She loved him, but the love she felt for herself was slowly disappearing the longer she was with him. Never had she thought she would be in this position – that of women she had once pitied.

Here she was, entangled with a man who treated her with indifference. He said that he loved her (Of course I do, how can you even ask me that?) Maybe in his own way, he did. But it was not and would never be the all-encompassing love she felt for him. She had put that fantasy to rest long ago, when she still thought that her happily ever after could be found with him.

When he would look at her with dewy eyes and longing (Please 'Mione, don't leave! I'll do better, I promise!), she found herself making decisions that increased her self loathing just a little bit more. Her self-worth could fit easily inside the eye of a needle.

Still, she stayed.

Perhaps it was the expectations of their friends, family, and of the public. Perhaps it was because she simply couldn't tell him no. Whatever the reason, she felt trapped, forever unable to escape the cycle of apathy and repetitiveness in which she was living.

Everyone had always admired and encouraged her intelligence (She's the brightest witch of her age, you know.) Yet here she was, feeling utterly stupid - having thrown away her education. She hadn't returned for her Eighth Year, though she would have been welcomed with Apprenticeship offers. She hadn't sat her A-Levels, though she had studied hard for them. (That's all you care about, isn't it? It's your books, and your studying! Well, I'm sick of it, and I'm getting sick of you!) All for him. For the life they could have shared together.

She couldn't blame him for it, not really. Every decision had been her own. Every time she had put his needs above her own her derision and disgust for herself had grown.

Still, she stayed.

It seemed to late to go, now. Now they had been together for five years, her friendships and other interests slowly falling apart and dwindling. If she left now, how could she justify those years? How could she possibly look him in the eye and tell him she had only been pretending, hoping that if she tried hard enough, he would look at her with passion once more?

She couldn't.

So she stayed.