Just so you know, I am alive, and I wrote this instead of the essay I'm supposed to be writing for my class on Monday. Kids—don't go to college. wink wink

disclaimer: Me no ownie.

-whistle-

She was leaving, and there wasn't a damn thing he could do about it. Her bags were packed, her ticket was in her hand, and they were standing in the hallway while he locked his door. He fumbled with the key. Cursed. Choked back the words that he wanted to say. Locked the door and walked down the hallway towards the stairs.

"Are you excited?" he managed to ask.

"Yes," she nodded, brushing a stray strand of hair out of her face.

"Where exactly are you going again?"

He knew the answer. He'd memorized it. She was going to Bournemouth, nearly five hundred bloody miles away.

"Bournemouth."

"And what are you doing?"

He knew the answer to this one too. She'd been offered a job with a hospital—she would head up a department at the Price-Swancott Medical Clinic, directing the use of spells to modify genes in order to cure various diseases. It was an experimental procedure and it was drawing a lot of attention—both positive and negative—from the people of Great Britain.

"I'm going to be the head of the Gene Modification centre down at Price-Swancott."

"Right, right. Where are you going to live?"

If someone had bothered to give him an exam on her, he would have easily passed it. He knew everything about her and the job that was taking her away. Not that he had bothered to let her know that there was someone who didn't want her to leave Edinburgh, ever.

"Price-Swancott has rented out a flat for me in Bournemouth a few blocks away from the clinic. It's part of my pay."

"You're pretty lucky."

By now they were getting into a cab. He could tell she was nervous—her grip was so tight on her purse that her knuckles were white. She kept smoothing her hair down, despite the fact that it never did what she wanted it to anyway.

"Yeah, I guess I am."

He helped her into the cab before sitting next to her. He told the driver where to go, then settled back in his seat. Too soon they were at the train station. They walked swiftly and inconspicuously towards what appeared to be a store room door. Glancing around quickly, she turned the knob and walked inside. He followed, and came out on the wizarding side of the station. Sighing heavily, he trotted after Hermione, who was striding rapidly towards the black train she was supposed to board. She stopped a few feet away from the train and turned back to stare him in the eyes.

"I guess this is it," he said, smiling shakily.

"I guess so," she agreed. An awkward pause followed. Hermione bit her lip, then spoke again.

"Oliver, can you give me a reason to stay?" she asked. He hesitated, afraid to read too much into her question.

"No, I don't think I can," he finally answered, semi-truthfully. Her expression didn't change.

"Of course," she murmured wryly. "Well, I'd better board," she said offhandedly as she pulled him into a swift hug. Before he could return it she was on the steps and in the carriage.

He choked back his words again.

He stared blankly at the people milling around him and remembered her.

In the library.

On the Quidditch pitch, fixing Potter's glasses.

Wet and crying on his doorstep her first day in Edinburgh.

Wet and swearing on his kitchen chair that same evening, verbally mauling her boss.

Reading a book in the stands the first time she went to one of his games.

Explaining that the book was about various Quidditch rules and tactics.

Showing up every Thursday night with a Muggle movie and take-out.

Crying into his sweater the day her prat of a boyfriend broke her heart.

Telling him she had been offered a job at Price-Swancott, but was unsure of what to do.

Telling him she'd accepted, and would be leaving in a week.

The sound of the whistle blowing drew him out of his thoughts. The platform was nearly empty when he bothered to glance up and see her staring out of a window at him. He waved half-heartedly, then turned and walked away. He was nearly at the door when he heard the train leave the station. Steeling himself he stepped back through the door, then walked with heavy feet towards the station exit. He was halfway there when he heard him calling his name.

"Oliver! Oliver! Oliver, damn you, turn around!" she cried. He turned. She ran up to him.

"You've missed your train," he said solemnly.

"I know," she gasped. "I...I couldn't leave," she explained. He stared at her a moment.

"Thank God," he whispered, brushing his hand across her cheek.

-end-

Okay. So. Um. That's all. Ten points to the first person who names the very obvious inspiration for this cookie. And I know it's a little long for a cookie, but I feel there are too many loose ends and unresolved issues to publish it as an honest fic. It wouldn't make any sense then. It's also very unpolished and jumpy and...blegh. You get the point. As for "Thank God"...it just sounded better than "Thank Merlin" or something to that effect. Yeah.