Hermione sat at the stairs, her eyes were red and puffy. Ron was at it again with Lavender, and she couldn't stand the thought of anybody with Ron but herself. Nobody understood how she felt right then, right there, with Lavender's giggles pervading the air and Ron's whispers echoing down the hall. Why couldn't that be her? Why was she always left in the dust, desolated and horribly sad. All she would ever be was the dorky best friend, that everybody secretly hated. Why did she have to fall for her best friend? She would never know love's warm grasp, only jealousy's icy hands choking her until she could barely breathe. Nobody, NOBODY would even have the pity to sit with her, head buried in her knee's, crying her poor eyes out. She never felt more miserable then there, that night on the stairs. She tortured herself, making herself listening to them, secretly wishing it were her.