Hermione Granger and the Half-Blood Prince

I told you everything, opened up and let you in
You made me feel alright, for once in my life
Now all that's left of me is what I pretend to be
So together, but so broken up inside

Cause I can't breathe

No I can't sleep
I'm barely hanging on

Here I am, once again
I'm torn into pieces, can't deny it, can't pretend
Just thought you were the one
Broken up, deep inside
But you won't get to see the tears I cry
Behind these hazel eyes...

"Behind These Hazel Eyes" Kelly Clarkson

**

"Hermione?"

"Hmm?" Hermione looked up dazedly from her textbook and blinked hard to get a hold of herself. Once again, she had lost herself in Ron-induced ruminations. She found she had done that quite often, much to her chagrin. Ever since she had decided not to outwardly show her contempt and grief, she had found that she was much more distracted. She supposed that the words were dying to come out of her, but since she wouldn't allow that to happen, her mind kept processing them over and over again, like an incessant annoying tune that you can't get out of your head. Usually, Hermione could maintain her concentration while she obsessed over Ron, but today was different. After the incident yesterday, she was completely perplexed as to why Ron would be angry enough with her to break their unspoken pact to avoid each other. So she had flown--what was the big deal? He flew almost everyday and she didn't come running after him to almost scold and chastise him for his behavior. He could at least show her the same courtesy.

It also really didn't help that all day, Ron had been watching her. He watched her come in to the Great Hall for breakfast, he looked at her multiple times in Transfiguration, in Charms, at break, at lunch...he just watched her. It wasn't as though he would gawk or stare at her, but he would glance quickly but thoroughly in her direction as if to make sure she was okay or maybe reassuring himself that she was there. It was making her skin ping and pop in a very good way which was a very bad thing as it completely ruined her concentration and went completely against her oath to hate him.

She blinked hard again. There would be no more thinking about this. She sighed. It was really quite amusing how many times she told herself this on a daily basis and how many times she completely disregarded that decision five minutes later. Another quick blink pushed herself back into the proper way of thinking. If she didn't get a hold of herself, she was going to fail all of her classes. That frightening thought chiding her, Hermione forced herself to focus on her study companion. "Yes?"

Neville's brow wrinkled concernedly but he merely pointed to the Herbology book next to her elbow. "Can I borrow that for a minute?"

"Of course." Hermione handed off the thick volume. She and Neville were studying together for Herbology and she had pulled several other textbooks for cross-referencing. Although Herbology was his best subject by far, Neville had asked for her help and instead, here she was just sitting here, thinking about Ron and hoarding all of the books Neville probably needed to finish his essay. "I'm sorry I'm not good company," she apologized somewhat sheepishly while smoothing her hair back out of her face. She had to get a grip on herself.

"You're always good company," Neville answered diplomatically. Hermione smiled; that was a good answer. Somewhat awkwardly and looking slightly flustered, he indicated the other mounds of books she had stacked around her. "What's with the rest of them?"

Hermione hesitated. Those were the Dark Arts books she was going check out upon leaving the library for her and Harry to read--she hadn't been able to make it to the library last night. "Just some outside reading. For Defense," she added quickly.

Neville grimaced. He was struggling just as much as Harry to get through the torturous classes with Snape. "Wish Harry was still teaching us," he commented wistfully. "I learned loads more from him."

"Me too," Hermione agreed with a smile. She would have to remember to tell Harry later about Neville's kind words.

"Um. Excuse me?" A petite second-year with dark hair hesitantly approached their table. Hermione recognized her as the small Muggle-born girl Malfoy had tortured after departing the Hogwarts Express the first day of fifth-year. The girl smiled shyly at Hermione. "Professor McGonagall asked me to get you. She wants to see you in her office."

Hermione frowned. "Did she say what about?" she asked as she closed her book and began to collect her things.

"Uh-uh," the girl said with a shake of her head. "Sorry."

"That's fine, Marianne, thank you for telling me," Hermione returned. Marianne blushed; she hadn't realized that the smartest girl in school knew her name. Marianne scampered away while Hermione swung her bag over her shoulder. "I'll be back as soon as I can, Neville."

Neville nodded and returned to his homework. As she walked to the Transfiguration professor's office, Hermione tried curiously to discern just why Professor McGonagall would need to speak to her. She supposed it had something to do with prefect business. Maybe she wanted Hermione to assist in maintaining order in the Apparation lessons that would be beginning in less than two weeks. Hermione didn't know what to expect in an Apparation lesson, but she had a feeling that painful splinching would be involved.

