It's all made up to begin with....

The darkness always bugged Ron. It seemed as if each damned corridor lead to a new oblivion. The black was constant, empty and placid. Unlike other parts of Hogwarts, the towers were not lit during the night. The only illumination it enjoyed was from the moon or from the light pollution; although, it was only enough to accent the windows. The light barely seemed able to escape the glass. There was an ominous nothing within arm's reach. Stone walls reached out towards the darkness, and were overtaken in each direction.

The black may have made him uncomfortable, but he had to accept it. If it were not dark, then he would not come here. He was headed towards his secret hiding place in the school, where he could do whatever he wished without disturbance. If the hallways were bright, then he would be easily discovered. He was willing to risk capture if discovered, but it would make him feel silly if it was not difficult. If Nick was actually able to find him here, then he deserved to be found.

He had heard of the House's secret hiding places during his first year. The older students would leave after curfew to gain some privacy. Initially he had been confused why they would want privacy, but tongues of gossipers were eager to fill him in. Boys and girls were bunked in segregated rooms, often sharing the room with up to ten people. It was obvious why certain people would want to get out from under the glare of the institution. Other reasons were later told to him, such as small drinking parties. He had left the house for the first reason, but had often done it for the second. Such was common practice in seventh year.

The House Ghost was employed to make sure kids did not leave their house. Gryffindor's ghost Headless Nick was known for having a stick up his ass, and the toughest ghost to leave the house with. HufflePuff were rumoured to have paid off their ghost and were given almost completely free movement in their corner of the school. At least, it was the story one of Harry's recent girlfriends had told him. The trick to leave the door was simple, if someone leaving the house had a hall pass, then the paintings or guardians of the door were not allowed to tell the house ghost who had left and when. The hall passes were given by prefects to students, and no prefect would refuse someone in sixth or seventh year, under fear of social exile and ridicule.

His older brothers had been particularly good at moving around the school undetected. He'd asked them a couple of times about it and they described their method of anti-exploration. One needed to better understand their surroundings to see how to beat the system. Looking for a utopian place which the ghosts' just didn't know about was an egregious waste of time. The ghost's needed to be out smarted, and extensive knowledge of the geography of the common corridors and parts of the school was essential. They laughed at people who suggested they had a magical map.

Harry, during sixth year, had often complained about his lack of privacy. Ron would jest about how Harry's life would have been made easier by an invisible cloak.

Ron did not end up finding his secret spot; so much as he was given it. During his sixth year he took a course in precognition, and met a bunch of seventh year advanced precognition students. They told him how Professor Sinistra would each year give her favourite precognition student the key to her astronomy classroom for after class and late night study. It was nicer to read the stars when it was actually dark outside. The girl who was Sinistra's favourite during Ron's sixth year often invited other students to the classroom for secret parties and the likes. Ron was invited to a couple of the parties and was shocked by their freedom. Since Sinistra had given the girl consent to use the classroom, unless the ghosts found out they were drinking alcohol, the students could not be punished. When Ron's seventh year began, he was given the key by Sinistra.

The classroom was in a tower no one used after ten. He would still walk in the dark to try and not draw attention to himself. While he was allowed to be in the classroom, his favourite activity to do in the classroom was get high, which was strictly against the rules. If no one knew he was up there, then there was considerably less chance of him getting caught.

When he was enough in the western tower to not be noticed, he used his wand to light up the path. During the first couple of steps into the darkness, he would not use his wand in fear of someone noticing. It was the worst part of the trip up to the tower. He held his breath, hoping there was nothing sinister waiting for him to come close. During his years at the school, he had grown to fear the things which hid where they could not be seen. The classes he had on magical beasts described some of the most terrifying things imaginable. Creatures able to tear a person's abdomen open before they even realised it. These monsters were attracted to magic, and often hid in the dark around magical places. There was a reason Hogwarts had hired Hagrid as grounds keeper. They needed a guard able to stop one of those beasts from getting to the school from the woods. This was always on his mind, yet there was always nothing. There was always nothing.

