Her breath frosted on the window and the knife in her hand reflected the sunlight filtering through the thick glass. She sat on an old wooden box; a towel over her lap; the sleeve of her shirt pushed up to her elbow. The wooden handle of the knife was held tightly in her hand as she gently pressed the blade against her wrist. Gasping as the blade sliced into the pale skin; she watched with curious brown eyes as the blood seeped from the wound and dripped endlessly onto the towel.
The reflection in the glass showed her true self; the sad, pitiful person she really was. On the outside she played the part of the proud Gryffindor, but on the inside she was no better than a Slytherin. Her friends accused her of being distant; her parents claimed she was just growing up; no one ever tried to stop her. Everyday she would come up here; to her window at the top of the tower and watch the grounds; observing her peers enjoying themselves; having fun while she sat here crying for herself.
The salty tears ran down her face and mixed with the blood drying on her arm as her eyes clouded over with the memories of her friends. In first year she had no friends; she was the know-it-all-mudblood. By second year she nearly died helping Harry save the world again. For the majority of third year Ron didn't talk to her until she proved that Crookshanks didn't eat his bloody rat. Fourth year sailed by; her helping Harry, going to the Yule ball with an international Quidditch star and Voldemort returning to power. Fifth year had Umbridge and her power struggle; the DA, and fighting the Death Eaters in the Ministry of Magic. In sixth year; not much changed except for Dumbledore being murdered and Harry quitting school. This year; she was left here no one for her; both Harry and Ron had died, fighting in the final battle; her best-friends, her family, her life was murdered.
Leaning her forehead against the cool glass of the window, she took the knife again and run it along the length of her wrist. She wanted the pain of the memories gone; the heartlessness of this life to leave her. Once again the blood left her arm; the knife still in place, as she hit her head repeatedly against the window unaware that it was jerking the knife still in her arm. The knife dug deeper, the blood flew freely unnoticed. As the blood soaked through the towel and onto her legs; she looked down to see the small knife deeply embedded; the blade cut into her bone.
Crying out in anguish; she tried to move the knife; to remove it from her arm. Never before had this happened; never had she done this. The other cuts had been shallow; unnoticeable; not this deep. Standing up, she left the blood-stained towel where it fell from her lap and left for help. She couldn't die; she didn't mean for this to happen; she just wanted the pain to be gone. Leaving the room; she held her wrist protectively before her; the knife still in place. People looked her way, but ignoring her, as she made her way unsteadily to the hospital wing; leaving a trail of blood sure to upset Filch.
As she reached the towering doors of the hospital wing; she pushed them open and promptly collapsed in the doorway. Falling on her wrist; the weight of her body displaced the knife and left it piercing her stomach. Immediately the red stain appeared around the knife, discolouring her crisp-white shirt. This was her end; the mortality of her life had finally ended. She would join her friends; she would be happy again; leave for a better life. No longer would she continue to hurt herself; to blame herself for the failures of those around her.
She could see Madame Pomfrey bustle over; to survey her as the rich red blood pooled around her frail body. The knife was visible from beneath her and the blood was pouring endlessly from the wounds new and old. She had lost so much blood; it was soaked into her clothes. Her pulse was dull; her breathing sluggish as she dozed into unconsciousness. Not much could be done for her; she had resigned herself for death; she wanted to die.
It wasn't long before her breathing disappeared as the matron sat by her side, holding her hand. The knife remained lodged in her stomach and she slowly left for the world that she desired. Her body was left on Earth; her spirit fled, taking her to the place she desired; she was free to live again.
Ohkay, yeah its not my normal thing. I wrote it a couple of days ago and only just got round to posting it...hope yas like it!
Mwah
Queen of the Scoubies