Breakup Cycle

A banner of light breaks into the room, five minutes before the alarm awakes.

A cold when the blankets are removed.

A concern that passes.

A detail unnoticed in the next moment.

Hermione pulled the blankets back over herself, but she was still cold, and half-praying Lavender and Parvati would sleep late so she didn't have to put up with their aggravating questions. Even with the blankets over her trembling form she was still cold. There was no Ron lying here next to her, radiating body heat, brushing her hair out of her eyes, and hugging her close to his large muscular form. Toned from too much Quidditch and not enough time doing his homework with her, even the thought of Ron makes her warm, her chill is forgotten.

A look at the clock.

A memory of saying hello to an angel in a dream.

She sees him as she slips her feet into her battered pink house slippers. His voice still echoes in her head, late at night by the roar of the fire as he puts these very slippers on her asking as he does, "Will you be my Cinderella?" Immediately after this is remembered she kicks the slippers off and walks across the cold morning floor in bare feet, casting a reproving glance at the alarm clock. It seems to get the general idea and allows the sleeping girls an extra hour.

It never occurs to her that they may be the very counselors she needs.

A squint when the lightbulb switches on,

A stop as the waters turns warm, then hot,

Afraid of the day in inarticulate ways,

After the shower the half dream will wash away.

As incomplete as the ghost who still reaches for doorknobs,

It is natural to Hermione to take a cold shower, it's only polite to the people who come after her. This morning she turns the water all the way to scorching and hardly notices as she ties her shoes the way Lavender squeals and dashes back out of the bathroom, teeth chattering. Parvati shoots Hermione a curious look from under her bangs, but she says nothing, even though she is dying to ask Hermione what Ron said.

As I choose what clothes to wear.

As I pack the bag for the day.

Asking for nothing in return.

There are nine and a half books to shove in Hermione's messenger bag. Giving a wry smile she tosses it over her shoulder, straightening her tie as she goes. Multi-tasking has always been a specialty. Down the stairs, she stoops to gather the book she had thrown at Ron's head. Taking a look at the cover she throws it harshly into the fire, satisfied at the crackling sound that answers and dutifully ignorant to Harry's concerned cry of, "Hermione! What's wrong?"

Assignments, astrology, asymmetry.

At breakfast Zach eats pancakes three at a time.

Attempting to be a good sibling I ask about Anne.

Awestruck by love, or something like it, he answers with an unaccustomed sweetness.

Hermione sits next to Fred at the teacher's table. She gets better food and he gets his papers graded. Conversationally, and gleefully making large red marks, Hermione asks, "How's your fiancée?"

Fred's face, so usually full of laughter got a look of contentment around the edges, "She's great, she's going to meet me in Hogsmeade Friday." Goofy smile on his face he shoveled down several more pancakes. Hermione looked away from his face, afraid to tell him his happiness would be for naught. That was always how dates with Fred went, he's been engaged four very unsuccessful times, half the reason he was a teacher. It was prerequisite that teacher's had no life. What was this one's name? Barbara? Shelly?

The bell rang and Hermione stacked the papers she had finished grading. "You need to work with your first years on their theory of time, they all missed number one."

"There was only one question on the exam."

"Exactly, see you in class."

Back to the routine,

Before the radio is turned off,

Before the ride is over,

Begin right here.

Taking a deep breath Hermione briefed herself for the day. It was a new day, but just barely. Yesterday seemed to be running into today, maybe because she had cried herself to sleep that morning, but it was the night previous that had caused her tears. Hermione would begin again and again if necessary. And then again if still she needed to.

Beginning to understand where hesitations come from,

Betrayal is in the air,

Better to not have to choose between safe and sorry.

Glad she wouldn't have to see Ron or Harry until later in the day she walked self-assuredly down to the dungeons. "Morning," she said shortly to Malfoy, sliding into her seat next to him. He nodded his greeting. Still not friends. But never again enemies, content at not having to be anything more than gray. Potions is not a morning activity, too much concentration involved, but Hermione meticulously sprinkles ingredients over bubbling potion, trying to distract herself.

"Granger," a pale hand darted out to clutch her wrist, "What are you trying to do?"

Hermione glanced down at her hand, the bottle of formaldehyde poised, ready to blow the entire dungeon to bits. Shakily Hermione sat down on her stool, "Thanks."

"Jus trying to save my own life."

Biology is no way to start the day.

Blackboards are never black anymore.

Blameless Jakob sends me a note that says he's being ridiculous.

Borderline between sides.

But we used to be friends.

Hermione looks over her shoulder at Seamus, seated in her usual spot next to Ron, two seats over from Harry. Today she sits in the middle of a pack of nail file wielding, compact toting, daunting teenage girls, and still she tries to take notes from Flitwick. Or she was trying to take notes, now she was only holding note. She lights the folded scrap and tosses it casually over her shoulder like a bomb. Ron doesn't realize it until too late. The yelp tells her this much.

Can't be that simple?

Capillaries are invisible to the eye.

Catalog all the reasons a friendship ends,

Caught between those reasons is the truth I'll never know.

Certain there will never be certainties,

Circle the following option.

Circulation is what keeps us alive.

It was a simple enough quiz, but as she circled the letter 'A' on her paper Hermione felt strange not elbowing Ron to keep his eyes from wandering. The last question, the one about Luster Charms she knew Ron would need help on. He would be perpetually stuck between A.) Shiny object, and D.) A hair from a unicorn.

The answer was B.) A spell to control an object's refraction of light.

Clamoring in the halls,

Clutching to the hope of not seeing him, not being called out,

Come here,

Come over,

Contradict me again and I'll break your heart.

She walks out of the classroom calmly. But inside she hopes no one will grab her and ask questions she's not ready to answer. A breakup can't be answered with multiple choices, though she thinks she could handle a true or false. The History of Magic classroom is empty, everyone skipping a class in favor of the grass and blue sky. If everyone is outside, but she is inside does that still make the statement true?

No.

The seat she would normally sit in has a view of the grounds most seventh years would kill for, better amusement than class. But today she won't sit there, knowing she would easily find the red hair on the lawn.

Curvaceous Ms. Gunderson presides over history.

Daniel asks me if I'm doing okay.

Daring me to explode,

Deceptively, I smile.

"I'm fine Hannah," she grits her teeth and her dimples fade as she turns her back on the Hufflepuff, returning her attention to vampire hibernation.