He reached the second highest floor on the tower. Great arched doors laid in front of him. The wooden entrance glowed a light blue by the light emanating from his wand. As was common in Hogwarts, different details were craved throughout the surface of the door. Some details were merely aesthetic designs, to symbol that this was the astronomy class. Other details were charms for protection from evil and luck to whoever walked through the door.

He was far enough from the populated parts of the school he probably did not have to be anxious about being loud, but that did not stop his hands from shaking. There was something foreboding about sounds in the endless silence surrounding him. As if even the smallest creek was comparable to a shriek. It took him a couple of seconds to muster up the courage to unlock the door. The key, far larger than it needed to be, was a couple of inches long. Ron wondered if the size of the key corresponded to the magical complexity the key needed to exert. It would seem to be illogical otherwise. He slid the key into the key whole with ease, and it slowly started to glow.

The glow grew in increments, as if it were an infection spreading over the door. Different strands grew outwards in a web formation. The web would interconnect itself and grow on top of itself. The strands consumed the area of the wood, with precision not to miss any part. Soon the whole entrance was a bright blue, while the charms were glowing a harsh red. He pulled the key out of its whole, and took a step back. Darkness began growing in a similar fashion as the glow from the keyhole. Only, the darkness was empty, no glow, no wood. The glow retreated and was soon overcome; he found himself standing in front of an empty arch.

He smiled to himself lightly and moved his feet forward. The precognition classroom was known for its magical plafond. The ceiling was seemingly invisible; the night sky was clear over top. If one did not already about how the classroom worked, then they would claim there was no room. Each star was perfectly aligned to where it was on the night sky, to the most precise detail. It was a magical construction similar to a giant telescope. The view could be enhanced, certain parts could be zoomed in to, and past skis could be replayed on demand.

In the centre of the room sat a small pedestal, from which the display was controlled. The night sky was not the only forum of study for precognition, but for the earlier grades' years astronomy is a nice introduction. His course of precognition, while it took place in the same room, largely avoided reading the stars, for the stars are mostly indifferent. The emotional weight, magical presence, aura of intention, was all about dust and rock. The stars care for gas, and for gravity, not of people. To experience precognition, to see with eyes unseen, one needed to view a person, or a hope. A reading tries to understand a collage of trapped feelings, hidden in the magical resonance floating through the air. The feelings have to have a subject, a purpose for there to be a purpose; the stars' purpose is existence, all that is, logos. It was fascinating to study, but without practicality. The purpose found in the minds and magic of people are emotions; they project how they care, think, hope, fantasize about what is around them.

Precognition was something that fascinated him, the first subject to spark interest. It was a difficult field, of which the Hogwarts's class only gave a slight introduction. He could read blanketed emotions common in crowds, but this was all. Masters of precognition could read the future subconsciously so that their actions conformed to the probable and pleasurable. Many institutions of learning did not give precognition much respect, claiming they were emphasising reading and experiencing instead of using magic. He did not know why exactly he was interested in it. Maybe his loneliness was why he liked it, because then he could read his resonance on people around him, read his own projection. Prove he exists.

The subject had little effect on him at the moment. He was here for hedonistic pleasures. The few things on his mind were: the ache in his left ankle, the spliff in his shirt pocket, the dry feeling on his lips, and that fucking supernova near Orion's Belt that didn't mind it would soon no longer exist. Okay, so maybe certain parts of it still mattered, but only parts.

He took out a wooden match, and lit the spliff between his lips. The smoke lightly danced down through his voice box. He wished for a moment he could be the stars, or he could be the projection, maybe. Exhale. Perhaps he just needed to clear his head; it was all too much for him. He leaned on the wall, and inhaled once more. It felt as if he had the pressure of existence on his face, and it drilled inwards.

For a couple of minutes there was little change. He enjoyed his breaths of smoke, trying to pacify his muscles. A knock. He turned his head towards the doorway. A silhouette stood underneath the arch.

