DISCLAIMER: All characters and recognizable plot belong to the very lovely J.K. Rowling, without who this fic might not have been plausible. And without who, my time would have been wasted away doing nothing productive like study for school. And without who, the world of Harry Potter would not have been created and we Potterheads would not know where we would be in right now. (Although I still am upset that Hermione ended up with Ron. Ew.)

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Those bloody break-up principles were all bullshit, bullshit that supposedly made people feel better but in fact didn't.

They said crying and screaming your grief worked, but honestly she felt rather self-conscious and melodramatic doing it; chocolates only garnered her an upset tummy (not to mention those ghastly extra pounds); and quite frankly, Homer Simpson wasn't as hilarious as people made him out to be. If anything, he had the intellectual range of a teaspoon.

But who was she to judge the Simpson patriarch? It wasn't like she was pretty smart herself. On an emotional basis, that was.

After she'd caught her boyfriend – and childhood lover, no less – between Lavender's thighs once more, Hermione, like those classic and hackneyed lovers, had been ready to forgive him yet again for his infidelity. He couldn't help himself; he was just a regular guy with raging testosterones and it didn't help the fact that Lavender's cunt was the most readily available. It wasn't his fault that her work as the head of the Department of Magical Creatures at the Ministry rendered her exhausted at a daily basis – therefore leaving him deprived of "female companionship." (Try conversing with wild centaurs about anything other than the constellations. Whose brain wouldn't be drained?) She had been understanding and considerate, putting herself in Ron's shoes. She understood the fault was entirely hers, though she would never openly admit it to anybody.

Who would've guessed that the redheaded bastard felt the same way?

Instead of groveling at her feet and begging for her forgiveness for another one of those episodes, Ron had actually been angry with her during the break-up. It was her who never made time for him. He was a man, he'd claimed indignantly while scrunching his sparse eyebrows together, not some statue she could walk over and ignore. He had needs and Lavender understood what those needs were, and therefore supplied him with what he needed. And, as a final blow to her already-bruised self-esteem, he'd boasted that Lav-lav's tits were D's, unlike her measly, boring B's. Double-D's. There were plenty of things he could do with boobs that big.

Trust the Gryffindor slut to have store-bought tits, too.

In hindsight, though, she thought as she pulled herself over the smooth, cool surface of the porcelain bowl at the bathroom to heave the blocks of Cadbury chocolates she'd devoured while watching reruns of The Simpsons, she came to the realization that their relationship was doomed from the very beginning. That didn't make her feel any better, though. They just had too many similarities, and too many differences. She wouldn't deny that she had pride in herself (for she would've been chasing after Ron if that weren't the case) and so did he, if not greater. They were both extremely stubborn, never yielding to the other. Neither one of them humbled down enough to apologize whenever they fought. Analogically, their relationship was that of two bulls, always butting their horns together and in combat.

As for the differences, where would she start? She didn't think she could list it all down. To sum it all up: Ron lacked ambition. He was simply... content with what little he had. She didn't think she would ever be that way.

Harry would probably know about their break-up by now. Ron was always babbling and telling him about everything, and Harry would be the kind, understanding best friend caught between the lovers' quarrels. He would take his time and listen patiently to whatever petty problems they might have and never take sides. Of course, he would tell his fiancee, Ginny (they even lived together now), and ask for her opinion on things. Like the good little sister that she was, Ginny never took Ron's side on anything. Never.

Why, oh why, couldn't her relationship with the weasel – sorry, Weasley – be as light and stress-free as Ginny's and Harry's were? They were a couple who understood and supported each other both in good times and bad. They were perfect together.

Hermione found herself smiling despite the dismal circumstance. Perhaps she could owl Ginny right now and meet up with her to badmouth her brother. It wasn't what she would normally do – she usually preferred to wallow in her own misery, Merlin bless her – but she felt desperate for someone to talk to and share her bitterness with. Well, not share bitterness with per se, but rather have someone to talk to who shared her sentiments with the same man. She would've wanted to talk to her parents as well, ask for guidance... if only they were here with her now. Just two days ago, her parents had decided to go to Australia for a well-deserved vacation and wouldn't be back until the end of the month. It looked as though living in the Land Down Under while the entire wizarding world was at War made them rather fond of the continent. Not that she could blame them.

