My Everything


A/N: A songfic to 98 Degrees' "My Everything." I 

loooooooooove this song!!! Almost as much as "This I 

Promise You"! (For any of you who have been living 

under very large rocks lately, I'm obsessed with 

*NSYNC.)


Hey, guess what? I have Tic-Tacs. Orange Mint Tic-Tacs. 

I also have Mountain Dew. But that's only to keep me 

awake till Saturday Night Live... or so you think...




`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'


...~*~... ...~*~...
The loneliness of nights so long
The search for strength to carry on
My every hope had seemed to die
My eyes had no more tears to cry
Then like the sun shined from up above
You surrounded me with your endless love
And all the things I couldn't see
Are now so clear to me
...~*~... ...~*~...


Sixteen-year-old Hermione Granger stormed out 

through the tall, wooden, doors to the Great Hall, 

leaving the pleasent laughs and cheerful hubbub of the 

third annual Yule Ball behind her. She heard the low 

thud of the doors shutting behind her, muffled by the 

commotion inside, and starting pacing back and forth in 

front of the doors angrily. An onlooker might have 

gotten the impression that she was an out-of-place 

stormcloud, beautiful as could be but obviously bringing 

misfortune. You see, thunderclouds are as white as snow 

and look like harmless blue-sky, sunny-day clouds, but 

to the trained eye, a bomb waiting to explode. 



She wore a pure white gown, satin fabric glistening in 

the flickering light that came through the cracks under 

and above the doors, with a wide, U-shaped neck, and a 

criss-crossed back, looking quite medievial. The sleeves 

just barely capped her shoulders, and the skirt was full 

and sweeping, with many layers underneath; it billowed 

behind her and swished around her ankles as she paced 

in the dim corridor front of the doors to the hall. 




Half of her long, wavy, chestnut-toned hair was twisted 

up in a bun atop her head, held up by a pair of silvery-

white chopsticks, on loan from dorm-mate Lavender, a 

single faux pearl perched on the tip of each one, while 

the rest of her hair tumbled just past her 

shoulderblades, in all of its flowing, curling, glory.



She wanted so badly to block out the music that gushed 

out of the Great Hall. There wasn't any more laughter, 

giggling, playful shrieking, or yuletide-inspired chit-chat, 

but from what Hermione didn't hear and didn't see, she 

hated it more. It was a slow song, a love song. She 

wanted to be in there, cheek-to-cheek, pressed up 

against him, wrapped lovingly in his arms. But she didn't 

want to be in there; she liked it perfectly fine out here, 

alone, where she could brood over her fury at him 

without being interuppted or bothered. 



Hermione was convinced not to fall into his trap again. I 

won't do it, she told herself, he tricked me into loving 

him and I did; I won't do it again... but... I just can't 

forget the taste of his kiss, or how... how right it felt 

when he held me. She shook her head vigorously, as if 

to shake these thoughts right out of her head by way of 

her ears. I will NOT cave in again. I'm Hermione 

Granger, I don't let people push me around; I do want I 

want, and nobody stops me; I don't melt when I see him 

smile my way; my knees don't buckle when he tells me 

he loves me. 



She stopped pacing and leaned against the cold, stone, 

wall, exhuasted from all these thoughts that pushed her 

one way and pulled her another; she held her head in 

her hands and had to use all her might not to let the 

tears squeeze thier way out of her. I won't cry over him, 

she told herself forcefully, remember what Lora always 

said, no man is worth your tears, and the one who is will 

never make you cry. Okay. Okay, I absolutely refuse to 

lower myself to crying because of Ron Weasley. Gather 

yourself together, Hermione. He doesn't love you, he 

was just toying with your emotions; you don't really love 

him, it's just a silly crush; it doesn't mean anything. 

Nothing at all. I'm over him. But why do I feel like 

curling up under the covers and bawling my eyes out 

and staying there forever?



Hermione dropped her arms so they hung limply at her 

sides and rolled her head back on her shoulders so that 

she could stare directly up at the high ceiling. She 

hadn't realized how high the ceiling actually was, she 

couldn't even make out where it stopped. The tears 

were creeping up again, so she quickly thrust the balls 

of her wrists into her eyes and pulled her arms 

downward slowly, dragging her head with them, and 

uncurling her hands as she went, so that she would be 

looking at the opposite wall, had her hands not still been 

over her eyes. Okay, I have to do something, I can't just 

stand here, she thought to herself, as she dropped her 

hands from her face and revealing her now-bloodshot 

eyes.



But she didn't have to do anything. Because at that very 

moment, who was to burst through the doors, but Ron 

Weasley himself, looking very frantic.



He looked both ways down the corridor upon coming out 

and spotted Hermione only a few feet away,and started 

towards her. A look of loathing appeared on Hermione's 

face, and as Ron advanced towards her, she backed 

away. She did not want anything to do with him, not 

one thing. 



"'Mione," Ron said, "What's wrong? Why won't you talk 

to me any more?"



"You know perfectly well why, Ron," she stated in a 

quiet, hurt voice, very unlike her usual self. She bowed 

her head and busied herself with the tile patterns on the 

floor.