"Jesus Hermione, you scared the shit out of me," he muttered as he tried to hide his fright.

Hermione walked out from under the arch in his direction. It was quiet enough that her attempts to suppress her laughter were loud enough for him to hear. "You know Ron, if you care about not being scared, I suggest we no longer meet in the crazy fucking scary tower," she joked. Once she was close enough, she reached out her hand and took the spliff from between his lips. She inhaled, but it was out. Ron took out another match and relit it. She breathed in, slowly.

Ron smiled and put his matches back in his coat. "I don't think I will ever be able to get over seeing you, Miss Hermione good shoes, taking a toke," Ron observed with a chuckle.

Hermione smiled as well, "don't you know Ron? Drugs are bad for you. Our bodies are a temple we should always try to keep pure." She smiled at him. She stared deeply into the spliff with her eyes focused without focus. Exhale. She turned her attention back to Ron. "Is Harry going to grace us with his presence tonight?"

It took a moment for him to respond, his face was turned upwards. The night sky ceiling was quite a sight, it was even better with a slight high. "I wouldn't bet on it, I think he said something about hanging out with his girlfriends, what's her name? The girl from Hufflepuff." His eyes stared intently, never arching down to see what was on Hermione's face. He was trying to read the story, to see the future.

"I think her name's Cathy," Hermione replied in an uninterested tone. "Of all his recent girlfriends, this one's the worst. I don't think she likes us very much, I mean, she barely lets us see him." Her tone was obviously annoyed, she was not enjoying this.

Ron arched his head back; he had too little focus in his head to be able to try any kind of precognition. Drugs and precognitions were something which went well together, but precogs needed uninterrupted concentration. Ron had done it with marijuana, but he needed to be alone. It was going to be a couple of months before he tried shrooms. He knew he was going to do them though, he'd seen it. Or at least he believed he'd seen it once, it was hard to be specific when reading the future. Though, by accepting the reading, by virtue of the acceptance, was making it true. In an act of defeat, he looked back at Hermione. "She's okay, you're just jealous."

Hermione smiled and punched him softly on his shoulder. "Fuck off man. We stopped dating two years ago. You bring this up every time I'm critical of his girlfriends. I'm over it. " She turned away from him and started to walk towards the central pedestal.

"You could have fooled me," Ron said under his breath. He leaned back against the wall and took out one of his cigarettes.

The pedestal was made out of an old iron, streaks of rust twisted around its frame. On its top lay a small board with switches, some labelled and some not. Hermione stared at a couple for a few seconds, deciding which she felt like playing with. "You know, at least I've actually went out with someone else. I bet you just want to sleep with him, that's why you don't get any girls." Her hand stroked a switch, and the entire room became dark. The only light came from Ron's lips, his smile protruding into where it did not belong. "Sorry about that," she said trying to turn some lights back on.

"I wish that was the reason, one quick fuck and I'd be able to date some girls." He inhaled, the ash glowed an empty red. "If I had real opportunities to get with anyone, then it'd be different. I'm just a victim of poor situation." Beat. He exhaled from his cigarette. Hermione was able to tell where he was due to the burning edge of his cigarette, yet for him, she was undetermined. The room was empty, from the lack of meaning, lack of purpose. All Ron knew was himself, his feeling, and his dreams.

It took a couple of seconds for the lights to turn back on. When Hermione finally turned the proper switch, she let out a small sigh. "It gets a little too spooky in here at night," she said with a nervous tinge in her voice. Her feet turned and she walked away from the pedestal, content on no longer playing with it. "And by the way, that's bullshit and you know it. Under your criteria, a girl's not worth the effort unless she rips off her clothes and fucks you when you first meet." she joked moving towards him.

