Notes: Inspired by Emilie Autumn: "306."
Three minutes is all she needs to slip away from her overly doting friends, from the looks of pity stamped across their faces, the way their hands clasp her arms like jailors'.
They don't understand. No one ever understands, and Hermione can't take it anymore. They aren't the ones who were taken by Death Eaters on the eve of their fifteenth birthday. They aren't the ones passed around like a party souvenir at the next meeting, the maroon eyes of the Dark Lord drinking in every gasp she made, every shriek that tore from her lips, every bruise that flowered and every cut that blossomed, with greedy intensity. Harry might have rescued her, but her soul still burned there.
She knows how to put out the fire, though. That's why she's here. Apparating away from her friends took more than a bit of skill and she knows that they will trace it soon. It was risky Apparating when she's only sixteen and has only read up on the theory, but she's the brightest witch of her generation, after all. She hasn't even splinched herself.
The water looks glassy in the purple-misted twilight. She balances carefully on the railing of the covered bridge, her shoes neatly piled on the boards behind her. Her wand is stuffed down the left one. She doesn't need it anymore. Maybe someone else can make use of it. If not a witch or wizard, an enterprising and curious Muggle child, wandering along and finding a new toy to play magic with. She likes that thought.
In the distance, she hears the muted pops of Apparition. They have found her sooner than she thought they would. No matter. She smiles with heart-stopping sweetness and lets go.
The water is bitterly cold, leeching the warmth from her body. It is hard not to fight, hard not to struggle against the ripples buffeting her from all sides, the water sloshing into her mouth. She coughs and sputters, treading water for a moment before she deliberately stills her body as much as she can.
She sinks, feeling the water burn her lungs, watching the last bubbles of her air escape to the surface. Above her, she can vaguely hear shouting, hear the thud of boots on the cracked boards of the bridge. It doesn't matter. It is too late, and somewhere deep in the last, swamped recesses of her mind, she knows that.
Eternity passes, and the fire in her soul is quenched.