Her crisp knock on the door was followed by a quick "come in," and Hermione opened the door to her favorite teacher's office with a small smile. "Professor?"

Minerva McGonagall looked up from her desk. "Miss Granger. Thank you for coming." She gestured to one of the empty chairs on the other side of her desk. "Please take a seat." Hermione complied and set her bag down beside her. Professor McGonagall just watched her for a moment while Hermione repressed the natural urge to fidget uncomfortably. Was everyone determined to stare at her until she had a nervous breakdown today? "How are you feeling?" McGonagall finally asked.

"Just fine," Hermione answered warily. She suddenly had a reason that this visit had nothing to do with prefect business. The teacher's face had suddenly hardened with tight concern. Now that the formalities were aside, her professor could get straight to the point.

"Miss Granger, I will be frank," McGonagall took a deep breath and gave Hermione a knowing look, "watching your behavior in my class over this past week, I have to say that I am more than a little concerned about you."

Somehow, Hermione kept her face blank although on the inside she was kicking things and calling them names that would even make Ron blush. She didn't want anyone to know how much she was suffering, especially an esteemed professor like Minerva McGonagall. Tentatively, Hermione tried to deny the statement. "My marks are fine, Professor--"

"They are fine, Miss Granger. In fact, your grades have never been higher. It is clear that you are working very hard this year. You should be very proud," Professor McGonagall confirmed. The professor however looked anything but proud. She fixed Hermione with her beady stare. "It is not your grades that I am concerned about."

Hermione shifted one foot edgily. "What are you concerned about, Professor?" she asked innocently, as if she didn't have a care in the world.

"I am concerned by the report that was brought to my attention that you have been patrolling the corridors alone, is that true?"

Hermione remained quiet, silently affirming her guilt. There was no point in trying to deny it. She would just have to accept whatever consequences Professor McGonagall felt was just and necessary and find a way to get even with Malfoy; she was certain he was the particular 'report' McGonagall had received in retribution for her interrupting him and Pansy. She was just amazed it had taken him so long to do so.

McGonagall sighed in disappointment. "And I assume that this has to do with the fact that you and Mr. Weasley are no longer on the best of terms?"

Once again, Hermione remained silent, this time out of mortification. She couldn't believe she had been called into her Head of House's office to discuss her love life.

Her pink cheeks told the professor all she needed to know. McGonagall sighed again and leaned back in her chair. "I don't pretend to understand the things that go on between students outside of the classroom, Miss Granger, nor do I care to. It is not my business. It is my business however to ensure that our prefects--especially the ones from my house--are following procedures that were created for their own safety. You are a role-model for the students of this school and I will not condone you breaking regulation because of a personal squabble, do I make myself clear?"

"Yes, Professor," Hermione said quietly.

There was a brief silence in which Hermione contemplated her shoes in dire embarrassment. When Professor McGonagall spoke again, her voice no longer had a sharp, disappointed tone; it was the concerned voice of a mother. "And I don't pretend not to notice that you have been quite unhappy as of late."

"I'm fine," Hermione reassured automatically.

McGonagall blinked in surprise at the curt tone but let it pass. She continued on as if Hermione hadn't interrupted. "And I think you know as well as I that friendship is very important in times like these, especially the one you shared with Mr. Weasley--don't hang your head," she added sharply when Hermione ducked her head away to roll her eyes. "You should be proud. You have had something rare and wonderful at such a young age and you should be proud."

Hermione gulped. She knew. McGonagall knew how she felt about Ron. There was no way she would ever be able to look at her professor again

"You have experienced something that few have and even if it doesn't turn out as expected, you still had the experience. And I think I know what experience I am referring to, Miss Granger." Hermione flushed crimson and nodded. Professor McGonagall really was crossing the boundary between student and teacher, but neither of the women honestly cared. In times of war and when people needed to learn what really was important, people couldn't adhere to common procedure and tact. Sometimes, to make your point, you had to be a little blunt. "So never forget what you had. Even if it may be lost, you'll never lose the memories or the experiences that make you who you are today. Don't live in the past, but think about how it can help you achieve the brightest future possible." Minerva McGonagall paused before making a small confession. "And I really do think yours will turn out better than you think."

That could mean a lot of things, but Hermione's shot up hopefully. She knew that McGonagall was referring to the one person who could make Hermione's future the brightest. "Really?"

Professor McGonagall nodded.

"I hope so," Hermione replied wistfully. It was just really hard at times to be faithful when the boy you loved partook in daily snogging sessions with a dim-witted tart.

