Note: Before you say anything, I'd like to apologize for the very, very, very long wait I put upon you guys. But, you see, with school starting again and all, it was a bit difficult to find a moment to update. Plus, I had some problems getting this up, for whatever reasons... Anyways, I hope this chapter makes up for the wait. Enjoy!

Important: HBP Spoiler (for the very few ones out there who still haven't read it)

Chapter 12: But The Fun Has Just Started...

Sitting by a window, naively ignorant of the entrancing effect the moonlight had on her pale creamy skin, Hermione was in deep thought, still holding her quill in the same position as she had two hours ago. She was starting to get cramps in her wrist but she wouldn't let go of her goal yet. Putting her frustrations on paper, she knew it, would prove to be the best stress-reliever for the time being; because the only other solution would be to punch both Malfoy and Ron, and with her current state of mind, she wasn't terribly sure she could restrain herself from hitting too hard. The last thing she needed was to send someone at St. Mungo's with a broken... something.

The problem was, she couldn't get a proper hold of her thoughts more than two seconds before anger threatened to overtake her. And if she needed to put her thoughts on the damn parchment, her quill would need to stay in one piece. And the parchment wouldn't fancy the holes in it either.

Frustrated, she let out a simple sigh before deciding to divide her goal in two. First, she would write a letter to Ron –even if she didn't know whether she would end up cursing him into oblivion on paper or if she would somehow forgive him– and only then, when she had owled it, she would rant about Malfoy.

A thin smile graced her features as she murmured her last thoughts. "Rant about Malfoy..." Oh, how that sounded perfect at the moment. "Curse Ron..." Now THAT was something to look forward to.

Readjusting her position –and painfully realising that her back had somehow managed to rest on the sharp lock of the window– inspiration struck her at the instant. Before she knew it, she was writing furiously what would be the end of her hatred towards Ron.

Dear Ron,

As you have surprisingly managed to understand that I am still furious with you, I feel as if I should explain myself –because if you were so slow to realize my disgust for every particle of your being, then maybe you haven't been able to grab a hold on the reason why I am in such a state: you.

You see, after the death of Dumbledore

No, that wouldn't do. She promised herself not to think about it after the funeral had passed; she needn't be sad for the moment. Now was the time of hatred. When finally she would be able to accept everything that happened... then she would be able to accept his death as well. Until then, she wouldn't allow herself to think about it, even if it meant not mentioning his name anymore. She scratched the last sentence.

You see, right after the funerals, I was slightly hopeful that you would have finally understood the feelings I had held towards you since the middle of third year; but it seems I was strongly mistaken. YOU, after comforting me in such a loving way, finally asked me out. You shall never know how this simple sentence coming out of your treacherous mouth made me feel. BUT, only two hours later, what do I find out? That Lavender had accepted to go out with you again; that I was merely a back-up plan. Do you have any idea of the amount of humiliation and tearstained pillows the simple scene of you and Lavender washing each other's throats caused me? YOU USED ME AS A BACK-UP PLAN, RONALD! Although I have already stated your lack of emotional range, you could AT LEAST have considered the fact that I, sadly, was blessed with human feelings! Was the fact that I had been your friend for six years not enough for you to be ashamed of yourself? I truly hope you regret your actions, Ronald –because they were the ones that ended six years worth of friendship.

Maybe next time you get turned off a relationship you'll understand that you are supposed to care for other people and not just your own EGOISTICAL, MANIPULATIVE, SELFISH, BLOODY ASS!

Now I won't bid you my goodbyes. You're not worth it in a billion years.

For the last time, and without love,

Hermione Granger

P.S.: You can consider yourself lucky this isn't a Howler, considering how tempting it was for me to send you one. Or more.

Upon finishing her letter in a hurry, as the initial fury once again took hold of her quill hand, she couldn't help but to give out a startling yelp of pain as realization struck her. Carefully, picking up the paper as if it was a sacred artefact, she slowly placed it in front of her, rereading it. Because they were the ones that ended six years worth of friendship. She had just ended it. They were the ones that ended... Guilt maliciously crept into her pained heart; was he really the one that ended it all? Had she just wanted to distance herself from him, straight from the beginning? Afraid of the consequences, afraid of what he might have thought of her... heritage, her lies that lasted all along? Had she anticipated rejection to such a high level that she had felt the need to protect herself from it... by any means?