Ron frowned at her and stuck out his tongue. She moved slowly, each step was accented as if she was trying to rediscover what walking felt like. Fluidly, her body swayed by her weight, in a delicate rhythm. She was wonderfully awkward after a couple of tokes. Beat. "My standards aren't that farfetched; I just don't understand sensuality, or enough prolonged empathy." He slowly felt the cigarette between his fingers, friction was fascinating. "Okay, so maybe it's partially my fault." He closed his eyes in contemplation. "Harry's the real one to blame for my situation. How the fuck was I to know girls were going to be into him like Jimmy Page? I wouldn't have befriended him if I knew, that's for sure. And you know, at least Jimmy Page could play a mean guitar; all Harry did was kill a guy when he was a baby."

Hermione reached one of her hands into a front pocket of his robe. She felt around for a second before taking out some papers. "Blaming Harry now are you? As the only person in the room who has actually boned him, it wasn't because he was a celebrity." There was a wilting smile on her face as she talked, but Ron tried not to notice. She sat down at one of the desks and started to roll.

"Whatever, maybe you didn't, but I'd bet that Cathy girl sure is." Ron added.

Hermione nodded her head slightly, but kept her gaze on her hands. "I'll give you that. Although, don't forget he's also the captain of the Quidditch team. Girl's love guys who have seniority at meaningless things." The paper moved with ease between her fingers. It always fascinated Ron, how much dexterity she had with her hands. It took him a couple of weeks to figure out how to roll a proper spliff, yet she learned it on her first try. Her mind could read and process data in a way Ron did not understand.

Ron turned his head to make sure it did not look as if he was staring. He walked slowly towards the pedestal in the middle of the room. "I always forget about his Quidditch," he chuckled a little under his breath. "It had a nice novelty when he made the team." The different switches on the pedestal were less foreign to him then they were to Hermione. He did actually use the room in the way Sinistra intended every once in a while. "I remember when me and him tried out, it was fourth year right?" Ron asked. Hermione nodded in agreement. Ron continued, "We were so dedicated to leave our mark on the school. All throughout the summer Harry would talk ad nauseum about having his name inscribed on the trophy. When it turned out I did not make the team, the discussion dissipated. I wonder if he stills thinks of that."

"Ever feel sad about not making it?" Hermione asked, licking the paper.

A smile crept on his lips. He turned a switch and the sky changed. His personal supernova next to Orion became the only image on the ceiling. "I don't really care, I mean, I've never been much of a sports guy. It would have been nice to have my name on that trophy, but my focus is elsewhere at the moment. Plus, I'm always sad, there's not much change depending on the reason."

The supernova was filled with bright radiant colours. Lights danced with one another to create a collage of illumination. Each element gravitated and orbited from the centre pulse, holding the energy together. The pressure, and the force rotating at a level, sublime. Hermione's head was arched upwards. Her eyes were wide as she tried to absorb the sight. Ron looked at it differently. The emotion, the aura, the reading: was empty. The star was dying, yet it did not care. There was so much energy and beauty, but it was empty, void.

Hermione put the joint to her mouth and took out her lighter. "There's so much beauty to be found in this school, I almost always forget to look for it." Inhale.

Ron watched as Hermione inhaled, the smoke danced around her lips. "I kind of wish I wasn't so damn afraid of the halls. I mean, I know it's slightly irrational, but I think that Troll really did affect me." Ron hung his head and took out another cigarette. He struck a match off of his jeans and lit the tip.

"Fuck me, I remember that troll. When you and Harry ran into the girl's bathroom screaming about some kind of monster, I don't think that's something I will ever forget." She laughed as she took another toke.

Removing the cigarette from his mouth for a second Ron found himself chuckling to himself. "I can't believe we all huddled into that one stall. Fuck, I don't I've ever been so afraid in my godamned life. The fact that I didn't piss myself is something I hold in high regard. I don't even remember where it came from when me and Harry first saw it. All I remember is joking about something, and then I hear screaming and this big motherfucking monster in the middle of the hall."

"To be honest, I thought you two were pulling a prank on me initially, but when I heard the screams, geeze that was scary," Hermione said. Her eyes turned upwards, and her eyes rested unfocused. She was exploring her memories.

