A/N: Trigger warning for suicidal thoughts and tendencies. If this is an issue for you, ctrl f the plus sign and you can skip ahead of that.
Hermione didn't stay in her room. It didn't feel the same, too large and open. Now the window seemed more like a portal through which anyone could enter. As soon as she got back, she gathered up what she needed- her school things, clothes, the potion, the map and a few personal items- and left. There was only one place in the entire castle that she knew would be secure; a place that no one but her could enter unless she permitted it. The Room of Requirement. It gave her everything she needed to make it her home from bed to bathroom.
She spent most of the week in this place of solitude, away from the eyes and voices of others. Curled in a ball on her bed, Hermione found it difficult to leave. Classes were still important to her, but even her favourite subjects no longer held any allure. Even when she went, she performed poorly. Potions required attention she didn't have and she was afraid of what would happen if she raised her wand in Charms. Sometimes at night when she knew others would be in the common rooms she'd sneak down to the kitchens but more often than not she couldn't eat what she took. Not eating made it even more difficult to concentrate in class. Not that she could always muster the energy to go to class. It was easier not to go. Instead, she dozed erratically.
Awake or asleep, her mind continued its turbulence. Even alone and swathed in blankets she felt no calm. I could have killed her, she worried whenever that night came up in her mind. She was still angry. Not just angry, but furious. Minerva had taken away the only peace she had. She had misled her into revealing things she never wanted her friend to know. Were they friends? This wasn't how friends treated each other. Friends were trustworthy and always there for each other the way Harry was. Even Ron, though he treated Hermione poorly, had (in his mind) acted in her interest. She knew she had to apologise to him, but when she put quill to parchment she couldn't muster the simple words. "You were right." How could she not have trusted him after all they'd been through, instead choosing to ignore him and putting her trust in the one person who deceived her?
Rage bubbled inside her but always cycled back into fear which turned to sadness and back to anger. She was scared of what would happen if she got angry, of what could happen if she ever spoke Minerva again. The words, I could have killed her came up again and again spiralling her back into the murk of depression. Despite everything that had happened, she still felt for her friend and didn't want any harm to come to her. Quietly she wept for their friendship.
The school week was spent in this corkscrew of emotion and soon it was Friday. She had gotten nothing done all week and was well behind in homework. Briefly, Hermione considered leave school altogether, but the thought made her tremble. It had taken so much hard work to get this far. Leaving now would be to disappoint everyone who cared about her. She would be a failure. Hermione Granger- the smartest witch of her generation to drop out.
Sitting on the carpeted floor with her head on her knees, Hermione was in the clammy grip of grief. She was alone, no family, not on speaking terms with any of her friends and all she had was her mind and even that was against her. She had nothing. She was nothing. She felt like a waste of space. Something that was there at the cost of everyone's happiness. Pulling back the sleeve of her over-large sweater, Hermione studied the word on her inner arm. The ugly word still looked fresh, red with puss gathered at the edges of the M. Every time she slept it seemed to be cut into her anew. The ugly reminder of her torture at the hands of Bellatrix brought tears to her eyes. No one would love her with this. No one would love her the way she was now. Wiping her face on her other sleeve, she felt the pressure of a year's worth of torment. She wanted to scream and stamp and cry, but mostly she wanted to fold into a black hole and stop existing.
Sadness turned back into anger. Anger at Bellatrix, anger at Minerva, anger at herself. It grew and expanded into hate. She hated everything that had happened to her, but mostly she hated what she had become. There was a pulse, less strong, but the same kind that she experienced in McGonagall's office. It rippled through the air and she heard a crack. On the opposite wall was a mirror now splitting outwards from the middle. One large piece broke away and dropped, splitting into two smaller pieces. Her rage subsided into fear again. She couldn't understand why this kept happening to her, but she worried she would hurt someone. I could have killed her.
Pressing her hands against her temples, she pushed hard, trying to force all that hot red emotion down. She hadn't meant to hurt her. She never wanted to hurt anyone ever again and not be hurt in return. It was impossible to stop that from happening. So long as she lived she was a threat to everyone she loved. So long as I live. The nuance of the intrusive thought shocked her. It scared her.
