I don't know where I'm going, not really. I'm walking south past a patch of enchanted daisies that never go out of season. I've got to clear my head. I haven't done this in a while. I used to do it once a week. Just to put things in perspective. I've been so stressed lately, I haven't found the time. I lay down on the damp green grass, not caring that I'm getting my robes wet. I take a deep breath and start to clear my head by listing the things that I am completely sure of.
My name is Hermione Granger.
I am a muggle born fourth year student currently attending Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.
My two closest friends are Harry Potter and Ronald Weasley.
I have been top in every single one of my classes, excluding Divination.
Why is that all I can think of? With all the things that I have been through, why am I only sure of four of them? Where is my head lately? I've lost my mind, I can't find it. Perhaps I should put up wanted posters for it. I laugh in spite of myself. Maybe this is what a mid-life crisis was like. But of course, I am no where near mid-life. Or am I? With Voldemort running loose, it's hard to tell when I will die. Maybe tomorrow. Maybe next year. All it takes is two words...
What is going on with me? I have never been this negative, and I have faced imminent death a good number of times. I feel lost, with no purpose. All these books that I've read and I'm no wiser when it comes to-when it comes to "what it all means" to put it in muggle form. I have perfect marks, but I don't know anything about myself. I've never even had a proper boyfriend. I'm worthless. There's nothing special about me. Nothing desirable. I'm just an encyclopedia with legs, and as soon as wizards create a system like the internet, I will be cast aside. What good does my brain do if I don't know how to keep proper conversation and I'll grow old alone?
I dig my nails into my forearm. I hate this. I hate me. I am disgusting. Not pretty at all like Cho. I see how Harry looks at her, how every boy looks at her. She is so damned beautiful, with her perfect hair and crystal smile. And then she had to go and be extraordinary at quidditch too while I am about as graceful as an ogre when I am in the air—or anywhere else really.
I begin to sob, rather pathetically. I'm still lying down on my back, so my tears fall backward into the ground instead of down my cheek. I wonder if Harry and Ron are looking for me. I should get back. I hear something. A rustling in the bushes? Of course. I'm going to die in the most unremarkable of ways, by a rogue beast like the common girls in the muggle movies.
"Why are you crying? And hurting yourself?" the unsettling airy voice of Luna Lovegood called, misplaced in the darkness.
What is she doing out here so late? It must be almost twelve in the morning? Probably looking for nargles.
"I'm not crying. Or hurting myself," I say in my usual matter-of-fact tone.
"Lumos," she calls.
This is the first good look I've gotten at my arm since before I came to this place. There are four semi-circles of blood lining my forearm. The entire area around each cut is pink.
"Why did you do that?"
"I slipped," I retort, but my voice falls flat.
She comes closer and I realize that she has a satchel over one of her arms. From it she pulls a gorgeous crimson plant that she promptly snaps in half. It begins to ooze a violent purple goo which she takes and rubs over my cuts. My arm is immediately relieved and I can feel new skin beginning to form over the bloody crescents on my arm.
"What is that?"
"A fraielsing plant."
"I've never heard of it."
She smiles sadly before saying, "There are a lot of things you don't hear about in those books of yours, Hermione."
I don't know whether to be insulted or stunned by this, so I just decide to stay quiet and hope that she changes the subject.
"Why did you do this?" she asks.
"I didn't mean to. It was an accident."
"Please don't lie. It upsets your aura."
"You sound like Professor Trelawny."
"Why did you hurt yourself?"
"It was just something to do."
Luna gets up swiftly and cast a pained look at me.
"You're beautiful, Hermione, but you lie too easily. When you come to terms with what you're dealing with, please find me. I can help, but only if you let me," she said in an exasperated tone before she disappears into the darkness that she came from.
That was the strangest conversation I've had, and it leaves me more confused than I have ever been.