"We were really lucky, legit lucky the fucker didn't follow me and Harry into that bathroom. I think it's quite surprising the thing only hurt three students, it was humongous. Thank goodness Hagrid found it, and had a black belt in kicking Troll ass," Ron reminisced.

Hermione spread her legs out and she stretched her arms outwards. For a moment she placed the spliff on top of the desk and leaned back on the chair she was sitting on. "I'm just happy they found out who let the troll loose so quickly. Otherwise I would have been terrified of going anywhere in this school. I was surprised when it turned out to be Quirrell; I liked him as a professor."

"I heard he was crazy, yelling something about Voldemort living in the back of his head when they arrested them. How he was hired as a professor here I'll never know." Ron added. His memory of the events was fuzzy. There had been many rumours circling the school around the time, to try and discern between the true and false ones was difficult.

As if he'd issued her a challenge, Hermione appeared to be in deep thought. Given enough time, Hermione could remember an encyclopaedia of facts. "He was mentally unstable." She paused for a second. "I believe he suffered from paranoia, schizophrenia and dissociative identity disorder. He was a dark arts prodigy, who'd been hired a decade ago; it was only recently his problems surfaced. I think at least."

Ron smiled, and said "To think, our first Halloween at school and we got attacked by a troll. It's pretty amazing when you think about it. How many people can claim that? You know, to be honest, I kind of thought something like that would be normal. I mean, I befriended Harry fucking Potter, and then got attacked by a troll. I thought excitement and adventure were right in front of my eyes. Whenever something exciting happened from that point on, like that ominous graffiti in second year or the jail break in third year, I expected somehow it would affect us. I know it sounds stupid, but I was let down when they got resolved around us. When the graffiti turned out to be the work of those Ravenclaw kids, it bugged me in its normality. I think I may have been more afraid of normality than anything else actually. How messed up is that?" He hung his head and took a deep breath. The smoke from his cigarette fought in front of his eyes, yet he was disinterested.

Hermione stood up from her desk and walked towards Ron. She grabbed the cigarette from Ron's mouth and replaced it with the spliff. Slowly, she moved the cigarette to her lips and inhaled. The ash burnt a light red, as her eyes were a stained auburn. Ron, without moving, inhaled from the spliff; in the exact place Hermione had placed it. He opened the side of his lips and let the smoke escape.

There were a couple of seconds of silence. Hermione tilted her head towards the ceiling. "This display is quite wonderful, especially high," she quietly let out of her mouth trying to change the topic. Her fists were clenched, but her eyes stayed fixated upwards.

Ron laughed a little to himself and broke himself out of the daze he was momentarily in. Hermione fascinated him; he was still not used to seeing her high. "It's quite wonderful at all times. You're just unwilling to see it."

"Don't give me any more of your precognition bullshit. I could not care less for whatever crazy shit came out of Sinistra's mouth," she said in a joking manner. For a brief moment she lowered her head and flashed Ron a smile.

"You're too analytic. You want magic to conform to a science and reason. But it's not, it's anarchistic and empty." He walked up towards her and stood by her side. "It doesn't matter though, I'll never convince you."

Hermione frowned, and again diverted her attention towards him. "I wish sometimes you weren't so fatalistic, it gets kind of depressing," she added lightly.

"'Since my earliest childhood a barb of sorrow has lodged in my heart. As long as it stays I am ironic -- if it is pulled out I shall die.'" Ron recited in a monotone voice. He reached his arm towards Hermione and grabbed back his cigarette from her hand.

In a playful manner Hermione grabbed the spliff from his mouth, and laid down on the ground. "That's pretty, who's it from?" She inhaled once more from the spliff, and watched it as it died.

