A one-shot inspired by a poem called Jump my friend wrote. The poem belongs to Shannon, or, TASTE-THE-FRIGGIN'-RAINBOW. The fic is basically what would happen if Voldemort got to certain people first, Ron made the wrong choice, and Hermione took a completely different path. Takes place in sixth year; disregards Half-Blood Prince.

~?~

"I'm sorry, Hermione. I just can't be with you anymore. It just doesn't feel right. I just- I mean- ugh. We're still friends, though, right?" Hermione remembers that conversation last week, the one that squeezed her heart and made her feel sick to her stomach. It is the only thing that penetrates her mind, now numb with shock, the breakup mingling with what Dumbledore had just told her.

~?~

"I am sorry to say that your parents are dead. They were killed last night in a battle with several Death Eaters, perhaps even Voldemort himself. Kingsley and Tonks were also killed trying to protect them." Dumbledore sat looking at her for a moment, his eyes grave, letting it sink in. Then he stood abruptly, tears in his own eyes, saying, "I will leave you now; give you some privacy, but remember, child," and here he looked her in the eye once more, continuing, "It is never over. This is not the end. Your friends will still be with you." And then he left, closing the door behind him.

For a long while there was nothing but the sound of whirring silver instruments and Fawkes humming softly in the corner. Then the tears came, flowing thick and fast.

~?~

It's too much to deal with, too much too fast, and she leaves Dumbledore's office feeling strangely hollow inside. She walks aimlessly, barely noticing where she is going, letting the laughter and the talk of the other students wash over her. Turning a corner into a little-used hallway, she speeds up. The only sound is her sensible shoes clicking on the cold stone floor.

Click.

Click.

Click.

"Oh, Ron. . ."

Hermione stops dead still, her eyes wide. The very last person she wants to see right now- or ever. She turns to the left to see an unused classroom. She takes one, two, three steps forward, puts her hand on the doorknob, turns it slowly, slowly, ever so slowly, hears the lock click, opens it just a crack. . . and sees Ron Weasley and Lavender Brown snogging in the corner of the room. She slams the door shut, turns, and runs, tears pouring down her face.

Reaching the Common Room at last, her eyes finally dry, she heads straight to Harry and Ginny, who are running towards the portrait hole, holding their brooms. Hermione pastes a large, rather fake smile across her face and says loudly, "Hey, you guys. Can I talk to-"

She is cut off by Harry. "Sorry, Hermione, we're late for Quidditch practice-"

"-yeah, talk later-" Ginny says breathlessly, as the two of them clamber into the hallway and take off. Hermione stands there for a moment, stunned, before the fake smile slides from her face and she walks numbly up the stairs to her dorm.

~?~

Hunched over some parchment, her quill scratching furiously, Hermione lets the words flow onto the page. She's never been particularly good at poetry, but tonight it comes to her unbidden, a wave of letters that form themselves into words in the crevices of her numb mind.

It's too much too fast.

They're gone

Forever.

Everyone.

And no one cares

No one wants to listen.

You lie awake at night

Dreaming

Of a time when he still seemed to care

How you felt

When he looked at you

With those deep, cerulean orbs

He told you "We're a bond that's meant to last"

Yet there he is,

Attempting to return

The patched-up heap of paper-thin skin,

Once a heart.

But he doesn't understand

It's already his

There's no turning back. . .

For you.

If you take it,

It'll be an experiment

In an unknown laboratory

Scientists puzzled,

Uncertain why it's split

In two,

And breaks again

Every time he comes near,

And once more when he leaves.

It's surprising he still doesn't see it,

How badly you want to die.

Death calls to you,

Like the forlorn cresting of powerful waves,

Like the whispering of the legendary Serpent of Eden,

Forbidden

But you just have to lend an ear,

If only for a moment,

And suddenly you're swept up

With thoughts of

Blades

Guns

Nooses

Skyscrapers

Or a simple Avada Kedavra.

Suddenly, you feel the urge

To just try it out.

Like a drug,

It's impossibly dangerous,

Yet intoxicatingly tempting.

Then, you just have to feel it.

The smooth steel

The rounded barrel

The scratchy weaving

The rush of wind sweeping past you

A single flash of bright green light,

Of your toes hanging over nothingness.

And then, before you know it,

You're testing it.

Seeing if it really hurts.

Of course it does.

But then, you want more.

You need more,

And it feels right.

Tallying the amount of times you thought of him today,

Momentarily hanging, becoming familar

With the heaviness,

Falling, as if you were flying, nearly weightless,

You think of him one last time

Imagining the future you could've had

If only he'd not left

If only the others were still in this world.

Then you end it.

All that time that felt like weeks,

Like months, Like years,

Of misery

Of fake smiles

Of forced laughter

Of endless, "I'm fine"s

And "Don't worry about me"s

Your words battling your thoughts

And now the thought of more of that

The lying, the smile that's glued to your face.

You're happy to leave, in all honesty

There's some you'd miss

But that's to be expected.

The life you'd have in the end

Would be pathetic

If you had to go on

Like this.

You raise the dagger

Secure the rope around your neck

Load the bullets

Step to the edge

Point the wand.

Feeling the rush of tainted gusts rushing over you.

Wind made up of memories,

Haunted words that echo,

Lonely.

It'll all be over, you think

Just before the end.

You plunge the blade into your breast,

Take the short hop to the hangman's jig

Pull the trigger

Say the words.

Jump.

~?~

She stands on the balcony in her white nightdress, her thick brown hair blown back by a gentle breeze, a single leaf of parchment held in her outstretched hand. She slowly turns her hand over, letting her fingers open one by one. The parchment drifts down through the air: a single white butterfly that grows smaller and smaller before disappearing. She knows that it will hit the ground sometime, perhaps to be hidden in the long, wet grass, or trampled by students going about their merry way. She leans out over the rail, straining her eyes for a last glimpse of that one parchment that had made her final decision for her. Then she takes a deep breath and lets herself fall. The students in the Common Room below see only an indistinct shape falling through the air, the outline smeared and blurred by the thick glass of the West window.

Tumbling end over end, her hair whipping at her face, her nightgown flying out around her, Hermione Granger sees the star wheeling above her and smiles her last smile- a serene, peaceful smile- as she falls to her death.

Jump.