I Won\'t

Hermione opened her eyes to find herself lying on the floor in the middle of #12 Grimmauld Place. A cold sweat was dripping down her forehead and she was panting out of pure fear. Crookshanks rubbed against her shoulder affectionately.

Harry offered her a hand and helped her to her feet. Hermione hadn't considered how terrifying it would be if Death Eaters arrived at her home until it had actually happened. Her legs shook as Mrs. Weasley led them into the kitchen, serving them each a cup of tea.

'Are you okay?' Harry asked as they sat down at the table. Hermione was shaking horribly and stifling back tears.

Hermione nodded weakly. 'What about my parents?' she asked nervously.

'Not to worry, dear,' Mrs. Weasley said, trying to sound cheerful. She placed two cups of tea in front of them. 'Dumbledore has gone to find them. He felt it would be best if he explained everything that happened. People tend to panic when put in the middle of life or death situations.'

Hermione nodded and took a sip of her tea, feeling the warmth of it slip to the rest of her body.

'Well,' Mrs. Weasley said. 'I supposed you two would like a bit of time to recover from that bit of excitement.' She got to her feet and headed to the door. 'I'll just lock the door.'

Once Mrs. Weasley left, Harry and Hermione were left in an uncomfortable silence. All that could be heard was the ticking of the grandfather clock and the purring of Crookshanks as he rubbed against their legs. Hermione knew what was coming. Harry would ask questions about the scene in her room.

And there it began. 'Hermione,' Harry said quietly. 'Is there something you want to tell me?'

Hermione looked at her tea. 'No.'

'Hermione, look at me,' Harry ordered. Hermione slowly lifted her head to look into his eyes. He seemed to have tired of beating around the bush. 'Have you been hurting yourself?' He continued to interrogate her. He stared into her eyes, looking for the answer.

'No,' Hermione answered, looking back to her tea and taking a sip.

'Are you lying to me?' Harry continued.

'No,' Hermione said truthfully, sipping at her tea to avoiding saying anything else.

'Then how do you explain the stuff in your CD case?' Harry asked, a bit more direct.

Hermione took a deep breath and set down her cup of tea. 'I'm not cutting myself,' she told him. 'I used to; end of story.'

'No,' Harry said sharply as Hermione began to pick up her cup. 'Not end of story, not this time. Hermione, we're best friends; please tell me what's wrong.'

Hermione looked at the ceiling. 'Well, let's see,' she said quietly. 'Where does it begin?' She thought back to her childhood, remembering how it started. 'When I was ten, before I came to Hogwarts, I went to a Muggle public school. Just like any other child.' Harry nodded, beckoning her to continue. 'I didn't have a happy childhood, Harry. Surely not as unhappy as yours, but unhappy, nonetheless. I was always reading or studying, a bit like I do now. But my friends consisted of my stuffed animals, and I spent the remainder of my time that didn't consist of schoolwork, locked away in my room.' Tears were now welling in her eyes.

'So you decided to take your anger out on yourself?' Harry asked.

'It didn't start like that!' Hermione yelled. She bit her bottom lip. She hadn't meant to yell at him. She lowered her voice and continued, 'In the beginning, I'd just lock myself in my room. Sometimes, I'd cry. Sometimes I'd make up elaborate stories that I'd tell my stuffed animals. I'd tell them about how I was going to just run away. I'd travel the world, go to America and climb to the top of the Empire State Building. And when I got my letter to Hogwarts, I knew it would be different. I knew I'd have loads of friends.'

Hermione smiled for a minute, but then frowned again, more tears streaming down her cheeks. 'I tried to make friends, I really did,' she sobbed. 'I even thought I had a few, I mean, there was Neville, and a few others were nice to me, like Parvati and Lavender. But then, that day, after Charms, when Ron was making fun of me...'

Harry frowned; he obviously hadn't realised how much it had really hurt Hermione.

'I realised that it was just like primary school,' Hermione said quietly, just above a whisper. 'Even in a new school, with new people, I was the know-it-all, the freak. I had to have sat in that bathroom for a good hour before Parvati came to find me. She told me that I should come back to class, but I refused. I found a razor on the floor in the bathroom. I almost did it then. But I couldn't.'

'Do your parents know about this, Hermione?' Harry asked. He was concerned. Everyone was always so damn concerned.

'They knew how I felt, if that's what you're asking,' Hermione said. 'But they don't know the details. They don't know the nights I stayed up late, scraping a razor against my wrists, considering whether life was even worth the effort.' Harry stared at her. 'They took me to therapy before I came here last summer. And that's why I write to Viktor so much.'

'What?' Harry said.

'My therapist, Janet, told me that writing down my feelings would help,' Hermione explained. Harry frowned. 'And I would have told you and Ron, but I didn't think you'd understand. Viktor understands; he's been through this. He was dealing with depression too. He wasn't very open about it at first, but when I wrote to him, telling him that I needed help, he wrote back to me about it. It really helps to talk to someone who knows what you're going through. And that's why, even though we broke up after fourth year, I still wrote to him. I needed to.'

'When did you start all this?' Harry asked. 'I mean, the cutting.'

'During fifth year,' Hermione told him.

'But I thought everything was okay after first year,' Harry said. 'I mean, you had me and Ron and Ginny...'

Hermione felt a large lump in her throat. She didn't want to tell him. 'It's been hard with the war,' she told him. Her voice was cracking as she held in tears.

'It's been hard on everyone, Hermione,' Harry said, sliding his arm over her shoulder. 'But that's no reason to hurt yourself over it.'

Hermione hadn't wanted to tell him, but it was the only way to feel relief. 'It's not just the war,' she admitted.

'What is it?' Harry asked.

'I was just so stressed,' Hermione explained. 'You were angry with all of us, and then we had O.W.L.s. I just couldn't take it.'

'Wait, you - ' Harry paused, trying to find what to say. 'Please, Hermione, tell me that you didn't do this because of me.'

Hermione nodded. 'You were just so angry after being shut up at the Dursley's all summer, and then with everything that happened with Umbridge...'

'Umbridge,' Harry muttered.

'What about her?' Hermione asked, wiping her face on her sleeve.

'I just realised that you didn't react the way Ron did when you found out about my detentions,' Harry said. 'Because - '

'Because it helped me to know that someone could relate to me,' Hermione said calmly. 'I even thought about telling you, but it still wasn't the same.'

'You're right, Hermione,' Harry argued. 'It wasn't the same. You could have stopped it.'

'And so could you!' Hermione yelled. 'How many times did Ron and I tell you to tell Dumbledore or McGonagall? How many times did you have to the chance to stop it?' Harry opened his mouth to argue, but Hermione continued. 'But you didn't Harry!' Hermione lowered her voice. 'I couldn't stop, Harry. It's addictive; it's like a drug, or a packet of crisps. Once you do it once, you can't stop. And that's why it took me until just last year to get over it. It always seemed like that was the right thing to do. If I got a bad grade or got in trouble I'd just vent out my anger, let go of myself. I'll always be a cutter though. Even if I don't do it for years, I'll still be a cutter. And there's nothing I can do to change that.'

'I'm sorry,' Harry told her. 'If only I had known, I would have - '

'You would have had one more thing on your mind,' Hermione told him. 'And that wouldn't have done anyone an ounce of good.'