Petrified, she stared straight ahead at the shards of glass, sharp and deadly. She was horrified by the idea, but at the same time it seemed like the only way she could escape everything. She didn't want to live any more, not like this, but at the same time she didn't want to die. Not without seeing her parents again, not without saying goodbye to her friends. Not really.
She was unable to control the spinning thoughts. She could leave a goodbye note and then change the Room of Requirement into a place no one would find her body. She could cut open her arms or brew a potion of death. She could hold her wand to her head and use the deadly curse or a cutting charm. She could do it. It could be the last good thing she ever did.
More thoughts bubbled to the surface, offering reasons why her life wasn't worth living. Usually they brought pain and despair, but instead they only gave her peace. A strange calm washed over her and unsteadily, she got to her feet and moved towards the mirror shards. It wouldn't be difficult. It seemed relatively easy and while there were potions to stop pain, she didn't think she'd need it.
Standing in front of the cracked mirror she gazed at her reflection. She look thin, sickly, almost skeletal. Heart thundering, she swallowed a lump in her throat. Hermione bent at the knees and picked up on of the two pieces of mirror and held it lightly in the palm of her hand. It was shaped like shark's tooth with one jagged edge that seemed particularly sharp. She looked up again, almost mesmerised by this idea. For a moment, reflected back at her she thought she saw Minerva, arms out reached and smiling. Happy like they were at the Manor. Hermione's heart leapt and she looked at the glass in her hand. Eyes widening at the realisation of what she was about to do, she panicked.
Dropping the glass like a hot piece of coal, she backed away until her back touched the opposite wall. Slowly, she edged around the side of the room with her eyes locked on the mirror. She wanted to end it. The urge was strong, but her fear of the consequences was stronger. She couldn't do it.
Hermione fled the room. She knew if she stayed there any longer the sadness would take over and she wouldn't have the strength to stop herself again. Arms wrapped around her middle in a hug, she walked. No one was around, so it must've been past lights out and she silently gave thanks for the empty corridors. If she saw anyone at that moment the temptation to return would've won out.
She walked slowly, stopping occasionally to look back. The aching desire to kill herself was begging for her to return, but she managed to persist. Her parents always told her if she ever felt bad ("really, really bad") she should talk to them, but that was impossible. There were only three people she could at that moment. Luna seemed lost in her own troubles and Ginny would tell Harry. By the time she decided she should finally face the woman she had been avoiding all week she was already standing outside her office.
Faltering outside the door, a voice told her she could still turn back. It wasn't too late to go back to the room. She hadn't yet forgiven Minerva for what she had done, but the sensible side of her insisted this was an emergency. Besides, she didn't want her last memories of McGonagall to be of hurting her. The memory brought tears. Finally, she knocked lightly, then a little harder. If the woman didn't come to the door, then Hermione would leave and whatever happened would happen. This seemed reasonable, but her stomach coiled with apprehension. When no one answered she turned and began to descend the staircase. This was it, then. She hadn't even put up a fight. She hadn't even tried. She was weak.
"Hermione?" The headmistress' voice was croaky from sleep and sounded incredulous.
Hermione turned slowly, her body shaking. She looked so vulnerable in her Weasley jumper and sweatpants that swamped her tiny frame. Her eyes burned from crying and she found she couldn't bring herself to speak. Her vision fogged as new tears sprung up.
"Oh, Hermione," the Minerva was coming down the stairs, opening her arms to draw Hermione in.
They embraced and Hermione sniffled against the other woman's shoulder. "I think I'm in trouble," she whispered.
When Hermione finally pulled away, she gazed up at the headmistress who only seemed concerned for her. Minerva led her upstairs, rubbing her back as they walked, murmuring, "It'll be okay, dear. You're safe."
Safe. Safe was something Hermione had been chasing all year and every time she thought she found it, in people, in the Library, in the Room of Requirement, it was snatched away when she needed it most. Still, she accepted the words as the truth. After everything they had been through, this woman was still the best thing in her life and she needed her.
In her office, Minerva hugged Hermione again and kissed her forehead, pushed hair from her face and wiped her tears away. The gentle nurturing only made more spring up and she whispered calming words. Hermione couldn't look her in the eyes, not wanting to see the sadness or the love. She didn't think she deserved it.
