What do you think of when you hear the name Hermione Granger? You think of little-miss-know-it-all-stuck-up-bitch if you're in Slytherin. Everyone else, though, thinks of my as perfect. Never breaks any rules, never gets less than a 100 on a paper, can't do anything wrong. They are so wrong.
How can someone expect so much from me? I'm only human. I slave everyday for those grades. I've broken rules, just haven't gotten caught. I'm good at hiding things. Too good.
Maybe if I'd failed a test, I wouldn't do this. Maybe if I answered just one question wrong, this would all be better. Maybe if a professor saw my break a rule. Maybe then this wouldn't have happened.
So, you say, why not just go out and do something bad? Fail a test, do something, anything, wrong. I can't.
I've tried. God knows I've tried. But I'm to fucking cowardly to do anything. See? I just cursed. But this is only in my journal. You ask me to say that out loud, and I couldn't. I can do anything to fight my perfectness.
Except one thing. And that I do.
And hide.
Every night it seems I just can't sleep. Now that I've become Head Girl (yet another thing Miss Perfect Granger can't fall short on) and gotten my own room, everything is too quiet. I hear nothing, and feel as if I've gone deaf. I scream into the silence, just to hear the comforting sound of a noise.
But even screaming doesn't take away the numbness I feel.
Harry, Ron, Ginny, Lavender, Parvarti, and everyone else have all gotten boyfriends/girlfriends. I'm left all alone. In another room, in another world. I can't seem to feel anything, not a fucking thing.
So I've taken to cutting my own wrists, a way of feeling something.
All day, I walk around, doing my perfect-little-Hermione routine. At night, alone in my room, my true self comes out.
I cut perfect lines on my perfect wrists, with perfect lines of blood flowing down my perfect arms. I live for this thrill.
The feeling of blood, pouring out from my veins, releasing my soul. Allowing me to feel something. Finally.
No one knows I do this. I wear long sleeves robes, even in March, when the weather is finally getting warm again. Harry, Ron, and everyone else are to busy snogging someone to realize. I could probably walk around with my arms bleeding, and they would notice.
But perfect Hermione doesn't go around with her wrists cut. Oh no. Perfect Hermione remains the star student, never letting blood drip on her paper. If perfect Hermione keeps this up, she is going to go insane.
And that I might.
A/N: Okay, this isn't a one-shot; I am going to do more. I have an idea of what I want to happen, but any suggestions are very welcome. Actually, reviews in general are welcome. Even flames (I love to laugh at them). Okay, I guess that's all for now! Please review!!!!!