depression

He heard the music. It was a soft piano melody and almost perfect. It played over and over again, repeatedly, until Harry memorized the melody. He hated it, but yet he loved it. Sometimes it would die down, get louder, become slower, or speed up. The melody never changed. It just kept going, repeating itself timelessly.
Harry Potter was sick of his life. He was sick of being a so-called when he felt like no hero at all, sick of Draco Malfoy, and even sick of his own two best friends.
Hermione and Ron were going out now, and Harry hated it. he had always had a crush on Hermione, but it seemed that Ron got to her first. Harry had even started thinking that she had liked him too, but then Ron told her his true feelings and she fell right into the palm of his hand.
Voldemort had risen, and the wizarding world was split in half. There were the people who hated and despised Voldemort and all he stood for, and then there were the people who loved and worshipped him and his morals. There were also some people teetering on the border, but they were usually leaning to one side, and in a split second they were near to the other side. Harry, of course, was on the good side.
He was joined by Hermione, Ron, Professor Dumbledore, Professor McGonagall, Hagrid, and ,unfortunately, Professor Snape. Harry was surprised Snape hadn't went to the evil side, but just as Dumbledore had said, Snape's evil doings were in the past, not the present. Probably not the future either.
Dumbledore did not seem worried in the least. Snape was jumpy and Mcgonagall was paranoid and cautious, but Dumbledore was laid back and content as usual. Harry could not understand how Dumbledore could be like that, especially since he was as jumpy,paranoid, and cautious as anyone else.
Harry had become quiet and less talkative. He didn't talk to Hermione and Ron like he used to. They tried to help, but he rejected all their attempted assistance.
Cho was of no interest to him. She had become sullen and drawn back ever since Cedric's death, and she talked to no one. Not even teachers. They understood though. Death can do horrible things.
Harry had once walked in on Hermione and Ron kissing, and it was all he could do not to kill himself. It hurt him so badly that he could not stand it.
Harry and Hermione had kissed once. One real time, not like at the train station. It was before her and Ron got together, and Harry remembers it every time to try to cheer him up. It somehow made him feel better, that is, until his own pessimistic conscious drug him down again.
He was going into a state of depression. He felt no love, even though it surrounded him. Once he even thought about joining Voldemort. Quickly he realized that was not the answer, and that was a fate worse than suicide.
Finally, he discovered the cause of all the hate in his life. Hermione had caused it all. Not meaning to, of course, and if she had known it probably would not have been like this. He loved her, but she did not return his feelings. She was in love his best friend, and that can cause a fatal wound, to the person himself or to someone else.
Harry? What are you doing?asked Hermione.
Harry had just busted into the dorm room. His eyes were dark and he clenched his wand in his hand. Hermione looked at him with disbelief and wondered what exactly he was doing.
Seven years, Hermione. I have deeply, unconditionally, truly loved you for seven years. Ever since we met I have been drawn to you. Like some sort of spell. I didn't know what to think of it at first, but I soon found out it was the spell of love. I was hit with Cupid's arrow, and I denied it secretly. I soon gave in and it made the feelings even worse. I love you Hermione, and I just wish you loved me back.
Hermione was speechless. She had thought about these feelings and had even sensed a return of them from Harry, but she soon moved on, and figured he did too.
But, Harry. Me...and...and...Ron. We are a couple now..and I think we are truly meant to be together. I love you too, Harry. But it is friendship love. It hasn't always been friendship love, but that's what it is now. I think you better leave, said Hermione.
Harry reached into the pocket of his robe and pulled out some sort of object. He threw it across the room and it smacked against the wall. Hermione could hear the shatter of glass and she winced at the sound. Harry slowly left the room.
Hermione looked to see what the object was. It was a picture, in a small silver frame. The glass in front of the picture was broken glass and pieces of glass were scattered on the floor. She remembered taking that picture of her, Harry and Ron, but Ron had been torn out of the picture.
She could not hold the tears any longer. Hermione cupped her face in her hands and cried. She cried for seconds, minutes, hours.
She hated what she had done to Harry. She hated herself for doing that to him. For seven years she had broken his heart. It was never repaired and that crack would probably never be sewn. The tears would not be mended. The holes would not be filled. Nothing would ever be the same. No more innosence and fun like they had in first and second year.
Hermione decided to end it all. Right then, before she caused any more suffering.
Hermione? Hermione, are you in there? Ron asked. He banged on the door. No answer. Finally, Ron just knocked down the door with a spell.
He gasped at what he saw. Hermione was on her bed, but she wasn't breathing. A mirror was in her left hand, and her wand was in her right hand.
HERMIONE!!!!!!!! NO!!!!!!!! Ron screamed, running over to the bed where Hermione lie.
Harry was on his way to the bathroom when he heard someone yelling. It sounded like Ron. He ran to the girls' quarters, where the continuous yelling was coming from.
He got to Hermione's dorm to find Ron and Hermione, but Hermione was lifeless.
What did you do to her? Harry yelled. he grabbed Ron by the collar and threw him down on the floor as hard as he could.
She was gone when I got here! Look at the freaking mirror! Ron screamed. He pushed Harry off him and went to show him the mirror.
Harry noticed some paper on Hermione's desk. There were six envelopes on the desk, each with a name on it. The five were addressed to Harry, Ron, Ginny, Professor Dumbledore, Professor Snape, and Malfoy. Harry ripped open the letter addressed to him.