"Tell me what happened, darling."
Hermione shook her head, hair falling back over her eyes. Now she was here she didn't want to admit her weakness. "I just need somewhere to stay for the night," she lied, knowing her friend could see through it. She could've easily returned to her Head Girl room, but she hadn't. She came here.
"What for?" The older women's hands were still stroking her head lovingly.
"I just- I'm scared." Her trembling voice failed her.
"Of what?"
She shook her head again, clearing her throat, "of me."
"Oh, my dearest." Another kiss on the forehead and Hermione burst into tears again, hugging her tightly.
"I was going to… I mean, I wanted to… I almost hurt myself and I got scared. I'm sorry." She sobbed and felt the arms tightened around her shoulders.
"Don't be sorry, Hermione, please. I'm sorry. I did you wrong. I was afraid this would happen," she crooned, rocking Hermione, "I thought I could protect you. I thought if I was by your side at night I could stop you from hurting yourself. I was wrong. I'm so sorry. I'll do anything to make this right."
Hermione felt the stream of tears lessen. She hadn't been able to understand why her friend would deceive her. Until tonight she hadn't realised that the sadness could get this bad, so she hadn't been able to appreciate how the cat – how Minerva – had protected her from it.
"Can I stay here tonight? With you?"
"Of course you can."
They parted and Hermione wiped her face, looking away shamefully. "I'm sorry for waking you."
"Hermione," Minerva said suddenly serious, "you are far more important than anything I could be doing. I'm glad you came to me. We can talk about it if you like."
The younger witch shook her head.
"What about in the morning?" She cupped Hermione's face with one hand lovingly, her brows knitted together in worry. "You can stay here tonight and tomorrow you can tell me everything."
Hermione nodded after a moment. She felt a burst of affection. She wanted to tell her she loved her, but instead she said lamely, "I'm just tired now."
"Okay."
An arm encircled her waist and she allowed herself to be led through the office into the bedroom where their earlier altercation had happened. Bile rose in her throat, but Minerva rubbed her back. There was no sign of what had occurred anywhere. The windows and mirror were in one piece again and the floor was clean. Everything was in its place, neat and private.
"Lie down and I'll get you some of that potion and a glass of water."
Letting go of Minerva's side, Hermione sat on the edge of the queen size bed which had a tartan blanket on top of its duvet. She felt sick and her throat was raw and as soon as she sat down exhaustion took hold. Slipping her feet under the sheets, she waited a minute until her friend returned, a flask in one hand and a glass in the other and sat beside her.
"Did you already have it?" Hermione asked about the potion, trying to divert attention from her puffy eyes and wet nose. She took a mouthful and made a face.
"Poppy is going home for the weekend, so she gave me some in case you needed a refill."
Hermione nodded and gratefully accepted the water. She put the rest of it on the nightstand and let Minerva stroke her hair. "Thank you."
The older woman smiled, "I'm just glad you're okay." Her green eyes were filled with compassion and adoration and it made Hermione's chest ache. "I'll be sleeping in my office if you need me."
"No, wait." Hermione flinched at the neediness in her voice. One hand reached out to the other's arm. "Please stay."
"Hermione, I can't." Minerva continued to strok her hair softly.
"It's not like we haven't shared a bed before." She was already beginning to slur, the potion working immediately. She felt exposed looking up, but she continued, "I'd feel much safer if you were here."
Minerva hesitated, but inclined her head forward. She felt responsible and wanted to right her mistakes. "Okay. Just for tonight."
"Thank you."
The other woman stood and moved around the bed while Hermione lay back. Her eyes were already closing as she felt the bed lower beneath new weight. She was still afraid of her nightmares despite knowing she couldn't dream and now she had a new thing to fear- herself. At least with her friend here she knew she was protected.
Lying on her side, head propped up on her hand, Minerva watched the girl fall asleep like she had dozens of times before, but this time she stayed.
A/N: We've reached critical angst, Captain! Thanks again for everyone who commented. It really makes my day. In the next chapter we'll finally get to hear Minerva's side of the story. And don't worry, this is definitely the dark before the dawn.
I encourage anyone who is contemplating suicide to find a friend you can always call to talk to and to keep a crisis line phone number on hand.
