Tourniquet

Hermione Granger sat in her Head Girl dormitory and watched her tears as they formed a puddle on the handsome oak desk in front of her. She cried a lot nowadays. It had almost become a daily activity for her. And she was okay with it. After all, the walls never scoffed or looked horrified at her tears. They never made tactless comments or angered her through trying to make her feel better. They simply stood silently, like all walls do, and let her cry out her tension, frustration, and sadness. The stress of being Head Girl finally took its toll on her in January. But it was more than that. It was so much more.

I tried to kill the pain

But only brought more

I lay dying

She was depressed. Truthfully, she had been since about April of her sixth year, when Ginny Weasley started dating Draco Malfoy. She had developed a crush on Draco between her fifth and sixth years, though she could never figure out why. After some thought, she decided it was his 'bad boy' image that was most likely a mask hiding pain and fear. She had wanted to be the one to get him to take off the mask. To truly be himself. But she never had even fleetingly thought of the effect his having a girlfriend would have on her. Still, she could get used to Draco and Ginny. Used to watching them kiss or share a quick 'I love you' between classes. There had to be more And there was more. So much more.

And I'm pouring crimson regret and betrayal

I'm dying praying bleeding and screaming

Am I too lost to be saved

Am I too lost?

Her parents had gotten a divorce in July. Her father lost his job, and a result, became an alcoholic, which spurred her mother into numerous affairs with old flames. Their fights often shook the very foundations of their house. Hermione had often considered running away, but where would she run? Could she go to the Burrow perhaps? No, that wouldn't work. Ron was so deeply absorbed in Quidditch and Lavender, his girlfriend of one month, that he barely noticed anything. Ginny was too wrapped up in Draco, and everyone else was too busy with his or her own problems and business to attend to. Mostly, that business was with the war. Nearly the entire Weasley family was members of the Order of The Phoenix. Those who weren't [Ron and Ginny] would soon be as well. All in all, it would be pointless to go there. Maybe she would take the Knight Bus to Grimmauld Place. But no, that wouldn't work either. No one was there full time since Sirius' death. Was there a way she could get to Harry's aunt and uncle's house Surrey? No, of course not. In the unlikely event that she managed to, there was still the almost impossible-seeming hurdle of explaining how she knew Harry without mentioning magic. Besides, he had his own sadness to cope with. Ever since Sirius' death Harry had withdrawn from his friends and almost completely stopped answering his mail. He needed time to be alone and think it seemed, but Hermione often wondered if there was such a thing as too much alone time. But still, everyone had their own problems. There was no sense burdening them with hers. Besides, would they even care?

My God my tourniquet

Bring to me salvation

My God my tourniquet

Bring to me salvation

Hermione wiped away some of her tears roughly and yanked open a desk drawer. She pulled out a long, sharp knife, which gleamed silver in the sunlight. She closed her eyes and began to slice into her arms as she had done for many nights since the day her parents divorced. This was the first time she had done so during daylight. There was almost a feeling of euphoria within her when she realized she could do it and no one would know as long as she kept wearing long sleeves and performing Anti-Scarring charms. The blood flowed and stained the plush red carpet beneath her feet. But for once in her life, Hermione did not care about school or anything to do with it. She reached into her drawer again and removed a long piece of white rubbery elastic. A tourniquet. She bound it around her arm, knotting it tight, hoping to relieve some of the pain, but it just came on stronger. A small whimper escaped her lips and more tears fell into the puddle on the desk.

Do you remember me

Lost for so long

Will you be on the other side

Or will you forget me

Casting her eyes around the room for some distraction from the pain, Hermione saw her once favorite book Hogwarts, A History. She scoffed at the memories. Books had once been her escape. They took her away from her friendless, lonely world and on adventures into foreign places with wonderful people. Little by little, they became her shield. As long as she kept up the façade of being okay and just having a lot of homework no one would worry. The library had always been her sanctuary. Since talking was not really allowed she was not often approached. She was allowed in the Restricted Section due to her Advanced Defense Against the Dark Arts classes and would often go there to cry and wallow in her loneliness, pain and grief. But never would she bring her knife there. The chance was always present that Madam Pince would discover her blood. Here, in her room, no one bothered her. None who dared disturb Hermione the Bookworm lived to tell the tale. And it suited her perfectly. As long as she didn't slice herself open and sit in her own blood her for too long, no questions were raised and it was simply assumed she was studying. And, in a way, she was studying. Though it had nothing to do with school. For several months now, Hermione had been diligently studying methods of pain release.

My God my tourniquet

Bring to me salvation

My God my tourniquet

Return to me salvation

No one would have to worry about disturbing her any longer. Hermione smiled slightly as she picked up her knife and slit her right wrist. The one that was slightly stronger, whose hand always held the quill. The irony was amazing. The hand that kept her in Hogwarts and made her both Prefect and Head Girl, the hand with which she had written innumerable essays and letters would now be her downfall. She watched with morbid fascination as the blood covered her right hand and forearms. The end was close. Soon she would escape all this pain. Not just for several hours, like in books, but forever. There would be no more crying herself to sleep, no more enviously watching Draco and Ginny, no more wishing her parents were together again. Soon, the raging pain in her arms would cease. Soon, everything was going to be okay.