Ron smiled deeply and sat down by the spot she lay. "It's by Kierkegaard," he answered. Lying on the ground Hermione's stomach moved up and down slowly with each breath. His eyes became fascinated by her body's passive movements. As time moved on, his own body's machinations were slowly becoming aware. Despite constantly having a body, and experiencing all of life through a body, he often forgot he had one. He began to realise the feelings of his throat, and the surface of his eyes. These were the reasons he started to take drugs, to change how he perceived. And unlike alcohol, he did not make a total ass out of himself whenever he did weed.

He had changed much in the years he attended Hogwarts. For the first three years at the school, he, Hermione, and Harry had been inseparable. This changed in fourth year.

In the fourth year, to try and inspire school spirit, Hogwarts extended its Quidditch house league to include teams from Beauxbatons Academy and Durmstrang Institute. The league, now eight teams, became the talk of the school. Each house came under heavy pressure to prove their superiority over one another. Gryffindor, the usual strongest house in Quidditch, had not won since the year before Ron came to the school and faced heavy pressure from its residents. Tryouts for the house became a spectacle attended by most members of the house. Harry and Ron decided to try out together, and Harry made it as the team Seeker.

Advanced courses in most subjects did not begin until year sixth. Hermione, who had been the top mark of their year, was put into a couple of fifth year courses closer to her level. Only a handful of her courses were of the fourth year level. Since she was taking courses a year ahead of her, few of her courses were with Ron and Harry. The higher level courses also entailed longer hours studying and working.

Ron slowly started to feel isolated from the others. Unlike the other two, his situation stayed mostly the same. His dissatisfaction with school continued, but unlike Harry he did not have somewhere else to turn his attention. A stasis of dissatisfaction and disassociation slowly built around him. The three of them still hung out, but it was less frequent. Ron spent much of his time in the common room talking with whoever walked by while the other two were busy. If possible he would tag along with Harry and the Quidditch team.

That year Hogwarts introduced the Christmas Yule Ball. It was a dance shared between the three schools in the Quidditch league. There was an increased pressure to inspire a sense of community between the schools so that their interactions would not only be adversarial. Harry made a surprising move and asked Hermione to be his date. Ron, at the time, had a serious crush on her. Through much reflection Ron later would realise it was his own fault for never making a move and for isolating himself from the other two.

Ron ended up going stag to the ball and left early. Harry and Hermione were enjoying themselves; he felt as if his presence was only hurting their enjoyment. Over the Christmas holidays he left to stay at his house, and when he returned Harry and Hermione were dating. Ron did well in hiding how well he disliked their relationship. Over time he grew to accept it, and his love for Hermione slowly dissipated.

The rest of the year turned out to be quite uneventful. Gryffindor lost in the semi-finals to one of the Durmstrang teams. HufflePuff pulled an upset in the finals, after their star player Cedric Diggory was injured the game before.

During their fourth year, Harry had mostly avoided the Quidditch team's secret drinking parties. When fifth year came along his opinion changed and he began attending. Ron tagged along a couple of times but rarely enjoyed them. He had never been one for large parties. Ron was also a lightweight, and often got far too drunk for his liking. Hermione would refuse to attend them, and this put a strain on her and Harry's relationship.

A week or two after the Christmas break, Harry broke up with Hermione. They had been dating for just over a year. Hermione became heart broken and went to Ron for consolation. Harry felt as if Ron was choosing her over himself, and stopped hanging out with him. Within a couple of days Harry found a new girlfriend, Cho Chang, and began hanging out with her friends. In frustration with Harry's actions, Hermione started to study for her O.W.L.s for hours everyday. The library became her place of solitude and safety.

Ron, who had felt increasingly left behind by the other two over the past two years, now felt as if he was finally alone. He became overly depressive, and would rarely leave his bed. Whenever he could skip his classes he did. The other boys he shared a room with would try to make excuses for his absence. Eventually he was suspended from the school for his poor attendance, and was suggested by McGonagall to try to get a prescription for anti-depresants.

