Disclaimer: I own neither the song lyrics nor the Harry Potter characters used in this story. I am neither trying to be J. K. Rowling nor am I making any money whatsoever off of this work of fan fiction. "I solemnly swear I am up to no good: mischief managed."
Something, Not Someone
------ Chapter 1 ------
"…I hear him scream from down the hall
Amazing she can't even talk at all
She cries to me, go back to bed
I'm terrifeid that she'll wind up dead in his hands
She's just a woman, never again
Been there before, but not like this
Seen it before, but not like this
Never before have I ever seen it this bad
She's just a woman, never again
'Just tell the nurse you slipped and fell'
It starts to sting as it starts to swell
She looks at you, she wants the truth
It's right out there in waiting room with those hands…"
Fear; the one word to describe Hermione's life. At school there used to be the fear she wasn't going to be good enough. Then, when she realized she was good enough, there was the fear that she was too good, but not much she felt she could do about it. There was the fear she didn't look good enough, act normal enough. At home, though, it was a different kind of fear. There was the fear she wasn't doing something fast enough to suit her parents, fear that she wasn't quiet enough for them. Fear that they were going to hurt her again.
Right now she was cowering in her room, trying to stay as quiet as she could and not draw their attention to her. She already had a bruise forming on her left thigh from the morning when she had accidentally dropped a plate on the floor. There had been nothing on it and it hadn't broken, but still her father had gotten angry and told her she needed put back in her place. The thirteen-year-old felt bad, like it really had been her fault, but she knew it wasn't; everyone has accidents.
Since then she had been sitting in her darkening room without moving. She was getting desperate to use the bathroom, but she knew she would be hurt if she tried to run down the hall and into the bathroom. Her father never let her use it when she "had been bad", which was almost all the time. Instead she had to wait until he went unconscious from the amount of alcohol in his system. Her mother was too intent on playing on her damn computer to notice if her despised offspring crept into the bathroom to relieve herself.
She stared at the digital clock on her dresser. It read 12:09 a.m. If she were lucky, in about another hour her father would. Pass out in his bedroom. She dragged her bruised knees up to her chest and hugged them close, wishing for some sort of comfort, but bitterly accepting that it wasn't going to come for her. She began to realize that it wouldn't be long before she was killed at this rate. She shuddered at the thought and unclenched her knees. She slowly crept across her room in the dark so as not to agitate her father. A floorboard squeaked and she felt her heart plummet into her toes. Luckily, he had not heard it. She resumed her short journey across her room and to her trunk, which contained her wand, Clasping it tightly in her right hand, she made her way back across her small room, stepping over the spot where she believed the squeaky floorboard lay.
She laid on her bed, heart pounding as she recovered from her scare. She lay there for an amount of time which she knew not before peering at the clock. It read 12:58; close enough. She carefully tip-toed to her door before she crawled on all fours to the bathroom. Everything went fine there as well as on the return trip to her room, for which she was thankful. As her mother was passed out as well, she turned on the light in her room to examine herself in the mirror. The image she saw scared even her.
The girl staring back at her looked to be about 15 instead of 13, but not in a good way. She had the look of a child who had been forced to grow up too quickly, the look of a child who didn't understand the meaning of play or even how to. Her hair was too bushy, her frame too thin, her eyes too hollow. Bags lay under her hazel eyes betraying the nights of fear during which she hadn't been able to even consider sleeping. A healing cut crossed over her left eye, her right eye was black, and a fresh, deep wound ran down the right side of her face from her hairline to the bottom of her jaw bruises covered her in too many places and colours to name.
Upset, Hermione looked away from the mirror and turned off her light. When had her life gotten so bad? Than again, when had her life not been this bad? There was always the negative pressure that made her work harder at school to succeed, but what did that matter anymore if the odds were that she wouldn't live long enough to graduate? She cried quietly until she cried herself into a turbulent, unrestful sleep filled with pain and fear…
"This world, this world is cold
But you don't, you don't have to go
You're feelin' sad, you're feelin' lonely
And no one seems to care
Your mother's gone and your father hits you
This pain you cannot bear
But we all bleed the same way as you do
And we all have the same things to go through
Hold on, if you feel like letting go
Hold on, it gets better than you know
Your days, you say they're way too long
And your nights, you can't sleep at all
Hold on
You're not sure what you're waiting for
But you don't want know more
You're not sure what you're looking for
But you don't want to know more…
…Don't stop looking, you're one step closer
Don't stop searching, it's not over
Hold on…"
A/N: The first song, Never Again, is by Nickelback. The second song used, Hold On, is by Good Charlotte…no, they're not mine.