Author's Note: What up, what up it's new fic chapter o'clock! You'll work out the pace of the story from this next chapter. If you want me to spell it out for you, well, that's probably a bit of a warning sign. Review if you want, don't if you don't. I don't know how long it'll be until they get it on so sorry be patient. Alright, l8r.

Her uncle had hit her once, just once. When she was eight and upset and she wouldn't stop crying, he'd come over and slapped her cheek. She'd never seen him again after that.

Years later, her mother told her that he'd died. He'd gotten into his car drunk, he drove himself into a tree. Her mother said that no one knew if he meant to do it or not. She said that he hit people because he was sad.

Hermione understands that. The sadness, maybe even the hitting. She finds herself attracted to people who don't. Because she doesn't like to think about it.

Perhaps that's why she can't stand Theodore Nott.

She's never spoken to him. He always seems to be in another time, another place, speaking to people he finds interesting. The way he stares at nothing reminds her of the way she stares at Professor McGonagall when the woman reveals for a moment the part of her that holds her passion.

He just looks so captivated. She wants to know what's so fascinating.

Thumbing the pages of novels makes her feel complete. She likes the roughness; she likes how real they are. She likes how they've been in so many different hands, the words singing out in so many different heads, so many different voices and here she is holding it.

She likes the simplicity.

There are rowdy Ravenclaws behind her. Their laughs shatter the historic serenity in which she bathes. She came to the library to move away from the noise of the common room. She didn't want to bring it with her.

"Quiet!" She hisses, and they still.

She is frustrated. She is frustrated by the way Nott ignored her. She is frustrated that Professor Babblin all but forced her to tutor him.

"You're my best student and I want him to do well!" She'd gone on with compliments for a full two minutes before Hermione gave in.

And he'd just sat there, in his other world filled with other people and he hadn't said anything. With this look on his face that reminded her of her uncle's when he was drinking. He'd stare at the fireplace and he wouldn't move for hours.

Nott had looked like that. He'd looked lost.

They were kissing again. Harry was going green.

"This is unnecessary." She mutters. They don't stop. It looks like a washing machine with lips and tongue and saliva.

Suddenly her toast doesn't look so appetising.

"You good?" Harry's eyes are shot behind his glasses. She doesn't think he's sleeping enough.

"I just want to get out of the splash zone." She inclines her head, they get up and leave.

The lake is deep and black. She can see the little waves the wind makes. She thinks of little mice running across the surface and being drenched by the tiny storm.

She picks the loose flowers off the grass. The petals are brown at the edges and white to the middle. She likes how they look in her hand. She likes the transformation from human to nature.

Harry's glasses reflect the sun. His lids are closed, he could be sleeping.

"You think they're still eating each other's faces?" He tilts his head to look at her, he smiles when she does.

"Probably."

She likes the way it seems as though the sun will never end.

Nott walks through the door, empty eyes rimmed red. He's late, she doesn't care.

She watches the way his body falls. Like a satin dress being dropped, he crumples into himself. He stares at the desk.

He isn't even pretending to pay attention today.

She watches his chest, moving quicker. She watches his throat as he swallows, like he's choking down tar. His hand rests on the table, his fingers spread and tense.

She can see his jaw twitching, and she knows he wants to scream.

She thinks of how Harry looks when he doesn't want to talk. His eyes are set, his shoulders are hunched, his temper is high. She remembers the way he would look like that everyday, she remembers wishing he would cry or yell or hit something.

Ron is different. Ron likes to set goals for himself. He likes to see whether he can be louder each time he gets upset. When Ron is angry, people know it.

Nott's fingers are shaking. She watches them, like they're being chilled by a wind she apparently can't feel. His whole body looks frozen, his skin is suffocated.

She reaches her hand out.