As she sat on her chair in a gathering pool of her own blood, a screech owl flew in through her open window. It deposited a letter in her lap and left. Slowly, not caring about staining her robes, Hermione opened it and read the very short note.

Hermione-

This is going to seem forward and probably a bit odd, but I think I'm in love with you. I can't put why into words, I have to talk to you in person. Please, meet me in the Three Broomsticks during your next Hogsmeade visit and we can talk. Ron says it's in two days. I hope to see you then

~Percy

Hermione stared at the finely written words for what felt like hours. Her breathing was harsh and ragged, due mainly to the lack of blood. He wanted to talk to her...did he actually care? The note said he loved her...did he really mean it? Everything suddenly 'clicked' at the same time as all went black. Her eyes lit up, and then darkened forever. With a soft thud, she slumped forward and fell into the puddle of her own tears. Hermione Granger, Head Girl, top of her class, most likely the future Minister of Magic, was dead.

My wounds cry for the grave

My soul cries for deliverance

Will I be denied Christ

There wasn't a dry eye in the graveyard as her pristine white coffin was lowered into the ground. Percy bit hard on his lip to keep from crying out. He looked around, the sight of the coffin was too painful. Ginny probably could have flooded a small country with her tears. Draco Malfoy stood behind her, his hands on her shoulders while his pale face-now bone white instead of the healthy china white it usually appeared- displayed the perfect picture of a grief beyond tears. He and Hermione had become friends during their reign as Head Boy and Girl. Fred and George stood silently, perfect carbon copies of each other still. They were both crying, and for once, not competing to be the center of attention or trying to sell their latest joke product. Ron held a sobbing Lavender tightly as tears poured down his own face. Tonks, Lupin, Moody, McGonagall, Dumbledore, and even Professor Snape had all turned up, and were all crying. So were his own parents. Percy had seen his mother in a rage, and he had seen her overly jubilant, but never had he seen her cry. Hermione had always been a second daughter to Mrs. Weasley. The same was true for his father. Indeed, Mr. Weasley had gotten so used to seeing her at his house every summer he had become slightly attached to her. It was somewhat disconcerting to see his parents, usually so happy and together, completely devastated, crying openly in public. Percy looked past his family and friends to those he didn't know. And there were quite a number of them. It seemed as if almost the entire student body had turned out to see their Head Girl buried in the grounds of the school she once loved. He had never realized how many people Hermione had known in her short life. Percy's eyes rested last on Harry. There was so much pain etched into the young boy's face, it was nearly as hard to look at as the coffin itself. He, too, was crying, though Percy sensed his grief was deeper than Malfoy's. Hermione had been his most loyal friend, she had always supported him and been there for him. He had been the one who found Hermione dead on her dormitory floor. Now he had more pain to deal with and another face to haunt his nightmares. Harry didn't deserve it. No one did really. It just so happened that it all fell to him.

Tourniquet

"Harry," he said hoarsely as he approached the boy who looked as if he wanted to throw himself into the ground with his best friend.

"She died smiling," Harry's voice was even more hoarse than his own and thick with held back sobs. She always had such a beautiful smile. Your letter was still in her hands. You let her die happy, Percy."

"Good," was all he could choke out.

"She was always there for me...I should have been there for her...it's all my fault."

"No. It's all our faults. We all got too wrapped up in our own lives to see her suffering. And she paid the price for us."

"She tried to talk to me," he said thickly, "tried to tell me about her pain. I was too damn obsessed with getting to the Quidditch pitch for practice. I completely forgot about it afterwards, and she disappeared. I'm such a pig."

"It was a mistake anyone could have made. We're all too...busy nowadays."

"She must have thought I was deserting her. Just like everyone else seemed to."

Percy looked over to Hermione's parents. Ms. Randall, her mother's last name since the divorce, was sobbing openly while Mr. Ganger simply stood by as the tears flowed down his pale cheeks.

"And now we'll never know."

He looked down at the freshly turned mound of dirt. It was hard to believe Hermione Granger, Prefect and Head Girl, top of her class at almost everything, and the one woman he truly loved, was buried beneath six feet of dirt and the cedar wood of the coffin. Her headstone was made of white marble and engraved in Old English script. It read: 'Hermione Anne Granger 1980-1997' and underneath it: 'Earth hath no sorrow that heaven cannot heal'. She had always talked of the truth in that line, and now she was living proof of it. Her soul had escaped all its pain, sorrow and suffering and now resided in Heaven along with all the great minds she idolized.

My suicide

*~*The End*~*