A/N: FanFiction... Why must you be so addicting? I really do have so many things I should be doing other than this, but I simply can't help myself. This will be my first D/H, so bear with me through this one, and hopefully it will turn out all right. I'm portraying Hermione a bit different in this story than most people do, so if some things don't line up with what you think she's like, I'm very sorry, but I hope you will grow to love the Hermione I have characterized. Reviews are so helpful- I lovelovelove receiving constructive criticism, because I love to improve. Anyways, here's the prologue, I hope you all enjoy! -Madelyn.

Prologue

I was a blessing.

At least that's what my parents had always told me. They had said all too often how loved I was, and how beautiful and how smart and how kind and how ambitious. They had tried for so long to have a child, with so many failed attempts, and had finally produced a strong, healthy little girl. I was fawned over, as any single child is, and spoiled with words of affection as well as materialistic items. I grew up thinking I was nothing short of perfect, flawless.

Maybe that's why it was so hard to believe that someone as contemptible as Ronald Weasley was about to walk away from me.

"-but, you see, things just don't feel the same anymore. We've lost our-our spark, I guess you could say. I'll always love you, Mione, I will, but more as a sister than a girlfriend. I don't really know what else to say... I-you- D'you understand where I'm coming from?" He was stumbling over his words so artlessly, and I could see him picking at a loose string on his robes as he spoke. I didn't get it, I really, really didn't, and that just doesn't happen to me. I always knew the answer, and the correct one at that, but now nothing was making sense. He should be rolling over and thanking his lucky stars that I loved him back- because I did, really I did. His bright red hair, his freckles, his slightly crooked front teeth, his clumsiness, even. But as he said those words, so horribly rehearsed and clichéd, everything I loved seemed to disappear, transform into something awful.

In fact, it felt like I had opened my eyes.

I had opened my eyes, and they had befell this- this boy who had told me he loved so many times, told me I was lovely, and pretty, and brilliant. I had believed every word, was there ever a reason not to? I was lovely and pretty, maybe not in the overwhelming, eye-catching way, and I knew that, but I was lovely, and pretty. I had grown to fit well with, what used to be, my oversized teeth, and they were straight now. My hair was still unruly, but in a much more organized disarray sort of way, and I tucked one strand behind my left ear, now.

Was it possible that everyone- my parents, Ron, everyone- had lied to me? Parents are supposed to say those things, aren't they? But Ron, what had made him say it? Was it- could it be- pity?

"Hermione, are you okay? Aren't you going to say something?" His voice was feeble, like he wanted to run for the door right this very second and avoid me for the rest of my life.

"Yes, Ronald, I will say something if you so desire it," I spat, my voice filled with venom. I was so, so angry, angrier than I thought I could ever be. The funny thing was, it was more at the fact that I had been lied to, that I really wasn't as good as I had thought I was.

"Why did you lie to me?" I blurted out, tears stinging that back of my eyes, my anger so suddenly intermixing with the emotions provoked by my breaking heart.

"What? Lie to you?"

"Yes, lie to me! Why did you tell me I was lovely, and pretty, and brilliant, and that you loved me, if really, in truth, you didn't mean it at all?" My words were all slurred together, and I'm not quite sure if he understood half of it, but I had to keep talking, or I would start bawling, like a child. And I wasn't about to cry in front of Ronald Weasley.

"We were best friends, doesn't that mean anything to you? Best friends are honest with each other, they tell each other the truth, and all you did was lie. How could you, really, Ron, how could you? Was it hard for you? Having to lie so often, faking all of those emotions that I actually believed you felt, that I really did feel, was-"

"Hermione, Hermione! Stop, okay, I didn't lie to you," he said, reaching for me as if to comfort me. He sat one hand awkwardly on my shoulder and left it there, looking at me as if I was a lost puppy- so much sympathy in his eyes.

That was when I realized the tears had spilt over and I had been shouting, no, screaming at him.

"I didn't lie about any of it," he repeated therapeutically, leaning in to kiss me on the cheek. I was frozen with fury and animosity, and as he kissed me all I wanted to do was push him across the room as hard as I could and run away, far, far away where no one could see me cry.

Then he just walked away, and I was all alone with my thoughts.

And alone with my thoughts is probably the most dangerous place I could be left.