Title- Outside
Author- Song Prophet
Improv- Crown~Root~Glitter~Spring
POV- Hermione
Year- 7th
Rating- PG-13
Disclaimer- This story is based on characters created by J.K. Rawling. No infringement is intended.
Summary- Hermione stares blankly into the mirror, and reflects upon the way her life has turned out.
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She had never seen something so strange and awkward.
She knew, somewhere in the back of her mind, that the person she was staring at was her- That the hand running down their face was her own. But the face staring back at her couldn't possibly be hers. She did not look like that.
She did not have those long sweeping cheekbones, that rounded nose, that long wavy hair, almost auburn in color. She did not have eyes that shined so deep a color green, those rich, pouty lips, or those perfectly straight teeth.
She was not seventeen.
Or at least she did not feel it. Inside, she felt like the same eleven year old girl who had wrapped her arms around the neck of the boy that lived, begging him to be careful. She felt like the same thirteen year old who had slapped the serpent, living to tell the tale, and had gone back in time with her best friend.
She did not feel like this seventeen year old, who had been betrayed and hurt by those she loved. This seventeen year old who was hated, and even feared. This seventeen year old that was alone in the world.
Alone, that was, except for the serpent, who was wrapping his way around her heart, squeezing upon it until it felt about to burst. But for all intents and purposes, she was alone- The boy who lived no longer lived to be her love, or even her friend. And Ron- Their friendship had been ruined the day the serpent had slithered into her life.
She still remembered that day clearly. The day her life had ended. It was a beautiful spring day, during their sixth year. Harry had just told her no longer 'loved' her, and she had run. Run right into the arms of the enemy- And been caught by her best friend.
She could still remember the way Ron had stood in front of her, the picture of the three of them in his hands, tearing it to little shreds, sending them falling to the ground. In that moment he had denied all the roots that had grown the six years before that.
He had left her standing on the edge of the abyss, with only the serpent for company. The serpent, who was all glitter and glamour to the outside world, but inside was nothing more than a rotting soul. A soul that he was trying to save through her.
As if he thought that by placing a royal crown on her tainted head, she would become more than what she was. A mudblood. Yes, she was a mudblood, but in his words, how could she have done anything about it? She certainly couldn't be blamed for heredity.
But she was still on the outside, looking in. Looking in at the life that used to be hers- The life that Ron and Harry still led, running about the corridors together like there was nothing to trouble them in the world. As if they had erased her from their minds, like she was a blot on the map of their lives to be ignored and drawn over.
She knew what they said about her. That she was as crazy as anyone could be. That she was a lying, cheating whore. That she was fraternizing with the enemy, that she was a spy.
And she knew there was nothing she could about it. No matter how hard she tried, she was shunned. Shunned by everyone but the serpent and the people he paid, and paid well, to like her. Ginny had scoffed her nose at her, Lavender and Pavarati had foreseen her downfall, and even Neville had turned the other way when she walked toward him.
She had gotten used to it. The loneliness. It was horrible thing to be used to- Used to the gnawing, gripping pain that chipped away at what was left of her lowly heart. Yes, she has gotten used to it, but she had not accepted it.
It was funny, actually. Every time she thought it was finally over. That no one cared, that she could bury herself six feet underground and never feel a damn thing again, the feelings came back again.
Every day felt the same to her. It felt like yesterday to her, and yesterday was following her around like a hawk, eager for blood. It clawed at her back, at her front, at her sides, clawing her open, and laughing at the sport and its ease.
There were times when she was able to get close enough to Harry and Ron to hear their voices, pretending they were talking from either side of her, still her best friends. She tried to pretend she was that eleven year old again, that thirteen year old. She would have even settled for being sixteen and heartbroken from love of Harry, but still having her best friends.
All she wanted was to be one of them again.
But at some point, she had stopped being Hermione, their best friend. She had become Hermione, the girl. Hermione, the object of lust. Hermione, the girlfriend. Hermione, the one to break.
She saw the truth of it now- That it was naïve to think that they would be friends forever. But it was something she had held onto. And now, in the darkest times, there was nothing to cling to. No one to cling to, but Draco.
And Draco was not Harry or Ron. Draco was Draco, a man who treated her cruelly and coldly, warmly and lovingly. A walking talking contradiction, who often times confused and hurt her, bringing him down with her into his twisted web of lies.
That was why she could not believe this girl in front of her was truly herself. It was inconceivable to her that this was her life. That this wasn't all just a nightmare that she would wake up from soon.
Hermione sighed, running her hand down the glass slowly, closing her eyes as her hand made a squealing noise as it ran down. It just wasn't possible.