Chapter Six- Who's Afraid of Virginia Wolfe?
Disclaimer: Okay, real fast, I don't own Virginia Wolfe but that is cool because this chapter has nothing really to do with her except that she was a poet and this chapter is going to have poems, which I do own, in it.
Hermione bravely took a sip of the pumpkin juice before her that Hagrid supplied. She noted that across the table Ron was bravely taking a bite of a "brownie". She rolled her eyes when she saw that his jaws were clamped closed. He should've known. He had been attempting to eat Hagrids' food for a long time.
The disruption in charms it turned out was a large Spindlewick (Large dragon-like creature with a nasty temper). It had perched itself on Hagrids' roof and was pulling out shingles and throwing them at Hagrid. This explained the pretty gash in his forehead. The Spindlewick seemed to find it amusing to throw the shingles at his face.
Hermione cooed and asked if he was okay. Harry thought it was entertaining to watch her being so maternal. He showed this by giggling in a very small child-like fashion. Hermione whipped her head back and glared at him. Harry obediently shut his mouth and stuck his tongue out to Ron who was smirking at him.
Hermione confidently took out her wand and healed Hagrids' wound after he refused several times to go see Madame Pomfrey. She then tried to tell him to eat chocolate. He talked back to her, incredibility coating his words. He was surprised that she was talking to him like he was a small child. Harry then interrupted the half conversation half argument and began talking about the upcoming Quiddich season.
Hermione became instantly bored and pulled out a piece of parchment and a quill. She was feeling artsy and decided to write a poem.
I think I do it to feel the rush
She wrote in a little black book
I love how it scabs after it bleeds
It makes me want to look
Hermione looked up and around the room to make sure that everyone was preoccupied on something else besides her. They were. Ron was leading a very animated discussion on the Chudley Cannons and how the Gryffindor team was similar. Harry was very red with excitement and was also talking quickly. Hagrid sat back and threw in comments when he felt that they were needed. Hermione returned to writing, shocked at how it was just coming out, especially considering she hadn't really done more than an occasion couplet before.
I think I do it to drown out the screams
Of angry parents just before
It takes away their hurtful words
And tightly locks the door
I think I do it to remember the past
All the hurt thrown in my face
Maybe it will heal the wounds
And show me a safer place
I think I do it because the voices scream
Out loud inside my head
They tell me it will help me live
But I think they want me dead
Hermione felt a nudge on her shoulder and panicked. She shoved the paper into her bag. Her quill fell onto the ground and Ron, who had nudged her, quickly apologized and bent down to grab the fallen quill.
"What do you want?" Hermione snapped at Ron. He looked taken aback and continued to apologize ferociously. "I was just trying to get your attention. We were going to go back to the castle." Ron was very red. Hermione immediately felt horrible and apologized quietly. Ron sat down next to her and patted her on the shoulder. "So, what were you writing?" He was trying to change the subject so that he wouldn't upset her.
Hermione told him that it was nothing and stood up to leave. The two boys took her cue and walked out the door waving goodbye to Hagrid.
Later that night Hermione Granger sat on her bed with the poem in front of her. She had been itching to finish it since she left Hagrids' hut. This was her time. She took out the quill she had been using earlier and reread what she had already written. She then pressed the quill to the paper and let her thoughts flow.
I feel the pain in my life
And I want it to go away
Cutting helps me to forget it all
Gives me wings to fly away
Hermione was new to the self-injury concept but this is how she already felt. Well, not all of it. Some of it was artistic license. Her parents never fought, at least not if she was around, and she never experienced voices, but the rest was her. She felt a little better. Like she was able to explain it better to herself, it made a little bit more sense now.
She went to the top of the paper and wrote a title. Justifying the Ugly. She felt this was appropriate considering she knew how most people viewed self-mutilation
Hermione yawned but forced herself to stay awake. She wanted to do it again. It was an aching in her fingertips. She wasn't necessarily even in bad mood. But she did feel the need. She decided to use something other than her potions scalpel though. She pulled out her wand and used it to summon a piece of trash from her trashcan. She then transfigured it into a rather ragged shard of glass. She took the glass and pressed to her thumb. She pushed it hard against her skin and slid it downward. She watched as the skin separated and fresh bright red blood poured out of the opening.
A Glorified Suicide
Whisky? Rum? A simple beer?
A bartender asked one lonely night
"Anything hard, that will put me straight to sleep,
That will end this long cold fight"
He smiles sweetly and shakes his head
As he pours this deadly drink
She is getting what she wants
This is one battle she defeats
Whisky? Rum? A simple beer?
A bartender asks one spicy night
"Anything that will make life fun
That will get the job done right"
He smiles sweetly and shakes his head
As he pours that deadly drink
The customer gets what he wants
He lives his life on the brink
Whisky? Rum? A simple beer?
A bartender asks one quiet night
"Anything to wipe away my pain
I just got out of a fight"
He smiles sweetly and shakes his head
As he pours that deadly drink
She gets exactly what she wants
And drinks it without a blink
Whisky? Rum? A simple beer?
A bartender asked her that horrific night
I guess he could never know
That nothing at all went right
He smiled sweetly and shook his head
Ad he poured that final drink
I guess she had too many
And was too drunk to stop and think
Whisky? Rum? A simple beer?
The drug that killed my alcoholic mom
It took her life in its' evil hands
And exploded it like a bomb
I smile sweetly and shake my head
When I think of her sad story
Here is to your fun time and party
This is alcohol in all its' glory
-Hermione Granger
"I can't stand it Harry! I like her so much it hurts!" Ron was ranting and he knew it. He was pacing the Gryffindor common room and it was about two in the morning. Everyone else was smart and went to bed but Ronald Weasley was troubled. When he was troubled he couldn't sleep. Harry was being the best friend that he was and was also awake and attempting to calm down his buddy.