Minerva gave her student a sympathetic smile, a smile that was often shared between two women who both knew the pangs of lost love very well. That smile faded as they shifted back into student-teacher mode as the professor crisply stacked a pile of parchment. "Now, I expect you to be patrolling with Mr. Weasley from now on. If I hear again that you are patrolling alone, you will receive a detention, is that clear?"

"Yes, Professor," Hermione answered. This felt a bit odd: by forcing her to spend time with Ron, it felt as though her own teacher was setting her up.

"Very well." McGonagall nodded to the door with a fleeting wink for luck. "You're dismissed."

**

"We have to patrol together."

Ron looked up from his book--not surprisingly, Hermione recognized it immediately as one of the books she had checked out of the library yesterday. He didn't look very surprised to see her. "What?"

"Patrol," Hermione said shortly, flicking some hair out of her face. She had forced herself to march up to Ron the moment she saw him away from Lavender so she wouldn't chicken out. Of course, it had taken nearly all day as Ron and Lavender often appeared to be surgically attached at the lips. Now that she had finally managed to get his attention, Hermione was keen to get away as fast as she could. She wanted as little contact with Ron as possible; if she had anymore, everything surging away inside of her would burst loose. "McGonagall found out that I was going by myself and said I'd get detention if it happened again," she continued briskly.

"Did she?" Ron slapped the book shut, something oddly like a small smile tugging at his lips.

"Yes," Hermione answered, getting annoyed that he looked so amused.

"All right." He didn't even think to bother to apologize for never offering to patrol for her or getting her in trouble with McGonagall. He tossed his book to the side with the rest of his belongings. "Do you want to go now?"

"Might as well," Hermione said with a shrug. She really was anxious to get this over with. She folded her arms over her chest, almost hugging herself for support, while watching Ron get to his feet. "Good book?" she asked snidely, nodding at the book he had been reading. He and Harry might as well know that they weren't fooling her.

Ron didn't waste anytime trying to deny it. "Yeah," he said easily. "Let's go."

She followed him to the portrait hole, feeling oddly satisfied that he hadn't asked her to wait for him to tell Lavender about his whereabouts. Maybe Ron was learning something. With her arms folded over her chest, she walked briskly down the hallway. Even if Ron was learning, he still would have to do something fairly amazing to convince her to even consider forgiving him. He had yet to do anything so she just cemented her mouth shut and stared straight ahead. She didn't even have to look at him. Her shoulders went rigid with suppressed tension and bitterness. The fire was raging inside of her again and he had even yet to do anything. Then again, it never really went out. It was always there. She would always be burning away for him, but no one could ever see that. Not even Ginny knew how much she missed Ron. Hermione hugged herself tighter to keep herself from visibly trembling. This was the longest she had been around Ron since he and Lavender had started dating and it was making everything worse. She breathed deeply to keep everything safely contained inside of her. She had hid it so well for so long; she could last a little longer. She just had to show a little patience.

Ron could only stand the edgy silence for so long. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see him shift anxiously every now and then and cast shift glances her way. Good, she thought spitefully. It was about time he knew how it felt to be jumpy and overwrought all of the time. Ron blew out a long, loud breath to catch her attention. "So this Horcrux thing," he said out of the blue. "What are we going to do about it?" Hermione didn't even blink; she just stared straight ahead and kept walking. He waited expectantly before a ghost of his look-at-me-I'm-really-wonderful-now-and-have-no-idea-how-much-of-an-idiot-I-am smile flashed over his face. "Come on, Hermione, don't play this game again."

Hermione just kept on walking, her mouth resolutely closed. Ron could nettle her until she went mad, but she wasn't going to talk to him. She couldn't. If she did, everything would come pouring out of her and she couldn't take that right now.

"The let's not talk to each other ever again game," Ron continued stubbornly, as if she asked him what game they were apparently playing. He stepped abruptly in front of her so she was forced to stop dead or else she would have run straight into him. "I hate that game," he added seriously.

For someone who hates that game, you certainly play it very well, Hermione thought nastily, but she just kept her mouth shut and tried to sidestep him. He merely countered it with Quidditch-trained reflexes. "Come on," he wheedled with hateful smugness, "you know you want to talk to me."

Hermione raised her eyebrows skeptically as if to say Oh, do I?

