A Heart Made of Glass

A/N: Hello, all. I've been really busy, so I'm sorry for not posting my next chapter sooner. Anyway… enjoy!

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Hermione quietly padded her way down the many stairs to the kitchen of the Burrow, where an enticing smell of sausages and eggs was wafting its way through the house and tantalizing Hermione thoroughly. She felt drained from all the tears she shed in her bedroom last night, and her eyes itched from the exertion. Hermione sniffed the air heartily, taking in the delicious smell now teasing her nose. She just realized that she barely ate anything yesterday, and her stomach just then gave a loud rumble.

Hermione walked into the kitchen, where Mrs. Weasley was setting down a sumptuous-looking plate filled with all kinds of breakfast delicacies in front of Harry. As Hermione looked at Harry, the hunger she felt immediately dissipated as affection and sadness mixed together wormed its way once again through her body and left her tingling.

Suddenly, something knocked into her from behind. She quickly turned around to see what it was, and the intruder took the form of Ginny.

“Oh—Hermione—I didn't see you,” Ginny exclaimed, looking as beautiful as ever in the bright sunlight that was streaming through the nearby window. “Are you all right?”

“Good morning, Ginny,” Hermione said, forcing a strained smile. “It's all right—I'm not mortally wounded.”

Then, Ginny let out her wonderful, tinkling laugh. “Glad to hear it, Hermione,” she said. She then looked over Hermione's shoulder, and her face brightened considerably.

“Harry!” Ginny cried, running through the kitchen and flinging her arms around Harry's neck.

“'Morning, Ginny,” Harry said, kissing the top of her head.

Hermione felt sick.

“Hermione, come and have some breakfast,” Mrs. Weasley said earnestly, ushering a bewildered Hermione to an empty seat next to the seat where Harry and Ginny sat together.

Not wanting to offend Mrs. Weasley by getting up and leaving, which she strongly felt like doing at that moment, she braced herself and remained seated. Now almost involuntarily, Hermione started humming to herself and looked away from the couple sitting next to her.

“Ginny, we're getting married tomorrow!”

“I know! How many children should we have?”

Hermione noticed that her quiet humming started to waver.

“I don't know… three? Four?

“Four sounds nice. What should we name them?”

Hermione started chinking her spoon on her plate as loud as she could in a futile effort to make the voices next to her inaudible.

“Our first girl's name should be Hermione.”

“Let's not. It would be too confusing with the real Hermione…”

Hermione couldn't stand it anymore. She got up and walked away from the kitchen, accidentally knocking her plate full of food to the floor in the process.

“Hermione! What are you doing?”

She didn't answer as she swung open the door and walked out.

Hermione stumbled out the front door, tears streaming down her face and sobs shaking her body. She tripped over a sapling root and fell down, but she did not make a single attempt to get up again.

“Harry…” she whispered, her face down on the grass, “Oh, my Harry…”

She lay there, while the soft breeze billowed across the lawn and whipped her hair back and forth. Back and forth, it went. Back and forth.

Then, all of a sudden, her hair stopped moving with the wind, even though the breeze continued to frisk about in the air. A hand was on her hair. A large, warm, comforting hand. It was cradling her head very tenderly, ever so tenderly… It was stroking her hair back and forth, slowly and carefully, like it was savoring every moment it made contact with her bushy tresses.

Hermione looked up, her eyes swollen with tears and her cheeks lined with tears tracks. Her cracked, broken heart caught in her throat as she saw the most beautiful sight in front of her. Harry was peering down at her, his left hand stroking her hair and his right holding her waist. His green eyes were filled with so much concern, and Hermione felt him rocking her slowly.

“Harry.” Her voice came out as a mere croak.

“Hermione,” Harry murmured. “What's wrong?”

Suddenly, this fantasy Hermione was in right now left her and reality came crashing down into place. With a violent jolt that ran like electricity through her body, she realized that she gave away her cover. The precious cover she so carefully carried out up to this point was ripped away from her, leaving her cold, bare, and vulnerable, like a babe without her parents.

Hermione rearranged her features into a nervous smile. “Nothing's wrong, Harry. I… I just bit my tongue really hard. Nothing to worry about.”

Harry, looking stern, said, “Tell me the truth, Hermione.”

“I'm telling the truth!” Hermione said quickly, feeling both elated that Harry knew her so well as to know she was lying, but also feeling more anxious because she was running out of excuses.

Harry shook his head. “Hermione, if you don't tell me right now…”

“Harry, please,” Hermione interrupted desperately, realizing with another jolt of her heart that more tears were pricking the corner of her eyes. “Don't worry about me. Go back and finish your breakfast. Go on. Ginny's waiting.”

“Hermione—

“Go, Harry!” Hermione's voice grew cold and commanding, thoroughly disorienting both of them.

There was a brief pause between them, where the legato of the wind quickened and the leaves of the trees danced to the airstream's song. The sun retreated, leaving only a few feeble shafts of weak light to browse upon the green lawn. The clouds that were pure white just moments before grew gray and gloomy, while the wind danced in the air and its pitch grew higher and higher every second.

Harry stared at Hermione for a little while longer, his gaze showing obvious hurt and bewilderment. Hermione then felt her heart succumbing to deep, deep cracks—deeper than anything else before—and leaving a resounding gong of cracks throughout her entire frame. She was surprised that Harry showed no signs of hearing those awful, awful sounds. Instead, he lifted his hand off her hair, stood up, and walked briskly back toward the Burrow.

Hermione looked after his receding back, and silver tears once again crept out from her eyelids and tumbled down her face. Her bushy hair whisked across her face, yet she did not bother to toss them back. Her tear-stricken eyes were only fixed upon the door in which Harry just closed behind him.

“I'm sorry, Harry,” Hermione whispered shakily, tears still streaming down her cheeks in torrents, “I'm so, so sorry.”

And she remained there, staring at the door that Harry went through and continued to feel more cracks wend their way through her battered heart.

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A/N: PLEASE REVIEW! This is still not the end, though. Oooh, what will happen between Harry and Hermione?

A/N #2: For all the angst fanatics out there: Personally, I think so far that this story doesn't come close to the angst level of my other fic posted on Portkey. It's called Requiem, and it's super sad. The angst is very, very heavy in that one, so feel free to check it out!