A/N: So sorry that its been over a month that I last updated this story, but I've been having computer problems… major ones. In fact my parents plan to buy a new one soon so that's good, but until then I'm going to have to put this story on hold for a while. It might be a month or two, I really don't know for sure. I hope this chapter makes up for my long absence.
"Harry, we need to talk." Hermione said as she approached Harry and Ron. She had been avoiding them all week for how she acted on the train ride to Hogwarts, and now she realized that she wanted to apologize and clear the air. She truly wanted her friends back.
"Err.. yeah Hermione. What's wrong?" Harry asked, concerned if she was going to blow up on them again.
"I.. err.. just wanted to apologize for how I acted on the train. It was really uncalled for and I was just…"
"Hermione, its ok. We understand that you didn't mean to, but Ron and I have been concerned about you all week. What happened this summer that caused you to change so drastically? You're not the same Hermione anymore."
"Harry, I don't know if I'm ready to talk about what happened. I don't want to relive it." Just thinking about it caused Hermione's eyes to well up with tears. Blinking didn't work and soon they began to cascade down her pale, hollow face. Seeing the tears, Harry and Ron rushed over to her side and began to hug her and pat her on the back.
"Hermione, please don't cry. Tell us what happened." Ron pleaded with her. He thought her finally talking about what had happened would eventually start to heal the deep emotional wounds, and so he continued to encourage her to continue.
"Well, it all started when several death eaters barged in my house and tied me and my family up." Hermione had to take several deep breaths just to continue, but there was nothing she could do to steam the stream of tears pouring out her red, swollen eyes. "They made me watch them torture and eventually kill my parents. It was the most horrible thing I have ever seen. I..I..I've been living in an orphanage ever since my parents were killed."
"Oh, Hermione. Why didn't you tell us?" Harry blurted out. Sympathy for Hermione was coursing through his veins, but still he couldn't help but feel a sense of betrayal that she never went to him and told him. Hermione was one of his best friends and the fact that she didn't tell Harry or Ron was hurting Harry more than he would have liked it to.
"I think I was in a state of utter disbelief. I just couldn't swallow what had happened. Even now, I still feel like I have a place to go to during vacations and when school is over. The reality hasn't set in yet and I don't think it ever will."
"Hermione, I'm so sorry. I feel like this is my fault."
"Why? It wasn't your fault that the death eaters came to my house that night. It wasn't your fault that they t…tortured and killed my parents right before my eyes. Harry, it was anything but your fault and you shouldn't blame yourself for other people's actions."
"Don't you get it Hermione, if I wasn't friends with you, there would have been no reason for death eaters to come to your house. It is my fault." Harry felt horrible for what happened to Hermione and nothing she said was going to ease his guilt.
"Harry, believe me when I say this. I cherish our friendship more than anything. You were not the reason that death eaters came to my house. Don't blame yourself for something that wasn't even your fault." Hermione suddenly regretted telling Harry about her parents' death. She knew he wouldn't take it so easily, but she never guessed he would start blaming himself for what happened to her parents.
"Hermione, does Dumbledore know about your parents?" Ron suddenly asked after remaining silent for a couple of minutes.
"I don't think he knows, but I don't want him to know."
"Why?"
"The last thing I want is more pity and I'm sure Dumbledore would give me nothing but pity. Plus what can he do? He's too busy trying to keep the students save at Hogwarts I don't want to burden him with another bit of information about what Voldemort's death eaters have done."
As Hermione said this, Ron suddenly realized how Hermione had changed, not in her appearance, but in her reasoning. When something had happened to Harry in the past, such as his scar hurting or a bad dream about Voldemort, Hermione would have been the first person to tell Harry that he should go to Dumbledore and tell him. Now Hermione's insistence not to tell Dumbledore was something Ron was not used to and it scared him greatly. Her parents' death had caused great changes in her personality and attitude but what worried them the most was would Hermione ever be like she was before?
Hermione had finally let her secret out. The secret that had been consuming her life and sanity before was out and her friends knew about it. She thought she would have felt better after she released such a huge weight in her well of emotions, but reliving what happened only made her feel even more depressed and more alone. Around Harry and Ron she was a completely different person, she was cheerful and happy. She even looked as though she was getting over her parents death. But by herself, her depressive state overpowered all other emotions. Unfortunately, she didn't try to hide her sadness when she was around Malfoy, and this caused him to worry about her well being even more.
