CHAPTER THREE: EMOTIONS

An arm pushed Ron away from her. Hermione looked up. Vincent was there.

She fought the urge to run out of the room along with the urge to run back to Ron's embrace and stood still, looking at Vincent expectantly.

Vincent smiled greedily. There was that school bully.

"He gave her to me." Vincent said to Ron. With that said, he took Hermione's arm in his and took her away.

x-x-

The dress looked like something medieval. Something mixed between a queen's gown and a fairy's dress. Or maybe that last bit was just the flowers. Hermione hadn't thought that Vincent would like this type of thing. She'd fully expected something like the equivalent of going out and eloping. Not a wedding.

She was just glad that this wasn't real.

She thought.

She hoped.

The further that Hermione went with this, the worse it all seemed to become, harder to handle, more emotional, more real. She kept expecting to wake up and find this all to be a dream–then she really would wake up, to find that all of it was true. Everything.

I am Hermione Granger. I am Hermione Granger. I am Hermione Granger...

Not Kikyo. Not Kikyo.

Am I?

She had to stop, then, leaning on the wall closest to her, breathing deeply

Had it been this hard for Snape? It couldn't have, could it? At least he was used to it, at least he knew what he was sinking himself into. Why had anyone let Hermione do this? Why–?

Shut up!

She'd volunteered. Not only that, she'd insisted. She had asked to spy for them.

Hermione was composed again. Good. It was those mere moments of weakness that could ultimately get her caught. That was how it had been with Snape.

x-x-

"I've been found out." He said, in the quietest, angriest voice that Hermione could ever imagine coming from another human being. She knew his emotions now, though. It made sense. He always used that tone when he was distressed, saddened, frightened, and he didn't want anyone–even himself–to know it.

Next to Hermione, Harry clenched like a fist clenches into a ball. It was almost unnoticeable, but she could see it. She knew him too well.

Harry couldn't hear Snape's pain. Harry was too absorbed in his own pain, his own emotions and problems, to care about Snape's. But, then, when had Severus ever stopped to notice that Harry had a heart–why should Harry return a favor that was never given in the first place?

Snape cleared his voice. "I've been found out." He said again, this time meticulously removing all emotion from that silky voice of his.

x-x-

And that was how he'd been found out. He couldn't keep his emotions inside. Nobody could forever. Harry was horrible at it, but he knew that in the face of danger, he had to do it. Harry understood almost as well as Snape had that emotion could freeze you, fool you, into stupidity. Emotion could ruin you.

Ron's emotions had overrun him. After keeping the jealousy inside for so long it had time to age and turn into something much, much worse.

Hatred was such an easy emotion to come by.

Hermione wondered when Ron actually realized that that quiet, seething little feeling about Harry was not pity, but hatred. She wondered when he finally decided what to do with something so strong. She wondered if Ron still hated Harry, after all this time, as much as Hermione still loved Ron, despite what he'd done.

Love.

Sometimes she thought that love was worse than hate, It was good for a while, but as soon as it soured you were only left with old memories and feelings that you knew would never come back. Then you could only think of ways that it would all come back, things that you should and shouldn't have done that could make it all better. You doubted yourself, you hated what you'd loved. It was like and addiction, but a hundred times worse.

In the end, the only thing that love had done for Hermione was make her heart stronger, and her mind smarter.

She wanted the love back.

She touched the creamy white of the dress's bodice, wishing to rip it off instead. She only had seconds to think on the possibility before Bellatrix's voice intermingled with her violent little thoughts, "I'm back!"

Bella was the picture of joy.

She came up behind Hermione, pins in hand like lethal weapons ready to stab into Hermione's head. She could have been Hermione's annoying little sister judging by the bubbly look on her face. Not that "bubbly" defined a little sister, but Hermione could see she had potential.

Bella had been talking when she left five minutes ago, but she started talking again as if she'd been gone for five seconds. "This is amazing, Kikyo! A beautiful wedding if I do say so myself..."

Why don't you get married then?

Hermione tried to look happy. She looked like she was going to be sick.

"Do I look okay?" Hermione asked, interrupting whatever babble Bella had been amusing herself with.

Bella looked at her through the mirror, "You look beautiful." She inspected Hermione's face closely, "A little green, but that's just wedding jitters. Trust me, I've been there."

Bellatrix finished up with Hermione's hair, ushering her forward and shoving a bouquet into her hands, explaining what to do (even thought they'd gone over this a thousand times already) and leaving her to wait.

Don't worry, Hermy–

x-x-

it can't be real.

Ron stood next to Draco, feeling utterly uncomfortable. The two may be allies now, but Draco had made it clear from the start that he still hated Ron with something close to passion.

Strangely enough, though, Draco Malfoy's frightening presence next to him was not the reason of Ron's unease.

Crabbe stood like a very conceited statue, waiting for Kikyo to come to him like some sort of lapdog. Ouch. Bad image.

Ha. Ron could keep his sense of humor even now, how pleasant.

The music started, everyone turned around toward the back, waiting for Kikyo to come out. Ron took a quick second to look at the thirty or so expectant faces. All allies, few friends, few of them above Ron himself. The Dark Lord was far to the left of Ron. He did not stand. Even at her wedding Kikyo was below him. What else could Ron expect?

She came like something in a play. Her dress looked perfect, her hair looked perfect, her skin was radiant.

She was prettier than Hermione was. Not Ron's type but he still could not deny the fact. He didn't particularly like her looks, but there was still something there–even now–that Ron couldn't ignore. He didn't understand what it was. He could feel it there. Like he and Kikyo had been friends long ago, and were only meeting again, not for the first time.

He saw it that night, and he saw it now.

He watched her walk down the aisle, looking calm and cool and not at all out of place in this world of showy wedding glamour. He didn't like the way she walked. He didn't like the look on her face as she reached the dais and looked into Crabbe's eyes with happiness.

Ron had liked her. It had been plain that she didn't like him back in any sense of the word, but he couldn't help but be drawn to her.

Everyone talked about this woman from Japan who had somehow worked her way into Volemort's ranks. Many had thought she could not assume some place in the inner circle, but she had.

She defied them. Those arrogant purebloods that had doubted her had been proven wrong. She was marrying Vincent Crabbe. Not the brightest on in the bunch, but still one with many connections–and a place close to Voldemort. And the fact that he wasn't one of thought would probably help her along the way.

Ron wanted to know just what this woman was planning.