stairs.

“I’m glad you two are having so much fun,” she said in her most mother-like tone. Harry glanced up and almost groaned.

“Awwww, c’mon Hermione! It was an incredible night!” He laughed, his arms spread out to signify 'big'.

“Was it?” she asked sharply. “I wouldn’t know, Harry. I spent the whole night looking for and worrying about you!”

“Did you now?” Neville asked, almost sounding serious. “Then it’s a good thing because" -- he hiccoughed -- "Harry here and I…” -- he laughed uncontrollably for a second -- “have been talking about you and--” Harry plastered his hand over Neville’s mouth.

“Shhhhhh,” he giggled. “Don’t ruin…the surprise.” They continued to laugh once more. Hermione couldn’t take it anymore. She pushed past the boys and made her way to the telephone.

“Ginny? Yeah, they’re here. Expect a drunk Ron to be heading your way…Yes, Neville’s drunk too. Floo? Are you sure that’s safe?...Alright.” She hung up and gave an icy glare at Neville. He pouted.

“Awww, Hermione…did you have to call the mistress?” He and Harry burst into laughter as Hermione grabbed him by the collar, dragging him to the fireplace. She shoved him in and forced some floo powder into his hand.

“Go to the burrow. NOW!” she demanded. Neville grumbled something before shouting, ‘Burrow’, slamming the powder down and disappearing in a puff of green smoke. One down, one more to go. She turned to the drunken Harry. This one wouldn’t get away so easily. She stomped over to him and gave him a hard slap across the face. He didn’t seem to feel it but his cheek soon turned red. He raised a shaking hand and pointed at her.

“You…are a party pooper,” he said, the amusement slowly dying down.

“And you, Mr. Potter,” she guided his unwilling feet to the couch, “are stone drunk.”

“No, I’m not,” he scoffed and was pushed onto the couch. “I had two Yirgin Maryeez. They’re actually really good, you should try one sometime. I had like, four of them.” She rolled her eyes.

“I’m sure, Harry.” She pulled off his coat and threw it to the floor.

“Are you undressing me, Hermione?” he giggled, covering his chest like a little girl. She slapped him again, hard. He groaned loudly and massaged his cheek.

“That hurt,” he whined. “Why’d you do that?”

“Because I felt like it,” she replied smugly. “Probably the same reason you went and got drunk.”

“That is not true!” he blubbered trying to get up. After discovering his feet just weren’t working with him tonight, he plopped back onto the couch.

“Why the hell would you drink, Harry? This is completely unlike you! You don’t drink!” she blurted out. He spun around and could barely look at her.

“Because!” he exploded. “Because I had STUFF on my mind and the guys…the guys GET me. They get me in a way you’ll never get me! They KNOW stuff, Hermione, stuff you’ll never understand!” They stayed like that for a second, him crouching over her, his finger still pointing at her. Slowly, she lowered his finger and pushed him off of her. She got up and put her hands to her hips as she faced the boy who lived, sulking on the couch.

“Don’t tell me this is ONCE AGAIN about--"

“Oh, here we go again!”

“You’re supposed to be over that, Harry! It was, what, seven years ago?!”

“It doesn’t change the fact I killed someone, Hermione!”

“You saved the world, Harry! You killed someone to save the--"

“It doesn’t change the fact that I killed--"

“The world is better off without--"

“HOW WOULD YOU KNOW?! HE’S DEAD! WE WOULDN’T KNOW HOW THE WORLD WOULD BE IF HE WERE ALIVE BECAUSE HE’S DEAD! AND I KILLED HIM, HERMIONE! ... He’s dead because of me,” his last words were a faint whisper as he hung his head in shame.

Hermione’s eyes fell in pity and she sat back down.

“You’re right,” she admitted. “I don’t know. But Harry, he’s caused so much pain and suffering. You ended it. You’re a hero.” She placed her hand on his shoulder and he violently shook it off.

“I don’t want to be a hero,” he spat out. “I want to be normal. I don’t want to sign autographs on the street. I don’t want people taking pictures of me everywhere. I don’t want to read about my own bloody life in the magazines. I don’t want girls pawing at my clothes wherever I go, I don’t want rumours about me spreading. I don’t want…I don’t want to be a hero.” He buried his head in his hands, crouching over. She placed her hand on his shoulder once more.

