Braille

A.N. This song is based off Braille by Regina Spektor. I do not own this song nor do I own anything that you recognize. DUH!

While writing this I listened to Braille on repeat and I suggest you do the same. Just a suggestion.

"Why don't I begin again
With turpentine and patches
With cold, cold Campbell's from the can
After all I'm still a jerk playing with matches
It's just that he's not around to play along
I'm still an ass hole playing with candles
Blowing out wishes blowing out dreams
Just sitting here and trying to decipher
What's written in Braille upon my skin. . . "

- Braille, Regina Spektor

Hermione was sitting in her apartment, crying as she looked back on her life. She thought about all the mistakes she made. She didn't know why she had started dating Eric, other than the fact that he had looked very much like Ron. She had probably deluded herself into thinking he was Ron and she knew that the first time they had had sex she had imagined that it was Ron kissing her, Ron loving her. She felt that as long as nothing bad happened that it would be okay to imagine Eric as Ron. Of course that had changed when she found out about the baby. Eric had left her to take care of the baby on her own. And it was then that she had realized just how different Ron was from this pathetic muggle man. Ron would have taken responsibility and helped her to take care of the baby.

When she had shown up at her parents' house and told them what had happened her father had become incensed. He had shouted at her to get out and that she was not his daughter. Her mother had tried to stop him but he was always clearly the one in charge in their relationship. By the end of that day she was pregnant, alone, and disowned by her only remaining family. So she had done the only option that seemed clear to her. She had gone to the Weasleys'. That had not ended well. Mrs. Weasley was very conservative she had refused Hermione any help. So Hermione had left. She had stayed in a cheap hotel that night and left in the morning to go look for an apartment. She found one that was cheap and was near to a shopping center. She talked to the landlord, and charmed him to give her the apartment. When she had settled in she went to the shopping center and had found a job working there.

She liked working there and soon had become friends with several people who worked with her. Her best friend was undoubtedly Sophia, a muggle girl who worked the cash registers. She finally realized that she was moving on. She had obviously gotten over Eric and had survived being rejected by everyone from her past who might have helped her. She had a best friend and she liked one of the guys who worked with her. He had brown hair and brown eyes, he was also nothing like Ron she was proud to say. His name was John and he, like her, was one of the floor workers.

Nine months later she had been at her work when her water broke. Sophia took her to the hospital and had surprised Hermione with her determination to stay with her the entire duration of Hermione's labor. She had helped Hermione pick the name of the baby (Elvis, to make up for the royalty he lacked. After all his mother hadn't been a virgin and his father hadn't been a god), and had become Elvis's godmother. Hermione realized that she was the happiest she had ever been right here, away from her friends and family from her past life with Elvis and Sophia.

The first day home she was looking out her window. It was raining cats and dogs. She was listening to the sound of the heavens shaking and thinking. Thinking about puddles and mistakes.

Years later . . .

Elvis was fifteen now. He never could carry a tune. Hermione found this to be very ironic. She was still working at the store, but she had been promoted to manager. She was still friends with Sophia, But Sophia had moved on and had gotten married to John.

As she stared at the moon, she realized that she was playing with matches when she had been with Eric, because that's all they knew how to learn. And she realized she had started again, with turpentine and patches. With cold Campbell's from the can. She knew she was still playing with matches and that the only difference was that he wasn't there to play along. She was still an asshole playing with candles, and blowing out wishes and dreams.

As she began to cry she tried to decipher what was written in braille on her shin