Summary: Love is like riding a broomstick. Some people are addicted to it and others just can't seem to get the hang of it.
Disclaimer: Apart from all the movies, all the books and a couple of pictures I own nothing.
A/N: Everybody thanks for your sweet reviews!!!
PiNkRiBbOn13dancegirl: Yes I've read all the books, they really are amazing!!!
Shveta: I think Ron and Harry could react this way if what happened was serious enough. Besides in the books they have been best friends forever, and real friendship can take little bumps in the road like this. But in my story they have been drifting apart for a while now, so they could react this way.
Desiree K Troy: You said "Have you ever actually been a self-injurer because if so you're missing a lot of important details, if not then you should not be writing about it.". Well the truth is I actually have been, so I think that gives me the right to write about it. Plus I discovered that the more times you do it the less it takes to hurt yourself. So maybe you think that it wasn't believable, but you have to bear in mind that this has been going on for a long while, and that it doesn't have to take so much for it to happen anymore. Believe me, I know what I'm talking about.
"I thought you were my friend Hermione! I told you all my secrets and you betrayed me. You lied to me and made me lose the one guy I really loved. God...I knew you were desperate but I'd never have guessed you were this desperate! I never want to be friends with you ever again. Now get out of my sight before I hex you!!!"
Hermione felt tears stinging in her eyes. She simply could not believe that people who had been her friends could let her down so easily. How could they think she would ever hurt them on purpose? Harry had been a friend to her, nothing more. She had tried telling this to Ginny a thousand times but the little redhead had turned out to be as stubborn as her brother.
Ron.
If she had had the heart she would have told everybody that she couldn't have been in love with Harry, because of the simple fact that she was already in love with Ron. Even when he had turned into a player her heart had still beated faster whenever he was around. But because of what he had become she could never tell the truth. He would laugh, if he even looked at her, and he would turn her down because she was simply too hideous to be seen with. So she had swallowed all the cruel things people had said to her, holding on to a truth nobody believed.
But keeping things to herself wasn't as easy as it seemed. Bottling things up inside made her feel awful and she needed something that made her feel better. Less like a bomb that could explode any second. She needed to blow off steam.
The first time she'd done it she had been terrified when the realised what she had done. The blood trickled down her arm in a pace that fascinated her. So calm, so soothing. But yet, so full of life. She had vowed to herself that she would never do it again. She didn't want to be a cutter. She was a smart young witch who didn't need solutions like this to make her feel better. She should be able to get the same satisfaction out of her homework.
Every day the tauntings got worse and it seemed like the whole school loathed her she felt empty. No, worse, she felt dead. She wanted to feel alive and she remembered how seeing her own blood flow had been able to do that. With a little hesitation she took up the razor, but the echo of todays insults was enough to drive it deep into her arms.
Bitch
They had called her.
Ugly freak.
Good for nothing witch.
Pathetic mudblood.
(That last comment coming from the Slytherins ofcourse)
She recalled the way they'd looked at her. Loathing in their eyes. Disgust in their sneers. Malice in their voices as they whispered to each other all the things they hated about Hermione Granger. They all knew the story, though it greatly differed among the houses. Gryffindors' was worst of course, because the happy couple had been their friends, and it hurt to see them barely speaking to each other.
Maybe things wouldn't have been so bad if it had been two other people. But one of them was Harry Potter, the one who was indirectly responsible for all their lives. The boy who never had let it go to his head though. The boy who wanted and deserved a normal life.
The boy she had screwed it up for. The boy who now hated her. The boy, whose best friend, whom she had had a crush on, was the instigator of this hate-parade.
With a silent sob she drove the razor into her flesh once more.
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