She lifted it and crashed the vase against the floor. It burst into millions of pieces. Hermione could’ve used a spell to destroy the entire room in a matter of seconds. But there was something joyful in tearing it down part by part with her own hands. Next followed a plant in a pot and the lights on the bedside tables. She stopped and looked at the bed. The place that made her feel safe for so long. She ripped the pillows apart and watched the feathers float down to the floor. A cabinet full of potions was emptied out and crashed against the floor. Some of the potions conflicted and sizzled, burning a hole in the wooden floor. Hermione found a knife for opening letters on the desk. She stabbed the sofa that he used to sleep on with it until it turned into shreds of fabric. She did the same with his bed covers and mattress. The knife slid through the expensive curtains like it was butter. She grabbed his clothes from the wardrobe and threw them in the puddle of potions. One of the bottles miraculously didn’t break from the fall earlier. Hermione watered his clothes with it and threw the bottle at the wall. A shard of glass ricocheted and stabbed her toe. Hermione winced from the pain as she took it out. She threw the knife on the floor and stumbled into the bathroom. Dozens of bottles on his sink and in the cabinets flew on the floor, breaking. She washed her wound, but the blood still flowed. Hermione’s gaze landed on a white shirt laying on the side of the bathtub. She tore off a strip of fabric and wrapped it around her foot.