"No, I DON'T, Hermione, and I'd really appreciate it if 

you'd tell me why you suddenly stop talking to your 

boyfriend and then run out on him when he asks you to 

dance at the ball!"


"Ron, I don't feel like talking to you right now, okay?" 

said Hermione, in a stage whisper. "I'm just going to go 

up to bed... g'night, then."



She started to walk up the corridor towards Gryffindor 

Tower, but found that she had to pass Ron in order to, 

which he simply would not allow. He kept stepping in 

front of her whenever she tried to walk around him. 

Hermione's face reddened as she became frustrated, 

while Ron's face showed that he was set on not letting 

her pass until he said whatever he had come out here to 

say.



"Let me GO already, Ron!" Hermione finally exclaimed.


"No, not until you tell me what the bloody hell is going 

ON with you!" Ron yelled back, hearing a slight echo 

reverberating off the dank walls of the empty corridor 

during the long silence after his demand, not disturbing 

anyone inside, thanks to the loud, raucous dance tune 

that was now playing.


"Fine," she whispered, looking up from the floor, voice 

rising, "Fine, I'll tell you what's going on with me! You-" 

Hermione sucked in a deep breath, gathering the 

courage to say what she needed to say, "You don't really 

love me at all, and I've found you out, that's what's 

going on." She avoided looking at Ron's face, for fear 

that she would see that sad, confused, hurt puppy-dog 

face that always got the best of her. "And now, if you'll 

excuse me, I'm going up to bed." Stone-faced, she took 

a few steps forward, expecting the red-head to stop her, 

but he let her by. Hermione still refused to look at his 

face. But she stopped cold when she heard his voice 

behind her.



"But I do love you." Ron said, in a barely audible voice, 

but she heard him loud and clear, none-the-less. He 

slowly turned aroud to face her back. Hermione felt her 

face turn even more red in her fury, and whirled around, 

skirt twirling out around her.


"You have some nerve, Ronald Weasley! Toying with me 

like this all this time, probably laughing at how gullible I 

was behind my back! And now when I've uncovered 

your little game, you deny it and sit here lying to me!!! I 

don't BELIVE you! How thick do you think I AM!? You 

lied to me! You said "I love you," when you didn't! You 

USED me, Ron! I... I HATE you!!!" Hermione screamed 

at him.



Ron's face displayed his emotions so clearly, like it never 

did; Ron NEVER showed what he was feeling, unless it 

was anger. And anger it was. 



"Godammit, Hermione! Why would I do that to you!? 

YOU!? I LOVE you, why can't you understand that! I 

would NEVER do that to you, never! I'd die first, 

Hermione, before doing that to you! Can you even think 

of one goddamn reason why I would want to do that!? 

To YOU!?"



Hermione was speechless and apparently shocked at 

first, but her blood boiled as she retaliated.


"How should I know how your twisted mind works! All I 

know is that if you really DID love me-" Her voice 

started to sound strangled as her eyes teared up, "If you 

really did love me, you wouldn't have... wouldn't 

have..." Hermione seemed unable to find the right 

words, and her words soon became more tear-choked 

than anything else. "Ron, I saw that letter of yours," 

She finally managed, her eyes glassy with tears on the 

verge of spilling out. She bit her lower lip as hard as 

possible without making herself bleed in order to keep 

the sobs that were building up inside of her from 

bursting out. 



She hated crying in front of people, if it was at all 

possible to avoid it. It made her feel vulnerable and 

weak. She liked to be in control of herself, or at least 

appear that way in front of others.



Ron, on the other hand, looked completely stricken at 

these words. "L-Letter?" He finally stuttered. "W-What 

letter? What are you talking about? I don't know what 

you're talking about, 'Mione, I swear... I-I... what could 

I possibly put in a letter that would make you... make 

you think- think THAT? Hermione... I... I..." He just 

barely got all this out and seemed to be going over it in 

his head and racking the recesses of his mind for 

anything and everything he had written in a letter lately, 

rather than actually talking to Hermione.



"Oh... oh my GOD! Ron, you WROTE the letter, it was in 

YOUR handwriting; how can you say straight to my face 

that you don't know what I'm talking about!?" Hermione 

was apparently appalled at Ron's sheer nerve. "You... 

you wrote the letter, you did..." Thinking about how to 

address this, she finally straightened up and said in a 

rather accusing tone, "Ron, when- when we were 

studying in the library one night, you left early and you 

left a piece of parchment lying on the table, and I... and 

I picked it up and read it. And it was a letter, a letter to- 

to some girl." A this, Ron seemed to know what she was 

talking about, smacked the palm of his head to his 

forehead, and gave a loud groan. Hermione continued, 

"And- and you wrote "Hermione doesn't suspect a thing! 

We're doing a great job hiding this, you and me." and 

you had signed it "Love, Ron."" All the while, fat, round 

teardrops, not looking much different than the raindrops 

that had slid down the windowpanes earlier that day, 

had been silently beginning to drip down from her eyes, 

leaving glistening trails on her cheeks. 



