'Red.' she thought. 'Always the same, always predictable.'
As always she tore off a piece of cloth from her storage supply, which was safely hidden beneath a loose floorboard underneath her bed. Using her left index finger she traced the tip of her nail over the piece of flesh. Once a warm shade of peach only mere minutes ago was now stained with a dark red.
Every now and then she would scrunch up her face in concentration at her handiwork. It really was quite professional looking if studied well enough. Not really something that would be done by a mere sixteen year old, no. More like something of one who had been groomed to perform such acts, had studied them relentlessly day and night, and had toiled on precision dummies to get it down to perfection. Yes that was the only real word for it really.
Perfection.
If anyone were to ask her the meaning of such a word she would probably come up with a quick and lengthy textbook definition without a second to spare. And of course everyone would nod in agreement with her statement since well it just had to be right coming from her mouth. Her mouth.
Her big mouth with its stupid bucktoothed teeth.
Each time spouting out words with fancy professional answers. Each answer coming from her brain.
Her big brain.
The stupid thing was more trouble than it was really worth. What good was the damn thing anyways? All it did was get her into one big mess after another. After all if the bloody thing didn't stop functioning like it usually did she would be done by now until the next night. Or was it day? She never really focused on dates and times for awhile now. How long had it been since she had received an owl from anyone?
Pulse.
A letter asking how her summer holidays were going?
Pulse.
The only swish of feathers she had seen was the normal brown one's belonging to the school containing a letter with the famous Hogwarts' seal.
Pulse.
Only a list of upcoming school supplies, textbooks, and a separate letter with the seal of her head of house.
Pulse.
It contained her name, some nonsense of fancy script about duties and such over the years, and one final sentence.
Pulse.
Miss Granger, it is my great delight to offer you congratulations on becoming this year's Head Girl.
Pulse.
Carefully she placed the piece of metal down on the edge of her night table. This always happened when she got to thinking while doing this. If her mind even started to put together separate thoughts she lost a slip of her focus along with the control it brought. If she continued to act this way she might go to deep. Which of course would be quite a shame since she had no intention of letting up on it.
Glancing over at her desk she noticed a piece of paper out of place with her neat piles of already completed assignments, a few extra credit reports for at least half of her professors, and a group of fresh quills. A flow of wind from the heating system in the house played with the edges of the parchment like a child stroking their favorite doll's hair with a brush. For some reason it annoyed the hell out of her. How could a simple piece of parchment be toyed with so easily by a weak force like the breeze?
Sure it looked entrancing to an onlooker but when you got right down to it all the wind really was doing was providing the parchment with the false feeling of freedom of becoming one with the light breeze. Didn't the breeze know that the parchment would never be able to float along with the breeze no matter how much it longed to do so?
Once the breeze realized how useless its attempts were it would drift away only to leave the parchment to its poor existence. Not once ever knowing the freedom it desired nor the joy it had brought. Fickle was the right word for it.
She glared as the parchment as it settled back on the table, the breeze gone as quickly as it had appeared. She glared harder at the papers though it would either vanish before her or burn a hole through it. Neither seemed to take effect. She hated it! It simply drove her mad!
Glancing at her instrument on the night table, she picked it up with her clean hand and in a few strides came to the stop in front of the parchment. She placed her left index finger against the opened mark and pushed against it with easing force until some red started to squeeze through the pressure. Using the same fingers she made a quick line across the page.
Then she placed her instrument against the red on her arm and drew it away once it looked fulfilled. Placing the tip against the parchment she started writing in small, articulate script which as she moved down the page became more savage and brutal against the parchment. To an onlooker it might seem that she was just rushing against the table but if they looked close enough they could actually see the red marks blurring with each passing stroke until it became one big, articulate blur of red.
Finally with one last scrape she stopped and picked her head up, her nose nearly touching the table with a speck of red at the end. If anyone else had happened to peak at the mess they would only see a whirlwind of red scripts and designs gliding across the page, but she saw what it meant to say. Like a code only the cleverest of people could figure out but simple enough that anyone with a strong insight would be able to understand.
One word, pure and simple as it was but complex and encripted if looked at with a deeper meaning.
She walked over to her bed, instrument in hand, and picked up the forgotten piece of cloth which had been discarded in her wake. She opened the night table's top drawer, drawing out her wand and whispered a quick cleaning spell upon her arm and the top of the desk. Just as she was finishing up wrapping the cloth around her arm a knock on her door made her flinch on the last knot.
"Hermione," her mother called gently. "Are you still up?"
It took her a moment to focus her attention away from the knot and onto the force behind the door. Finally after a moment her mind settled back into routine. She removed her hand from the cloth, took her wand in her dominant hand, and eased the tip against the cloth. She muttered a single word and watched as the once white cloth began to blend in with her skin until it was unnoticeable. She placed her wand back in the top drawer, gathered her instrument and placed it in its storage compartment underneath the floorboard. All this was done in a matter of a few fast seconds minus the sudden relapse back to herself.
She moved toward the door and let it open ajar, just enough to show a quick glance at her mother. "I'm just finishing up something for school Mum," she replied.
It was a standard reply which she used quite often but one that was never needed an explanation based on the fact that neither of her parents would be able to understand half of what she tried explaining to them. She placed a small smile on her lips to show that nothing was amiss which added a slight sprinkle of reassurance for her mother's sake.
"Alright, just don't spend all night on it," she said returning her daughter's plastered grin with a small smile as she turned down the hall. "You've spent so much of your holiday doing school work that we've hardly spent any time with you during your stay." With that she gave her daughter one last smile that didn't quite reach her eyes and headed back down the hall towards the kitchen.
With a sigh of almost defeat she closed the door and froze as she passed the mirror near her closet.
Upon her nose was a speck of red which had been carelessly left unnoticed in her haste. She wiped it off with her thumb and edged over to her bed. She drew the covers around her body for some kind of enveloping comfort not found in the world.
Her world.
She thought with a sigh. 'It's finally going to end huh."
This was her final year and she couldn't let anything go wrong with her plan.
"Just have to get through a few months and it can end."
She dug herself deeper into the mattress and pulled her comforter to her chin. Tomorrow she would act as her usual self and move across the barrier to join everyone else who was looking forward to the upcoming year, not caring about the exams and uprising of Voldemort looming in the distance. The only thing on their minds would be attending the welcoming feast and seeing their friends on the train while trying to finish up a last minute Potions' assignment from Professor Snape and seeing how many chocolate frogs it would take until they found a coveted card.
Yes and tomorrow she would "become" one of them, flash everyone a happy smile, scowl disapprovingly as Malfoy called her Mudblood while scaring first years, and envelope Harry and Ron in a huge hug. All the while she would curse them to oblivion for not bothering to check up on her as they rushed through an explanation of not being able to write to her, which was most likely because they just hadn't given her much thought.
But she would smile and nod in agreement with them. It was her way, to forgive and forget anything her two best friends did wrong even at her own expense. Slowly she drifted into the darkness of sleep while keeping a single thought in her head.
'I am Hermione Granger."
"I am Hermione Granger."
"I am Hermione Granger and I am going to. . . . . . . "