A/N: Sorry for the wait! And I'm sorry it won't be longer either, but I know I promised to get the next chappie out by today or tomorrow, so here it is! Yeah, anyone who is uncomfortable with reading about self mutilation beware: it IS in this chappie. Although I'd assume the title of this story would be warning enough…
Declaimer: I am not JKR therefore I am not making any money from this. Such a shame. And I a sure she would kill me knowing what I have done to her characters.
Chapter Four: Of Light And Darkness
Hermione reaches the threatening dungeon; despair takes hold of her, consuming her as it always does. Her hands tremble; her insides shake; her heart is at her feet as she enters to confront the dreaded Potions Master, wishing to be anywhere else. The gods have never answered her in the past; they wouldn't start now.
Snape is at his desk. His dark eyes bore into her, making her shudder. Why did he have to look at her with those sin- black eyes? They made her want to scream, run, and to hide. But she was stuck standing there, the uncomfortable silence shrieking in her ears. "Ms. Granger, you may think you are here to complete an abhorrent task; this is not the case, no matter what I may have said to make you believe otherwise. I simply had to find a way to see you. You must know I am concerned for your well being; I thought being here without students in the vicinity would ease your anxiety and make it so you could speak openly."
Hermione shifts around uneasily, frightened. If the old bat believes that she will say anything he is sadly mistaken. Hermione feels as though this must be what she deserves, otherwise why would it be happening?
"Ms. Granger, someone is hurting you. This you cannot hide from me. I know the signs all to well." The muscles in his jaws jerked and his eyes narrowed. "Why not spare yourself the pain and tell me who did this to you?" The burning look Snape directs Hermione's way is not of anger, but an emotion she can't name. It sears her soul it is so intense. "Sit down Ms. Granger." This is said softly, drawing Hermione's gaze back to Snape's face. She sees no cold look, no hate plastered there so she complies, albeit warily.
"Professor, I can't tell you anything. I'm sorry. I keep seeing-"Hermione stopped abruptly. Even though she had just refused to tell him she had come dangerously close to telling him anyways. She raised her chin a notch.
Snape sighs, slightly impatient. "If you would tell me something could be done to stop it; you'd never have to experience this again. Are you really that willing to keep quiet all because you loathe me? Haven't you suffered enough? Why let your childish feelings get in the way of your safety?" His eyes flash; it betrays his obvious anger despite the coolness of his voice. Why would the old bat care anyway?
The answer hits her hard, making breathing impossible. "You were hurt as a child, weren't you professor?" The look in his black pools confirms her thoughts. "I am sorry." But sorry for what exactly? That she had asked, or that she was even here?
"You never fail to surprise me Ms. Granger. It never occurred to me this discussion had anything whatsoever to do with my past." It is obvious she has hit a nerve with her comment for his eyes have become pained for a fleeting moment and is then replaced with indifference. "You don't trust me and I never have trusted you. This discussion is getting no where; you may leave."
Hermione can't help but feel guilty as she flees the dark dungeons, eyes burning.
Later
Hermione slits her wrists; the tears, the crimson, the suffering pour and she breathes heavily. It's okay. He can't touch you. You're safe.' But she keeps sobbing. Gods this is too much. All she wants is darkness, nothingness. She wants to just fade away from all of it; the feeling, the living, the breathing. She just wants to become a little more numb, a little less feeling. She should never have been born. What has she done besides be an insufferable know- it- all? What has she done worth remembering? Any other time she could come up with something, but now it makes no difference. She has made no impression in this dark world. Gods she hates herself.
She cries, draws the razor across her wrists again; watches the red drip down, down, down. She has always hated the color, but now finds herself entranced. It stains her skin and the bathroom floor. She is amazed at how much there is. She is so sleepy.
What does death feel like? This is the last question that flits through her mind before she floats way on a sea of blackness.
Five minutes later
Tracy looks around the dormitory, intent on finding Hermione; but she is not here. Worry clouds her vision. Where could she have gone? Hermione could not be found in the common room, or the library, or any of the many other places Tracy searched. Tracy knew Hermione had had detention tonight so they had decided to study right after. But Hermione could not be found. Where are you?
Something catches her eye: the bathroom, left slightly ajar. Normally she would have thought nothing of it, but a lump forms in her throat. She moves towards it and swallows. Her hands shake as she reaches the door and she breathes deep.
When she opens it she lets out a shrill scream of terror and stumbles forward, crying incoherently.
Ten minutes later
Severus Snape is immediately on alert when he sees a young woman running, not seeming to know where she is going. Her cries send a chill down his spine, as did the redness of her eyes and tear stained face.
"What is the matter with you?" Snape does not insult her; the look on her face warns him of danger. Oh Merlin, what has happened?
"I think she's dead! Her face…so pale; she didn't move when I touched her. Why did she do this?" Her body is taken by wracking sobs.
"Ms. Johnson, who are you talking about?" His voice is strained; desperation fills him.
"Hermione, Professor. There is blood everywhere…-"
Severus Snape races through Hogworts, eyes wild; no one dares to get in his way.
A/N: okay. That's it. I hope you guys liked it! I want to remind you guys that through November 1 through 30 I will not be updating my stories as I am going to be participating in NanoWrimo.
I found this poem I would like to share with you all.
The Death Rooms
By John Masefield
My soul has many an old decaying room
Hung with the ragged arras of the past,
Where startled faces flicker in the gloom,
And horrid whispers set the cheek aghast.
Those dropping rooms are haunted by a death,
A something like a worm gnawing a brain,
That bids me heed what bitter lesson saith
The blind wind beating on the window-pane.
None dwells in those old rooms: none ever can-
I pass them through at night with hidden head;
Lock'd rotting rooms her eyes must never scan,
Floors that her blessed feet must never tread.
Haunted old rooms: rooms she must never know,
Where death-ticks knock and moldering panels glow.
A/N: Yeah. I found this poem at my school and it looked interesting so I thought I would show it to people. This guy is a lot like Edgar Allen Poe. So review my story you guys and I will put another chappie up before November!