Hannah taps her on the back again and the mask fits back into place, "What?" she asks, trying to sound distracted, though that's really not much of a stretch.

"I just want you to know, is there's anything..."

"I'll let you know," hissed Hermione, hoping to shut the other girl up.

Hannah sounds uncertain, but answers all the same, "I'm just worried about you, that's all."

"Well, don't be, really, I'll be okay."

Despite all the thoughts that run through your head, you're never really ready to let go, are you?

Distract me with the Prussian War Ms. Gunderson.

Distract me with the way you brush back your bangs.

Do what you have to do, I said to Teagn.

Turning back to the monotonous ghost at the head of the classroom Hermione attempts to tune out the happy sounds drifting up from the grounds, the laughter and chatter, mindless gossip. For some fraction of a moment she thinks she'd like to be there too. This is quickly disregarded and she looks at her nails, but finds little distraction there, they are perfectly bitten down out of anxiety.

She almost hopes Hannah will pester her again, but when she swivels in her seat to pretend missing a date she realizes she is the only one left in the room. Her and the ghost.

Drown in the word ANYTHING written on the desk.

Duration is a relative thing.

By definition everything has duration, an allotted time, nothing will surpass quantum theory. History of Magic: 55 minutes on Fridays. Thursday: 24 hours. Passing time: seven minutes. Arithmancy: 55 minutes and after that another seven minutes of passing. Time is a never-ending cycle, everything is ruled by it, life, death, the amount of time spent behind the curtain before resurrection.

Time dating Ronald Weasley: 210 days, 16 hours, and 4 minutes.

Early warnings are never heeded.

Easy to say now I should've known.

End that line of speculation; go to gym.

Grateful she never took Divination seriously she walks down to her class. Knowing she would have failed miserably, she never listens to advice from friends, has always done as Holden Caulfield wouldn't have, and wouldn't have changed had a tea cup told her to. It is with sheer irony she knows that had the numbers warned her of the change coming she would have been properly forewarned.

Even though we never made this walk together,

Even though we weren't that kind of pair,

Even when I promised not to do this,

Everything is missing right now.

Fashion your composure.

Feel normal in your gym clothes.

Field that birdie like such things matter.

For another lover--no.

For freedom--not really,

For hundreds of minor infractions--perhaps,

For seven months, we were together.

For the time being, there's not way we'll know the reasons.

Everyone had always told her she was meant to be with Ron.

Harry: "You're always fighting, that's got to be good for something, so take it and kiss. Face it, you're meant to be together."

Ginny: "Awe! You're kids will be adorable, red hair and a too big vocabulary. You simply have got to be meant for each other!"

Sirius (to himself): "They're just like Lily and James, meant to be together."

Fred: "They're supposed to be forever, they just need some help getting that way."

George: "If we lock them in a room for a couple of hours they'll get that way. They have to, they're meant to be together."

Tonks: "I've never seen puppy love so sickening, but it's obvious, you're meant to be together."

Hermione knew she should never have trusted the grapevine, after all, eventually it will produce bad wine. She knew she should have trusted only one opinion...

Magic Eight Ball: Ask Again Later.

Forget, forgone, forgotten,

Fourteen things of his are still in my locker.

Hermione reaches into her bag for a tissue and comes up with a Chudly Cannons quill pen. Frowning she hands it to Justin, who seems to have lost his mind. Again she begins searching for her tissue. She never finds it, but she supplies the class with an army of forgotten items she never wants to see again in her life. Cho leans over and smiles, surprised, "I didn't have the Faust card!" Dean exclaims, " I didn't know you knew anything about invisible ink?"

Only Malfoy receives no gift, "Granger, what is it?"

Gail is humming a hymn as she walks with her trinity into math class.

Gentleness is a statement.

Gestures are everything we need.

Malfoy catches her after class, still on his vendetta to ferret into her business. He holds her upper arm and looks her in the eye, "Share with the Head Boy?"

"No," she turns tail and stalks down the hall, shoes clicking with every step. Friends wave across the corridor, Colin asks to take her picture, she pushes him away with a sigh. Angry, frustrated she glides into the nearest bathroom and stops before the sink.

Splashing water on her face she talks to her reflection, "I can do this, I don't have to act like anything's different."

"If you want to do that you're going to need a new face," says Myrtle cruelly.

Give it time, Teagn said to me last night, as if a breakup is something you could leave out to dry.

Go! I shouted, but what I meant was the opposite.

Ron was so casual about the incident, so laid back, looking like he wasn't breaking her heart into a thousand little pieces. His hands were stuffed in his pockets, his tie lazily hanging around his neck, shirt unbuttoned to reveal a few freckles dotting his chest. Hair in his eyes...stopping herself Hermione flew into a fury, tempted to blow him up with a spell, but forgetting her wand was tucked into her haphazard bun. The book she threw at his head would have to suffice. "Hermione, its over, its been over for a long time."

"It didn't feel over last Thursday."

Backing carefully away Ron says, "Well, no, but everything is always different on Valentine's Day."

"No, nothing was different then, except we were still together, the sky was blue, the grass was green, and the earth was still not the center of the universe."

"No, you were the center of the universe."

Mouth dropping Hermione launches the nearest book in her reach at him. Ducking Ron asks, "What was that for?"

"Sentiment."

Ron's heels hit the bottom stair of the boys' staircase and he falls heavily on it, "Hermione, don't get any ideas. Maybe we just weren't meant to be."

"Have a good forever." She falls heavily on to a sofa, radiating heat. "GO!"

Graph the coordinates, find the parabola.

Group it all on to the page, even though it goes on forever,

Growing up is hard to do.

Hermione knows people breakup, she's knows she's been the instigator of several breakups, heartaches, broken hearts, and the third angle of a love triangle. Life is not supposed to be a geometric challenge, it's not fair. But when was life ever fair to her. She lost her mother, she had no father, Viktor had left her, Dumbdlore was gone, Harry was hiding still, and she was sitting in a classroom with no work left to do. Nothing to occupy her mind.

Ever signal tells her they had been fine, the chocolates, the roses, the homework that had nothing to do with the books, the hand holding that McGonagall disapproved of, the dances in the Common Room when no one was watching.

Perhaps there was something she could have done differently. Self-doubt is a bitch.

Had I seen the distance?

Had I seen the distance, could I have crossed it?

