Please be warned, this story may have some self-harm/eating disorder triggers for some people. Please do not read if you are at risk of such things.
I managed to both write and read it without feeling the need, but that doesn't guarantee you won't.
I may consider expanding this story eventually, if I get enough people asking for me to expand this story, I will.
Please review, the two stories I have up are my first tries, and I would really love some feedback :) thankies!
Hermione Granger walked up to the podium with her head held high. She was the only person to have read the letter.
The instructions left for her were quite specific. She followed them exactly, like it was known she would.
There was press everywhere, snapping pictures of her, yelling out questions, or quietly speaking amongst themselves, speculating what was said in the letter. Hermione quietly cursed the media, they should know better than to be so disrespectful at such a time, but of course they couldn't know what was about to be said.
Rita Skeeter was in the front row of the press, Hermione had requested her at the event. Of course, she would have been there anyway, but the instructions left for Hermione insisted that Rita be personally invited.
Hermione Granger cleared her throat and magically magnified her voice. There were tears in her eyes, but her voice held strong. Silence descended, and she began.
Humans have a nasty habit of breaking pretty things.
Poked and prodded and questioned and interrogated.
Praised and feared and revered.
Loved and hated and welcomed and shunned.
Pretty things deserve the best.
This pretty was destroyed.
Warped and twisted.
This pretty thing became ugly.
This pretty thing trusted.
It showed love
And fear
And reverence
And respect
And loyalty.
The pretty was treated badly.
Treated so badly that YOU made it ugly,
made it sad and depressed.
You violated it.
Caused it pain.
You caused the cuts and burns and scars,
And hunger and starvation and vomiting.
You did this.
You broke the pretty thing.
Broke it.
Damaged it.
Violated it.
Ruined it.
Destroyed it.
You killed the pretty.
You put that blade on its wrist.
You dragged it upwards.
You watched its blood spill.
You watched it take its life.
You killed it.
You murdered all of the pretty.
Now everything is ugly.
Ugly without it.
Without the prettiest thing to ever exist.
Now the pretty is gone.
You will mourn
And cry, and forgive yourselves, because all you wanted was to be pretty too, if only for a moment.
The pretty will never forgive you.
How can it forgive all of you now?
The pretty is dead.
He blames you all.
Look in to the emeralds.
See what you have done.
Look in to the quicksilver.
Look at your saviour, and the dragon he loved.
Look at us and be ashamed.
You broke the pretty
And his pretty too.
Well fucking done.