Disclaimer:-I don't own, I never will own, and so I don't claim to
AN:- The to readers of my other stories, I promise I'll update soon, I'm working on an update now.
This fic is set during Hermione's third year while nobody is taking to her. It kinda hit me, what if Hermione wasn't as strong as everyone thinks, what if she couldn't handle everything anymore? It's short, and probably not as good as it could be, but I wrote it and I can't unwrite it. So instead here it is.
Cry in the Rain
Hermione lay on her bed, staring blankly at the golden canopy above her. A open book was left unfinished on the bedside table. Hermione felt numb, empty except for a dull aching in her chest. There were two other girls sleeping in the dorm, yet Hermione still felt lonely.
She sighed and swung her legs out from under the blankets, finding her clothes and getting dressed. Once she was done she checked her dorm mates were both asleep, and then she picked up her wand and fled. Out of the dorm, out of the common room, out of the castle. Hermione moving quickly and quietly, going out onto the grounds and into the pouring autumn rain.
She walked to the lake, sitting on the bank and staring at the watery depths. The rain drops made ripples on the surface, and Hermione watched. She was soaked to the skin, her hair hanging limply by her face. The onslaught of falling water carried on, and Hermione let herself start to cry. Her cries were drowned out by the whistling wind, and her tears were masked by the raindrops.
The emptiness Hermione felt hurt, it reminded her she was alone. She bit her bottom lip as sobs racked her body, trying to contain her emotions the way she always did, trying to recover the façade she had worked so hard to build up. Hermione the bookworm, Hermione the know-it-all, Hermione who doesn't need anyone else to keep her complete. Hermione the mask, the girl everyone knows everything about, when really they know nothing.
Did anyone know the real Hermione? The Hermione who cried herself to sleep at night, the Hermione who just wanted to fit in, the Hermione who just wanted to be loved. Did anyone really know her at all? She felt so tired, tired of everything, tired of the effort everything took. Why did she have to start all the conversations, except the ones when people wanted her help? Why did she feel unimportant around those close to her?
The tears kept falling, and Hermione let them. She wondered to herself, what would people say if she wasn't there anymore? What would they remember, what would they miss? Would they miss the way Hermione stood up for herself, the way she always seemed so strong, how she always wanted to keep everyone happy and defend those weaker than herself? Hermione doubted it, they might miss how she always helped with homework, but in time they'd get used to it and they'd forget her. All anyone would remember would be her perfect grades. After a while someone would beat her grades, and then Hermione would be forgotten completely.
She looked to the wand held limply in her hand, and slowly she lifted it and pointed it at her chest, at the emptiness and the aching. She clutched the wand with both hands, shaking violently as she dug the tip against her. It would be so easy, two words and then darkness, just two words and it would be over.
"Avarda Kadava," she whispered, a green flash illuminating her body as she fell back against the grassy verge. The rain poured on.