"Life's certainties: Death. Taxes. And cookies." - Neville Longbottom, age 23, to Hannah Abbott and Susan Bones.

The shiny bracelet clicked into place over his wrist and he felt his stomach drop. It was Ugly. Repulsive. Some gaudy looking thing made of silver and gold links. "Uh - Hannah -"

"I've been wanting to give this to you for some time now! But you were so sweet to me yesterday I just knew it would be the best thank you gift!" She bounced around after putting the bracelet on his right wrist, hyperactive and full of energy. She had music on in the background, cooking dinner.

"Hannah," he began. Stopped. What the hell was he supposed to say after this?

This felt worse than the rabbit.

Now she was giving him jewelry!?

"Hannah -"

"I mean, I knew I could count on you, you're so reliable. You're always so sweet to me, Nev. I just can't believe how upset I was! I feel a lot better today." Not only did she have the stove going, she also seemed to be cleaning. Her hands moving a mile a minute. Too hyped up, he realized. To make up for her slump yesterday. He was going to bring her to a crashing halt.

But he simply couldn't stall anymore. "Hannah, I -"

"I found it at that thrift shop, the one down Diagon-"

"Hannah!"

She screeched to a halt in front of him, her arms full of laundry. "Oh sorry, baby," she grinned. Was she truly oblivious to his real feelings? "I feel on top of the world today."

And he was the bottom feeder that would rip the rug out from under her. "Hannah, we have to talk."

Finally. He got the words out. All 5 miserable, life changing words. "I want to break up."

That night, as he lay in bed, pathetic and alone, he tried to forget how he went from comforting Hannah to being the cause of her anguish in one night. A complete turn around that left him feeling beyond confused.

But he couldn't quite get it out of his head. There wasn't any yelling. She didn't cry.

He told her he wanted to break up and she just looked sad. Didn't say anything, do anything. Until she asked him to leave in a quiet little voice that sounded nothing like what she normally did.

And that was far, far worse than anything he expected.

Nothing would ever be the same after this.

He turned over, punched his pillow into a different position, and went back to fidgeting with the bracelet still around his wrist. He couldn't get the damn clasp undone, no matter what he did.

Hannah had snapped it on him before he could even say a word. That word being he wanted to break up their six year long relationship. He needed two hands to undo the clasp.

Groaning, he rolled over. "Get it together, Longbottom," he whispered, grabbing his wand from his bedside table. He reminded himself, "I'm capable of great magic."

If you say so, chump.

"And my inner voice is slowly turning against me," he waved his wand and tapped the bracelet. It glowed, giving him a moment of hope that the bracelet would fall off his wrist and he could stash it away in his dresser never to be seen again.

The silver and gold links would only serve as a reminder of the day he broke up with his Hannah Banana. As necessary as it was, it still hurt. He could only imagine how horrible he made her feel.

But the soft white glowing went away and the bracelet remained around his wrist, clinking gently as he moved. "Why won't you come off?"

Just what he needed. A permanent reminder of the day he broke up with his Hannah Banana!

But she isn't yours.

"Right," he told himself. He wasn't in love with her, and that wasn't her fault. It was his. His fault, for wanting more out of their relationship. Wanting things Hannah couldn't give him. Wanting some perfect woman who probably didn't exist.

He pushed the blankets off his legs and stood up, turning on the light. If magic couldn't get this thing off, maybe something more mundane could. Like a hammer. He had one. Surprisingly. His Uncle Algie had given it to him as a gag gift.

Like a maniac, he stalked through his dark hallway to the back storage room where he kept his odds and ends. Began digging through old school supplies and unused garden tools, stacked clay pots, and his Gran's old potion vial collection.

Why she unloaded the massive amount of glass on him when she moved in with Erasmus, he would never understand.

Him and potions weren't exactly on the best of terms. Neither were him and Ginny. She was downright pissed off with him for the way he handled the situation with Hannah. Again, he couldn't blame her. But the cold shoulder seemed a bit much. Hermione was busy with her house and Susan was busy with work, and he suspected, probably comforting Hannah. They were, after all, friends first.

He missed Luna.

"Aha!" he held up the hammer in victory. "I knew I had one! Now… how do I … use this thing?"

Idiot, he thought to himself for the millionth time and threw the hammer back into the closet without a care. He heard a hard thump followed by glass shattering, but that was life. Things broke. Sometimes… you had to break things.

He finally fell asleep around the time the sun started coming up. And immediately fell into one of the most intense sex dreams he ever had the pleasure of having in his life.

Vivid and real, it seemed as if he actually lived through the dream.

Stranger still, he was halfway lucid for it, but couldn't quite pull himself into full wakefulness. But then, by the time he realized how lucid he was, he didn't want to wake up. Not when he was buried inside a soft woman, one who fit perfectly in his arms, her legs locked around his waist.

One who smelled like a citrus garden and paint.

"My wife," he mumbled into her neck…

Right before he jerked awake with a scream.