Note: PLEASE READ AND REVIEW! The next chapter will be much longer. It's already almost done and it just seemed to write itself. Anyways, I'm not at all abandoning Dramione, I just want to do it slowly and provide a lot of background. This will not be your typical Draco Hermione love affair. The next few chapters will be relatively light hearted, but things will change, and I'm hoping it to become somewhat dark before long. On another note, I don't like this chapter title at all, and I hope to replace it with something better. I was thinking of labeling it Hell's Fury, but I think I might want to reserve that for a later chapter in which it will be more apt and call to mind the Congreve quote.

Chapter 6 – Vile Injustice

Eventually, Hermione's tears slowed as exhaustion overtook her. As her tears diminished so did her thoughts, her body's longing for sleep taking precedence over the pain in her heart. With an aching fatigue she stumbled back to the common room. It had been nice to cry. It was a relief to feel drained of emotion.

If she hadn't been so worn out, she probably would have berated herself for crying over Ron. After all she was still very young, and the upcoming war should have put things into perspective for her. But, for once, her mind was blank and, most incredibly, empty of self criticism.

The next couple days dragged by incredibly slowly for Hermione. She threw herself into her work, resolutely trying to ignore Ron's existence. She was one of the first to leave the common room in the mornings to go to class, and she provided the Fat Lady with the password with only twenty seconds to spare before curfew. For the most part, Harry had broken out of his previous psychotic daze, and he stressed himself in an effort to divide his time between his two best friends. He'd slip back every so often, but it didn't take long for him to snap out of it.

Hermione was proud of herself in that she was the only one who had pinpointed what it took to bring her best friend back to reality. She smirked subtly every time Ginny laughed in the Great Hall, and was shocked that no one else noticed the brightness in Harry's eyes. Ah, springtime was approaching, and love was in the air – for everyone but Hermione.

In the meantime, between her studies, the only reflecting Hermione allowed herself to do was regarding the odd behavior of a certain blonde Slytherin. It was briefly entertaining to speculate absurd scenarios and schemes explaining his behaviors. It wasn't much and she didn't take her thoughts very seriously. At least it passed the time.

Dinner, that evening wasn't exactly what Hermione would have called an enjoyable affair. Sitting sandwiched between Harry and Seamus and across the table from Dean Thomas and Parvati was certainly not her idea of a pleasant and relaxing meal. Harry – in another funk – talked to no one unless prodded persistently. Dean kept shooting Ginny odd and annoyed looks because she had managed to slip from his possessive grasp for the final meal of the day.

No wonder Ginny was acting a bit restless. Hermione wondered how Ginny could ever put up with someone so domineering and possessive. If she was ever in a relationship like that, she hoped someone would put her out of her misery.

Parvati alternated between awkward bits of forced conversation with Seamus about Quidditch, and making pathetically unsuccessful attempts to extricate her best friend from staring into Ron's eyes adoringly. Ron was clearly uncomfortable and desperate enough to strike up conversations with everyone near him, including his twin brothers. Hermione hoped they'd spiked his drink with something nasty.

Sometimes, thought Hermione, being a teenager really is a bore. Having Ron seated a short distance from her was enough not only to put her on edge, but also to further incite her wildly oscillating emotions. Perhaps the only reason she'd been obsessing over Malfoy's oddities today was that she'd rather not think about Ron.

Ron incited such feelings in her that she couldn't control. The extent of her rage towards him was only exceeded by her hurt, which in and of itself was fueled by how much she cared for him. She hated the situation they were in because it was as though – because they had known each other so long – they'd certainly reconcile eventually. But for the life of her, Hermione couldn't see how she'd ever get over what he did to her.

She didn't want to let go of her petty vindictiveness; it was quite comforting. It was so much easier to rage at him than it would be to rage at herself for her stupidity. He had always been so immature. How could she have ever fallen for him? And trusted him? It was infuriating.

The worst part was that he wasn't sorry. He was always so self-righteous. How could he feel no guilt, no regret, and no pain at losing one of his best friends? Could she really have meant so little to him? She tried to tell herself that Ron had shown no regret when turning on Harry, and Harry still meant the world to him. But it was no consolation. The thought didn't comfort her not only because she doubted its truth in her heart, but also, because Harry was only a friend. She didn't want Ron to come around in the way he had with Harry in their fourth year. That just wasn't enough any longer. Ron ought to have loved her.

There were lots of boys who admired her and liked her. Boys who were so much better than Ron. Who were smarter, funnier, and who played Quidditch better – even though she didn't put too much weight on that particular skill. For that matter, Ron was decidedly normal. He didn't deserve her at all!

Well, Ron was going to realize how lucky he had been if she had anything to say about it. And he was certainly going to regret it. He would learn.

The tendrils of a plan began to form in her mind. All of a sudden, a certain passage from her years of Muggle education reentered her mind and seemed quite appropriate:

"Vile and ingrate! Too late thou shalt repent
The base Injustice thou hast done my Love:
Yes, thou shalt know, spite of thy past Distress,
And all those Ills which thou so long hast mourn'd;
Heav'n hath no rage like love to hatred turn'd,
Nor Hell a fury, like a woman scorn'd".

Oh, said Hermione smiling to herself, this is just the beginning.

William Congreve's "The Mourning Bride"

PLEASE REVIEW: I'm sad that no one has found my story, because I think it's awesome and will only become more so.