I was bored. Like every other time before that. And alone. Nothing could distract me from the all-consuming emptiness that seemed to fill me up and leak out as blood. It was the only thing that seemed to remind me that no, I wasn't the walking dead, that some form of life did in fact flow through my veins. And yet my mind still tried to empty itself of that life. It wasn't about the pain that stung with every quick, calculated swipe, it was about the aftermath. The scars that would deliciously remind you of your worthlessness every day after that moment of weakness, the more immediate care you would attend to your physical wounds and wondering who would stitch up the emotional ones. Bellatrix Black, they would silently say, look how imperfect you are. You deserve NOTHING. You ARE nothing. And my mind, washing its bloody hands raw, would revel in its own betrayal. From little scratches to stitches, my mind had evolved into something more and more capable of tolerating pain. Just how poison makes its home in a well versed body. And if you hurt too much sometimes you slowly lose consciousness and sink onto the floor…
A white light was forcing its way through my eyelids, and rudely stirred me from my blissful unconsciousness. Why was I back here when I could have been there? Pins and needles ran from my toes to my chest, and a headache rammed its horns into my skull with every excruciating pulse beat from my wretched heart. Awareness flooded me, and beeping noises became less background noise and more in sync with my body and I realised, before I opened my eyes that I had really screwed up and had landed myself in the infirmary. Sighing, I dragged my eyelids open. Minerva blurred into focus, her face a mute mask the same colour as the white curtains that surrounded us. She stared at me as I looked around, there was a bandage on my wrist and an IV tube inserted into my other arm that tugged uncomfortably. My eyes slowly rounded on Minerva, who pursed her lips.
I tried to speak, my throat choked and I gave up.
"Hermione Granger I have been out of my mind with worry these past hours, you foolish girl" she snapped, and I watched fascinated by the pursed, quick movement of her lips. "What have you got to say for yourself?"
"Sorry?" I croaked. Seconds passed. A bony body crashed into mine and squeezed hard and I feebly reciprocated the embrace "why didn't you tell me" a harsh whisper shot into my ear, "why do you do it?" She pulled back. "Hermione, your arms are covered in scars. The pain… I'm so sorry".
Shrug. Shrug and look away.
I could just feel the imploring eyes burning into my face. I refuse to meet them.
"If school was too hard, too much stress, why didn't you say? There's so much pressure on you but we all thought you were handling it perfectly. I can see now that we were foolish to think such a young child could escape the traumas and academic pressures you have endured these past years totally unscathed…"
Nothing. I stare blankly at the ceiling. How did that brown stain in the shape of a panda's face get there?
"Hermione, we all care about you. You must know that. Those injuries you've been giving to yourself look to have been sustained over a period of three years. Hermione it make me sick to think that you've been suffering this badly for this long without coming to any of us. Hermione?"
I turn away, sick myself of this tirade of self-pitying.
"Hermione please. Talk to me. Tell me what pains you. Anything. To need 15 stitches it must be terrifying"
This time I just reply with "I've had enough. Of everything. Of this terrible world and the things it doesn't offer to anyone. I have no pain, I have no joy. I am a big ball of worthless, nothingness apathy. I feel like 10 dementors visit me every night. I'm sick. I don't eat because I can't. I can't explain anything to you because there's no point. I just want to leave…" trailing off at the sound of my foreign voice.
"Hermione…". She sighs. The monitors beep threateningly. I pick at my bandage. "Hermione I called St Mungo's, I didn't know what else to do".