Halved, harmed, hard to say,

Having enough had been enough

Him

He was perfect, even if she was nothing more than a bushy-haired, big eyed, no-longer buck toothed Mudblood. Okay, so none of that had mattered to him, but inside she was back at her own throat. His hair always fell into his deep eyes, his eyes that went into her very soul and convinced her that her virginity was for sale, his eyes where his soul sat even though that was a cliché she hated. His hands were lined on her hips in angelic serenity. There was nothing wrong with him, except that he didn't love her anymore.

Here is the place we'd met for two minutes before the next bell.

Here is the time we were the only ones left in the school and kissed by the light of the exit sign.

Here is where we,

Here is where we're not.

Leaving Arithmancy Hermione wants to close her eyes as she sees the Seven Wonders of the World...

Hidden in the library for study hall, I try to think compositionally for me English homework.

Hip to my distress Jed comes over to listen to whatever I have to say.

His concern is as clear as my confusion.

His pen doodles in my margin as I tell him.

History often comes sooner than you think.

Neville doesn't know not to pry, he only knows something's up and he needs help with his Transfiguration homework, due later that day. "Hey," he says softly and you look up, startled, not knowing he has break with you. So used to going to the courtyard you are not sure who inhabits the library this time of day.

"You scared me," replied Hermione, not sounding all too shocked or bothered.

Sitting down without asking Neville looks at you and if he hadn't been Neville you think he might have been searching your face. "Are you okay Hermione? I can come back later." He's halfway out of his seat when you grab his sleeve and acknowledge it is not his fault.

"Sit. What is it?"

Nervous, and blushing, Neville asks, "Can you help me with this stuff?" He passes her a battered note pad, his second-rate text book and you instantly know the problem. He needs help with the repercussions of a transfiguration of species. Things can go wrong with cross-species transfiguration: illness, new habits, and a curious love interest in the animal you were imprisoned as.

Love is in the air, even between bear and humans.

Honestly, he said before saying it was over.

Honing in on my every vulnerability, my every fear,

Hopefully I tried to persuade him.

Hopelessly I tried to persuade him.

Hermione had imagined the scenario where she and Ron were no more, but she had always imagined being the one to break the news. Always felt like the power holder in the relationship, the alpha. She could see herself looking down at a sorrow faced Ron and telling him, "I just want to be friends...

"It's not you, it's me."

"You'll always be in my heart."

"We can talk later."

"I need some space."

"I've fallen out of love."

"Honestly, I didn't expect this to be so hard."

Hours cannot measure what I feel.

Housed inside me like a caged tiger,

How strange it feels to talk about it.

How was I planning to get through this alone?

Hermione knows she cannot cry in front of Neville so she bats him away with the usual, "I'm fine, seriously, I'll be okay." Neville nods his head clueless to her grief and is replaced by a barely comprehending Ginny.

"Come with me." Hermione leaves all her things on the table, ink bottle still uncorked, hope dashed all across the place. Ginny takes her hand lightly and pulls her down the corridor, avoiding the Wonders. Behind a bowl of fruit Hermione finds hot cocoa pressed into her hands, comfort food placed before her, and eyes listening. Dobby flanks her on one side, the Gray Lady on the other. Two non-humans she barely knows, but they are quiet and listening. Ginny speaks first, "I'm here."

"Yes, but you're skipping Defense."

"Like Fred cares."

A droll smile almost makes its way out from under the rim of the mug, almost, but not quite, "He broke up with me Gin."

"You need to grieve today, stand up tomorrow, and begin to walk one foot in front of the other for every day after that."

"I'm not so sure I can," choked Hermione.

I do not cry.

I have had enough of that.

I speak these words as a way of controlling them.

Instead of telling me everything is okay,

Instead of wallowing and saying life sucks,

Instinctively Jed lets me release my story.

It is a way of releasing myself.

"He says we weren't in love any more, but I was. It was seven months of near bliss."

"Except for the part with Voldemort and your near-death escapades."

"We would have died together though."

Silence.

Hermione took a drink and talked again, "I feel half-lost, like I'm waiting for arrows to point me in the right direction. What do I do? I'm not ready to just pack my bags and move on. I keep hoping to see him round a corner and throw me into a hug, but I know if he did he'd be telling me how much I mean to him...as a friend." Hermione breathes. "And I'm sick of crying about it."

It's nearly time to go to lunch.

It's tempting to skip it.

Jed asks me it I'm coming; ready to be the company I keep.

Jitters crescendo, but I close my blank homework and try to prepare for the worst.

Ginny told Hermione sternly that she had to eat, channeling her mother. Hermione asked why she couldn't stay in the kitchen and Ginny tells her because if she stays in a shell her stained glass will crack, and Hermione finally replies that the cracked are those who let in the light. She gives in though and follows Ginny to the Great Hall, knowing she'll grade more of Fred's papers.

Fred is not there, "I told him to go see Hagrid, you can't stay up there at that head table forever, you can sit there next semester when you're an actual teacher."

"I hate you." The entire room falls quiet, all of them know, gossip travels at the speed of light, and then faster, but sound catches in the throat and Malfoy begins to talk again about his great dislike of peacocks and the room regains its balance.

Challenge: find a seat.

Jocks crowd the lunch line.

Joking loudly,

Jostling my tray,

Jungle laws apply here.

Just as I think I can do it, I see him at a new table.

Jutting his attention into a fake conversation,

Juvenile in his avoidance,

Ron talks to Harry and Dean, not even looking at her when Ginny pokes her sharply in the back. The talk of Quidditch is loud even though the season ended in mid-June and it is now February. Ginny ladles food for Hermione, making her eat the heavy stew and all her vegetables, and then presenting her with seconds, telling her she hardly ate at breakfast. Hermione hadn't noticed, she'd been too busy concentrating on not concentrating on Ron that she'd forgotten to concentrate on even the papers she graded.

Karen, Daniel, and Sam are sitting at our usual table, and I know the choice couldn't have been an easy one.

Kidding myself that this victory wins the war,

Kindness is clearly not the point.

Kiss me one last time, is the sentence I will always remember.

"No Ron, I won't kiss you."

He looked surprised, dumping his hands in his pockets and observing her with all the stealth he didn't possess, knowing this was the last time he was going to get to look at her and really see her.

See all her passions colliding into the common of wanting to rip him apart. "Could you be any more of a prat?"

