A/N: I don't own Harry Potter or any related characters

Warning: mentions of depression, suicidal thoughts and actions

Word Count: 1342

The dark place beckoned. It had been so long since she'd been pulled into its thrall. The signs that it was growing, that it was calling were all there. The pain her chest, followed by the numbness, the wanting to cry but not knowing why. Then there had been the knife. She'd walked past a butcher shop on her way home. The butcher was chopping something, the blade of the knife had gleamed in the orange light of the sunset.

The signs were all there, she just refused to see them anymore. She didn't care about what they thought of her, didn't care that she wasn't the person she'd been. The darkness called, a friendly hand reaching out to take her back to where she'd once felt at home. She started to follow, hiding the fact she'd gone back in stirring her coffee, the caramel spiderweb melting in the middle of the stone colored cup with a glazed viridian leaves decorating the rim. She smiled, her lips curling back to reveal her perfect teeth, she laughed a hollow sound that no one seemed to realize wasn't the same.

At night, he put his hands on her, running them down her body, tracing her curves, the curves he insisted on her having. She let him, her eyes closed as she pretended to be somewhere else, to be someone else, that he was someone else. It didn't matter, all that mattered was allowing him what he wanted. He couldn't know she was going back to the darkness, that she no longer felt anything for him in her heart.

Last time, last time she'd gotten like this, he'd dragged her to St. Mungos' demanding they fix her. Potion after potion, nothing working to clear the haze in her head. Nothing to bring back the light she was so desperate to leave behind. They'd finally locked her up in a small room claiming her mind was addled. Maybe it was, maybe the darkness was nothing more than madness. She knew it wasn't, well, maybe in a way.

There was a muggle word for it, there were lots of muggle words that meant nothing in the wizarding world. Words like depression, words like mental health. She fought those thoughts, fought the darkness and returned to the light. They released her to him. He swore if she ever pulled something like that, made him look bad again, he'd leave her. She should have wanted that. She should have wanted to be free. She knew she wasn't the right witch for him, but the idea of being alone was scarier than staying with him, so she stayed.

Now, she'd learn to hide the darkness in her soul, sometimes its call was almost too strong and she wasn't strong enough. Those were the nights where she wanted to fade away, find a way to let the pain out, the pain that wasn't pain, but something else, something she couldn't describe. It wasn't physical, it was in her heart, in her head, in her blood.

The darkness would claim her for a bit, sometimes longer. She'd learned to fake the smile, say the right words while she went through the motions. Dip the caramel, watch it melt, its pale color mingling with the darkness of the coffee. Watch the bubbles come to the surface. Watch as the drink combined to a

color close to the color of her skin. Sip and smile, sip and smile. Repeat and pretend she was fine.

This time, this time she was tired of pretending. The darkness was calling, calling and she wanted nothing more than to finally give into it. She picked up a knife from the wooden block in the kitchen. She held it in her hand, tilting the blade back and forth, watching the way it reflected the light. She brought it to her skin, the left wrist. If she wanted to end it, to finally embrace the nothingness, to feel something finally, she knew how.

The blade shone as she raised it again, touching the sharp edge to her flesh. Could she do it this time, was she strong enough to stop? She froze, looking at her skin, at the blade. Tears streaming down her face as she shoved the blade back into it's home. She felt weak, like she wasn't good enough, strong enough to even do this. She sank to her knees crying, wishing she could make it stop, the cycles, the up and down, the good and bad. She curled into a ball, her brown eyes squeezed close.

That's where he found her the next morning, curled in a ball asleep on the kitchen floor. He didn't even ask as he woke her. He could see the emptiness in her eyes. Grabbing his hand, he apparated with her. She knew where he was taking her, knew he was having her locked away again. She fought, kicked, yanked herself free and ran. She ran down the street, her curls flying behind her. She ran and ran until her legs started to give out beneath her.

For a moment, she felt alive. She wasn't even sure where she was anymore. Nothing looked familiar. Deep breath in, exhale slowly, take stock of what is there. She glanced around slowly, seeing a wooden bench. She sat. Another deep breath and she exhaled slowly. Her heart had stopped racing.

She allowed herself to close her eyes, let the memories play, the happier times. Caramel spiderwebs melting into coffee, laughing with Ginny, the time she and Ginny had put a sugar spider in one of the webs and convinced Ron it was real. Those were the good times, the times the darkness was gone, the darkness was hiding deeper beneath the surface. She didn't know how long she sat there, her feet grew numb in her shoes.

Finally the sky started to turn from blue to a bright sunset orange. Night was coming. She should go, go somewhere, but she didn't know where. Who could she trust? Ron would just have locked away. Harry? Would Harry be on her side? He knew that wizards didn't believe in mental illnesses, he knew the muggle side of things. But Harry was Ron's best friend, what if Ron had gotten there first? What if Harry believed Ron? No, she couldn't risk it.

Who else did she know in the muggle world? Who would hide her, give her a safe place? She found herself standing back up and walking in a direction she didn't remember picking. There was a pull, a slight pull, not one muggles would notice. It was gentle. It felt like a mother's hand leading a child home. Hermione allowed herself to be pulled, allowed herself to follow.

She found herself standing at a small two story house with white siding and blue painted windows. She walked up to the door, picked up the gold doorknocker, and knocked. She waited, her body relaxing for the first time since she could remember. The door opened and a woman with a warm smile welcomed her inside. Hermione blinked. She knew her! Hannah, Hannah something, from Hufflepuff. Hermione was ushered to a warm kitchen that smelled like baked bread.

Within moments a cup of coffee was in her hands, a caramel spiderweb on the napkin before her. She looked at Hannah, as if to ask where she was. Hannah nodded, explaining she'd opened this bed and breakfast for those who needed to escape, for those who couldn't handle life after the war, for those that had lost their way.

Hannah worked with both St. Mungos' and several muggle doctors in providing both physical and mental help for those who needed it. The pull Hermione had felt was Hannah's magic seeking out those who needed help, or just a safe place for the night. Hermione sipped her coffee, the spiderweb long since dissolved. She might not be able to stay here forever, but for now, she had a safe house, and someone who might be able to finally help her.