A/N: I felt I hadn't written anything in a while, so here you go. Just a one-shot. Could possibly be seen as a part of or a companion to "How do you mend a broken heart?" but you can read one without the other.


Hermione Granger was making another futile attempt to sleep. Every time she closed her eyes all she could here was laughter, mocking laughter getting louder and louder. There was a voice in the back of her brain reminding her just how pathetic she was, screaming at her for even thinking there was a chance for her and Ron. He was with Lavender now and that was that. Back in the summer Hermione had heard a technique that some muggles used when their heads were too clouded with thoughts, the sort of thoughts Luna would blame on wrackspurts and Hermione would never admit to having. She decided to follow the plan of these muggles, she leant over the edge of her bed grabbing a spare piece of parchment and a quill. She dipped the quill into the pot of black ink on her beside table and began to write…

I am the voice inside your head that you refuse to hear,

The one that fills you with the dread, the ever lasting fear.

I am the voice that invades your thoughts when you try to sleep,

When you think you've got to rest, inside your mind I creep.

I am the voice that's always there, whispering to your brain,

The voice that runs right through your head, floods it like the rain.

I am the voice that must insist, I always have to shout,

To make you hear those vital words, you couldn't live without.

I am the voice that tells you, "No, you haven't got a chance,"

"Don't look upon the world with hope, don't even take a glance."

I am the voice you can't escape, not even for a minute,

Every dream you ever have, my view will be in it.

I am the voice that stops you acting according to your heart,

That says, " That would be crazy, now just try to be smart."

I am the voice that you know you just want to end,

You can't accept that I'm trying to help, trying to be your friend.

I am the voice that never can just go away,

Because the voice is really you, that's why I'm here to stay.

Once her wrist had began to ache and she'd told herself this exercise would make no difference to her life whatsoever, Hermione lay her head back on the pillow and glared at the ceiling till sunrise, unable to do anything else.

A/N: So there you go, I'm not so happy with the storyline bits, that aren't the actual poem, but you can't have everything. Those very cool amongst you, may have noticed that the poem is in iambic hexameter, which I'm actually pretty impressed with. I wrote it before I shoved it into this story and only dug it up about ten minutes ago, so it might not fit together all that brilliantly.

Reviews would be very much appreciated. Seriously, they're awesome.