Label me any way you want.

Lace your disdain through every thought in this room.

Ladder your reasons until they reach the sky,

Lament as loud as you can, I know you're thinking of me.

Ron tries not to look at Hermione, he fights his impulses and just as he turns his head to reclaim his guilt. Harry grabs his chin and forces him to look at the sparkling surface of his plate, already he had cleaned it thoroughly. "Leave her be."

"I have to see her again."

"No Ron," says Harry, still commanding after the war. "You lost that privilege."

Forcing himself not to disobey his own good he interjects questions at odd angles, "Seamus what happens in soccer when you can't use your hands?"

"Dean where did you get Trevor?"

"Neville, how did you learn to draw like that?"

Landing beside me at the table Jed shifts the conversation to lighter things.

Lantern lines of words to guide me away from him,

Last night I couldn't imagine this new reality.

Last night I imagined it all falling apart.

The night froze her, she lies in her bed, snuggled under layers upon mountains, the fire in the Common Room died at one, at two the first tear fell and it was now fifteen minutes closer to four and she wasn't dry yet.

What was tomorrow going to be like, the entire house, if not school, must have heard the fight? What were they going to say? Perhaps she could feel suddenly ill and not go to class, but that that would determine what the whole school thought for them, and she would come off as being a bitch who can't stand to lose.

But she can't tolerate loss, that is why she cries, each one to fall another point for Ron.

Laugh to spite him.

Laugh despite him.

Lean forward; listen to your friends.

Leap if you have to.

Learn that things will mend in a new way.

Ginny tells her she will survive, Lavender purposes a girls' night in and Hermione accepts, not really knowing why, but just that she's looking for human companionship and Ron won't be it.

"Hermione?" asks Parvati.

Pulling her hands out of Ron's hair she replies absently, "No, you can't copy my homework."

Parvati arches a perfectly waxed eyebrow; "I did my homework thank you very much. But seriously, I was wondering if you had ever straightened your hair."

Appalled Hermione reflexively grasps her hair, "No. I haven't, and I won't."

Lavender rolls her eyes, "Yes you will, you want Ron to know exactly what he is missing."

"You mean besides the bushy hair, rice belly, ink stained palms, and skirts two-inches longer than regulation?"

"Ginny!"

Leaving my guard down as always seemed second nature to me.

Lecturing myself to avoid looking over at him,

Led by curiosity, or desire, or sheer stupidity, I turn and lose.

He is looking at her, Hermione knows she couldn't have instigated this staring contest, but now she is caught. In his eyes, again. He nods once her way and renews the debate with Dean about soccer. Hermione feels the tears fighting their way up from her throat, a lump rising up, she feels somewhere between violated and about to be sick.

Lavender and Parvati sense this and touch her shoulder, though they seem to want to run away. But they don't, they smile graciously, and Hermione smiles back. Thankful for once in her life that the two other girls knew everything there was to know about hair and nails. It was going to be a long night of peroxide and nail enamel.

Left like there is no such thing as memory.

In her mind Hermione knows what some of the activities of her future are. There are scrapbooks to be burned, memories to purge, experiences to stop reliving, and half a diary to shred. Acid holes of teary eyed teenage angst already ruining her better judgement.

Memories bash at one another, substituting lies for the truth, false times when she had caught his eyes wandering, little edits to things he had begun to say, words never spoken but always hanging in the air.

Legs soon crowd between us.

Lending me his English essay Jed tells me to copy quick.

Letting me twist his words my own way,

Letting me work through the last minute of his avoidance,

Like we never even...

Ron had left her. Her, his only true 'love', had it all been a dream? He was just throwing away everything they had once had. The tender moments spent embraced, the little things like holding hands and passing notes, and dotting all the 'I's' with hearts.

He was gone.

Listing to my friends' last assurances before the bell rings.

Little booster shots of self-esteem,

Little prognostications of a better future,

Little protests that he could be so unfair, so wrong.

Parvati loops their arms together, Ginny rubs her shoulder before going toward her class, and Lavender parts the crowds in the hall with shrill shouts of, "Broken heart coming through, don't goggle at her pain, it happens." Hermione sniffled and smiled at Lavender. Sympathetic expressions raining down on her as she trailed behind her friend.

A stranger, sixth year Hermione knew loosely from the D.A. handed her a piece of candy she had been about to eat. An even younger girl, some starry-eyed eleven-year-old pulled a handmade bracelet off her wrist and passed it to the aching older girl.

Hufflepuffs passed her lists of pick-me-up potions and good romance books, a stray Ravenclaw girl with dark hair and charcoaled eyes even balled up a parchment with ink stains and a detailed castration spell.

Lavender read this paper over her shoulder and snatched it away, "In a month, if you still feel so bad you can separate Ron from this valuable appendage/"

Giggling Parvati added, "If we all cast this spell then we'd never get any."

"And a grievous act that would be," scoffed Hermione sarcastically, Lavender laughed lightly and hugged her shoulder.

Locating Mr. Feldmen in the clutter of the art room, I warn him that I will not be sculpting any goddesses today.

Locking me in his stare, he warns me to paint neither red nor blue.

Lone among my teachers, I think he understands.

Fred doesn't smile at Hermione, but she knows he understands. He had after all lost three fiancées, and if she is right, which she is, then he's destined to be the next pigging out on cherry chocolates and trashy romance novels with the exact same plot.

Actually, he'd probably just go get drunk.

He hands her the day's assignment and warns her casually, off-handedly, that she is forbidden to use adjectives with the letter 'l' in them. She walks out of the room, in search of a magical thesaurus. She'll come back with all the words she knows, all words to replace 'exploding'. (As in Exploding-Boil-Hexes, Fred seems to think these are of interest.) She can discuss at length the shattering, the catastrophe, the pandemonium, and she knows she's going to think of how her first kiss was shattering. She hates how people like to talk of exploding windows. She's seen windows blown to bits. They never explode. Windows break, hearts shatter, and watching your ex-boyfriend chat up another girl will cause your soul to explode.

Thank God you're still mourning and the fragments of you aren't cutting, so dulled are they by love they float, flower petals of destruction.

Looking through the resins and pigments, I feel my senses slow return.

Looping circles into patterns,

Loosening the muscles that have been so sympathetic to my hurt,

Losing the fear of touch,

Losing the knowledge that I touched him, and look what happened.