"Yeah, you do," Ron insisted as though Hermione had said the words out loud. She couldn't conceal a disbelieving snort from escaping from her. Even when she was friends with Ron, she never enjoyed talking to him whenever he was acting so smug and arrogant. He was better than this--why did he not realize he was better than this? "Just admit it," he requested smugly, wearing a wide, cocky grin that was so unlike him. He looked like a grotesque combination of Percy, Fred, George, and Malfoy. "McGonagall didn't really call you into her office, did she?"

The wary glare she gave him was as cold as January, but also infinitely confused. She had no idea what he was talking about

As if she had asked the question aloud, he shrugged one shoulder. "You made it up. You just wanted an excuse to talk to me again."

A burst of white-hot, suffocating steam shot up from deep inside her and clouded her brain with hot, humid fury. It literally felt as though something had exploded inside of her. Hermione was so beyond angry that she couldn't even muster up any fury to smack him or even yell at him. It wasn't the accusation itself that made her so irate--it was just that he was proud of the fact that she was stooping to the petty tricks that other girls played. He was supposed to recognize that she was above all of that, that she was better than those girls. She was special. He was supposed to think that she was special. But instead, he reveled in the fact that she was no better than Lavender. He thought it was funny. He wasn't learning anything at all. He was just as stupid and tactless and immature and hateful as he was before Hermione finally had disentangled herself from him.

Well, if he thought that this was so funny, maybe he would think that this was funny too: Hermione turned on her heel and stalked in the opposite direction. Ron could finish the patrol alone. As many times as she had done this alone, it was about time that he learned how lonely it was wandering along these halls by yourself.

Ron instantly realized that he had pushed too far and dropped the cocky act completely. "Okay, okay, okay, maybe she did talk to you, it doesn't matter, let's just talk about this now, okay?" Ron hastened to say as his cursed long legs easily kept pace with her hurried, purposeful stride.

Hermione clenched her jaw and remained silent. They were not talking about this now or ever. Every time she glimpsed Ron, every cell of her yearned to speak to him again. But then he just had to open his fat mouth and remind her how stupid she was for even loving him in the place. She would run away, only to be aching to see him again. It was a viciously irrational cycle she was trapped in and she didn't think that yelling at Ron was going to solve it. There had to be another way.

Ron waited for about five seconds for a response before trying again. "Hermione? Hermione, talk." When she stubbornly still refused to say anything--she didn't respond well to being ordered about like some senile hippogriff--Ron grabbed her arm. "Hey! Talk to me!" Hermione just yanked her arm as hard as she could so she could twist free of him, nonverbally demanding that he bloody well better not try to touch her again. But Ron never followed directions very well; he just grimly took hold of her arm again and before she knew it, Ron had already steered her into the nearest room and closed the door. Hermione yanked her arm free and stalked across the room to put several desks between her and Ron so he couldn't touch her again. Ron remained stationed at the door, his eyes blazing. "Look, I'm sick of this," he said bluntly. "This is stupid. You shouldn't be acting like this."

His voice was so high-and-mighty like Percy's that Hermione instantly just snapped straight back at him. "I shouldn't be acting like this?" Hermione burst out furiously. "Ron, you can't expect--" She broke herself off immediately and glared at her feet. They had been in this room for less than thirty seconds and already she had fallen straight into Ron's trap: she spoke to him.

Ron certainly looked extremely satisfied with himself, making Hermione want to punch him smack in the mouth more than ever. "Go on," he urged. He spread his arms challengingly. "Let's have a go at it. I can't expect--" He paused expectantly "--what?"

If Hermione didn't know better, she would have thought Ron missed rowing with her and that was why he was pushing for her to fight with him. Normally, she would have just stalked away without giving him the satisfaction of one of their rows. But the tension of keeping all of this resentment and misery knotted up inside her was driving her mad. She was teetering on a fine line between self-control and total depressed lunacy; if things continued as they were, she would eventually fall and be carted off to become Professor Lockhart's new roommate in St. Mungo's. It had to come out somehow.

But not too much; Ron couldn't know how devastated she was by his frequent snogs with Lavender. "You can't expect me to just pat you on the back for finally snogging a girl and be completely happy for you when we--" She stamped her foot hatefully, damning herself for admitting this aloud. "--we-well, I thought that we maybe had something."

There. She had said it. It was the perfect answer: accurate but vague. He didn't know just how important he had become. "Wh-why would you think that?" Ron asked faintly, looking as though he was either going to be sick or start jumping up and down with mad joy.

Hermione could only stare. Was he serious? After everything they had been through--five years of friendship--all of those little, blissful, intimate moments they had shared--did they mean anything to him? Was she the only one who had felt something during those moments? Had she imagined everything?

