A/N: Thank you to Shdwcat27 and Because-I-Got-High for their reviews and Martiele for making me feel extremely special. :-P Also, I went back and edited the chapters and fixed misspellings and typos I found.

Mention of ways to commit suicide in the first paragraph. If that offends you, or you think it might put ideas in your head that shouldn't be there, then skip it and start at the second.

Disclaimer: Don't own it. Not claiming to own it. Just borrowing.

Hanging. Slitting one's wrists. Pills and alcohol. Drowning. Throwing oneself from a high window. Stabbing oneself. Deliberately falling down a large flight of stairs. Catching fire and burning to death, making sure to breathe in the flames to melt one's lungs. Shooting oneself.

There are so many ways I could kill myself its ridiculous. And that's before I even get creative.

None of those things, however, is quite the same as what he went through. One can suffer,
yes, but not nearly as much as he did, or in the same way. He didn't have a choice. He didn't understand what was going on. He couldn't grasp the fact that his life was slipping away before he even had a chance to live it.

He didn't understand why my father didn't seem to care, either. He couldn't ever begin to comprehend what was going on, with his own life and our family's life.

He asked me once. It was a few days before the end. He was so innocent, not a thought spared for the horrors of the world.

"Hermione, why is Dad so mad at me?"

It felt like my heart was split in two as I took his tiny hand in mine and brushed my fingers across his brow. His voice was weak, little more than a whisper. His grip on my hand was even weaker.

"He's not mad at you, sweetheart," I assured him. I didn't really know what to tell him...the truth had come out in an argument my parents had had, one that I wasn't supposed to hear. How could I possibly tell him what the real reason was? He would never understand...he would never get the chance to...

"Then why doesn't he sit with me?" he asked.

"He's a very busy man. He feels he needs to keep working," I lied. I felt slightly guilty for it, but I didn't know what else to do.

"Mummy cries a lot," he stated. He couldn't really keep his eyes open anymore. His lids were only parted slightly, enough for me to see the small sliver of brown I have rarely seen in recent days. I was surprised he was even able to continue trying to speak.

I didn't know what to say to him, so I just smiled sadly and put a palm against his burning forehead. He tried to move his other arm, but the board it was strapped to prevented more than a few centimeters. It pained me to see that. It was a rather light board, really, only there to keep him from bending his arm, to make sure the needle of the IV didn't move around. If he was healthy, he could lift it easily, throw it, stomp on it if he wanted to.

He opened his mouth, as if to say something, but his eyes drifted closed the rest of the way and he fell back to sleep...

The bell rang and I jumped. Harry was watching me even as everyone was packing up. I didn't look at him, quickly shoving my things into my bag, slinging that over my shoulder.

I think I'm beginning to crack. Even Harry notices something is different, and Harry hasn't noticed anything recently, so caught up in his own troubles he's been.

He, Ron, and I walked to the Common Room together. Their voices grated on my nerves. I clenched my fists, willing myself not to break down and yell at them, tell them everything I hate about them and everything else. I need to keep my composure. I need to. For my own sake as much as anyone else's, though I really couldn't care less about anyone else's anymore.

§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§

"Hermione, can I take a look at your notes?" Harry asked.

"You really should think about taking your own," I replied, covering up the fact that I hadn't lived up to my usual standard of eager note-taker, barely paying enough attention to get the gist of what Professor McGonagall was saying.

"Sorry, I've just had a few other things on my mind lately," Harry said, his temper rising easily.

I just continued sitting, staring at my homework, pretending to read but not taking in a word of it.

"Calm down, mate," Ron said. He's quick to ease Harry's temper nowadays. Trying to play mediator when all he's really doing is irritating me even more.

"No, Ron. It's not bloody fair!" he said. His voice was getting louder and a few people were looking over at us. He didn't seem to notice, and I didn't care.

"You can at least try to be a little more understanding, Hermione," he continued. "I can't exactly keep my mind on every bit of information a teacher spews out! But of course you wouldn't know that, since that seems to be the only thing you do."

"Harry!" Ron said, indignant for me. Quickly changing sides like the weasel he can certainly be.

"Oh, excuse me," he said sarcastically. "Did I hurt your feelings, Hermione? What about my feelings? I can't get it out of my head, knowing I'm going to have to be facing Voldemort and that I'm very likely to die!"

"There are things going on outside the wizarding world, Harry," I said quietly. There were so many others things I wanted to say. The world doesn't revolve around you, Potter. You're not my biggest concern right now, and neither is Voldemort. You're being childish about this, thinking everyone should bow to your every whim because you might die fighting Voldemort. You're going to die eventually, so does it really matter how?

I rose to my feet, not even glancing at him, collected my books, and began to leave.

"What the bloody hell is that supposed to mean?" I heard him yell after me, but I let the portrait of the Fat Lady fall closed behind me, successfully blocking him, and all the other Gryffindors, out.

A/N: Constructive criticism is welcome, as always. I want to know what you think about this chapter. It feels a bit rushed to me, but that might just be because I planned to have that small argument between Hermione and Harry in a later chapter. I also think the wording is strange, but that also could be my imagination.