The horror of self-doubt is back, as she flips through musty pages of words that are suddenly dull, empty, blank, and foreign. Words had never been foreign before, but now they are. The aged parchment under her fingers trembles in tune with her fear and abruptly the yellowing tome rips. Dejectedly she falls into the nearest chair, still clutching the paper. It broke, fell apart at her touch. A littlest fragment of her head knows it can be easily repaired, but she's carefully tuning that out.

It broke. He breaks. She is broken.

Loss takes as much as love does, sometimes more.

Low voices still say it was my fault.

Lures of truth turn out to be hooks,

Hermione dusts herself off and takes her list of adjectives back to class, there is singing coming from inside. This does not bother Hermione at all and as she enters she casts a silencing charm, a powerful one, and shutting-up even the likes of Professor Weasley. Stares flank her as she calmly promenades to her seat.

Peace and quiet in every aspect of the room except her guilt.

Making circles,

Making lines,

Making meaningless meaning,

Making signs not meant to be read,

Notes find themselves scrawled into her margin, the essay finished, all required two-inches. Assignment away Hermione begins to write something else, an added explanation, a conglomerate of obscure metaphors, maybe she's trying to understand her life. For once in her life Hermione Jane Granger is having a slow time comprehending her current situation.

Many minutes pass, until Mr. Feldmen breaks my spell by breaking the news that the period is over.

Mapping my design with his finger, he tells me I am blessed.

Marvelous words in an offhand tone,

Maybe that's all I need.

Walking out of class at the bell Hermione removes her charm from everyone other than Ron. Fred catches her shoulder just before she steps out of class, "I was reading over your shoulder."

"I know," she says, shifting her bag on her shoulder moodily.

"I liked it."

Genuine smiles are rare, one breaks through the storm, "Thanks."

Me gusta no espanol, but I have to go to class anyway.

Measuring my words too carefully I make it through my oral quiz.

"Are you okay Hermione? Is there anything wrong?" Harry asks, coming up behind her as Fred goes off, back to his next class.

"Yes Harry, Ron just broke up with me."

Harry wrinkles his brow, "Hermione, you had to know it was going to happen. Unless..." here his voice died slowly. Leaving questions unspoken hung in the air.

Not looking at him Hermione said, "Unless I thought that maybe this was the one."

"You couldn't have possibly thought that."

"Actually, I didn't think that, it wasn't practical."

"What is practical about love?"

Hermione stopped short, turned and put her face mere inches from Harry's, "Absolutely nothing about love is practical, but I am a person of books and words, rules and postulates. I was at a loss with love, there are no words involved in that, just glances and touches and long gazes. I'm just trying to understand the past, so I can survive in the present and move on tomorrow."

Memories return to me in the pause that follows.

Merely two seats away Mary and Pete where necklaces they made for each other.

Messy this collection of recollections,

Midway through a sentence he would chew his necklace, and I would always buy him new beads.

Mine remains on my neck, it hadn't occurred to me to take it off.

Miserable, misguided, mislead,

Missing him is not an option right now.

Missing him seems to be a given.

They pass each other in the hall, not a word is said even though Hermione had lifted her burden. She will not allow herself to long for him, but she does, and she is, and every step they take in opposite directions is a little bit easier, but the muscles of her resistance are strained.

Lavender tells her carefully, chomping a wad of bubblegum, "You've got to forget him."

"People keep telling me that," deadpanned Hermione.

Mr. Randell is in a bad mood in English.

My salvation is Jed, who sends an endless stream of notes my way, never mentioning him by name, only as THE EVIL ONE.

Newfound bitterness, humor in the hating,

No, not hating,

Hermione glares at Malfoy over the crowd of heads surrounding Hagrid's cabin and tosses his note back at his head. Oh the irony, he was tagging Ron with rude names in large capital letters, and yet he was the one with the vile tattoo on his arm.

Malfoy catches her eye and she laughs loudly, the first time that day, another baby step. Then she sees Ron's vibrant hair, and she ends up five steps farther back from where she began.

Notice how fickle feelings can be.

Now I'm better, now I'm worse.

Nowhere is it written down how to deal with this.

Just before Hermione left primary school her mother brought her two books on growing up since it had been a very long time since she herself had grown up. They were unnecessary. Hermione knew most of the facts already and the emotional support was immaterial until recently when she developed curves. She was very behind in development, too short, chest very small, periods still hopping her at peculiar times, and she had had very few boyfriends. Very few and she had broken up with all of them, not the other way around.

Was this karma returning the favor?

Only thirty minutes more,

Over and over until it's over,

The day's end draws near and she breathes a sigh of relief. She's going to eat a quick dinner and take refuge in the stacks with a borrowed smut novel Parvati recommended, peanut butter cookies she was going to have to smuggle, and a fluffy pillow her aunt had mailed her for Easter last year.

The next thirty minutes were to be some of the longest and most antagonizing of her life. Longer than the day and a half she spent with her cousin in the hospital as she gave birth, longer than some of the double patrols she pulled during the war, and longer even than a day shopping at the mall with her mother.

Papers are handed back,

People look at me and I know they've heard,

Perhaps they've heard his version.

Pestering, pitiful, possessive,

Possibly they don't believe him.

Parvati reported to Hermione the things Ron was telling people when they questioned this new tidbit of gossip. Gossip travel's faster than gun smoke. "He's being a pig--"

Hermione cut her off with but a whisper, "Don't call him names."

"Just being honest," Parvati chirped, twirling her gum noxiously around her finger.

"Then lie to me," Hermione hissed in reply.

Parvati avidly chewed her gum for a bit, and then abruptly and almost angrily spat "Do you know what he's saying about you?"

"That I smell like a rose," guessed Hermione sweetly.

Forgetting to laugh Parvati continued, "To him you are Hermione Granger; the overbearing, overprotective, innocent, book slut."

Stopping shot Hermione drew in a sharp breath, "He called me a...a...book slut?"

Parvati didn't grace her with any answer more sufficient than to smack her gum.

Preparing to leave, Jed purposes an ice-cream-from-container afternoon.

Probably, I should take him up on it, but more than anything, I want to sleep.

Professing my true exhaustion I tell him I'll be okay.

Profoundly sick at heart, but I'll be okay.

Purposefully I avoid the hall where his locker resides.

Pushing my gaze straight to the floor, I navigate until I must look up.

