Ideal Illusions

11/27/03- Finally I have the new chapter out. Thanks Nitya for spending practically all of Thanksgiving betaing. Happy Thanksgiving to you all!

Her Surfacing Jealousy

Words would come and go. Every so often she would mutter a sound. Then the expected silence drenched her every being. Until all she could smell, feel, touch was its tantalizing hands.

The same hands would grasp tightly onto her throat. Her eyes would squeeze themselves shut. Her mouth would open widely, demanding the drifting breeze. But it would not come. And all she could do was let out a silent scream.

A scream for what?

For the frustration that clawed its way in? Into the edges of her mind? Into the pinpricks of her vision?

Visions. Seeing. Denying.

She has been denying too much of her desires. Desires that would beg for her to listen to them. As if she could resist hearing their loud jeers!

Voices.

She was hearing too much of them lately. Both in and out of her head. At rare intervals of time, she would respond to them with a whisper. A whisper that would cause heads to turn in her direction.

The heads would rapidly turn away when they caught her staring back. She could almost hear their whispers. Their hushed conversations as if they were speaking them to her directly.

“It’s that Granger girl again.”

Again.

“She used to be quiet.”

Used to?

“That was before she was with Harry.”

Him.

“What do you mean before? Has she ever been out of his sight?”

Ignorant little underclassmen.

“Well until now.”

Until. Now.

“Yeah, they aren’t attached at the hip anymore, are they? What do you think happened?”

Dust particles would come bouncing near her irises. Her heels could pound on the stone floor. Her lungs would shout at her to stop.

But she wouldn’t. The pounding in her ears would get louder.

Pump. Pump.

Gasp. Breathe.

Her shaky fingers would take out her long willow wand. Her lips would barely voice an incantation she read about once.

She would step inside the tiny broom closet. Full of pails of cleaning supplies and other accessories Filch would use.

The closure smelled vaguely of sour lemons and sweaty gym socks.

Her home.

Her hands would clamp over her ears. Her body would drop to the ground. As if her feet could not bear holding her weight.

This was a comfortable position.

She was near the sweet ground. The ever giving earth that hosted so much life. So much beauty, underneath the slabs of cement the castle held.

The merciful earth was caged. Oh, it was so much like her. They both were trapped without their consent.

How much did she want to scream again!

To hear her voice shout out all these vexations and addling thoughts.

Why could she not do that? What restrained her from making a childish temper tantrum?

She did not know.

Her confusing thoughts were once so far in between. She was never disoriented for long periods of time.

Until now.

She grabbed the gray pail to her right. The gray metallic pail of some substance. Her trembling hands threw it against the wall.

Clank.

Her hands twitched.

More.

She needed to release her frustration.

Another. More Clanks. More pounding. More.

More.

What a sweet sound the pails made! As they clattered down. As the cleaning substance dribbled down ever so slowly and covered the floor. Swept past her worn out Mary Jane dress shoes. Into her socks.

Oh how beautiful was her destruction! The trite buckets were now demented.

Disfigured.

Imperfect.

Their imperfection-- their flaws was what made them magnificent. What made them real.

The world needed more reality.

The world needed to know the bull shit that was life. The media needed to feel the brunt of the failures life produced. The twisted darkness that was real.

Not the sick illusions that were presented. The artificial lies that they were taught as children.

Everybody shares. No one tells lies. You will go to that dark place if you disobey.

Bull. Shit.

Pure utter bull shit.

They were all going to hell. Everybody told lies. Everyone disobeys. No one shares.

The world was full of greedy vulgar people and naïve children.


That is a fact. A universal truth, if you will.

Much like the utter grievance of unrequited love. Oh love could go to hell with her! She had just about enough of its silly little games.

Games that Fate thought were funny.

How hilarious was it really! Her best friend (was he now?) falls in some cursed love state with her and confesses his feelings under the moonlit night.

And what does she do?

Fall down on the floor and weep like some Cho replica.

Pathetic. Too much like the soap operas her mom watched every other day.

She was pathetic.

After all it was humiliating how she had succumbed to such a sorry state. Her eyes colored red and bulging bags placed below.

Perhaps they weren’t bulging yet. But close enough to her liking.

Her feet pattered down the corridors. It was a sunny day and she might as well enjoy it while it lasted.

Perhaps she could continue with her pity party sometime later.

Sometime later, she snorted. As if she didn’t host a pity part every second of the past week since that event.

Ah, she was a pity whore.

“Hermione where have you been?”

Ron. He was her friend.

“Gosh what in the name of Merlin did you do to yourself? You look terrible!”

She looked around the not so deserted hall.

“I can always count on you to make me feel better. Really, my ego thanks you for knocking it down a few notches.”

She sniffed a little. Her nose was clogged with the mucus that gathered up. She almost gagged.

“Are you coming down with something Hermione? You haven’t been yourself lately. More like . . .”

Him. She was becoming like him.

Perhaps now she understood why he was so withdrawn and why he isolated himself. This kind of love scared her, confused her. More human contact would make her take another step closer to her breakdown.

“I am alright, as fine as I can be.”

No one tells lies.

What a lie. Her mouth opened to let out a maniacal laugh. But she closed it. Ron wouldn’t like hearing the foreign sound echoing from her.

“Have you seen Harry?” She asked innocently.

She could see Ron getting frustrated as she searched the corridor.

“No. Hermione, I am talking about your health, why won’t you listen?”

She didn’t want to listen. Her health could go to hell and perhaps get acquainted with unrequited love.

Hello I am Hermione’s poor health and you? Why I am Hermione’s unrequited love, pleasure to meet you.

“Hello Hermione! Don’t zone out on me!”

He looked quite silly when he waved his hands like that.

“I never knew you were such a mother hen, Ron. You surprise me everyday.”

Heh. He looked quite funny when he turned red like that.

“Hermione!”

Why did he repeat her name so much? Did he like hearing his own -


Harry.

“What is it with you today?”

Harry was with her.

With her.

“Herm -”

“I’ll see you later Ron.”

She ran as fast as her feet could carry her.