Angry, Bitter, and a Little Bit Insane

Angry, Bitter, and a Little Bit Insane

By Danielle_B

STANDARD DISCLAIMER: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

AUTHOR'S NOTES: Please read and review! I hope you enjoy.

"Ah ha! Excellent! Ten points to Gryffindor for a most excellent love potion, Harry!" Slughorn said, giving him a slap on the back. Slughorn beamed, but he was

the only one in the classroom doing such.

The remainder of the class was packing up their supplies in low spirits, glaring daggers at Harry. Hermione, whose hair was on end, and whose potion she had started the night before in order to have a brewing advantage, looked positively manic.

"Until next time then!" Slughorn said cheerfully, dismissing the students, who all seemed eager to leave the classroom.

"Coming Hermione?" Harry asked, as he tucked the Prince's book back into his bag and headed for the door.

"No," she said loudly so that Slughorn would hear, "but why don't you stick around. I was just about to ask Professor Slughorn the proper brewing methods to a good aging potion, but I'm sure a potioneer like yourself would have a much better opinion."

Harry, hearing the bitterness in Hermione's voice, mumbled something about Quidditch practice and headed out the door as if he was running from a blast-ended skrewt.

"Aging potions?!" Slughorn chuckled. "I wouldn't expect you to be asking questions about aging potions...perhaps some of the less talented potion makers like that red-haired fellow, Rodney...is that his name?" Slughorn thought for a second and then shrugged.

"Listen," Hermione said, her hair on end more than ever before, "I don't need to know about a stupid aging potion."

Slughorn looked taken aback by Hermione's harsh words. Hermione herself couldn't seem to believe her own daring. But desperate times called for desperate measures.

"I want to ask you why you think Harry's love potion is better than mine," Hermione blurted out, thrusting a phial of her own love potion at Slughorn.

Slughorn smiled.

"Ah, of course. I don't mind a little friendly competitiveness among my students," Slughorn said, though owing by the look on Hermione's face, he seemed to come to the conclusion that her competitive nature was anything but friendly.

"Right," Slughorn said, clearing his throat and continuing in a more serious tone.

"Of course, it is only natural that a top scholar should feel jealous of such talent, such brilliance, such inspiring..." Slughorn stopped, Hermione looked more livid than ever.

"Perhaps if you were to understand the concept more," Slughorn stuttered. "Harry's love potion was perhaps a stroke of brilliance that only a boy longing for the love of a parent, a boy filled with such emotion, a boy who suffered so early in life could perform."

This statement did not seem to help. On the contrary, Hermione looked as if steam might soon burst from her ears.

"Ah! I know!" Slughorn said, backing away slightly from Hermione.

"An essay! Write a roll of parchment on love. Yes, I feel if you were to understand the concept more, the effects of love, the consequences, the side effects. Yes, and you shall get extra credit for the task as well," exclaimed Slughorn, sighing from relief as Hermione's livid look seemed to have been replaced with something of hopefulness.

"Thank you, professor," Hermione said, slinging her bag over her shoulder.

An essay! Hermione thought as she ascended the stairs leading away from the potions dungeon. She had enough experience with essays to know how to write a proper one. A picture of her handing in a perfect essay to Slughorn swarmed into her head. She smiled as she imagined Slughorn crying tears of joy at her inspiring essay, proclaiming that it was her that deserved the title of best potion maker, awarding 50 points to Gryffindor, and Harry ripping his potions book to shreds in disappointment.

However, this image vanished quickly as she sat down that night with a fresh piece of parchment and an inked quill. What, after all, did Hermione know about love? She had surely never been in love.

Hermione looked down at the parchment, and almost from instinct, began writing what she knew.

Webster's Dictionary defines love as a deep, tender, ineffable feeling of affection and solicitude toward a person, such as that arising from kinship, recognition of attractive qualities, or a sense of underlying oneness.

Hermione crumpled the parchment, starting anew on a fresh page. Even she knew that a dictionary could not possibly encompass a feeling as complicated as love. Again, Hermione put the quill to the parchment and began writing.

What is love? A question posed not only by a popular muggle band, but indeed by human beings in general.

Hermione crumpled the parchment again. She had only just started to write on another attempt when Harry stalked into the common room and slumped down in the chair opposite.

"What are you doing?" Harry said, glancing Hermione's several crumpled attempts.

"I'm just..." But Hermione was interrupted by the appearance of Ron, awkwardly appearing at Harry's side.

"I'm just writing to Victor," Hermione said quickly. "I'm just trying to decide if Christmas time would be a good time to visit."

Harry raised his eyebrow. Ron, to Hermione's pleasure however, seemed to have become disgruntled by the fact and told Harry hotly that Lavender was probably looking for him. He then walked off in the direction of a clump of girls standing at the opposite end of the common room.

"You're not really writing to him are you?" Harry asked skeptically.

"No," Hermione said matter-of-factly. "I'm actually working on some extra credit for Slughorn."

"What do you need extra credit for?"

"Never you mind!"

Harry seemed to take this as his cue to leave and, quite scared looking, wished Hermione good night.