“I just want my own bloody life. With my own bloody wife and my own bloody kids and my own bloody house. Is that too much to ask for?” he asked softly, the liquor slowly wearing off.

“No, it’s not,” she replied just as softly, resting her cheek on his back. “And you’re going to make a girl very happy one day.”

“No, I’m not,” he sobbed suddenly. She raised her head and arched an eyebrow. She moved off the couch and crouched in front of him.

“Hey,” she whispered, lifting his head to look at hers. It pained her to see him cry. “What are you talking about?”

“I’ll never make her happy,” he said, the tears falling freely.

“You’ll never make who happy?”

“Her!” he said loudly, shaking his head out of her grasp and turning to the side. He brought his legs up and hugged them, like a little boy. “She’ll never love me back. It’s impossible.” He groaned, making a big emphasis on the word ‘impossible’. She sighed and rested her head on his shoulder, not knowing what to say anymore. He sobbed quietly into his arm.

“I love her,” he whispered. She opened her eyes. Did he just say…

“I love her so much. I just want to love her. Why can’t I love her, Hermione? How come I’m not allowed?” he asked, feeling more and more depressed. She pushed his bangs away from his face, getting a better look at his sad eyes.

“She’s the stupid one, Harry,” she said. He spun around and she gasped at the fury in his eyes.

“You’re not stupid, Hermione!” he shouted.

There was a silence. A long silence. A very long silence.

“Wh-what?” she finally gasped out.

“You said you were stupid,” he said, retaining his anger.

“N-no,” she said uneasily. “I said the woman you love is st--”

And then there was a silence. A silence that lasted forever as she gazed into his eyes. Then, like suddenly a light had appeared over his head, Harry’s eyes lit up. The alcohol drained out of his system and she saw it. She knew he wasn’t drunk now. She knew she had Harry Potter back until his hangover tomorrow morning. And he gazed at her, his eyes shocked that he had said it. He had revealed his deepest darkest secret. His deepest darkest desire. His breath came in short pants.

“Secret’s out,” she whispered, pity in her eyes. But he didn’t reply. He took her chin in his hand and pulled her head towards him. His lips brushed against hers and her eyes opened, filled with tears. Don’t say it, he thought bitterly to himself. Please, Hermione, please don’t say it.

“Harry…” Please don’t say it, Hermione, please, please, please, don’t say it.
“…I’m married.”

The sour reminder rang in his ears and her wedding flashed before his eyes. The way she looked at him. The way she kissed him. The way she glowed when he talked about her. The way she cried with happiness when he said his vows. The way she grinned when they were declared husband and wife. The way she held onto him when they rushed out of the church. The way she swooned when they had their first dance. They way she kissed him goodbye and left for her honeymoon. The way they talked about their future children. The way she giggled when she thought of baby names.

Harry shut his eyes tightly and pushed her away from him. She stood in front of him; he was cowering on the couch. Her tears were falling from her eyes to the carpet. Her hand covering her mouth, restraining her from sobs.

“Oh god, Harry, I’m so sorry, I-I didn't know...” she cried. He sighed into the couch material, sniffing back tears.

“It’s okay,” he whispered. He looked up and gazed into her eyes. “Do you love him?”

She bit her bottom lip.

“With all of my heart.”

He nodded his head and stood up. He gracefully took her into his arms and kissed her. He kissed her softly on the lips, sobbing internally that she didn't kiss him back. Then he let go and rested his forehead on hers. And together they cried.

“I’m glad you found someone who loves you,” he whispered. “You deserve nothing more than happiness.” She nodded and kissed his forehead.

“Go,” he whispered, pushing her away from him. “He’s waiting for you.” She nodded and wiped her cheek. Then she picked up her purse and she left. He watched her walk away. He watched her walk out of his flat. He watched her get into her car and realized he loved her just as much as he did the first day he saw her on the train. He loved her and he’d never stop. No one could ever take her place in his heart. He could never love anyone as much as he loved her. Ever. And as he watched her drive away, he clutched his chest, which was inches away from his heart, which was wasting away on the girl who could never love him back.


AN: Special thanks to my BETA, Kate! Thanks so much!