Putting myself right in his path,

Right in his line of sight.

He sees her. He passes her. She sees him. She tries to keep her face impassive as she looks up at him. He keeps walking. She stops, stalls, quits moving, skids to a halt, and these are all proclamations of her loss of movement. He seems not to notice her, but she does a complete turn, her mouth dropping. Parvati hugs her around the waist, resting her chin on her shoulder, and Hermione is grateful to have someone she trusts to hang on because as she hears him mutter to himself she knows she is close to falling over.

"Still attached, can't get over me, clingy."

Racing heart stops me.

Raising my eyes to meet his,

Reacting as he looks right past me.

Realizing he's going to pretend I'm not even here.

Ever fiber of Hermione that put her in Gryffindor screamed at her to go bash him on the head with her bag of books. This is until the other, much more important side of her brain, points out that there is no way she could swing her bag that high anyway.

Her hands are cold, her face falling into a dry smile, "He didn't deserve me."

She may believe part of what she says.

Reaping, rebuffing, redrawing, reflecting, regarding, regressing, rehearsing, reiterating, relieving, remembering, reopening, repaying, repealing, replying, retracting, retreating, returning, revoking

There was nothing in that relationship for her to reap, not even in the beginning, except for a false sense of completeness. Now she knows that her Mary Janes need to be rebuffed. Her boundaries redrawn just a fraction higher than they are now. Parvati pulls out a hand mirror, Hermione sees her tears reflecting a wipes them away, regarding her expression critically, her lips half-turning up at freedom. Regressing she hands the mirror back, rehearsing mental replies to the consistent questions battering her from all sides. Parvati whispers kindly in her ear, "You are more than he is." Hermione reiterates this to herself, a mantra, relieved of her plight as a girlfriend no more, remembering the pressures that had been applied to her under his watch. And this reopens old wounds, but friendly pats on the back heal them twice as deeply as they come. She will be better now, better without him. Repaying Ron for all that he did, for the times she saw his eyes lingering on curves she didn't quite have, for the times he almost compared her to a Ravenclaw. In the court of her mind she repeals these arguments, she could have stopped his unfaithfulness, replied to Harry when he asked her how she could tolerate such a mixer.

It was half her fault that he had gotten away with all his faults. She could have retracted her hands from his before he retreated from her touch. Hermione was not going to return to his arms, can't revoke her promise to herself least she crack all over again.

Right now, at this moment, I cannot imagine being any worse.

Right here, I have been turned into nothing.

Right now I am negated.

Right or wrong, I am pummeled by his theatrics.

Riven to the spot, unable to call out to him,

Robbed even of that,

Roller coasters run smoother than my mind,

Rope couldn't pull me home faster.

Row, row, row your boat, even as it sinks.

Rude entertainment in the hall for everyone to see,

People have always watched Hermione Granger in the halls, just to see her traverse entire corridors of crowds while reading a book, never crashing into random suits of armor, no matter how many times people tried to trip her.

Then people watched her because she helped save the world, and now they were watching her because she was hanging on her friend, trying to restrain her tears. She's not going to cry, but the temptation is so strong. Drawing away from Parvati she says, "I'll be okay."

"You know it honey," Parvati drops back a moment to put her mirror into a hidden pocket.

"I won't cry."

Hermione turns and buries her head in Parvati's shoulder, mumbling into the spicy smelling fabric, "I will not cry."

"And everyone will think better of you for it," intoned Malfoy, and Hermione didn't cry, nor did she pull away.

Run to your locker.

Run to your nearest friend and get a ride.

Rush through the conversation and try not to cry.

"Let's get you back to Gryffindor Tower," Malfoy leads Hermione to her house. Parvati trailing behind them, pushing away the craning crowds of people looking at the Head Boy and Girl, tolerating each other.

Parvati sent Hermione up to heir dorm alone, "Thank you Malfoy."

"Anything to goad Weasley," he passes Hermione's bag over to Parvati and walks away.

Hermione is sitting vigil by the fireplace, glaring into the flames, holding a book in her hands. "Read Hermione, escape." Parvati throws a blanket over Hermione, and takes a seat next to her.

Safe in my room,

Searching that moment for the motivation I need,

See he is not worth it?

See he never loved you?

See, there is not going back?

The emperors of history had it easy, no one ever broke up with them. But maybe they were wrong to wield tier power with such terrible pain. But Cloepatra had her heart broken, so did Marie Antoinette, so disappointed was she in her husband. Hermione reads on and knows Elizabeth the first had it all wrong. There is no point in living without risks. Eight weddings are better than never loving at all. Only in lights of a breakup could Hermione realize that it truly is better to have loved and lost.

Seesaw through the haze,

Sing out all the doubt you ever had.

Singe the memories, because they are the things that get lost in the fire.

Harry falls heavily into the seat Parvati just quitted, "You can't hide Hermione."

Dropping her book with a sigh Hermione meets Harry's green eyes with her own, "Do I look like I'm hiding, here in the middle of the common room?"

"Well, no." Harry looked at his knees.

Sighing again Hermione asked, "This has nothing to do with my absence in the library."

"You haven't talked to anyone other than Parvati, Lavender, and Ginny all day long," said Harry concernedly.

Snuggling deeper into the sofa Hermione said bluntly, "Bull, I talked to Neville, he needed help with his homework, I'm talking to you now, I chatted with Malfoy, and a few other people."

"Malfoy? Ron's not going to like that," whistled Harry.

Slamming her book into the blankets where its thunder was muffled Hermione growled. "Don't you see? This has nothing to do with Ron. In a few days we will be sitting in the corner again laughing and chatting as if there wasn't a fracture there. Ron doesn't get to tell me what to do anymore, he should never have gotten that privilege in the first place."

"Her name is Marie."

Folding her arms demurely and lowering her eyes Hermione said with false nonchalance, "She's a nice girl, a little young, but she can do better too."

Sitting on the edge of my bed,

Skipping to the ending,

Slaying the tiger even as it claws.

Sleep calling me.

Slowly, I give in.

Hermione watches Harry goggle her in disbelief before he pushes his way out the portrait hole. Hermione is surprised at the way she is taking this. She almost feels guilty for not hating Marie more, but she can only boil at Ron. Furiously, and now unsure of happily ever after Hermione flips furiously to the end of her book, anxious and needing to be reassured. She sees those three little words and smiles, stated. Drifting to sleep with hope, the very last thing Pandora gave to the world.