"I mean, yeah, you asked me to that party, but it wasn't like we were going out or anything," Ron reminded her with stubborn arrogance. "We were never together. I can snog whoever I want." His fingers subconsciously preened the collar of his shirt and his chest puffed up smugly. "I'm a free agent," he informed her with unabashed pride.

And still all Hermione could do was stare. Free agent? Who was this boy? This wasn't the sweet, funny, loyal prat that she had fallen in love with; this was some idiot whose head had gotten over-inflated and now thought he was better than everyone so he could do as he pleased to whomever he liked, whenever he liked, and however he liked. Ron was finally starting to realize how wonderful he was, but by making that discovery, he was rapidly losing everything that made him so incredible. Soon, he was going to be as foul as Malfoy. Thoroughly nauseated by the comparison, Hermione vainly tried to wrack her brains for something to say or do to pull Ron out of the downward spiral of his arrogance and conceit, but there was nothing. She could have saved the old Ron, but this new Ron with the cocky strut, the constant efforts to keep his hair look windswept and the doting empty-headed girlfriend was beyond her. She had really lost him.

Hermione fought to keep her face from crumpling. For the past two months, the only thought that had gotten her through the long hours was the shred of hope that Ron would wake up and come back to her. But she had been clinging pathetically to a faded dream that could never come true. Her lip tried to tremble, but Hermione firmly clamped down on it before the telltale shiver could give her internal torment away. She would never give him the satisfaction of knowing how much influence he had over her, how easily and badly he could decimate her. Ron had always dreamed of having an exceptional gift or talent, but little did he know that he had a deeply potent power this whole time: he had an infinite amount power over her.

But he would never know. She wouldn't let him. Hermione stoutly folded her arms over her chest and kept her voice terse and steady. "Fine," she said shortly. "You're a 'free agent'. I get it. I can't stop you snogging Lavender. It's your choice." She lifted her chin high in the air. "But it's my choice to never speak to you again." She waved her hands with casual finality. "There you go. We've made our choices. Excuse me."

"Oh yeah?" Ron countered as he stepped to block her path so she couldn't escape. "Well, it's my choice to keep at you until you stop acting all mental so we can be friends again!"

"I'm acting mental?!"

"You attacked me!"

"I didn't attack you; the birds attacked you!"

"You controlled them! And you won't talk to me--when have you ever not talked to me?!"

"I'm sorry, Won-Won, I didn't realize that you could talk with tart all over your face."

It took a moment for Ron to realize what she was saying and once he did, he scowled instantly, pointing his finger accusingly at her as though she had just been caught red-handed while committing some heinous crime. "See?! This isn't you! You're not like those other girls! You're--!" Ears red, he stopped himself just in time and quickly changed tactics. "You miss me, I know you do, you went flying, Hermione--you're miserable like this so let's just go back to how things were--"

"No!" Hermione erupted, her voice raw with desperation. She really didn't appreciate being told how she felt although he was correct: she missed Ron terribly ever single time she breathed. She was standing here, missing him right now because he was gone and replaced with this arrogant, vicious double who seemed to be dedicated to hurting her as much as humanly possible. Irrationally, the image of her Ron, the old Ron, charging into the room and decking the new Ron, Lavender's Ron, across the face flew up into her mind. The new Ron hit the floor with a thud and vanished, gone forever, while the old Ron strode over to her and took her into his arms and shakily asked if she was all right, telling her that he was sorry this had to happen to her, that he would always be there for her, like he had promised last summer.

Giddy, Hermione swallowed hard to alleviate the scratchy, burning sensation running down the back of her throat. She was losing control. She had maintained control for over a month now, ever since she had returned from Christmas, and she couldn't lose it now, right in front of him so he could witness just what he had done to her. Shoulders heaving with ragged, miserable breath, Hermione staunchly looked him dead in the eye. "We can't go back, Ron," she informed him resolutely.

She should have stopped right there, but before she knew it, her broken heart had overtaken her logical brain and was shouting out the words it had been longing to scream for ages. "You make me think that we have a chance for something special, but then a prettier girl comes along and out with the old, in with new--and then--when you realize that this new twit isn't what you want--you come running back to the old stand-by, good old Hermione, your last resort. She'll be my snogging buddy because she's got nobody of her own, right?!" She stabbed an irate finger into Ron's chest. "I will not be your second-string girlfriend, Ron! I will not be your last resort, do you understand me?!"

