This will probably be one-shot… a warning, though, that this will be a sad story…
sniff hope you like it…
Disclaimer I do not own Harry Potter… or the song "Concrete Angel"… but I can dream, can't I?
…….
She walks to school with a lunch she packed.
Nobody knows what she's holding back.
Wearing the same dress she wore yesterday.
She hides the bruises with linen and lace.
"Bye, Mom. I love you." Hermione's hair fell down her back in a chocolate waterfall. She smiled at her mother, but the warmth of it didn't quite reach her eyes, "I'll miss you."
Her mother glanced at her and then to her father, who stood with his arms folded, impassive, " Goodbye Hermione, I love you too."
Hermione looked at her father, who gave her an almost imperceptible nod of his head. She lowered her eyes quickly and kissed her mother on the cheek ," Take care of yourself." She whispered.
She walked to the Hogwarts Express and got on it without looking back.
…….
"Hermione. Hermione!" She turned to see a red haired boy grinning widely from within a carriage.
" Hey, Ron. How're you?"
"Great! Hey, what's that on your arm?"
She glanced down to see a purple bruise that spread from her wrist to her elbow and hurriedly covered it with her sleeve, " Nothing. I'm just clumsy, that's all."
…..
The teacher wonders but she doesn't ask.
Its hard to see the pain behind the mask.
Bearing the burden of a secret storm,
Sometimes she wishes she was never born.
" I suppose that after a summer of freedom, you have all returned ready to learn." The crisp, domineering voice of Professor Snape cut into her thoughts, " I'll have expect you all to have read the book 'Ensnaring of the Mind" by tomorrow." He ignored the groaning that resounded throughout the classroom.
"Hey, 'Mione, bet you already have it read, haven't you?" Harry asked her.
She gave him a mall smile, " No, actually. I haven't had time all summer. "
"Hermione? Behind on her schoolwork? Do you have a fever?" Teasing, Harry put his hand to her forehead to check her temperature.
Hermione looked at him, her eyes filling with tears, " Some things are more important than homework."
…..
" Something's wrong." Professor Snape thought to himself as he absentmindedly placed ingredients on a table for his next potions class, " Granger is always the first to have everything done. She's also the first to be a friend to anyone. But today, she turned away from a hug. Almost as if it pained her. I would ask her, but its not my place. Besides… she's only a mudblood, after all." Thus thought, he positioned himself behind his desk an put the thought of Hermione Granger from his mind.
Through the wind and the rain
She stands hard as a stone.
In a world that she can't rise above.
But her dreams give her wings and she flies to a place
Where she's loved.
Concrete angel.
" Are you going home for Christmas?" Ron asked Hermione.
"Yes. I… have to. I mean, my mother has probably missed me." She stammered, blushing.
"Jeez, Hermione. Try not to sound so enthused." Ron joked.
"I'll try." She said softly, studying the cover of the textbook she was carrying.
……
As the train rolled to a stop, she forced herself to look out the window. Her parents weren't there.
She walked slowly off the train and studied the crowd. A woman walked towards her, her hair a dirty brown and her face a collage of colors.
Her eyes widened, " Mother! What happened?"
Her mother looked down, " It was my fault. He had a hard day… I shouldn't have bothered him. It's… my fault." Her voice trailed off.
" I'm here now mom. He won't touch you." She vowed.
A voice cries in the middle of the night
The neighbors hear but they turn out the light.
A fragile soul caught in the hands of fate.
When morning comes it will be too late.
As soon as she walked in the door, she knew something was wrong. Several empty bottles lay on the floor, a trail to the living room.
" Is she home?" A slurred voice shouted.
" Just… go upstairs, honey. I'll handle it." Her mother gave her a pleading look, and gave her a slight push in the direction of the stairs.
" No. This ends now." With her head held high, she walked into the room and faced her father.
" You think you better'n me, don't you? Think you can waltz right in here and have you room, have food and clothes. But what do you do? Go to same fancy school where a crackpot teaches you to wave a wand and practice voodoo?" His face was red with the exertion of speaking; and spittle flew from his lips as he spoke.
" No, father. I don't think I am better. I don't practice 'voodoo', either. Its witchcraft." She put her hand on her hips and glowered at him, "What did you do to my mother?" She pointed at her mother, who cowered under her fathers glare.
He stood up, righting himself on the arm of the chair, " Don't you dare argue with me, you little bitch."
He lurched toward her, his arms outstretched, " I'll teach you."
She whimpered and whirled to run, but the toe of her shoe caught the edge of the carpet and she flew into a wall.
He smiled and raised his fist, the last thing she ever saw.
…….
Her body lay lifeless, surrounded by a pool of blood. Her hair surrounded her face, and upon her lips was a sort of smile, a serenity not seen in life.
" What did you do?" Her mother whispered, horrified.
Her father stared his wife for a moment, looked back at his daughters' body and his face turned to stone. He walked past his wife, roughly brushing her shoulder.
The last thing the neighbors heard before the screaming was a gunshot.
A statue stands in a shaded place.
An angel girl with an upturned face.
Her name is written on a polished rock.
A broken heart that the world forgot.
Over her tomb was an angel, erected there by her mother. Every day she brought flowers to her daughters gave and stood there, quietly weeping.
Passerby's have sworn to hear her say "Forgive me" to the quiet grave, whose only response was the wind.
Here lies Hermione Granger, a dearly loved daughter. She will be missed.