Hermione, turning her attention back to the essay, seemed more lost than ever. Thinking, she glanced around the common room looking for some spark of inspiration.

She huffed as she saw Romilda Vane and a group of giggly girls apparently putting some finishing touches on a stack of spiked chocolate cauldrons.

But her attention was quickly drawn away from the girls as a certain red-head came into view.

"Won-Won!" Lavender screeched as she pulled Ron into such a hard embrace that it was unclear whether she was kissing him or strangling him.

Romilda Vane and her friends giggled as Ron and Lavender dove into the nearest loveseat. Several catcalls and jeers were made by Romilda and her girls. The comments stopped, however, when Lavender suddenly pulled away.

"Ron," she said, quite seriously, "I need to ask you something."

"Right," Ron said, clearly disappointed that their snogging session had been cut short.

"I think...well, I think I love you and I was wondering if whether maybe you did too."

Lavender looked at Ron meaningfully. Ron looked as if he had just been hit over the head with an anvil.

"I just need to know if this relationship is going somewhere," Lavender said, taking Ron's silence as an ominous sign. "I don't know if I can be with someone who doesn't take our relationship as seriously as I do."

Ron, either at loss for anything to say, or trying to answer the question without having to say anything at all, dove in for another kiss. Lavender pulled away.

"Maybe you should think about it," she said, getting up.

Ron, who looked as if he was debating something in his head, seemed to have come to a decision quickly.

"Wait," he said, pulling Lavender back into the loveseat, "of course I love you," he said going in for another kiss. Lavender did not pull away this time. Instead, she giggled and continued kissing him deeply, as if she was trying to extract something from his throat with her tongue.

"My sweetheart," Lavender said.

"Uh-huh," Ron mumbled, going in for another kiss.

Hermione turned away, utterly disgusted. The essay, she told herself, concentrate on the essay. Slowly, Hermione began to write.

Love, a complicated, and sometimes utterly overestimated feeling should never be taken lightly. Indeed, the effects of love can be brutal, sometimes causing it's victims to be disillusioned, lacking in sense, and in life or death need of a good snog. These effects, far from giving a person a better character, can ruin friendships, heighten bitterness, and, in extreme cases, may even make it seem acceptable to use pet names in public, some as sickening as "Won-Won" and "Sweetheart".

Hermione, trying to block out the moans and groans from the other side of the common room, which could only mean Ron and Lavender's snog was making progress, continued. She soon found herself with a filled roll of parchment in an empty common room. Lavender and Ron had ventured off somewhere where Lavender had said they could "discuss their feelings more privately". Yawning, Hermione put her essay in her bag, intending to receive full marks when she turned it in the next day.

***

"I'm sorry Ms. Granger, but I don't think you quite grasped what I was looking for. You make love out to be dangerous, sickening, and grotesque," Slughorn said as Hermione approached him about it the next day.

"I don't understand professor," Hermione said. "I thought you told us that obsessive love was the most dangerous of all potions."

"Yes, however, if you want to be a true potioneer, like Harry over here, you need to understand true and pure love. For only when you grasp that concept will you be able to imitate it's obsessive nature."

"I'll do it again," Hermione said.

"But Ms. Granger, there's really no need. Our section on love potions is over! Perhaps you would be better off with a jealousy potion, or a hate potion! Admittedly, not all wizards can grasp the concept of love, for it is the strongest of all the..."

Slughorn stopped as he noticed that the look on Hermione's face now looked like an owl hunting it's prey.

"Of course hate is almost as strong! As is jealousy! I know that Dumbledore is always going on about how love is the strongest power of all, but really, it isn't anything that a good amount of hate can't overcome!"
Slughorn was slumping lower and lower into his seat, as if scared she might attack.

"I'll do it again," Hermione said again, snatching up her essay.

***

Hermione returned to the common room again that night, a fresh roll of parchment in hand, but not a clue what she would write on it.

Love is a concept so varied and unexplainable that not even some of the most accomplished wizards can understand it.

Hermione crumpled the parchment. Focus, she told herself. Perhaps if I take a different angle. She glanced across the common room where Ron and Lavender were getting comfortable and slowly began to write.

Love. Is it that feeling that I get when I see you with other girls? No. That is just jealousy. Is it that feeling I get when you tell me I'm too smart for my own good. No, that is just pride. Love is that feeling I get when I see you save a goal while playing a game of Quidditch. It makes me so happy. Because, even though I know it's just a sport, I know it's important to you.

Hermione crumpled the paper. She knew she would never be able to turn this into a teacher.

"Still working on that extra credit?" came Harry, sitting in the chair opposite.

"Oh, yes. But if Ron asks, it's just another letter to Victor."

"Hermione, can't you just, I don't know..."
"No, I can't Harry."

"But isn't it just..." Harry was swiftly interrupted, however, by the appearance of Cormac McLaggen, who appeared to want to talk to Harry about becoming the team's second in command captain-even if he wasn't on the team. Hermione took cue and stood from her seat. Almost immediately, McLaggen took the seat. Somewhat downbeat, Hermione headed for the girl's dormitory.

She had just opened the door, however, when she remembered that she had left her extra credit attempts in the common room.