"Maybe if you just told her…" Harry suggested feebly hoping Ron would react differently than he normally would.
No such luck.
"I can't Harry, you don't get it! I'm not her man in shining armor!" Harry refrained himself from correcting the saying that his friend butchered and listened to Ron as he continued.
"I am a nobody, better yet, a poor nobody," Ron was whispering yet yelling all at once. (A: N The kind of whisper you see angry mothers using on their kids in the supermarket when all they really want to do is scream at them but they don't want to cause a scene. )
"I have nothing to offer her. I thought this through; there is no way that Hermione could possibly love someone like me. I can't handle it. Who am I? No one. I have a place as keeper on the Quiddich team, so did half of the rest of my family. I am a prefect, so are twenty other kids. I wasn't even good enough to be head boy. Percy was head boy. Gah! I am so incompetent. She is perfect Harry, how do measure up? I don't." Ron pouted and Harry got angry.
"Are you quite finished?" Ron looked up at his friend in disbelief. "Excuse me?"
"You heard me. You have everything in the world to offer. We know everything about her. You know everything about her. No one can compete with that. If I know Hermione correctly she will want someone she can be relaxed around and you certainly have that quality. Also, you need to stop letting the lives of your family rule who you are going to be. They aren't you; their choices aren't your choices. You have everything in the world to offer her. Now, if you will excuse me, since this is finished, I am going to sleep." Ron sighed and followed him into the boys' dormitory.
Hermione walked down to breakfast the next morning with Harry and Ron. Once she entered the Great Hall she looked up and realized that the morning mail call had arrived. She sat down at the table and accepted her usual Daily Prophet and paid the owl. As she began to read about the rising number of squibs found in Wales another owl landed on her French toast. She looked at it, surprise flooding her face, and untied the letter from its' protruding leg.
Dearest Hermione Granger,
Good morning! I am just sending this to inform you that I want you and Mr. Malfoy to come to my office this evening at six to discuss this years plan and to give you further assignments.
Enjoy your classes,
Albus Dumbledore
P.S. Licorice wand
Hermione groaned quietly and looked up at the headmaster who was eyeing her from the Head's table. She nodded at him before letting Ron and Hermione read the letter. They told her that they pitied her and then asked her how far she had gotten with the homework.
Later in a History of Magic Hermione got out another slab of parchment and a quill. She decided to write another poem. The lecture in class she already had memorized upside down and sideways so she decided to let herself be sidetracked. This one was going to be about a little girl with cancer.
Toy box Faith
There a young girl lay
A broken result of dried up tears
Cancer has consumed her life
But God has soothed her many fears
"Let's trade our lives," he leaned in to say
"Let me endure all your pain
I'll battle the world to save you, love
This can be our final game"
The Doctor leaned in the door to say
"Times up, now's goodbye"
The father looks back in anguish
Asking God merely why
"When will I ever see you again?
How will I ever cope?
Where will you go once you die?
I'm afraid I'm losing hope
The girl opened her mouth
Know this would be the last time
She'd ever talk to her daddy
So she needed to tell him why
"I love you and I know it's hard
But here's your ultimate test
Have faith I'm going to a better place
God only takes the best."
-Hermione Granger
This was a poem more about hope and what Hermione hoped happened to her mother. That she went to a better place. The girl read over it a last time and then packed up her stuff once the bell rang.
A: N/ Yay! This one is longer, go me! Of course that could be because of all the extra poem stuff. But shh! (I wrote in small font to indicate quiet secretive-ness) So yes, thank you to all of you who like my story and I appreciate the reviews and the favorited stuff. Story alerts rock too. So yeah this is a few of my poems from a little duck-taped book sitting on my bed. It was falling apart but I loved it too much to let it go. Any-who. I wrote all of this the day after I posted chapter five (not the poems, those were written over time). Oh and real fast, Sunday night I had my first mom dream in four years. She died five years ago and I dreamed that she came back and I talked about her book that she was writing. She always wanted to be an author but it never happened. . The weird/ cool part was Monday was the five year anniversary of her death. It was like my mind did that as a tribute. It was kind of nice. I got inspired y it and here it is. Here is poem just for you for fun:
Lunch
Fangs glow in the dark
Of this smoky atmosphere
They hunt the weary and the weak
The "huns", the "babes", and "dears"
Finally they settle on one
The girl with the shirt too low
She is sleazy, she is easy,
Desperate to give a show
They make their way to the bar
As she buys another drink
Her skirt hangs low on her hips
The fangs don't even stop to think
They say she looks familiar
And have we ever met before
They con her into leaving
And guide her through the door
They lead her in a hotel room
By the their hand upon her hips
They cop a feel on her behind
And then lean in for her lips
She kisses back too eager
The fangs can't resist
What started out so articulate
Is now much more than this
He pulls away and rages
His eyes are on the prize
The girl who gave it too easy
Was going to lose her life
As the fangs move in closer
Anticipating a meal
The daydream is ended
A boy gives his neck a feel
He looks up at his friends
Dark has turned into day
He picks up an apple
Bites and walks away
-Katie London -June 17, 2008
Oh and check out my other story, it's called Miss me, Miss me, Now You Have to... it is a oneshot cute fluffy one, made much more light-hearted then this one. I think you will like it. It is a very, very quick little story.
