the lyrics belong to breaking benjamin.
the characters, obviously, JKRowling.
this was written way back before JKR changed hermione's middle name from jane to jean.
please, if you read let me know what you think!
peace&love, kas

xxxxx

The Diary of Jane

He wasn't even sure anymore how he had learned her middle name. All he knew was that she had been Jane to him for a long time now. So long, in fact, that it felt strange to think of her as Granger and even stranger as Hermione. No, she was Jane in his mind and in his heart.

He rolled over on his bed twirling his wand absentmindedly between his fingers. He ignored the silver sparks that shot from the end as his mind wandered, settling on her perfect skin, honey colored eyes, light up the room smile… He sighed with frustration. No, really she was just a bushy-haired, know-it-all, Mudblood. That was all she could ever be to him. And then there was him. He, well, he was an arrogant, cold-hearted, son of a Death Eater. And that's all he would ever be to her.

xxx

He had insulted her again. As usual. And as usual she found herself with a tumultuous battle being fought right through the depths of her heart. He hated her; she knew it, but she had been on his mind. He had looked her in the eye as he had said it, oh what had he said again? She had been too distracted by those gorgeous silver eyes to even pay attention to what he had said. She had heard him, she supposed, because she knew she had retorted in her superior-it-doesn't-bother-me sort of way, but if you asked her, she wouldn't in a million years have been able to recall the insult or the comeback. Because that gosh-awful smirk and the way his eyes had locked onto hers had shoved every other thought out of the way.

If I had to
I would put myself right beside you
So let me ask
Would you like that?
Would you like that?

She was walking towards him, smiling in that pure beautiful way that she only really showed to Potty and the Weasel, damn them. But now, no, now she was directing it at him and him alone. They should be the jealous ones now. She was getting closer now and he found himself smiling in response as he anticipated the way she would feel in his arms. And then the pounding on the door forced him back to the reality of his cold dark dungeon-like dorm room. Jane. That had been another reason for calling her only that. No one ever knew. Jane.

And I don't mind
If you say this love is the last time
So now I'll ask
Do you like that?
Do you like that?

If she could tell him how she felt… if she could even dream of him feeling the same about her… He was the one, she knew it. He held her heart and her hate woven so closely together and she cursed that that had to be true; but it was. It was this fact, especially, she believed, that was the reason she could never feel her love returned. She knew if it ever was, that she wouldn't give it up for the world, but such thoughts, such dreams were for little girls wishing to be princesses and hoping their prince charmings would come sweep them off their feet and gallop them into the sunset. Such dreams were not for girls like her, they didn't apply when you loved the one you hated.

No

Something's getting in the way
Something's just about to break
I will try to find my place in the diary of Jane
So tell me how it should be

Every time he saw her, he thought maybe this time, maybe here, maybe now. But then every dream of a civil conversation, of a word spoken without the undercurrent of loathing, of a single moment of gazing into her eyes instead of glaring, would soar out the window like an untamable bird. Every time he even imagined the possibility of showing her how he felt, of feeling that emotion returned… he remembered the un-scalable wall that had slowly been built between them from the moment they had met. Oh how he wished he could tear that wall down, tear everything that could ever, did ever, come between them, to pieces.

Try to find out what makes you tick
As I lie down
Sore and sick
Do you like that?
Do you like that?

She flung herself unceremoniously onto her bed with a sigh. Why couldn't she keep him from her mind? Must he assail every thought and every dream she ever thought and ever dreamt? Yes, because as many days as she had sat in class staring at the back of his white-blonde head pretending she was glaring hatred at him instead of wishing she knew what he was thinking about… he still left her surprised almost daily. And on those rare, once-in-a-blue-and-pink-polka-dotted-moon sort of occasions, that they actually passed one another in the halls without Harry or Ron or Crabbe or Goyle, he would look at her with a strange look and then look away, no daggers thrown, no sneers sent across the way. It was on those occasions that she wondered, even dared to hope… She sighed once more. Hoping seemed pointless on days like today.

There's a fine line between love and hate.
And I don't mind.
Just let me say that
I like that
I like that

He had heard it said often enough that there was a fine line between love and hate and he had never clung quite so desperately to the hope that something such as that was true. He knew she hated him. He knew it. There was no way around that. And he knew he hated her, too. But what he hated even more was himself. Because like it or not, hate it or not, he loved her, too, and not only did he love her, but he was in love with her with every fiber of his being. That's what he hated most of all. That he could admit to himself so easily that he was in love with her, all the while knowing, as he did know, that he hated her. But then, as much as he hated that fact, he loved it, he loved that he could admit to himself his feelings for her because that meant that someday he might… just might… on one of those slender wisps of a dream… he might be able to admit them to her as well… that someday they might erase or even blur, he'd settle for that, the deep dark line that had been drawn between them… separating love from hate.