Once again trotting down the steps to the common room, Hermione was greeted by McLaggen who looked as if he had been ditched by Harry, but for some reason was looking very smug.

"Hey," he said.

"Hi," Hermione said, looking to gather up her crumpled parchments. To her horror, she found that they were nowhere to be seen.

"We need to talk," he said, brandishing her crumpled parchment. "I think I know what this is about."

"You do?" Hermione squeaked. Ron was in earshot and Hermione noticed that he and Lavender were no longer kissing.

"Yes, and while I'm quite flattered..."

"Wait...you think that I wrote that about you?" Hermione deduced.

"Well, who else could it be? I mean, you leave it all lying around here, knowing that I'm likely to pick it up. And then there was that mention of my Quidditch keeping skills, and while I'm glad that you are yet another admirer of my skills I have to say that I'm a bit shocked."
"Right," Hermione said, noticing that Ron was now looking her way. "You're right," she said thinking quickly. McLaggen nodded wisely.

"I do like you," she said. "And writing all those love notes was my way of asking you to go with me to Slughorn's Christmas party."

"You mean the one that Gwenog Jones is attending?"

"Erm..yes," said Hermione, knowing by the fact that Ron had turned his head away from Lavender's puckered lips that he was listening.

"Wow. Well, I can't say that I share my feelings for you. But I guess, maybe if we got to know eachother better."

"Right, so it's settled then," Hermione said, kindly taking her parchment back from McLaggen's giant hands.

***

"You're taking McLaggen?" Ginny exclaimed the next night. Hermione nodded with shame.

"At least it wasn't Zacharias Smith," Hermione pointed out, "I honestly considered..."

"You considered Smith!"

"Well, yes. But McLaggen turned out to be more convenient."

"Wow, I never thought you'd stoop that low," Ginny said, though she sounded mildly impressed.

"Yes, well I guess love-," Hermione stopped herself. She had been about to say that 'love could make you do crazy things'. Ginny seemed to gather the jest.

"I just hope Ron doesn't hex something when he finds out, though I wouldn't mind if it was Lavender, or himself for that matter."

"You don't think he'll, you know, hurt himself do you?" Hermione said, trying to sound as un-worried as possible.

"Oh, I wouldn't worry about it, he'll probably just snog Lavender harder won't he?"

Hermione nodded, but was thinking about something else. Quite suddenly, she pulled out a roll of parchment.

"I just thought of something," she said. "I've got to go."

***

"Ms. Granger good to see you could make it!" Slughorn exclaimed, as Hermione entered the party, escorted clumsily by McLaggen.

"Oh, and this must be the one you talked about in your essay, which I have graded and awarded you ten points for!"

Slughorn handed Hermione her paper.

"And I'd let him read it if you want to get a few extra perks tonight if you know what I mean," Slughorn whispered with a smirk.

Hermione smiled, taking the essay from his hands.

It was later that evening in the common room that Hermione noticed it was missing.

"I found this on my way back from Slughorn's party," McLaggen said, brandishing the essay. Ron, Hermione noticed, was sitting alone just behind McLaggen and was hearing everything he said.

"Now, I guess I can see what you see in me, my Quidditch abilities, my popularity, my good looks, but to be in love with me!"

"In love?" Hermione repeated, Ron sat, looking alarmed and somewhat downtrodden.

"Yes, in love. Now, I can't say I'm not flattered, and if maybe you could talk Potter into that duel-captain position I might consider you."

Ron was now looking at the floor

"I'm not in love with you," Hermione said quickly, "and I'll have that back, thanks," she said , taking the essay from his troll fingers.

Hermione pocketed the essay. She wouldn't be giving it to anyone. Until she was ready. Until he was ready

EPILOGUE

Love is a many varied emotion. Some might confuse love with anger, bitterness, jealousy, or insanity, but in fact, love is none of these things. Love may sometimes cause these emotions to occur, but love in the purest form is simply that. It's wanting the best for a person, even if you know that you can't have the best for yourself. It's wanting that person to never feel as hurt as you do when you are without them. It's cheering a person on, even when that person can't find it in themselves to believe in their talent.

While I myself may be a prime example of the anger, bitterness, jealousy, and insanity that can be spawned from such love, I know that these will never amount to the immensity of care I feel for a certain someone. I know that I could try and hurt him a million times, but in turn would only hurt myself for the pain that he feels.

I know you said you wanted a roll, Professor, but, for the first time in my life, I don't think that love needs a roll of parchment. Love is the simplest of magic. It is magic that requires no wand. It is magic that comes from within. Love is just love.

Hermione clutched the essay to her chest as she sat next to Ron's bed in the hospital wing.

"Er-my-nee," Ron muttered.

Pulling out a quill, Hermione added a note at the bottom of the essay.

Ron, I should have given this to you before now. It was only when I thought the worst had happened, that maybe I'd never see you again, that I realized...

I realized that I'm really sorry about McLaggen. He is a really terrible Quidditch player and I should have never taken him to the Christmas party. I guess I was just angry, bitter, jealous, and a little bit insane.

Love from,

Hermione