prologue

A sharp blade can be a refreshing change of pace when everything else in life seems irrevocably dull.

If one were to ask Hermione Granger what her favorite pastime was, they could easily be considered fairly stupid, as any normal person could guess in half of a second that she would say "reading." However, while the façade that Hermione Granger put on was quite convincing, the words in the books no longer had the spice they used to, and she found herself bored, lost after only a few sentences comprehended on her part.

Nothing, in fact, seemed to be as fulfilling as it used to be.

She had taken to staying in the head boy and girl dorm during quidditch matches, simply passing it off as not feeling very well. In all reality, she simply felt bored of watching people hit bludgers back and forth with no immediate results, only to get a headache from all the cheering in the end.

Her favorite foods seems tasteless, and as of recently, she had found eating quite bothersome, never going down to the great hall for meals anymore. She took to eating light snacks whenever she began feeling lightheaded, just enough to get her by. The effort it took to eat full meals felt like a pointless burden that could easily be surpassed by simply ignoring her hunger.

Oftentimes, Hermione found herself falling forward into her mattress, despite not being tired, just to curl up in a ball under the pile of quilts and pretend she didn't exist, lying silently in the darkness.

Hermione was, undeniably, depressed. While she'd never admit it out loud, everytime someone stupid enough to question her favorite pastime does so, she thinks to herself that right now, she'd like to be sitting alone in the bottom of a scalding hot shower with a blade against her skin.

Cutting had become an addiction to her. She knew it didn't help in the long run; it never did. But she liked the pain. It was like, for a moment, she didn't have to focus on anything else. Watching the blood taint the once clear water had become her aesthetic.

None of her friends knew what was wrong. All they understood is that she hardly ate, and very rarely left the prefects' dorm to be with them. When she did come out, she never smiled, and rarely talked. In their classes, she had stopped providing answers, and when teachers requested them from her, she always replied with a monotone, "I don't know."

There was indeed something wrong with Hermione Granger, and every student in Hogwarts knew it. The Golden Trio's princess just wasn't very... golden anymore.

end prologue