"Hermione," Ron pleaded, dying to explain himself, 

"Hermione, it- it's not what you think! I swear it, 'Mione, 

I don't have another girlfriend, and I don't want one! I 

want you, it's you that... that I love." He whispered 

these last three words, looking at her with woeful, 

glistening, eyes. Hermione couldn't find the words to 

express her confusion, beiwlderment, or frustration, 

never mind all the emotions she was being blasted with 

at once. "Hermione, that wasn't meant for your eyes." 

Ron continued. Hermione gave him a look, as if to say, 

'Well, I knew that; go on.' "Well... I was saving this for 

Christmas, you know, but... well... hold on..." 



He dug around in his pockets briefly as Hermione 

watched through tearstained and bloodshot eyes, in 

curiousity. He finally pulled out a small, dull, box, about 

the size of a matchbox. He took a deep breath, and as 

he flipped open the lid and Hermione saw what was 

inside, she couldn't help but let out a small gasp.



Inside the box was a ring. It was a fairly plain, thin, 

silver, band, but there was something that set it apart 

from all other rings of this type she had ever seen. 

There was a very intricate Celtic pattern set into it, 

weaving its way all the way around flawlessly. It didn't 

look especially new, but Hermione found it 

breathtakingly gorgeous nonetheless. Her eyes flickered 

between the ring and Ron, whose gaze never fell off of 

her eyes.



"Wha- what's this?" Hermione finally breathed.


"See, all this time, I'd been writing to my mum, because 

she was holding onto this for me, safe-keeping, you 

know, and she suspected that you knew about it... so 

she kept telling me that I had to tell her what was going 

on with- with you and me. And you know how wacky she 

is, she told me to write something other than 'Mum' so 

you wouldn't know I was writing to her... don't ask me, 

she's been nutters lately, what with the twins finally out 

of school and Bill losing his job and all... anyways, it's 

for you. i mean, I want you to have it... see, it's not just 

any old ring."


"How do you mean?"


"Okay, well... it's sort of a long story, but here goes... 

this summer, when my mum made me clean out the 

attic, I was sorting through all these dusty old hatboxes 

and things, and in one of them I found this. And when I 

asked my mum about it, she said it had been in her 

family for years, even centuries, passed down from 

generation to generation. See, there's this legend she 

says her mum and dad and even her grandparents told 

her as a little girl about this ring. Supposedly, some 

number of years ago, her great-odd grandfather, back in 

Ireland, that is, made this ring, and when he found the 

woman he knew he'd always love, he gave it to her, sort 

of as a- a representation of the way they'd always love 

each other. And so after she passed away, it was left to 

her son, who then gave it to his true love, who in turn 

left it to her son when she passed away, and, well... you 

get the idea. And so eventually, it came into my mum's 

posession, because she was an only child, you see, and 

so her parents had no choice but to leave it to her in 

thier wills. So she had it stored up in the attic all these 

years, waiting to pass it on to one of us, and when I 

found it, well... I asked if I could have it. To give to 

you." 



Throughout the whole telling of the ring's history, he 

had been staring down at the ring, and Ron now looked 

up at Hermione and saw that she had silently had rivers 

of silent tears streaming own her cheeks, leaving wet 

spots on the front of her dress. Despite the tears, 

though, she wore the most disbelieving and blissful 

smile he had ever seen.



"Don't cry, 'Mione," Ron whispered, gently, as he pulled 

the ring out of the small box. He lifted Hermione's hand 

and slid the ring delicately onto her third finger, almost 

as if he were asking her permission. He looked up at her 

face and locked eyes with her, still holding her hand in 

both of his. "Can we kiss and make up now?" He asked, 

that grin that Hermione adored so much creeping up his 

cheeks, while he blushed steadily, ears especially bright.



Hermione reached up and swiped the back of her free 

hand over her face, clearing her blurry vision, all the 

while still wearing that insanely happy smile. 



She answered amidst the joyous sobs that choked her 

voice, 


"That's my favorite part of fighting," 


...~*~... ...~*~...
The loneliness of nights so long
The search for strength to carry on
My every hope had seemed to die
My eyes had no more tears to cry
Then like the sun shined from up above
You surrounded me with your endless love
And all the things I couldn't see
Are now so clear to me
...~*~... ...~*~...


`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'`'



A/N: Wo, I started working on this way back on 

December 9th... it's the 18th now! This took me 

FOREVER to write! But, really, I'm very happy with it, 

and I hope you guys all liked it, too. Talk about angst 

and fluff. *lol* Oh, and this will be a trilogy, but I'm sure 

the parts will take me a looooooong time to finish.


Constructive criticism, PLEASE!!! Not just 'good' or 'i 

liked it' or 'great story,' something that tells me what 

you actually thought of the story. Kay? Thanks.



Disclaimer: Nothing's mine!!! The characters and setting 

belong to the brilliant Ms. J.K. rowling, and the song 

belongs to the very talented 98 Degrees.


PS: A BIG thanks to everyone I asked for help on this, 

you know who you are! Even if I didn't use your idea, I 

appreciate the help. And especially Ami, cuz it was your 

idea that gave me the idea for my idea! Thanks thanks 

thanks thanks thanks!!!