As soon as Hermione finished rinsing her mouth with warm water from the sink and dried herself off, she proceeded to the bedroom and sat down heavily at the edge of her bed. A moving photograph of her and Ron laughing while wrestling each other caught the corner of her eye. Ron kept another one for himself just like it. For some reason, she'd always thought that that photograph was the embodiment of their relationship. They frequently fought, but they found themselves laughing about it afterwards. She'd kept it on her nightstand to remind her to be thankful of what she had whenever she felt like strangling Ron for real. After all, it wasn't everyday that you managed to keep your childhood flame burning steadily. Now however, that photograph didn't provide her with that illumination. It stared mockingly at her. It seemed to want to impart the message of just how stupid she was for letting the relationship go on for so long.

Childhood flame, she snorted. Perhaps she could set fire to it later. Ron wouldn't care, anyway. He was probably busy doing whatever it was he did with Lav-lav's fake double-D's.

Well, if Ron was enjoying himself with his newfound freedom then so would she. She would not be wallowing in her flat all by herself, and especially not in the bedroom she would occupy in solo from then on. She would owl Ginny and they would go strip-clubbing. And this time, Harry would not dare forbid them. Or her. And if he did, she would tell the do-gooder to kiss her ass.

That gave her an unexpected high. She actually giggled.

She, literally, jumped down from her bed and was about to go out of her bedroom door to the kitchen (where her newly-purchased owl slept) when, out of the blue, the mobile she kept in her purse at all times rang.

As anyone who had been dumped knew, that single call sent jolts of adrenaline running through the veins. Before she could even make sense of her actions, she threw herself across the room and grabbed her purse from where it was slung on a hook upon the wall. She more than expected it to be Ron, never mind the fact that he had never gotten used to making actual phone calls. She contemplated on what she would say to him (if it were him) or if she even answer at all. She imagined him apologizing to her and begging to be back together. And, damn it, despite whatever it was she thought only mere moments ago, she really wanted him back. She was a hopeless case.

She gripped the brass zipper with her thumb and forefinger and took a deep breath. She would be nervous if it really were him on the other line, and tremendously disappointed if it weren't. Before she could lose any more nerve, she unzipped the zipper and, with the other hand, felt inside for her ringing cellphone. The contraption vibrated in her hand.

The screen was flashing an unfamiliar number, so she was absolutely sure by then that it was Ron calling her to beg for her forgiveness. Before answering, she tested her Hellos numerous times, finding that perfect balance between coolness and indifference. How pathetic was she?

Not quite satisfied yet, but knowing that Ron would impatiently end the call just about now, she pressed Send and put the phone to her ear.

"Hello?" Awesome. Try a cat being run over by a pick-up.

A cracked voice answered. "Hermione?"

A frown creased her forehead. "Harry?" she asked uncertainly.

"Hermione," repeated Harry. A sob laced the final syllable of her name.

"What is it? What's wrong?" she asked, panic lacing the tone of her voice. Smooth, level-headed Harry never spoke this way.

His sobbing was uncontrollable. "It's Ginny."

A pool of ice formed in the depths of her stomach. "Ginny? Is she sick? What happened to her?"

He didn't respond immediately, save for the sobs, which seemed to reach over the distance and make her shiver.

"She's dead," he finally revealed, his words barely comprehensible.

Those two words hardly made any sense to her, but suddenly, the lines on the floor were swaying. Why was the floor swaying? Floors did not sway.

"She – she did herself in, Hermione," Harry choked out. "She jumped. She – she – she –"

She didn't get the chance to hear the rest of what Harry was saying for just then, everything blurred, and the final thing that Hermione felt before the world turned black was the smooth wooden floor against her cheek.

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[A/N: Just a plotbunny, so, meh, I don't think it's any good. Comments/suggestions are greatly appreciated. Tell me what you think :) do you think it deserves a chapter 2?

For those reading DL, I am EXTREMELY sorry for the looooong wait. I know I said I would update soon, but... argh. I lack inspiration on that one. I really am sorry. Please don't hate on me. D:

Hey, lovely! Thanks for reading. :) –Nina]