Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter
Note: I was going through my writings when I came across this. It was written as a scene to potentially be put into a larger fic, but I think it works well as a standalone. I'll update this note if I ever use it somewhere else.
She woke abruptly, gasping for breath.. She could still feel Bellatrix's hair over her face and though she was awake and away from the nightmare (memory) she found she couldn't breathe. She grabbed at the hair, tried to push it away, but her limbs felt heavy. A scream built up in her lungs and she pushed it back, unable to find the breath to release it. The pain in her body felt more acute than ever, as if it hadn't been a dream afterall, that she was back in that manor and she wanted it all to just stop.
Her hair fell away from her face and with it, the image of Bellatrix. Her breathing was rapid and she tried to get it under control. Without meaning to, she rose from her bed and went to the restroom. She looked at the mirror and was suddenly aware that she had scissors in her hand. She couldn't remember grabbing them. Her mind was still foggy, but the thought that came through was, "Scissors are for cutting," and so she began to cut. A clump of hair fell to the floor, then two, then three, and soon she was hacking away with an urgency she couldn't understand.
She could still feel Bellatrix's hair.
The razor came next, when enough hair was gone, and she began to shave. She hadn't bothered to wet her scalp, to do anything other than get rid of this reminder, and her head started to bleed. She didn't notice.
Hermione stared at herself in the mirror once the last bit of hair was gone. She felt relief, at first. The reminder of Bellatrix was gone. With it, however, was the reminder of her parents who both had curly hair. Her father more than her mother, whose hair was uncontrollable when he let it grow out. When she realised this, the scream that had been building since she woke finally escaped from her mouth and she screamed until she sobbed. Her knees hit the floor, then her hands, and she couldn't stop crying.
When she was able to breathe again, she stripped herself of her night clothes and stumbled into the shower, turning the water on as hot as she could to wash away the memories.
It didn't help. Nothing did.
When she finally gave up on the shower she exited the bathroom and refused to look at the hair strewn about the floor. She wanted to lay in her bed. She wanted to go to sleep and maybe, when she woke up, things would be different. Maybe, and she hid this hope even from herself, she wouldn't wake up at all.