This is my first little HP fic. This started off as a nagging little idea in my brain that just begged to be written down. This is extremely angsty. It is also very short. I have an idea to develop this into a larger story, but only if I get some reviews along those lines. (hint, hint)

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Prolouge

"Don't do it Hermione!" Harry shouted.

"Fight it!" Ron added.

~Kill them. Kill them and then yourself and it will all be over.~

Too many voices. Too many thoughts trying to crowd their way into her head. She couldn't kill them. Harry and Ron were the best friends she had ever had. One was something more than a friend. Why was she telling herself to kill them?

~Kill them!~

That wasn't her. That was Lord Voldemort. The haze of the Imperius Curse began to lift. She stared at the dagger in her hand, trying to remember how it got there. It glittered in the flickering torchlight. Voldemort was trying to force her to kill her friends. White-hot anger surged through her clearing away more of the haze, but not enough. She couldn't quite break his spell.

"Fight it!"

"Listen Hermione, you can fight him!"

"KILL THEM!" Voldemort screamed, growing angry.

She gripped the knife tighter and closed her eyes. Out of all the voices fighting in her head, one was missing. Her own cool, confident, logical, capable brain. It would know what to do. She searched for that voice. She heard it faintly over the cacophony in her head. It had a solution. She would do what Voldemort wanted, just not in the order he had suggested.

With a decision made, the inner conflict stilled. Her muscles relaxed, she flipped the knife into a good stabbing grip. Her eyes opened, a slight smile pulled at the corner of her mouth. Voldemort began to laugh, thinking he'd won. Harry and Ron stared in horrified disbelief.

It took only three steps to close the distance between her and them.

"Hermione…" Ron pleaded desperately "…you can fight him."

"I'm sorry." She whispered. She raised the knife high… and plunged it into herself.

"NOOO!!!" Three male voices yelled out, one filled with anger, the others with terrible sadness and loss. She sank to the floor, heedless of the rest of the world. It was over. She had made her choice, and stuck by her friends. And as a finishing touch, she had just saved the world.

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You want me to resurrect Hermione from the dead? Or do you like the idea of heroic martyrdom? It'll cost three seconds of your time in that little review button there. ;)

.•´¨`•»¦«•Kerowyn•»¦«•´¨`•.