"That is not what I'm asking!" Ron protested, looking horrified that she would think that ill of him. He grabbed her jabbing finger and pulled her hand away from him. "I just want us to be friends again, why can't we just--?"

"NO!" Hermione repeated more vehemently than ever as she recoiled away from his touch, feeling light-headed and infinitely lost. Her mind was gone; all that was left was her shattering, crying, dying heart. The pain she had been ignored for so long exploded to the surface, overwhelming all of her senses so she could barely see, hear, speak, or think straight. The floor tipped and rocked as something exploded underneath her ribs, instigating her sternum to pulsate with fast, hateful, agonizing heat. "No, we can't! Do you even--do you have an idea about how much it hurts--it actually, really, truly hurts-- to just be standing here, having this fight with you?! I never thought we would come to this--Ron, you were the one--I thought you were--and I--and now--now I can't even look at you without hurting--"

She could no longer ignore the spasms in her chest so she pressed a slightly comforting hand over her heart. She didn't even realize she had finally started crying until she tasted damp salt on her blubbering lips. Ron stared at her, his eyes wide with fright, cheeks pale with worry. "Hermione, sit down," he urged as he moved forward to guide her to her chair. His voice had hastily adopted a soothing, low tone with a faint twinge of extreme anxiety. It was the voice he used to placate her at the Ministry and in hospital; it only made everything even worse. "You're going to make yourself sick." He indicated the hand on her chest. "Pomfrey said it'd flare up if you got too upset--"

Her hand fell away from her chest immediately. He couldn't know how much she was hurting. He already had seen much too much. She turned away from him so she could openly cringe. Merlin, she forgot how much those chest pains hurt. "Get out," she demanded through gritted teeth.

"Hermione, I don't think--"

"Get out!" Her voice creaked as it hit a hysterical pitch. Thankfully, her calves hit the wooden legs of a nearby chair. She collapsed into the seat, facing the back of the chair so her forehead could fall exhaustedly onto the edge of the chair-back. She couldn't do this anymore. She couldn't pretend everything was fine and that she was strong and that she didn't need him in her life. It took as much energy putting up the façade of blasé independence as it did to cry so wretchedly. At least if she cried, she would be so exhausted and drained afterwards that she wouldn't be able to feel anymore. And at this point, that was all Hermione really wanted.

The only sound now was her own spastic, hysterical sobs as she struggled to gain control again. A concentrated burst of heat pulsated in her left shoulder as she sensed Ron's hand hovering over her, debating whether or not he should comfort her. Another wracking heave consumed her whole body. She'd die if he touched her.

Ron's hand yanked away from her. He knew. The pounding of his troubled footfall echoed throughout the empty classroom and with one final slam of the door, he was gone. The loud noise sealed Hermione's fate for the evening and she gave into it, falling forward with her arms wrapped around her gasping midriff, her forehead buried into her knees. Her hot tears splashed down onto her jeans, but she didn't care. She just cared about flushing out all of these bad feelings that had been stirring up inside of her. If she ever expected to get over this, she had to start anew: that meant crying and sobbing and wailing and blubbering as long as it took.

It took a long time. Hermione sat there for what felt like ages with no end of sight; she had had loads of heartsick misery constricted inside of her. That was the reason that when the door to the classroom creaked open again, Hermione immediately ducked her head to the side and wiped her face. "Go away, please," she requested in a high-pitched, strained voice still laden with tears.

"Hermione, it's me," Ginny Weasley said quietly. She hovered in the doorway, biting her lip with quiet anxiety. "Can I come in?"

Hermione was so relieved to see a friendly face that she could only nod a reply; once again, she was crying too hard to speak. Ginny made it across the room in two swift bounds. "All right, all right, it's going to be okay," she soothed hurriedly. She shushed Hermione reassuringly as she pulled up a nearby chair so she could sit next to her. Her arm quickly went around her friend. "It's okay; just let it all out."

"I'm--I--I'm so-sor--sorry," Hermione managed to get out after several failed blubbers.

"Don't be," Ginny said sagely. "You need this. You've been bottling it up; it had to come out. It wasn't healthy. You can't just pretend to feel things that you don't." She rubbed her hand vigorously over Hermione's shoulders. "So just cry as much as you want."