Dear Harry,

This is for your eyes only. This letter is more personal than you can imagine and should not be printed or read aloud or be read by any other person other than you. I hope you get this letter soon. I have already sent Viktor Krum and my parents a letter by owl. I would just like to start off by saying I am sorry. I am sorry for all the pain. I am sorry for the hate I have caused in your life. I am sorry. I am sorry for everything. I am sorry I could not love you like you loved me. But I did love you. I loved you with all my heart. You were my best friend. A better friend than Ron even. Don't tell him that. When I first heard about you I admired you. When I saw your picture I fell in love. And now that I think about us being friends it all seems unreal. I do love you, and it's not just friendship. But it is too late now. I have caused too much wrongs and not enough rights. I hid my feelings away deep in my heart and then I lied to you, Ron, and even Ginny and Viktor. I lied to myself. Denying the feelings was hard. I thought I never had a chance with you, so I decided Ron was a better possibility. I wanted to get married, and have children. Ron just seemed more of a reality. When you told me the way you really felt, I thought it was too late. You are probably wondering how I did it. I used the unforgivable curse, the one that killed your parents. The mirror reflected it all so I wouldn't have to point the wand directly at me. I will tell your mother and father that you are doing fine. But are you? Are you really? Honestly? I just want you to be happy. With me not around maybe you will be. I love you, Harry. Just remember that. Look in my desk. ~Hermione
Harry read the letter in silence then he looked inside the desk. The picture he had thrown was in the first drawer. Hermione had put it in a new frame and made it look perfect.
He held the picture to his heart and collapsed on the floor.
Harry woke up in the hospital wing. Madame Pomfrey hovered over him.
Harry, wake up! Madame Pomfrey yelled in his face. She shook him violently trying to get him up out of bed.
What? What is it? Harry interrogated.
Hermione. Her funeral, Madame Pomfrey said.
Harry grabbed his glasses and placed them on his face. He ran out of the wing and straight to Hermione's dorm.
She was still sitting on the bed, wand and mirror in hand. Ron and Professor Dumbledore were standing on each side of her.
Ron was sullen and his eyes were no longer the bright brown Harry remembered. He had lost his love, like Harry, but this time it was Harry's fault. If she hadn't known his true feelings of love, hate, and jealousy this would have never happened.
Harry. Stand beside, Ron, whispered Dumbledore. He did as he was told.
Suddenly Headmaster Dumbledore started mumbling spells under his breath. Hermione's body disapperated. Dumbledore turned to Harry, smiled weakly, and left the room.
It's all my fault. It's all my freaking fault, said Harry.
No. I read my letter and gave out the others. She told me to make sure you didn't think that it was your fault. She said it would be easier for all of us this way, but somehow I don't think that it will happen like she planned. I loved her, Harry. And you did to. Just like I did, said Ron.
Hermione's funeral was full of crying and sadness. No one wanted her to leave. Not even Malfoy felt that much hate toward the girl. Ron even thought he saw a tear run down Snape's face.
Dumbledore gave a very saddening and powerful eulogy, but it didn't exactly decrease the sadness. Hermione would be missed more than she would ever know.
Harry never found out why he had collapsed. Some say that the breaking of his heart was so painful it effected him physically.
Harry's life was never the same. The beautiful music was gone. Completely and utterly gone. Forever. He could almost feel his heart die as the music did. He could only wish when the music was playing he had actually listened, and appreciated that it was there. He could not even remember the tune. Now it was gone, everything was gone, never to return.