Life is a funny thing. Not meant in a good way of course. It's to unpredictable. No matter what you plan for your self, no matter how hard you try, it brings you to places you had no idea about.
I was 20 years old. This was supposed to be the best years of my life. This was supposed to be the carefree years, the fun and reckless years. And yet here I was, a broken shell of what I was supposed to be. In pain, empty, hollow and tired. So exhausted.
But of course I was hermione granger. One third of the golden trio. The brain behind voldemorts fall. This meant i couldn't, or rather wouldn't show weakness. Emotions of the kind I felt was a weakness. I knew that, but I couldn't help feeling them, could I?
The war had been horrible to all of us. Ron lost two brothers, Harry lost a part of him self, ans I losy my dignity. Not that anyone knew. Why would I want to further humiliate myself? Why would I want everyone to know how I was sullied, how my dignity, my selfrespect was torn from me? Talking about it wouldn't make it go away. It wouldn't make it better as people said. It would make it worse. Make it more real. I couldn't allow that. I couldn't allow my perfect facade to crumble. I didn't want their fake pity, their symphaty, didn't want to see the horror in their eyes. Not because it would hurt them, no I was entirely to selfish for that. The war taught me to prioritize myself. Emotionally I was the most important one. Physically? I didn't really care as long as it was visible scars. Of course I hadn't been that lucky. Some om my scars were visible but the worst of them couldn't be seen by anyone but me.
You know some people romanticize rape. Some people like losing control, over their body, their mind. For me the worst you could do was take away that control. And that's what they did. Made me lose control. Over my body, my mind, my life. The know it all didn't know that he was obsessed with her. Ironic, isn't it? I didn't know. And even if I knew what did he think? That going against my will would endear him to me? That forcing himself on me would help me see how compatible we were? That making me scream my throat raw in pain would make me thankful because he didn't hurt me as much as he could? That bastard took away my dignity. I took his life. And eye for an eye.
But the only thing I allowed the public to see was me killing a deatheater. Nothing less nothing more. I was hermione Granger. I was proud, I was confident, I was pretty, I was invincible. Everyone believed that, why shouldn't they? I was me.