Somehow the knocking wakes me.

Someone calling for me to get ready for dinner.

Something angry in her voice,

Ginny wakes her roughly, "Get up Hermione! Dinner!"

"I'm up, I'm up, I'm up!" Hermione mumbled, throwing her robes straight.

"Do you know what you've done to my brother?" began Hermione hotly.

Raising an eyebrow Hermione asked cautiously, "You do recall him breaking up with me, right?"

"Harry told Ron everything you said about him."

"Oh dear, it wasn't that bad was it?"

Sighing Ginny walked to the portrait, "He's my brother Hermione, and you hurt him. A lot."

Spare me one more fault, one more argument.

Speak to me later, I plead silently.

Special dispensation for the dumped,

Spoken too soon,

Neville is next, "Hermione?" he asks quietly, his voice high and shaky, but definite all the same.

"Hi Neville," she answers, brightening, patting the sofa next to her.

Neville sits on the table across from her, "Ron is really angry, I think you hurt him."

"And he didn't hurt me?"

"Not in public," countered Neville, with more bravado than he actually had.

Hermione looked at her knee, wishing Neville would just go away, "Is his heart broken?"

"Doubt it."

Viciously Hermione replied, "Then why the hell are you telling me this?"

"Hermione, you know I'm not like other guys, and I don't know what it's like to have a girlfriend, but I know my friends. Ron hurt you, you hurt Ron, but now you both need to grow up, get up, find that bridge, and get over it." Neville met Hermione's eyes, she was looking down concernedly at her knees.

Staring with my lateness, moving on to my afternoon nap and the paint left on the dining room table,

Stepmother and I have been through this so many times.

Stifling my yell takes all of my strength.

Neville walks out on Hermione too, following in the wake of Harry and Ginny, leaving her alone again. The fire looks back at her, hot, fiery, unfeeling. Discouraged, but a lion, and hungry, Hermione stands up, stretching and walks down the stairs carefully, hesitantly as if she hadn't made this walk thousands of times before.

You'd have to be 274 years to live a million days.

Stupidly Zach comes in late too.

Substituting apologies for defiance her gets his share of the earful.

Suddenly I realize he hadn't heard until this afternoon.

Suffering on my behalf her draws her wrath away from me.

Hermione is too vigilant in her walk down the stairs and her prudent care trips her over the bottom step into the arms of Draco Malfoy...

Who caught her.

Table conversation is cordial and strange.

Taking food to stop my hunger is pointless,

Tastes feel strange in my mouth.

When Hermione walks in the Great Hall ten minutes late for dinner next to Draco Malfoy and they're not yelling obscenely at each other. There is one seat open, directly between Harry Potter and Ron Weasley. Seeing this Hermione turns around and runs into the chest of Draco who turns her back around by the shoulders and pushes her that direction.

"Evening," she says stiffly, sliding into the seat, the plate already loaded with her usual, and a straw poised in a goblet of pumpkin juice.

Tactfully Harry gets up, his plate still full, and walks out, soon followed by the six people in the chairs surrounding Hermione and Ron. "That was polite," mumbles Hermione, more to herself than to Ron.

"Planned, more like," replied Ron.

"Good plan, I'm not hungry," Hermione began to push herself up from the table but found herself instantly pulled back down. "Crap."

Ron snorted into his plate, "I'm not even going to try and stand."

"You knew about the charm. Didn't you?" accused Hermione, shoveling mashed potatoes into her mouth.

With food in his mouth Ron nodded, "Only after I tried getting up myself."

Hermione laughed and Ron joined her, it was familiar laughter, and the odd reality of the situation didn't settle in until they made eye contact. The awkward silence found itself quickly and they both moved the food breaking the ice.

"I forget how to laugh," added Hermione.

"How to argue."

Wrinkling her nose Hermione said, "All the little things."

Turning to face her Ron raised a hand to touch Hermione, but brought it back down, "We can't go back to 'us'."

"No," agreed Hermione solemnly.

Teach me how to see this years from now.

Tear out my last seams,

Teagn,

Twenty minutes later the Great Hall had cleared out, except for two Gryffindors reminiscing together, recalling the little things the other had forgotten. "I'm so sorry about that," laughed Hermione.

"You were the only girl to ever turn me blue."

Exasperated Hermione threw her hands up playfully, "It was an accident, you weren't supposed to fall through the ceiling."

Nodding Ron said, "True, true." Glancing at his watch he said shocked, "God, I've got to go meet--"

"Marie, go," consented Hermione. Ron waved as he jogged out of the room and Hermione was again, again, again, again alone.

The answer is to just let go of Ron.

The betrayal is to the past twenty-four hours.

The cocoon dangles empty of all emotion

The desire outlasts the object Ron was gone, but she was still for wanting.

The effort lingers all those shallow attempts to get him back.

The frustration is how pointless the effort was the knowledge that Hermione had lost, finally. Proof there is a first time for everything

The ghost does not make itself transparent, but it agrees to the state.

The heart knows nothing except its own mind and that mind controls the thunder.

The ideas are not enough but the philosophy is still standing.

The jealousy is always there of the other woman.

The killing blow is sometimes the softest those last few salutations.

The life you lead can be detoured by your own hands at that.

The moment you know cannot be taken back but you are going to try and forget.

The new you will try to bury the old one and it will almost succeed.

The opportunity has passed and it is not coming back.

The past is inopportune but never forgotten.

The questions all grow from why and aren't going to stop.

The reality will always be contended and changed by heavy hands.

The sadness will ebb occasionally, with luck.

The trouble is the time it might take; no fair asking for help.

The ugly words cannot be erased, only discredited, and maybe they were wrong.

The versions are never the same but they all spring from why.

The wonder is that we make it through, as is the curious path of life.

The x is the unknown variable the questions we forget to ask.

The yesterday cannot be repeated you can't make him catch you.

The zenith is the point when you look down and realize you're no longer below but being received.

There is no use in staying at the table.

Thoughts can follow you anywhere.

Turning the TV off I head back to my room.

TV only seems garish, fake.

Maybe Anderson only seems fake because he is a phony. Hermione supposes this must be right, after all his portrayal of a lovely mermaid was laughable even before she spent a night in their humble abode.

