A/N: A new story I'm starting. The old one seemed very dry, and I'm unispired to write it freely. I still add to it everyday but I find myself editing it more than writing. I had this idea in my head for awhile but wanted to wait till I figured out more about where I wanted the story to go before posting it. I originally started a story in another fandom with almost the same title (but a completely different plot) and threw it out because I hated my direction. Sometimes I find I'm like a cat with it's whiskers cut off. Banging into things. Anyways, here is the new story. I have a few chapters written but I don't post new chapters until I get 5 reviews from the previous one. So if you want the read furthur, REVIEW.

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110lbs of Failure.

I woke up to lines of sun on my body that came from the splits in the blinds. The windows in the building were quite large, which is a reason Harry had provoked me into getting it. He said I needed more sunlight. Today, however, there was a lack of intensity coming through. Meaning it was either raining outside or I had woken up really early. I listened a bit more carefully and soon heard the suicidal rain connect heavily with my window pane. It was raining hard. I layed in bed for awhile, staring at the ceiling wondering if there was a way onto the roof. A staircase, a doorway.. something. The lines and patterns in my ceiling started forming images. I saw words, hurtful words. Truthfull words.

"He never loved you." clearly sat above me, twitching, blinking. It faded after awhile when I started to actually look at it. "Worthless" I caught in the corner of my eye, I looked at it right away, knowing it would disappear as soon as my eyes got ahold of it. I didn't want these taunting words there.

I rose from the bed walking towards my window, pulling on a deep blue sweater. I pulled a blind down, looking at the outside world. Very few people walked around, umbrellas in hands, hailing taxi-cabs, running for shelter. I shivered slightly and walked away from it. I neglected gliding on shoes and I snuck out into the hallway, searching for stairs to the roof. I eventually found them, just a few doors down from mine. I hoped the door wasn't alarmed, as I turned the knob slowly, opening it. Nothing happened. I sighed in relief and started walking up the stairs. My bare feet made the slapping noise as I took each step on the cold black metal. My hand found the railing, which was just as cold, and I guided myself up the few steps. The door at the top was a bright yellow and had a small window.

The rain outside was pelting down onto my shoulders as I stepped out, looking to the sky. My eyes filled with rain and I blinked them out, so as not to cause stinging. My mouth was opened and I let some drops fall in before I tilted my head back down, walking over to the edge of the building. I looked out across the town. Miles upon miles of houses and emptry streets. Why did people go into solitude when the rain came down? I wrapped my arms around my body, leaning my upper torso on the edge, looking down at the street below. There were some people huddled under the canope at the entrance.

I had moved into muggle London. Just outside of Diagon alley, just incase I ever needed something of importance. Though it was doubful I would ever return there, I hadn't used my wand in awhile, it sat growing dust on the nightstand beside my bed. My robes were placed in the far corner of my closet and all the books I owned in boxes that had white sheets draped over them. There were so many I was running out of places to put them. Letters, moving photos, anything magical was placed in a far away shoebox.

There were certain things in this world that became too hard. Magic, was not one of them. Yet sometimes I find myself wishing that he chose me instead of that muggle. Was I not pretty enough? Did my use and knowledge of magic intimidate him?

Furthur more, had I not been born a witch, would my parents still be alive? They had been killed in a death-eater raid and I cannot help but know it is my fault. They had nothing to do with it. They'd done nothing wrong.

Magic took away my parents, and stirred away my fiance. I will not let it interfere with my life anymore. So I moved out the Weasly's household and rented my own place. Away from everything that frightened me now. It was a large brick building and was in a respectable part of town. The neighbors, I had not met yet and do no intend to. I'm not looking for friends, just a place to get away.

The walls of the apartment I had rented more than 2 months ago were covered with erotic paintings. Some quite disturbing, others arousing. Some I just couldn't get, they seemed to be splats of beige and brown paint with random brush movements, not bringing anything I could see to life. Maybe it was meant to be puzzling. Maybe there was no real picture. I spent the first night here staring at that one paticular blur of art, pondering a hidden meaning behind it. Seemingly, erotic in a way. I guess it's supposed to be, like the others, but it was a different type of arousing, one i didn't really get. But it was there. Taunting me with the hidden amazment.

I walked around the apartment, deciding on how the day should be played out. I had a few days off of work at the bookstore across the street because of renovations. I decided on eating some lunch, going shopping for groceries since everyhting was running low, and then maybe renting a movie.

Alot of movies that reminded me of him were to be crossed off the list. Or erased and removed immediatly. Too many things reminded me of him, and I cursed myself for attatching him with so many memories. Including the night it all happened.

I remember everything about that night, even the little things. Like how I had drank too much and could feel my knees go weak beneath me as I walked into the back lounge. It was the night of the victory party, and I hadn't slept for a few days before that and I didn't sleep well preceeding. The air around the homemade bar at the Black manor smelt of cheap wine and sex. Sounded of lonliness and misplaced love. And tasted of bitter ashes and cranberry vodka. Yet in the end, as I walked into that room, the only thing I smelt was his cologne, heard was the moans of the man under her and the taste of my drinks coming back up. It all burnt. Every bit of it, not just the booze that were stinging my throat.

I remember feeling myself grow weaker by the second. Her hands were all over him, and his tounge was doing things it should only be doing to me. Her hair was in her face and he didn't bother reaching up to pull it away, he just kept touching her. I had felt my stomach go into flipflops, and my head felt heavier than normal. I had staggered out of the house, and into the streets. I drank more that night than I ever had, and I cried more tears combined in the last 19 or so years of my life. I spent that night alone in some hotel room crying into my beer while he was being thrilled by some girl in ways I thought were only for me.

Somedays I feel so lonely in this place, and it scares me. I sit searching for some form of solace to keep me company but only finding that same bitter taste of ashes and liquor. His cologne still smells the same when I visit the Wealy household, but now it's always mixed with that lingering smell of another woman. As for sounds, if you block out him yelling all you're left with is my unsteady breathing pattern.

It just hurts to breathe in anything but cigarette smoke. The air around me is thick and tasteless. I was never much of a smoker but after that night nothing seemed to calm my nerves. A young woman in the building offered me one and I accepted, knowing I shouldn't.

Sitting infront of my window I pulled out and lit a smoke. The ashes dropping on my black pants, and the dark blue sweater still wet from the rain outside. I gathered an ashtray in my hands, swept off the gray sunstance on my leg and placed the clear glass on there. The bedroom was a dark red colour, and my bedspread was black with dark grey as well. Everything in the room, the photo's on the wall, the furniture; were all black and white. Soothing to me.

In mid-drag an all too familiar pop sounded through my room. I sighed heavily thinking it must be Harry and didn't bother getting up to greet him. Inhaling the air into my lungs, I closed my eyes.

"Harry, nice of you to stop by unanounced," I stated, taking another drag and holding it in my lungs "You know how I hate it when you apparate into my bedroom. From now on apparent into my hallways and knock." turning my head around, instead of seeing a pair of black spectacles and a scar, I saw long black hair and a sallow face.

Letting out the toxic air that I held into my lungs, I breathed out his name. "Professor Snape.."

"Miss Granger."

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