With a little wail, Hermione complied. Ginny sat patiently by, rubbing Hermione's back continuously in hopes of alleviating the increasingly tight muscles in her back. After another stretch of time that felt like decades, Hermione's lungs were too exhausted to blubber any longer and her eyes didn't have any moisture left to shed. The drained exhaustion was sinking in while Hermione just numbly at there for several more minutes, still doubled over, staring at the floor and not making a sound. She supposed she could use the time to think about where to go from here, but thankfully her brain had shut down for the moment. It felt nice just to sit with a comforting friend.

Sensing this, Ginny remained quiet for a few minutes longer before speaking up in a quiet, placating voice. "Better?" Hermione nodded while Ginny dug through her pockets for a tissue. She handed it off and waited for Hermione to finish blowing her nose before sharing her opinion on Hermione's downpour. "You know you can't work yourself up like that, right--you're lucky you didn't make yourself sick."

"I know," Hermione answered in a hoarse voice. She cleared her throat a few times so she wouldn't sound as though her vocal cords had been stampeded by a herd of Graphorns.

"And I know why you did it," Ginny continued. "I would have done the same thing. But you can't pretend this didn't happen, Hermione. Hiding it won't help anything."

Hermione wiped her eyes again. "I know."

"And--" Ginny hesitated. She thought she knew another powerful reason that Hermione would put herself through so much mental duress, but she wasn't certain it was what Hermione needed to hear at the moment. But just like her brothers and parents, Ginny Weasley had no fear and forged ahead. "If you did do it for him--don't. Don't feel you have to put up a front for him. He doesn't deserve that sort of consideration. He should know what he put you through."

This point, however, Hermione couldn't agree with. "But I don't want him to be miserable," Hermione admitted thickly although the spiteful, petty part of her was screaming an indignant excuse me in response to that statement. "It'll kill him to see me like this. He couldn't even bear to stay in the same room with me when I started up."

Ginny remained quiet; she couldn't very well argue with that point--it was true. Ron may act like Hermione didn't mean anything to him and she could do as he pleased, but all you had to do was catch him just one time giving Hermione one of those looks. That's all you needed to see to know beyond a shadow of a doubt that what you were witnessing was something amazing, rare, and absolutely remarkable. "He was really shook up," Ginny finally concurred.

"You saw him?" Hermione asked into her knees. As always, her stomach squirmed and quivered at the thought of Ron upset or in trouble. It wasn't rational to care about someone so much even after he devastated you.

"Who do you think asked me to come and sit with you?" Ginny replied.

Hermione finally felt ready to lift herself up into an upright sitting position. "He did?"

Ginny nodded. "He wants me to take you to hospital," she added. She paused to arrange Hermione's hair out of her face. "Do you want to go?"

"No," Hermione refused immediately. The hospital wing was the last place she wanted to go at the moment.

"I thought you had been killed or something," Ginny confessed. She spoke in a soft, earnest, placating voice that was helping Hermione settle down immensely. It also helped that she was saying wonderful things that Ron was doing for Hermione's behalf, but Hermione chose not to dwell on that right now. "I was out for a walk with Dean and when Ron came charging up, I thought he had spotted us snogging again and was going to kill Dean--luckily we had stopped for a bit when he found us--and anyway he just ran right up and told me to get to you, that he had upset you and he was worried that you were going to make yourself sick and I should get you to hospital. I asked him why didn't he just get you up there if he was so worried and he just said that I must not know you very well: that he was the last person to make you feel better right now." Ginny frowned slightly as a new curiosity just passed over her. "What did he do to upset you?"

"Just a row," Hermione said absently. She really didn't want to talk about the circumstances and specifics of their fight.

There was a thoughtful silence as both girls mulled over all that had happened to them that evening. "I think he really wanted to be the one to help you. I think it would be the only way to make him feel better. He was probably as upset as you," Ginny said quietly. Hermione squeezed her lips together; she suddenly wanted to cry all over again. "I hope you never have to see his face like that, Hermione--" She pressed a hand on her heart. "The only thing that remotely compares to it was the night of the Ministry."

At this point, Hermione had to suck in a long, shaky breath. She hated anything having to do with that night, but one of the things she hated above all was how much hell she had put Ron through. She may not have seen his face when he had first lucidly realized that she was gravely injured, but she had seen his eyes when she had just regained consciousness and that was enough to slay her. She pressed her trembling lower lip into her palm to try and make it stop. Picking up on this, Ginny quickly seized her chance to try to make amends between her brother and her dear friend.

"You know he's struggling with this too," Ginny reminded Hermione. "He's putting up a front too. He really does miss you. Don't you think--" She hesitated, buying herself more time by once again attempting to smooth Hermione's hair. "Don't you think you could just try to be friends again?"