Hoping to find something else to hold her interest Hermione walked down the stairs, partly to escape the dark looks Ginny was giving her from the good seat by the fire. Obviously Ron hadn't called off the wrath of his little sister yet.

Under the covers, under the watch of my glow-in-the-dark stars,

Up until this moment I have held back from the edge.

Veering away from the flashing before my eyes,

Votive darkness draws the memories from me.

Madame Pince threw Hermione a look and said sourly, "Go dear, out of my library, I'm cataloguing."

"But--"

Sharply Hermione was cut off, "No, out, out, out, and out!" she reiterated, chasing Hermione with Barthmoul's Compendium of Copulation Bogeymen.

Hermione's eyes bugged and she dashed out of her sanctuary, looking over her shoulder Hermione skidded to a halt when she saw she was alone, no longer being followed. "Thank goddess," she breathed, quoting Parvati.

Eyeing her surroundings Hermione caught sight of the doors to the back grounds. Not bothering to be tempted by the common room Hermione wafted outside into the cool night, pulling her robes around her tightly. Under the stars Hermione walked out into the treeless courtyard. Turning full circle Hermione looked back at the castle, light flooding from some windows, people sitting in ledges, throwing up windows, their curtains fluttering in the breeze.

She sat, not by the lake, not under a non-existent tree, she just sat.

Wading in because I know I have to...

We ate raspberries from each other's hands.

We carved our initials into benches, surrounded by shapes of our own invention.

We danced around his bedroom without caring how we looked.

We danced around so many subjects, I brought up love, and he usually brought it down.

We fell into each other's arms as soon as no one else was in sight.

We gave nothing that was irreplaceable, except time.

We lit candles for each other when we were in different cities.

We obsessed over the difference over what we meant and what we said.

We ran out of things to say and watched videos instead.

We screamed over what movie to see, being five minutes late.

We were never honest with each other, not really.

Her breath was clouding her vision before she realized why she had been sitting, what her past day of memories were tied by. They were bittersweet days of summer eating baskets of Mrs. Weasley's home cooking.

Promises of amounts of time that weren't going to be kept, hands held under desk but fidgeting in the grasp, fights without a shred of truth in them, but all lies, all myths, have a basis in reality.

And boy does she know it.

What's gone is gone.

She gets up, dusts off her bum, chuckles to herself. They're done, he's gone but there, and things are never going to be the same between them.

When the night grows so quiet you could here the moon rise, Zach comes to my door.

Whispering in the darkness,

With careful steps entering,

Withdrawing the solitude,

Witnessing my arm crossed over my heart.

X marks to spot,

Fred came out the door and walked down the stones steps, Hermione met him half-way. "I get it now," he said quietly.

"So do I," nodded Hermione, her dimples returning.

"All better then?" he guides her by the low of her back, her content contagious.

Hermione looks up at him, "Almost."

"It'll get better."

"I'm finally starting to believe you and the rest of the world."

You know, he says, you'll get through this.

Years between us, but not that many.

Years we've gone without this kind of conversation.

Yesterday he couldn't even tell something was wrong.

Yet here he is, now.

Fred left Hermione at the staircase. "Get some rest."

Hermione started up toward her house, the only one in the corridor, "Hey," said a soft voice, and suddenly Hermione wasn't quite so alone. Malfoy walked up to her carrying a book, red cover, ruffled edges.

"Where'd you get that?" asked Hermione, gesturing to the literature.

"The library. Why?" puzzled Malfoy.

"Just now?"

Nodding Malfoy said very slowly, "Yes, just now."

Indignant, but not angry, Hermione crossed her arms, pouting, "Old fruit."

"I am not old."

"Not you, Pince."

At the next tapestry with direct passage to the dungeons Malfoy gave his farewell, "Glad you worked it out with Weasley."

You live each day one at a time.

You live every day all at once.

You live with the possibility of good-bye.

You move on.

Hermione waved at Parvati and Lavender as she climbed the stairs, kissing them on the cheek she whispered, "Thanks."

Ginny stalked over, "Harry explained."

Giggling Hermione asked, "And what were you doing when Harry told you this?"

Blushing Ginny wrinkled her nose and galloped up the stairs, the boys' stairs.

You ponder in this darkness and see you're not alone.

You realize you've never felt alone.

You've subtracted one from your life that's all.

First everyone had told her she was destined to be with Ron, and when they were wrong Hermione knew it. Now they were all preaching her forward movement in life...

Ginny: "You need to grieve today, stand up tomorrow, and begin to walk one foot in front of the other for every day after that."

Lavender: "You've got to forget him."

Neville: "...now you both need to grow up, get up, find that bridge, and get over it."

Fred: "It'll get better."

You're heart is not as broken as you think it is, he says.

You're not as stupid as you look, I reply.

It's scary when everyone's right all at once. It's creepy when people have memorized your social life. It's strange when they predict your life. It almost makes you feel like an open book. It is just down right peculiar when you're seventeen and your breakup is going to make the front page in the morning.

It feels good to have your hair straightened for the first time, to have paint slathered on your nails and globs of avocado splashed on your face by two barely competent seventeen year olds.

Zach tells me it'll be better tomorrow.

Zero hour has passed.

Friday Morning, 5:30, in the freaking morning, Hermione wakes up warm under a lone sheet. Ten minutes later she takes a cold shower, but goosebumps aren't even a factor. Tattered pink slippers wait patiently by the shower for her to put on.

Friday Morning, 8:00, Hermione ate kippers and bacon at the student table, in her usual spot, trying vainly to drown out the endless Quidditch talk.

Friday Morning, 8:30, N.E.W.T. level Potions at the side of Draco Malfoy.

Friday, noon sharp, Hermione checks Ron's Transfiguration at the lunch table, careful not to get any food flecks on it. Every time their hands accidentally touch the shocks are a little bit duller.

Friday Afternoon, 2:15, Parvati and Lavender abduct Hermione, explaining that its her afternoon off and she doesn't need to spend anymore time not working on her tan.

Friday Afternoon, 4:59, the seventh year girls of Gryffindor House crowd by the doors, waiting for Filch to let them loose in Hogsmeade.

Friday Evening, 5:00, Hogsmeade cowers.

Friday Evening, 7:00, Hermione looks over her shoulder at Ron, and agrees to a friendly drink with Draco Malfoy.

Friday Night, 8:00, the fiancée of Fred Weasley, Shelly?, explains to him that things just aren't working out.