I thought I was in love. Why? Why? How could I have been so stupid? He loves me, but I don't love him. Love, love, love. I HATE that word. Love is nothing.
And now I have to end it. I can't loose him as a friend, I can't. I don't want to hurt him, but I must.
Fuck Gryffindor bravery. FUCK IT FUCK IT FUCK IT FUCK IT. I can't do it. Five minutes and he'll be here.
It'll be over in ten.
No it won't, it will just be beginning in ten. The hatred, the cold looks, the tears, the pain.
Four.
Please let him be late.
Let him be early.
I have never bitten my nails before. Funny, they don't hurt, even though they're bleeding. I'm looking at them, yet they are not mine.
I used to want to be his forever.
SOMEBODY HELP ME.
Please.
Three.
I can't, I can't.
I don't want to hurt him. I am so afraid! I'm crying. Shit, I can't cry, he'll ask what's wrong.
Two.
I'm sorry, so, so sorry.
Life isn't meant to be like this.
Why do I tremble so much? Why do I cry like this?
I MUST STOP.
One.
My hair feels soft beneath my fingers as I yank it, trying to force myself to feel something, anything removed from this untouchable pain. Why is it smooth?
The tears are falling faster than I can brush them away. My face is sticky with moisture.
All this I am aware of, yet in essence I am unaware. Dead. All I can feel is fear and torment.
How can Dumbledore say the answer is love? It solves nothing, only tortures those who dare to find it.
I want to live life in a bubble, in a capsule that seals me from all emotion.
He is late.
God this cannot get any worse.
But there is no God.
If there was why would he put us through this torment? For his own sick pleasure?
Voldemort would fashion himself as God.
Maybe that's all God is; a monster more even powerful than Voldemort. There are certainly similarities.
But Harry and the Dark Lord (why do I think of that with capitals?) are parallel beings.
Oh Harry, you would save us all, yet you cannot save me from myself, my pathetic mistakes.
We didn't make love. We had sex. Sex. It sounds like a swear word to my ears. We fucked. Without love we're no different from cattle. Somehow that doesn't matter. Why?
Probably because it's true. I, Hermione Granger, am a… a…
I don't know. Words do not describe. I thought cow, but that is not strong enough.
It doesn't matter.
He is here.
It kills me that soon he will feel even worse than me.
He looks bewildered by my tears. I am numb, not really here.
He is walking toward me, concern upon his loving face.
His arm is around me. Why is he touching me? Doesn't he know?
I can see his mouth moving. Fascinating thing; speech.
What is wrong?
Everything my dear.
I will tell him now.
Now.
"I don't love you."
Disbelief. Confusion. Doesn't he understand?
"I don't love you, Ron."