Hermione's state of well-being soon became all that Malfoy could think of. It wasn't that he liked her, nor was it that he was remotely cared about her, it was the fact that he actually knew what she was going through. Every glance he passed her way, he was brutally reminded of the terror and hardships he faced from his father. He was reminded of the countless times he looked at his wrists and wished to take a sharp, long, metal blade and just slit it until he felt nothing more; until his life was nothing. He would stare at his plump veins just below his skin's surface and wander what it would be like to feel the warm, shockingly red blood flow endlessly down his pale arm. But with his constant thoughts of taking the easy way out, he was reminded that he was a Malfoy, and Malfoys never took the easy way out. He would have to stick it out like any other person in his family and endure the pain his father put him through. His father was testing him, and he mustn't fail.
Hermione soon noticed Malfoy's constant glances and stares. It soon became unbearable and after getting back to the head common room they both share, on one of Hermione's miserable days, she decided to confront him about it.
"Malfoy, is there a reason why you are staring at me during class? If you have a fascination with me you should just come out and say it."
"I haven't been staring at you." He replied. "And I don't have a fascination with you. Believe me, I would rather have a fascination with a giant slug, before I have a fascination with you."
"You have too been looking at me, constantly."
"I'm just a bit worried, but I never meant to stare. I just can't help but worry if you're going to hurt yourself again."
"Malfoy, not that it's any of your business, but that shouldn't be of any concern to you. You have no idea what I'm going through and I'd appreciate it if you stop pretending like you know everything in my life."
"Hermione I might not know what is going on in your life, but don't stand there and say I have no idea how you feel." Malfoy suddenly found himself shouting, he wasn't sure when he started, but he could not stop. His anger overpowered all other thoughts and concerns at the present moment. "I KNOW WHAT IT'S LIKE TO LOOK AT YOURSELF AND FEEL LIKE A PIECE OF CRAP. I KNOW WHAT ITS LIKE TO WANT TO TAKE A SHARP BLADE AND CUT YOURSELF ALL OVER UNTIL YOU CANT FEEL ANYTHING ANYMORE. DON'T ASSUME THAT BECAUSE MY PARENTS ARE WEALTHY, THAT I LIVE THIS PROBLEM-FREE LIFE. DON'T ASSUME ANYTHING ABOUT ME ANYMORE BECAUSE ITS YOU THAT HAS NO IDEA HOW I FEEL."
Hermione just stood there speechless. She was at a loss for all words. She had no idea that Malfoy was this complex. She knew he was human deep down, even if he didn't act like it, but this sudden burst of suppressed emotion surprised Hermione beyond anything before. Malfoy just stood there glaring at her as if daring her to make a comment about his situation. He wanted her to know that she wasn't alone with what she was doing or feeling, but he never expected for his feelings to come flooding out like that.
Suddenly realizing what he just said, he turned around and ran up the staircases leading to his dormitory. Such emotions filled his thoughts that he just wanted to climb into bed and die, to just crawl into a tight ball and die.
Hermione, in the meanwhile, had become overcome with so many different feelings of sorrow, hatred, anger, sadness, and regret while Malfoy made his speech that the sight of Malfoy fleeing the room, caused her to breakdown and cry hysterically. She wanted all of this to stop. She just wanted to be the same old know-it-all Hermione, but she knew she would never be the same.
Hermione just sat on the couch in the head boy and girl's common room, rocking back and forth. The emotions filled her with horrible thoughts that she couldn't control anymore. She couldn't stop the thoughts from evolving in her mind and soon it became more than she could stand. She wanted to stop the pain and stop the hurt. She wanted to feel nothing more. Deciding to go back to the only thing that made her feel whole; the only thing that took away her pain and fears, she pulled out a pocket knife that she kept in her robes at all times. Slitting her wrist again was the only thing that would calm her. It was the only thing that would stop these persistent thoughts from controlling her mind and eating away at her consciousness.
The pocketknife was small, but sharp enough to do damage on her thin arms. She picked it up and looked at the silver blade. Yes, this'll have to do, she thought. Pulling the small knife up to her arm she ran the silver, cold blade over her right wrist this time. Like last time, the gash wasn't deep, but the same amount of blood came out and flowed down her arm. She could smell the metallic, iron-like smell from the blood. The scarlet blood calmed her as she watched it flowing down her arms and onto her lap, finally ending on the brilliantly carpeted floor. Maybe it was the flowing motion of the blood, or the way the blood stained her skin a deep red, but something about the blood streaming down took all of her anger and hatred and regret away. She slumped back on the couch and closed her bloodshot eyes. Hermione hated this. She hated how miserable her life had become. She hated how she had to refer to pity to feel better. She didn't want to die, but she did want a way to forget about her pain and her sadness. Unfortunately, the only way she could think off was to physically destruct her body in ways unimaginable.