Something's getting in the way.
Something's just about to break.
I will try to find my place in the diary of Jane.

She hated what kept them apart as much as she clung to it as the last remaining factor of her sanity. If Harry ever knew… if Ron ever knew… those words written only in her head… only in her heart… only in her diary… But they didn't know. They wouldn't know. And neither would he because he hated her and she him. Oh, but she loved him, too, she loved him desperately and she desperately knew that it was wrong. She shouldn't care for him in that way, because well, it was he, the person who had put her and the two people she cared for more than anything through so much hell. But the resolve she had set for herself to not fall any deeper, to pull herself out of this chasm she'd tripped into, was fading, dissolving, rapidly as the speed of light and there was nothing she could do to keep herself from falling deeper.

As I burn another page,
As I look the other way.
I still try to find my place in the diary of Jane.
So tell me how it should be.

Frustrated still he rolled off of his bed and stormed from the dorm ignoring the dully curious looks from his dorm mates. There was nothing he could do and he knew it. She would never look at him that way and it was all his fault. If only he'd tossed one less insult, if only he had provoked Potter one less time, if only… if only he wasn't he and she wasn't she… if only. But they were who they were and that wasn't changing… so he would have to once again turn away. He strode up the stairs from the dungeons with no intent or purpose, thinking only of her, only of the fact that he could never show his love for her… he wished she knew… he wished she knew so she could tell him to his face that there was no hope… so he knew there was no hope… so he could begin… or at least attempt a beginning at moving on. But he couldn't move on… there was no one else like her… she was the one. And he couldn't possibly move on because there was always hope, as thin, as spindly, as ethereal as it might seem, it was there. Hope was there. He shook his head as he walked on, wondering what hope there could possibly be…

Desperate, I will crawl
Waiting for so long
No love, there is no love.
Die for anyone
What have I become?

Agitated, she pushed herself up off the bed and left the room, then the common room, ignoring the looks of Ron and Harry that followed her out of the portrait hole. She was storming without even knowing why; frustrated with herself, with the situation she had found herself in. He would never love her as she loved him and still she cared for him more than herself. She would give up everything just to hold him in her arms, to be held in his arms… but it would never be… could never be. As she continued on the frustration grew… her mind had become consumed by this, by him, and still she could do nothing. She was drowning in the battling emotions that had overwhelmed her so easily. How had this happened… how had she let herself become like this? And still she continued on.

Something's getting in the way.
Something's just about to break.
I will try to find my place in the diary of Jane.

His thoughts swirled and churned like a heaving ocean in the peak of a storm and he could do nothing to calm them… nothing to calm the war taking place in his heart. He knew the unbreakable barriers that stood between them… he had felt them so many times… he had built them… yet he still wished… hoped… that she might think of him. He had wondered so many times whether there was any point in hoping or whether he should just give up… but it didn't seem to be a choice anymore and he doubted it ever was. He was hopelessly in love with her and it was slowly killing him inside… He reached the entrance hall and paused for just a moment as he realized where he was and wondered where to go next.

As I burn another page,
As I look the other way.

She was on the steps when she saw him. Her heart froze a sliver of a second before her body as she stared at him as he stormed up the stairs across the hall. Somehow she forced herself to move again, but her eyes were not so cooperative, glued as they were to his pain-filled face. The thought briefly crossed her mind to ask him what was wrong before she realized how stupid it was. How stupid she was if she thought he would even look in her direction. She reached the bottom of the stairs as he crossed the hall before her and then he looked up.

His eyes met hers and his heart skipped a beat as his stomach jumped up to his throat. He was certain she could hear his heart pounding from where she stood just that few feet away. He never realized, the thought never crossed his mind, how carelessly his gaze appeared to pass over her, how effortlessly he appeared to look the other way. She, he could have sworn, was glaring at him as always, and he was not going to give her the satisfaction of seeing his heart breaking before her.

Her breath caught as his glacier eyes met hers for that infinitely brief moment, and she bit her lip as he looked the other way. She tried not to notice the way he seemed to swagger rather than walk and the way he always seemed so coolly collected when she was so easily transformed into a jittery mess inside just by a single glance.

Had she really glared though? Or was it some other emotion in those honey-colored eyes? He couldn't be certain, he decided, as he pushed open the door and the cool air hit his face in a blast. He couldn't be certain, and therefore he could hope. Hope was something he knew well. Hope was just another word for her. For Granger. For Hermione. For Jane.

I still try to find my place in the diary of Jane.