Disclaimer; This poem was one I wrote in class so I wouldn't sleep. Everything else is J.K Rowling's work.
Hermione was sick of it. Her best friend wasn't the same. He was ... odd. Hermione wanted to do something. She wrote him a letter.
--
Harry opened his Defence Against the Dark Arts book. Stupid class. I'm gonna die facing Voldemort, anyway!' he thought. A folded piece of paper fell out, and landed on his lap. What's this? Harry unfolded the paper and read. It said;
Poor little emo,
he crys at night.
Poor little emo,
his wrists get a 'razor blade fright'
poor little emo,
wearing all black.
poor little emo,
no turning back.
Poor little emo,
you're not smart.
Poor little emo,
finish what you start.
Poor little emo,
Stop slitting your wrists.
Poor little emo,
go look in the eyes of a Baskilisk.
Harry read it again and again. Who would write it? He thoguht of his second year. He remembered the pain of that night. Who would wish him dead? He showed Ron, who showed Hermione, who said she wrote it,and walked out of the great hall.
--
Hermione was sitting in the common room, talking to Ginny about boys. Harry walked down to the common room from the boys dorms. Hermione didn't even bother looking up.
'Thanks.' he whispered in her ear. Hermione was startled.
'For ... ?'
'Helping. You're a true friend. Thanks,' Harry hugged her, 'I'm gonna quit being different, Dumbledore's death is no reason to become a different person. I missed being your best friend.' He turned to Ginny. 'and I've missed being your girlfriend.' He kissed her. And it was official, Harry wasn't a poor little emo.