At Hermione's funeral a part of her diary was read out. It contained much of her thoughts.
"I often felt alone, being stuck in this world. There wasn't any meaning anymore. People who were family, the ones that I would have died for left me alone without a reason why. I will always love them though. I'll hang on to the good memories and try to forget the bad ones. Perhaps after I'm gone, they will forget about me, but I will remember them forever. I may have been smart, but reality got too much. I leaned towards insanity, but that still wasn't enough. Instead, death is my haven from the harsh world of reality…"
Hermione sat on the hard stoned tiles and watched as her tears formed a puddle on the floor. She cried a lot nowadays, especially when she was alone. It had now become a daily activity. The walls that surrounded her never scoffed or looked horrified at her tears. They never made tactless comments to try and make her feel better. They simply stood silent, letting her release all the tension, frustration and sadness that she felt.
Her parents had gotten divorced a few months before. Her father had lost his job and, as a result became an alcoholic, which in turn spurred her mother into numerous affairs. The fights that happened regularly shook the foundations of the house and left Hermione helpless.
School wasn't any better. She used to be smart. Actually she was the smartest student at school, and she also had two best friends. Then there was the new student, Cal. He was good looking and was very popular. Her two best friends became consumed with the hopes of becoming part of his group that they started to ignore Hermione. They then started teasing her mercilessly, along with Cal and his friends. It wasn't the teasing from Cal and his friends that hurt. What hurt most was that her best friends would so willingly leave her for a popular clique.
She looked at herself in the mirror. She would have been quite pretty if it weren't for the dark rings of fatigue around her somber brown eyes, or the dull, once-vibrant, brown hair that hung lifelessly around her pale face.
Wiping her tears away roughly, she yanked open one of the bathroom drawers, pulling out a razor which was specked in red. She gazed at her wrist and then proceeded to dig the razor into her skin. She watched the drops of ruby red drip down her arm and onto the tiles. It was painful, but it was nothing compared to the emotional torture that she was going through.
She hated herself now. She used to be smart, stronger than this. She wasn't supposed to let words overcome her. Since when did she resort to cutting?
Hermione knew she was sinking deeper into depression or insanity as some people named it, but she didn't care. After all, the physical pain relieved the emotional pain.
She couldn't take it anymore. She wanted to finish in this cold and hateful world, in which there wasn't light. Once again opening the bathroom drawer, she took out the razor and cut. Only this time, it didn't just cut the skin, it did more than that. She lay on the stoned tiles with a small smile on her face, and soon she was unconscious in a pool of red blood.