A/N: I don't own the characters and I'm not planning on stealing any stories. I must credit Melody Carlson with writing "Show Me". It appears in her book My Name is Chloe. Fabulous book, I must say…I really liked the poem and could imagine Hermione writing it in her current emotional state in the story. So…I don't own it! Read and enjoy…
Chapter 5: Loved One Lost
Hermione sat on the edge of her pink bed, staring out her window into the starry night. Her mind was empty, and yet her brain pulsated with thought. Her soul felt dead inside, but at the same time, her heart was wound with powerful emotions. She wanted to cry, but also desired complete silence. Her once-bright golden-brown eyes were weary and full of grief. Her smooth, straight hair (thank you, Serena's Straightening Serum, Number 9) fell unkempt and untidy over her eyes.
In short, she was a complete wreck.
She was in the middle of packing her trunk for Hogwarts. The train was leaving from Platform 9 and ¾ the next day. For the first time in her five years of attending Hogwarts, she did not feel excitement and joy when she thought of going. She felt…well, nothing. She wasn't specifically looking forward to attending classes and doing loads of homework, like she usually did. She wasn't excited about discussing advanced methods of magic with her professors. She just did not care. It felt as if her heart had been ripped out.
Except for the part of her that yearned for normalcy. The part that wanted to rewind and change the events that had passed over her summer break.
July 3rd. Hermione knew the exact date. Her parents were both out of the house for the day. She had just made herself a late breakfast of waffles and bacon, and decided to settle into her favorite chair for reading with Hogwarts, a History. It was her summer tradition to read that book. How else would she correct Ron and Harry during the school year?
She had just gotten comfortable when the phone rang. "Augh!" she groaned. Maybe if I don't pick up, it'll stop ringing, she thought to herself.
No such luck. After about twenty rings, Hermione got up and stomped into the kitchen to answer the phone.
"Grangers' residence; Hermione speaking," she stated politely, as she always had since she was five. "Who is this?
One grim voice and five sentences later, Hermione hung up, staring straight ahead.
It wasn't true. It just couldn't be.
She sank to her knees, right in the middle of the kitchen.
Things like this weren't supposed to happen to girls like her.
She laid her head on the floor.
She couldn't be dead.
Hermione blacked out.
When she awoke, her father was kneeling beside her, his eyes full of tears. She had no idea how long she had been asleep.
"No," she whispered.
Her father nodded sadly, one of his teardrops falling from his face onto Hermione's jeans.
"No, Daddy!" she shrieked, like when she was a little girl and didn't want to be left alone at preschool.
Her father held her tightly as she collapsed and sobbed uncontrollably. The two of them sat there, in the kitchen, for uncountable hours, grieving what they had lost.
The funeral was awful. The preacher was stuffy and threw around a lot of big words like "piety" and "reverent". Lots of people cried.
Hermione couldn't cry. Not until the coffin closed, however. Then, the thought of a person, especially someone she had loved so much for so long, closed up in a box, buzzed around her like a bee, and stung her. She wailed like a baby (never mind that she was almost sixteen).
Life since then had been slow and dull, but she liked it that way now. Basically, her routine was: wake up, eat breakfast, go back to bed, wake up, eat lunch, watch TV, eat dinner, go to bed, and lie awake with tears running down her face.
She also wrote poems. Poems about all sorts of things: life, death, love; filled her diary. One in particular was extremely truthful of her feelings and really (though she hated to admit it) scared her.
Show Me
all is murky, thick and dark
i cannot see of hear or feel
a wall surrounds me cold and stark
a barrier for what is real
i am blind and deaf and dumb
wrapped and trapped inside this tomb
to this death I will succumb
the air I breathe is full of doom
where is life and truth and light?
why is it so hard to see?
show me how to know what's right
show me what's inside of me
She didn't only write about death and losing her way. She tried to write about happy things to cheer herself up, but most of the time, she failed. One good poem had resulted of a daydreaming session about Ron, though. She felt quite pleased with herself after she had put the pen down.
The other part of herself that still felt emotion was dying to see Ron, Harry, Ginny, and her other friends she knew again. They always seemed to be able to snap her out of her bad moods before. But this wasn't just a passing bad mood, she reminded herself. This was a hole in her heart that would take something-or someone- amazing to fill and heal.
She stood up and threw a few more forgotten items into her trunk. As she packed Hogwarts, A History, on top of her clothing, she spotted a picture lying on her desk. She picked it up. It was Hermione, as a little girl. Fluffy brown hair, bright smile with the same old buckteeth.
As she looked closer, she realized she wasn't looking at herself. The little girl in the picture had deep blue-green eyes. Hermione's eyes were brown.
It wasn't her. It was her.
Hermione lay down on her bed and curled up in the fetal position, wishing she could stay like that until she died. All desire of seeing her friends had left her.
She wanted to stay where she knew she was safe.
But was she really?
A/N: Okay, please please please read/review!! I love getting feedback... Oh and I'm pretty much done with my finals, so updates should be every 1-2 days, unless I get serious writer's block. Plus, I'm working on a songfic, so watch for that! Ok, talk to you kids later, love ya...: )