The Dark Side Of The Moon

I try to write our story sometimes. I pick up a quill and stare at blank roll of parchment, trying to organize this flood of memories mentally attacking me. I try to remember which came first, what incident led to the other. It's difficult-the whole escapade was such a blur. Even now, I remember every little insignificant detail about him. The way he smelled - like cinnamon and night air. The way his hair fell around his eyes so perfectly, whether he wanted it to or not. I remember the way his whole face would light up when he was excited-giving the onlooker a small glimpse of his soul that you very rarely got to see. Etched in my memory forever will be the way he looked while he was sleeping-a true blonde angel.

But then I remember the way he looked that fateful night. How his eyes shone with such an intense sorrow-and fear-when we realized what we had was being violently torn from us-and us powerless to stop it. I remember seeing tears for the first time in his gray eyes. I would have given my life to take those tears away.

I can't shield myself from these painful memories. As they mercilessly attack me, one by one, I feel the familiar sting of tears falling from my eyes. Soon the emotions overpower me, and I'm on the floor, shaking and sobbing. I try to muffle my tears, try desperately to hold them back, reminding myself again and again that this time I wasn't going to cry-this time I was going to be strong.

So ignoring all other instinct, I once again picked up the quill. I wiped away my tears, and began writing.

From the beginning.


*************




I hated my life. I hated everything about it. I hated my friends, my parents, my reputation. Everything. Nothing in my world was right-it all had spun out of control. After Andy had broken up with me over the summer-my life had begun to decay, piece by piece dying and falling away, with me scrambling to pick up the pieces. Not that I ever could. I was considering running away. I was even considering dropping out of Hogwarts-leaving my education behind, and just trying to live day by day on my own. Of course, with all my book smarts, I knew that was near impossible.

Eventually I realized the only way out was to leave. Not just leave Hogwarts-that wasn't enough. I needed to leave. Leave this world that seemed to hate me so much. This world that wouldn't let me go a day without crying, a night without longing to be someone else-anyone else. I wanted to leave. I wanted people to realize that I was so much more than smart. That I had so many problems that no one-not even Harry or Ron- seemed to care about.

Over the summer before 5th year, I had begun my transformation. I had started exercising every day and every night. I started eating less and less-that which I did eat-I clawed out of my throat. I started spending a lot of time at the beach and the tanning saloon. Once I was back of Hogwarts-every male in the school seemed to notice Hermione Granger's transformation. They all noticed my new clothes, my new look, and especially my new body. I thought I was happy with all the attention I was getting, but I soon found out that not all attention is positive. No boy seemed to hold my interest for more than a few days. Harry and Ron seemed genuinely frightened by my change.

Eventually my depression took complete hold of me-and I spiraled into a state of absolute numbness. I didn't hear what my friends or teachers said to me-I rarely went to class at all. I started avoiding questions about this change, and then started avoiding people in general.

Suicide subsequently wandered into my mind, growing stronger each day. The idea delighted me. I started thinking of different ways, each more elaborate than the last. Then one day I decided it was time. It was time to go to sleep forever. Maybe I would wake up in heaven-and I would wait for my family there, wait to apologize to them, and give my mom the deserved hug she never got from me on my last day.

That last day I refused to talk to anyone-I refused to come out of my dormitory, refused to go to any classes, refused to look Harry in the eyes when he asked me if I was Ok. I didn't have the heart to tell him he would never see me again. I just smiled and said that I was fine, and I'd be better tomorrow. I'd be better, that's what I told him. Hermione Granger, who had never spoken a lie in her life.

So when everyone was at dinner, I stole away to the perfects bathroom in the highest tower. I was in a long white flowing dress-it had been my mother's before she had met my father. I left my dormitory neat and clean-so no one would have to clean up after me when I was gone. My mind was completely set on doing this, and I had arranged every little detail, all the while blocking out my mother's face. She was the one person I didn't hate-the one person I would miss. But I had convinced myself that was not enough.

So, as I walked barefooted to the giant porcelain tub, and turned the gold knobs, filling the bathtub with a lavender scent and beautiful marble sized light purple bubbles, I said a silent prayer-asking God to still let me into Heaven, and to take care of my parents.

