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.