"Ginny!"

"You need him!" Ginny instantly retorted with a passionate defensiveness to her voice. "You miss him! And he needs you and worries about you and wants you back as a friend and after all of the little games you had been playing, that means something!" She pointed towards the door. "How many boys you know would put up with being attacked with birds, watching a potential girlfriend go out with one of the people he hates most, being given the cold shoulder, being yelled at, and still try to make up with you and when he messes up and upsets you, runs off to get his sister to ensure that you get whatever you need to make you feel better?" She didn't allow Hermione time to answer. "Not many, that's how many!"

"Harry would," Hermione pointed out stubbornly.

As always when Harry's name came up, a special light in Ginny's eyes glowed for a split second, momentarily making her the most beautiful girl in the world. "Yeah, he would," Ginny agreed almost wistfully. "But we've always known Harry's special." She fixed Hermione with a stern glare. "And you have been the one person to say just how special Ron is."

"He is," Hermione insisted immediately.

"I know," Ginny said. "But I only know because you showed it to me. That's what love is, Hermione. It's looking at another person and seeing some glimmer of truth and beauty that no one else sees. You can look at Ron and see his soul. It takes a while for others to see it, but something innately in you can look at Ron and see. That's when you know it's the real thing."

Hermione didn't say anything; she hated when Ginny was right. Ginny smiled wistfully as she thought of her personal experiences in seeing someone's soul. "When I saw Harry for the first time, it was like something just clicked inside of me, like someone had suddenly lit a room full of candles, and for the first time, I was seeing everything so clearly. Some spark in him lit a fire in me and ever since--" Ginny shrugged. "I was his." She cocked her head curiously, although she already knew the answer. "Isn't that what happened with you and Ron?"

A sheepish but sincere nod sufficiently answered the question.

"Okay then," Ginny said logically. "Shouldn't that mean that you'd wait for him no matter what?"

"But I don't want to wait," Hermione answered stupidly.

"Who does?" Ginny returned bluntly. "But we do. And hopefully it'll be worth the wait." She gave Hermione one last soothing rub of the shoulders before removing her arm. "And seeing what I've seen, I'm pretty sure it will be, Hermione."

Hermione lowered her head; she wasn't so certain about that anymore. She thought she knew that it would be once upon a time and long ago when there was no Lavender, but now--now they had reached a point of no return. Ron had made his choice. Now she had to make hers. She couldn't waver in angry silent indifference any longer. She had to take a firm stand: either she was with Ron or she was against him.

"You promised you wouldn't give up, remember?" Ginny added, sensing the direction of Hermione's thoughts. "You promised me that no matter what he did, you wouldn't give up on him."

A promise was a promise. But that promise had been made a million lifetimes ago, when Hermione had been naïve to think that Ron was just immature and thick and needed a bit of time to figure out what was happening between them. Now everything was different: now he knew what was happening but he chose to ignore it. He chose to be with someone else. And if that was what he ultimately wanted, then that was fine. It broke her heart and devastated her beyond belief, but in the end, she would be fine. Hermione Granger would always end up being fine as long as she had herself to rely on. She would get through this.

For months, Hermione had been telling herself to forget about Ron, to ignore him, to just let him do whatever he pleased and not dwell on it. This decision she was making to shut Ron out of her life wasn't an old one: she had done it before. What was different this time was the fact that this time, there was no hope of reconciliation. Perhaps one day, maybe--just maybe--they could rebuild their friendship but that was all. There was no hope for romance between Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger. It had all just been a dream and now Hermione had to grow up and accept that some dreams, no matter how fantastic and fulfilling they were, would never ever come true.

Hermione finally got to her feet, momentarily leaning against the desk to steady her footing. "I'm sorry, Ginny," she said sincerely.

Ginny Weasley just looked at her friend for a long, disappointed moment, swiftly reading Hermione's thoughts which were clearly written all over her face. "Then you're not the person I thought you were," Ginny finally said quietly.

"Probably not," Hermione agreed. Lately she didn't know who the hell she was anymore.

After another long, long look of contemplation, Ginny put her arm back around Hermione's shoulders. Now wasn't the time to convince Hermione that she for once was completely wrong. "Come on," she urged comfortingly instead. "You'll feel better in the morning."

Obediently, Hermione followed Ginny out of the classroom although she knew there was a very slim chance that Ginny's prediction would be accurate. But Hermione was going to try to make it come true anyway. Besides, she would need a good night's sleep if she expected to start a new life without Ron brightening her dreams.