He returned to the school two weeks later, feeling better than he had in months. Thanks to help from Hermione, he was able to catch up on the school work he had missed. He had missed a lot of class, and was not able to learn all of it, but it was enough. He passed all of his O.W.L.s. He only ended up receiving a single O, and it was surprisingly on Astronomy. Astronomy was not one of the classes he enjoyed, nor was it one he thought he was good at. Admittedly, he did not like any of his classes at the time, so it was not unique in this regard. Astronomy was a reportedly difficult course though, and only three other students recieved an O on their O.W.L. of it.

Over the summer, Harry, who had spent the past three summers at Ron's house, stayed there once more. Soon the two of them had made up, and became friends once more. Harry had been dumped two weeks before the summer by Cho Chang, and was more than willing to reconnect with his friend. Harry and Hermione were able to find a way to be friends once more, and the drama between the three of them soon became the past.

When the sixth year began, Ron decided he would take the course on precognition. An E in Astronomy was required for the course. Ron thought he might as well use his best mark, and try to find if he enjoyed the course. The class was small, only eight, and for the first time Ron found himself enjoying a course. The seventh year course in precognition happened right after his, and he often found himself sitting in for the class.

Admittedly, while he liked the class, it was his fellow students that made him stay. The seventh year students taking precognition, of which there was only six, were the coolest people Ron had ever met. They were existential, deep, smokers, and passive. There was a community between the precognition students, a camaraderie Ron felt accepted. It felt as if this was what he had been looking for throughout his years. Their parties were fun and where he was introduced to marijuana. He felt as if he had found a place to go when Harry and Hermione were busy.

Over time he found himself conforming to their sensibilities. When seventh year came around, and he was given the key to the precognition classroom, he felt fulfilled. Hermione, who was a prefect, was becoming more and more willing to participate in activities against the rules. Harry was never happy to see him smoke, but accepted most of his actions. Ron may not have been happy, -he questioned whether anyone could be- but he did feel as if he was where he wanted to be.

It was surprisingly pleasant, to sit where he was. Hermione was spread out, arms extended, trying to appreciate the beauty of the night sky on top of her. Ron's legs were crossed in front of him, and his eyes were dry. Silence blanketed the both of them together. The supernova over top of them told stories of gravity and energy far greater than what they could produce from their wands. Magic often made Ron feel as if he could change reality, yet this supernova was completely rewriting an entire solar system. Its teeth of yellow and grey shot outwards in an ecstatic dance.

Hermione tilted her head towards Ron and recited "'Contempt for happiness is usually contempt for other people's happiness, and is an elegant disguise for hatred of the human race.'"

For a couple of seconds Ron stared at Hermione perplexed, until he burst into laughter. He'd forgotten for a second that he'd just recited his own quote earlier. "That's a good one, who's it by?" Ron asked while his mind played with the idea for a moment.

"Russell," Hermione replied. She sat up from her position on the ground, and crossed her legs in a similar fashion as Ron. With one of her hands she stroked a strand of her hair behind her ear, while with the other she reached into Ron's robe. Her hand, with determination, searched his pocket but could not find what it was looking for. With a smile, Ron took out his cigarettes from his other pocket. Hermione smiled back at him and took the pack from his hand.

Hermione turned her body so that she and Ron were facing each other on the ground. Between two of her fingers she removed two cigarettes for the two of them. She placed one of them between her lips, and stared Ron in the eyes. Both of the whites of their eyes were red, both of the pupils of their eyes were lonely. She extended her arm towards him, and placed the second cigarette between his lips. Ron took out a match and stuck it on his robe. Cupping his hands, be brought it in front of his face and lit the tip. Hermione's hands stayed by her side and she only watched his movements. He shook the match till it went out, and threw it to his side.

She moved slowly closer until her face was only a few inches from his. With it still in her mouth, she moved her cigarette till it was touching the tip of Ron's. Ron watched intently, as her's slowly started to burn. She inhaled gently, her face crossed oceans. Smoke filled the space between the two of them.

Beat.

My own brain is to me the most unaccountable of machinery - always buzzing, humming, soaring roaring diving, and then buried in mud. And why? What's this passion for? - Virginia Woolf