There was once a girl named Hermione Granger. Hermione was the model of a perfect girl. Squeaky clean reputation, great intelligence, only socialised with "good" people. She was one who you would say, "had her head screwed on right." Hermione Granger would never dream that some day, a man would come along and shatter her perfect life.
My Love.
I found you. Something positive lying beneath all the negatives that seem to come first in this world. I found a person I could become lost in. Someone always on my mind for all the wrong reasons. Or are they the right reasons? The lines blur together. I smile when you smile. I frown when you frown. Finding you was just the beginning of the end. The penultimate chapter. An entrance to the final exit.
How do you understand something with no guides? Love is a game, and there is never a shortage of players. But how do you win a game when the rules are constantly changing? The end result of our endeavour was meant to be happiness, joy, exhilaration. It turned out to be the opposite - another lesson learned. It this because with love, there's always hate? With pleasure, there's always pain? I thought I found a real chance, only to be taught I shouldn't hope for anything.
There is a picture of us. I am smiling, yet it is obvious to anyone who looks that that joy, that happiness, does not reach my eyes. The memories stored in this picture are not happy ones for me. I do not want to smile, for I understand the darkness the future holds. Yet I smile. I smile for the hope, for the slim chance that you will want to keep me. That day, when the camera went away, my smile went with it. I was forced to turn away, to hide my face so you couldn't see me.
Is that why? Is it because you realised I was damaged, that there was something wrong with me? I was not whole. I was not the best chance you had for happiness.
I look into your eyes and you just stare. You don't see me. I am merely there, an empty shell of a girl. I couldn't matter any less to you. I'm here, laying out my soul for you, and you don't notice. I look into your eyes and try to see some emotion, some reaction. Your eyes are blank; expressionless. As if staring at a tree, a rock, some other inanimate object. This is what I am to you. When I look to the side, I see nothing but a shadow, without emotion, without a soul; something cold and unseen. It isn't hard to believe that's become a part of me.
And so, this is it. This is the moment where I, having realised you don't and never will want me, will take the necessary step towards being happy. I long to be free of this pain, and tonight I will be. This is it. This is the end.
You'll wonder, was it my fault? Yes. It was your fault. You cannot blame anyone but yourself for this mess. I am responsible too, to an extent. However, you were the adult, the mature and wise one. It was up to you to put on the brakes before it went too far and the damage became irreversible.
Perhaps you'll even be angry at me. Blame me. Slander my name. Go ahead. It's not as if you haven't already taken everything I cared about. You might as well take my reputation too. While you're at it, why not carve out my heart and bury it in the earth? It's yours anyway. It's always been yours.
Hermione puts her quill down. She carefully, meticulously folds the parchment, addresses it. The tawny owl perched beside her offers it's leg. The minute the letter is attached, the owl flies out the window and disappears into the night. Hermione checks the curtains around her bed are closed, lies back and holds her wand to her head.
There is a flash of bright green light in the seventh year girl's dorm of Gryffindor Tower.
In the dungeons, a single long-stemmed rose wilts suddenly, immediately. Severus Snape drops a piece of parchment onto the stone floor. By the time it hits the ground, he is out the door. He knows what she is doing. He knows he will be too late. Still, he races with a single minded determination to get to her. One thought runs through his mind, threatening to destruct his fragile mind.
It is his fault.