I gingerly stepped into the warm water, my dress still on, and breathed in the soothing lavender scent. For a mere fraction of a second, I considered not going through with the suicide, not giving up the lavender. I talked myself out of it.

I picked up my razor, and turned it from side to side. It shined as if it had never known dullness. It pricked my finger with it-a single drop of blood fell, and quickly dissipated into the lavender bubbles. The blood terrified me-but it comforted me. I shakily gripped the knife. It was now or never. I poised it above my wrist. I could do this. I had the strength in me to do this. I just had to find it. One more deep breath, and I made a deep cut in my left wrist. That wasn't so bad. It hurt-but not near as much pain as I had prepared myself for.

I opted not to look at the blood. I knew it was falling, I knew it was staining my mother's white dress. I silently condemned myself for wearing such an important article. I took the knife into my left hand-while I still had control of it. I slashed at my right wrist, getting braver, and making a deeper cut. I could feel the blood pouring out of my wrist now. It was so comforting. So soothing. But somewhere, in the back of my mind, a little voice was reminding me of all the things I had to live for. I silently screamed at that voice, telling it to go away, making sure it realized it came too late, that there was no hope.

And just as I was about to make another cut-the door opened.


*******************



I cursed myself for being so stupid. I should have done this at night. Who could it be? Oh well-too late now. I ducked into the water-holding my breath fro as long as I could. And just as my lungs were about to burst, and I could no longer hold out, I slowly surfaced-only to find myself looking into a pair a gray eyes. A pair of gray eyes that I knew only too well. My first thought was at least it's not Harry, or Ron, or something who would run and get help. Someone who would try and save me. My second thought was fuck, Malfoy's going to watch me die.

He just stared at me for a few moments. It seemed like hours-no, it seemed like decades. He was staring at my face, looking into my lost eyes. Then he noticed the red mixing with the lavender. His eyes widened.

"Fuck Granger, is that BLOOD?"

The exact words I had been praying not to hear.

"It is! What the hell are you trying to do?"

He stopped making wild hand gestures when he realized exactly what I was trying to do.

"Oh."

I wondered what he was to do next. Would he just walk away, and let me die in peace, or would he sit there, laughing as my body grew weaker and weaker. I could already feel the blood loss beginning to take it's toll-and the blood was still pouring out of both of my wrists. I stared into those gray eyes for what seemed to be an eternity.
I was noticeably getting weaker as the blood drained out of my body as a thirsty child would suck out of a juice box.

And then everything went black.


**********************



I awoke to an immense discomfort.

Is this Heaven?

I heard people talking in the background.

Wow, Heaven sure sucks.

I could hear people walking toward me, though still far away. I briefly opened my eyes only to behold-not Heaven, but the ceiling of the Hogwart's Infirmary. I felt a sensation of disappointment course throughout my body. I didn't feel like dealing with anyone at that moment-so I closed my eyes, pretending to sleep.

"So how did you say you found her, Mr. Malfoy?"

The familiar voice of Madam Pomfrey haunted me.

"In the bathtub, fully clothed, with both her wrists slit"

Oh, the traitorous bastard. I was NOT going to deal with any psychologists and psychiatrists and child therapists and all the psycho mind-drug people.

"What do you supposed happened to her?"

Don't say it, don't say it, don't say it. If there was one favor I'd ever ask of Malfoy-this was it.

"I believe someone attacked her"

A sigh of relief coursed through my body.

"Do you gather that she could have done this to herself"

Sigh of relief gone, familiar feeling of panic back again. COME ON MALFOY! I silently screamed at him.

"No, ma'am. There was nothing in there she could have done it with. That was my first thought. I searched for the knife or glass she could have gotten and done it with-then brought her up here. I found nothing."

"Thank you Draco. We'll notify you if she gets any worse-but I except her to be out of the hospital by tomorrow."

With that, she turned on her heel and quickly walked out. I kept my eyes closed long after I heard her footsteps grow lighter and then fading completely. Then I heard Draco take a deep breath. I could feel him looking at me, looking at my closed eyes.

I could feel him near me as he bent over the bed and lightly kissed me on the forehead.

I feel asleep with a smile on my face. A smile my lips had not known for months.