She Wanted To Be Alone

So you're there

You're in my head

So you're there

You're not dead

So you're there

Alive and well

So you're there

And I'm in hell

~

"So you're there," she said quietly, speaking to no one in the vacant room where she lay with broken shards of glass scattered around her. Those broken shards that once made up a vial.

"You're in my head." No one was answering the girl for she was all alone, sprawled out on the floor, and staring up at the ceiling. No one heard her, no one saw her, and she was alone.

All of the times that she helped these people, they were never around anymore except for times when they needed help. Whether it be help for a school paper or research, if they needed help, they would ask her, and she would pull through with the help.

Lately, she stopped helping people. Lately, she just didn't give a damn. Lately, she said that she was busy. Lately, she was a liar and she was never bothered after weeks of refusing to help. At first came relief of having no extra work to burden her, then the stress of no one seeming to want to be her friend, and now this; sitting alone in a vacant room with another character - the character within her mind.

This character wasn't created, it wasn't dreamed up, nor was it there her whole life. It appeared just recently. It never left her alone, it put her down, it made her depressed and starve, for she was imperfect. But she loved him. He was her only friend and the only character other than herself that she could talk to and confide in.

"So you're there," she repeated. The room was silent and dark, nothing moved, and no wind nor light passed from the crack beneath the door. All was calm and depressing. "You're not dead."

He would never die or go away, for if he did, she would have to follow. He was the oxymoron. He was the way that she truly thought - he never thought in the way that she did. Her mind was poisoned with what she was told was right. She was on the path that she was told what was the right way. He was the baneful character that forged the path of her true mind and she loved him for it.

She was told that Harry Potter was good and Voldemort was bad, but the world isn't black and white. Her world was a hue of dark red, neither Harry Potter nor Voldemort were right. No one truly knew what was right. He was in her mind, telling her her own rights and thoughts. He was there to talk, to argue, and to hate. He was her everything and nothing at the same time.

"So you're there." She blinked as she grinned sardonically at the dark shadows on the ceiling. Black and even more dark circles filled her mind and cleared her senses. "Alive and well."

He was alive, the character was very alive and very well. She despised him and just wanted him to die. He told her what to do, what to think, and what not to eat. The scary thing about it was that he was correct and she agreed with him. She did what he wanted her to do and she wanted to do it.

She thought she would never be influenced by anything but it turned out that she was influenced by what people said was right and what was wrong. He told her the truth, he reclaimed her own mind, and therefore she loved him. Yet he was always there, and she hated him. He was her friend and foe, but he was the only one she could really trust and know.

She sighed softly and closed her eyes. "So you're there," she said following him through a dark tunnel in the recesses of her mind. He beckoned her to crawl closer to him. The air grew warmer and her eyelids heavier the farther and faster she crawled. The world was all black, then she reached the bright light, white and blinding with fury and hate. She despised that light, it made the pressure in her mind feel more unbearable than ever before and she ached for relief. She begged for the pressure on her mind to go away. The character laughed and she felt loathing hatred trickle down her spine.

She asked for the pressure to be gone, whispering softly.

The answer was a black smoke that oozed around her slowly, supporting every limb with a light feathery touch, enveloping her in a protective layer until she was swallowed into the black ground beneath her. The pressure was gone.

"And I'm in hell," her body whispered to the dark room, for it would never utter another word again. She would never see the light of day again, nor smell the fresh air or feel the dewy grass upon her feet. She would never have a sense, she would never have another thought, but all that mattered was that he was gone, and she went with him.

~

Hermione Jane Granger

September 19 1979 ~ September 31, 1997

Many people came to her funeral, many wept over the coffin of the brightest witch of her age, and many were heart broken and left her gravesite with one part of their heart left behind as well as a mind full of confusion. Most thought she was murdered, not one of them would think in a million years that she would take her own life.

"They found a shattered vial of poison next to her body..." Ron explained as a small tear escaped from his weary eyes. Harry didn't believe her death was true until he saw her lifeless body in a wooden coffin surrounded by flowers and childhood memories.

Ginny was the one who found her in that dark room. Hermione had been missing for two days and the school was searched. Ginny thought that she was sleeping at first, but then she realized that she wasn't breathing. Many trauma treatments at St. Mungo's followed the incident, and they were afraid that Ginny would never be the same again. Some go insane after a traumatic experience, and Ginny was one of them.

What the many people that attended Hermione Granger's funeral didn't know was that she was also one who would go insane after trauma. Inner trauma haunted her after a feeling of aloneness took hold. She pushed away the people she loved and caused her own trauma as well as let her own tainted mind to let lose and take control. She just never realized what she was doing.

"Did she seem to be acting funny at all to you, Harry? Well, before she..."

"For most of the year she did," Harry responded to Ron's question. He didn't really want to talk about it at the moment. He didn't feel as if he could take another death, and Hermione's death cut deeper into his heart than anything.

Poison and suicide were supposed to be a cowardice way to go, but that's not entirely true. Some choose it to relieve pain, some to just get rid of angst, and other people.... well, Hermione was one of those people.

"I just want to know why she would do such a thing - why?"

Harry closed his eyes and sighed, for he knew what the feelings and thoughts of suicide involved and the intense way that it handled his mind. It was a dank world where the suicidal minds dwelled, Harry had spent many summers on the edge of that world, still grasping for hope.

Hermione, on the other hand, let go of hope long ago and fell into that world that most people desperately tried to avoid. It offered her her mind and she took it. Although Harry never knew the inner workings of Hermione's mind, he knew exactly why she did it:

"She wanted to be alone."