She shook her head in defeat and closed her eyes. No. She would have welcomed his love just like she had his friendship. If she had somehow been part of its ending, then it was because she had finally comprehended an aspect of Ron's personality, one that wasn't worth risking her heart to. Being used like a doll, one that could be thrown away when it grew boring, wasn't the best idea she maintained about friendship. Or respect. Or even care about another being.

Yes, really, banishing Ron from her life was the best move she had ever made. Surely it would save her from countless heart-breaking moments and ice cream-eating Saturday nights.

Surely it would.

But wasn't experience the best teacher of life? Even if she could foretell the mass of negative feelings and future painful memories her relations with Ron would bring her along the road, wasn't it best to suffer now so as not to fall for his tricks again?

But then that would be mentally masochistic. She would end up either crying herself to sleep every night, or she would build a psychological barrier around her, slowly becoming as cold as a Malfoy. Or worse, Voldemort.

At least she wouldn't try to eliminate all muggles and muggleborns walking on this earth.

Tilting her head to the side as her mind began to wonder if Voldemort had started being evil because of sentimental troubles –which she knew was far from the truth, but imagining Tom Marvolo Riddle being cheated on by an unknown girlfriend was much of a welcome distraction– she had the slightest hope of forgetting everything that had happened since the funerals, gazing longingly at the prospect of still being a bit more naive, a bit more careless, a bit more Ron's girlfriend and a bit less of being Malfoy's betrothed.

Which reminded her that she was still trying to make her way out of this circle of guilt she had so carelessly created in the first place.

An owl brought her out of her internal struggle by tapping impatiently on the window, as it had been standing there for quite some time without being noticed. She seemed to be getting that a lot, lately. Owls saving her from the battles of her own mind. Maybe next time she'd survive a Death Eater attack by the heroic actions of a squirrel?

"Hey there," she cooed, as she opened the window to let him enter. "You've got something for me, I see?" As it hooted, looking at her as if it was smirking: "Duh. No, I just came in to discuss philosophy with this letter attached to my leg. Tsk."

She eyed it suspiciously, remembering it from somewhere in recent memories. Careful not to hurt it, she took the heavy envelope it had been carrying, noticing the lack of writing on any particle of it. Not even her name or her address.

She risked a glance at the owl, which had settled itself on the armpit of a nearby chair. It was fast asleep –so the trip had been long. A bit of information that was as important as any other. Maybe it was from Viktor. She hadn't heard from him in a while, and really he was the only one she could think about that she knew to be far away. But then, if it had been him, he surely wouldn't have forgotten to address the envelope to her.

Oh, well. Better to open the letter now before having an anxiety attack. Her father was two rooms away. If it was cursed, he'd hear her scream.

If it was cursed.

Letting out a frustrated sigh at the impossible situations she was getting into lately, she tore the envelope to pieces when she had finally got the letter out of it.

It was unsigned. Great. Not from Viktor, clearly.

Miss Vandemoortele girl

I cannot express how disappointed I was when I learned, by the Wizard Gazette, of your pureblood heritage. That you had willingly associated with filthy muggles for more than fifteen years without at least trying to kill them and all their surroundings. Maybe, as the wise Lucius had regretfully spat to me some years ago, you already were a lost cause. Perhaps he had known of your situation then; it wasn't until I heard of the news that I could fully comprehend the meaning of his words of wisdom in all their extent.

Fortunately for your pretty little neck, I magnanimously decided to spare it two nights ago, when I had the possibility to twist it for good. But then you weren't awake and killing people in their sleep is so dreadfully boring. No struggle, no cries. You understand me, right? The very reason I never used the Avada Kedavra. Surely you must feel the same way. Was it the reason you didn't kill these? Because your only occasions were at sleeping times? Really, Miss Hermione girl, you should have been more creative. I, for instance, have faced the same problem (being forced to share good oxygen with these filthy things). All I had to do was to tie them up in their sleep. And then I could, without any problem or interruption, torture them one by one

I'll invite you someday to a party. Of course we'll do it at your kidnappers' house, otherwise it wouldn't be the same, would it? I want you to have fun. Believe me, there's this really exciting part when they're all awake and they can hear your current toy's pain. Maybe we could organize it for your birthday. I know it's on September 19.

I had a girl your age, but she got killed because she was too silly. She died two days before you turned six years old. Auntie Emily says it's just a coincidence because she doesn't want me to get my hopes crushed if it really is not destiny and then I'd be very terribly sad.

