Disclaimer: I own nothing, what a strange thing huh?
AN: Sorry it is soo short, I got very sidetracked and forgot what I meant to write, hmm…. and then it was down, well try and enjoy it while you can......
Everyone has always told me love was what made the world go round. That love was wonderful. Every time I said something, the word love came up. Always, I was told. Always believe that love will win. They were fools
Hate is what really rules us all. Bitter emotions are the only way to make a world work. I hate people, and they hate me. Hate is the only thing worth talking about.
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Hermione put her books upstairs and bolted to see Harry and Ron. When she first got there she thought that she would tell all, but then the lies from day one would come out. The lies Hermione had told herself and them would just fall away and leave her alone and hated. Hermione chose to keep quite instead.
It was late at night before Hermione even thought about it again. She knew sooner or later Draco Malfoy would tell, and then she would have to die.
Slowly and carefully Hermione made her way down the staircase and went to her sanctuary, the Library. Every book in there was hers, because she must own it. Hermione spent all her time there and Hermione had read all non-restricted books so far. It was hers by right.
Silently she went into the restricted area and picked up where she had left off. This was fascinating book, on pain. The very thing that held Hermione's life together. This particular spell was to make the person experience not only the physical pain, but all the emotional pain that had been with them from day one. Curious as a cat; Hermione whipped out her wand.
"Impankioe." She whispered and fell to the floor in agony.
Every last one of those painful memories flooded back. She saw her father, drunk and depressed, looming over in the dark night, screeching at her. Her step-mother, all the slaps and taunts throughout the years. Her loneliness he boarding schools. Her first cut. The scars bleeding. Night. Panting and grunting. The screams. The blood.
Slowly it all stopped and left Hermione crying. Her head hurt. Her legs hurt. Everything was on fire, but it was good. The pain told her that she had control. Hermione won.
Never in a million years did she ever cut for attention. Nor did she do it for death. It was only way she could live in this fantastical lie. Pain was the only thing that told her she wasn't what they said and that she was in fact, someone who had control. It helped heal the pain inside her.
The first time she had ever cut herself when she was thirteen. Her step-mother had made a nasty comment about her unshaved legs and Hermione had tried shaving.
While doing so she got distracted and the next thing she knew there was warm liquid flowing down her legs. Looking down Hermione saw that she was bleeding, and that it felt good.
The next few times were accidents as well, but soon it became a regular thing. Going back to Hogwarts was hell because of all the cuts on her legs, and all their stairs.
No one had guesses yet, and the only person who knew had decided to use it against her. Draco Malfoy. The one who she loathed the most and the one who hated the very thing that he held over her; her blood.
Hate was powerful thing, and Hermione knew best of all. She hated HIM, she hated her dead mother. She hated her father and step-mother. She also hated the fact that Malfoy had to find out. Hermione was well educated on Hate.
When she had opened her eyes, there was a gasp and very faint chuckle. The gasp came from their most favourite librarian.
The chuckle, Hermione tried to sit up and tried thinking of any excuse, any excuse. Her cuts were healed over and it was only the blood and tears that distressed the old librarian. No excuses came for once, and Hermione was left speechless, still not moving at all. All Hermione knew was that she was in a heap more trouble than she had been before.