I'm getting carried away. You should have stopped me from doing this, Miss Hermione girl. My daughter used to stop me when I got carried away. Didn't she tell you? Oh, of course not. She was always secretive. And silly. It got her killed, did you know that? But then you turned six years old and I was happy because six was her favourite number. I had married seven girls and the sixth was her mother.

Auntie is getting impatient so I'll have to stop writing to you for now. I know it's not right from me to leave you alone like this but I really have to go before she gets mad and refuses to speak to me, because then I'd get frustrated and I maybe I would blame you and then you would be dead so I'd feel sad.

Bye bye. Remember I love you dearly my Miss Hermione girl.

Hermione couldn't utter a single world. She didn't. The guy was a complete lunatic and he seemed to have taken a sick, dangerous interest in her, pulling out a link with his dead daughter.

Regaining her ability to speak, she decided to voice up her swirling thoughts to the closest living being to her; which was, for instance, the owl that had brought the letter.

"Hey. Wake up little thing." She gently stroke his feathers to let him know his nap was to end on the instant. He hooted his indignation in a near-aggressive manner.

"Why did you stay here, anyway? It's not like your owner expects a reply, or does he?" she asked, a half-mocking, half-curious smile itching to brighten up her worried face.

Again, the owl limited itself to hooting at her.

"You help me tons, oh Blue Wonder," she stated with pure sarcasm.

And then she realized what the owl reminded her of. Or rather, what the owl really was. Blue Wonder. An owl. A DAMN BLUE OWL!

"Do I really have more to offer than Malfoy? I don't know, it's like your crazy master is seeking a daughter replacement instead of much more needed psychological help. It's not healthy."

In need of a change, it bit harmlessly at her thumb, and then hooted. Again. And again, as it decided it would be more comfortable standing on her shoulder than on the arm of a cushioned chair. Go figure.

"Does it bother you that your owner may, by all means, be a psychopath?" After a time, she added: "Don't hoot, please. I tried, I really did, but as you can see I don't understand hooting."

It flapped its wings in annoyance, glaring at her for her lack of knowledge on the owl's dialect. She sighed, and decided to accept its strange manner of speaking in a way she could comprehend.

"If you hoot one time, it means 'yes'. Two times, it's a 'no'. How about that?"

It hooted one time and gently nudged at her ear.

"So... Does he expect a... a reply?"

No, he didn't expect one. That was a relief.

"You stayed here anyway," she frowned. "Was it because he asked you to watch me or something of that kind?"

Yes, it was. Although the owl held some hesitation before answering. It had slept during most of its time in her company, after all.

"Was he like that with Malfoy? With the 'I could have killed you but please don't die 'cause I'd be sad' part?"

It hooted two times and continued nudging at her earlobe.

"He wouldn't have been sad if Malfoy was to die, right?" She snickered. In normal circumstances she would have laughed out loud, but 'normal circumstances' wasn't the rightful description of the recent events.

It didn't feel the need to answer her, as it sensed it was a rhetorical question. It just flapped one of its wings as if it was stroking her hair with it.

"Do you have a name?"

It was so 'out of the blue' (no pun intended) the owl didn't stop flapping its left wing through her hair right away. Finally he neared her head even more, to 'murmur' two regretful hoots.

"Blue Wonder would fit you well, with your dark sky color. I wonder how I didn't pull out the link just by the sight of you."

It made itself more comfortable in the crook of her neck and began drifting off to dreamland again.

"I'll take that as a yes."

It rested even further under the mass of bushy hair, cuddling more into her neck, and she, in return, was able to blend completely into the feeling of blissit brought to her, forgetting, if only for a moment, the gravity of her situation.

"After all," she couldn't help but think as she seated herself on the cushioned chair, "it's nothing but a simple letter. He told me he wouldn't kill me. His obsession will never go beyond words."

She unconsciously wrapped herself in a tight ball, tilting her head to the side so she wouldn't bother the cute little owl asleep in-between her neck and shoulder, and peacefully welcomed her need to rest for a while.

The moonlight, through a window, gracefully complimented her porcelain face, her honey-brown curls, and her blue-feathery companion. Had anyone looked at her in that very moment, they would have felt a lonely tear rolling down their cheek, for it was a scene that represented too perfectly the beauty of sorrow.

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I can already assure you that I will do my best to update on time next time. I hope you liked the chapter... By the way, when on earth did we reach 86 reviews?!? Thanks to all of you who take the time, it's REALLY appreciated. Keep'em coming!

Featherstrike

...and D. and Firnoviel.