I Won\'t

The day passed by rather quietly, without a care. Harry told Hermione that he wouldn't tell anyone about their conversation from earlier that day. They spent the day with Ron and Ginny, who had asked them to retell the story of what had happened at Hermione's house from the first day Harry arrived, to earlier that day. Both Harry and Hermione had left out the bit about Hermione's CD case. Luckily for Hermione, Ron had not paid enough attention to notice it. And once they finished the story, Hermione and Ginny sat around and watched Harry and Ron play Exploding Snap.

At around eleven that night, the shrieking of Mrs. Black's portrait announced the arrival of Mr. and Mrs. Granger. Hermione, Harry, Ron, and Ginny came clambering down the stairs to the entrance hall, where they found Hermione's parents, staring at the portrait, horrified, while Mrs. Weasley attempted to close the curtain it.

'Mum! Dad!' Hermione yelled over Mrs. Black's cries. She ran to them, arms out stretched, and hugged them.

Once Mrs. Weasley managed to shut the curtain in front of Mrs. Black's portrait, she walked over to Harry, Ron, and Ginny, and whispered, 'Let's give them a bit of privacy.'

Mrs. Weasley herded them upstairs, but Hermione was sure that by the time Mrs. Weasley left them on their own, all three of them would be using the Extendable Ears to listen in on them.

Hermione led her parents into the kitchen, where they sat down at the table. She locked the door and, just to aggravate her friends, placed an Imperturbable Charm on it before sitting down across from them.

'Hermione, dear,' Mrs. Granger started. 'Why did these, er - what are they called? - Death Eaters, yes, why did these Death Eaters arrive at our house?'

'Yes, good question,' Mr. Granger agreed. 'Of course, Dumbledore told us that they disapprove of anyone with less than full wizarding blood, but why us?'

Hermione took a deep breath and explained to her parents about Harry's past, including what Harry had told her and Ron about the prophecy. She finally ended with the battle from last year, where Voldemort had fled once again. She looked at her parents. Her mother was terrified, almost trembling with fear, while her father looked very tense.

'Hermione, why didn't you tell us about this before?' Mr. Granger asked.

'It never came up,' Hermione said nonchalantly. She knew that was a lie. Well, it hadn't ever come up in conversation, so that wasn't a lie, but the fact was, Hermione knew how her parents would react. They'd be angry, and they, now, proved her suspicions to be true.

'Well, Hermione,' her mother said, speaking her first words since she heard the entire story. 'I, for one, am not sure if you should go back to that school. I just don't think it's safe, not with Harry being who he is.'

Hermione's heart beat hard in her chest, and she began to shake. 'What?' she managed.

'Your mother is right,' Mr. Granger agreed. 'You can go back to your old school.'

Hermione's heart sank. She couldn't go back to her Muggle school. She couldn't bear to see the children who had made fun of her and excluded her from their daily lives.

'But it's my N.E.W.T.s year!' Hermione argued. 'And I'm Head Girl! Please, don't make me leave!'

Her parents seemed to think this over for a moment before her father said, 'Fine, Hermione, you will go back to school this year on one condition. You will not hang around with that Potter boy.'

'But Daddy - '

'Don't you dare, "but daddy" me,' Mr. Granger warned her. 'You are not to see him.'

'I won't stop seeing him,' Hermione argued. She couldn't believe what she was doing; she never argued with her parents' decisions; it simply wasn't done.

'Hermione, listen to your father!' Mrs. Granger ordered. 'You should be happy he's even allowing you to go back to school. After everything Harry has caused us, he's lucky we aren't making him pay for any damage!'

'What damage?' Hermione asked, now somewhat concerned.

'The house was nearly destroyed,' Mr. Granger huffed. 'Luckily, wizards from your Ministry got there before too much damage was done.'

Hermione couldn't believe what she was hearing. Their house had nearly been destroyed, Death Eaters had attacked them, and her parents didn't want her to be friends with Harry anymore.

'Now, Hermione,' Mr. Granger continued. 'Your things are in the car. Let's go home. Dumbledore said that the house was repaired, and we were welcome to return.'

'No,' Hermione said forcefully.

'No?' Mrs. Granger repeated. 'What do you mean, "no"?'

'I mean, I'm not going home,' Hermione said, forcing her voice to stay strong.

'Hermione, the car is parked out front,' Mr. Granger said. 'We are going home now.'

'You and Mum can go home,' Hermione said, getting to her feet. 'But I'm staying here.'

'You certainly are not!' Mrs. Granger shouted.

Her parents got to their feet and stared at Hermione. Hermione leaned forward, across the table toward them. 'I am staying here, and I'm not going to stop being friends with Harry just because you're afraid I'm going to get killed!'

'Hermione, we never ask anything of you - '

'Oh, bugger off, Mother!' Hermione yelled. Her mother gasped. Hermione had never used any sort of language to that degree. And Hermione had no idea how good it felt to tell her mother that. 'You expect me to be perfect! And when I'm not exactly how you want me to be, you take me to a therapist for it!'

'Hermione, I'd rather not talk about this here,' Mrs. Granger said in a hushed voice.

'We'll talk about this when we get home,' Mr. Granger added.

'No,' Hermione shouted. 'We won't because I'm not going!'

And with that, Hermione ran from the kitchen. She could hear her parents yelling after her, but she didn't care. She was tired of doing whatever they told her.

Hermione ran to the library. She had found it the summer before sixth year. She used her time in there to think and read up on the history of purebloods. She enjoyed going there mostly because she knew she could be alone. Ron wouldn't dare set foot in a library by choice, and Harry spent most of his time with Ron. Ginny, on the other hand, didn't worry too much about Hermione. She assumed the best.

Hermione finally reached the library. She smiled. Tears were streaming down her face, but the smell of books always put her in a better mood. She felt at home. Hermione quickly locked the door behind her.

Hermione would have loved to talk to someone, possibly Harry or Ron, but not her parents, not now.

Hermione walked over to a nearby desk and sat down in the chair in front of it. A letter opener was sitting on the desk in a glass cup full of assorted quills. She stared at it.

Hermione couldn't resist the urge. She picked it up and stared at it intently. She put her finger up against it. It wasn't sharp enough; she had known this when she picked it up, but didn't dwell on it. She set it down on the desk and buried her face in her hands. She couldn't take all this. She felt like it was fifth year all over again.

I will not cut. Cutting doesn't solve anything. It only distracts your mind from the problem at hand. Hermione opened the desk drawer. She found what she was looking for. She pulled out a spare bit of parchment and took a long, thin black quill from the cup on the desk.

Her therapist had told her that writing could help ease your mind. She had recommended writing down her feelings and saving them.

A bottle of ink sat on the desk. Hermione dipped the quill into the dark black ink. She leaned over the parchment and then stopped. What to write?

The therapist had said to write whatever it was that she was feeling, whatever she was thinking while she was depressed.

I won't stop seeing Harry. I won't go home. I won't leave Hogwarts.

On the parchment, Hermione merely wrote the words: I won't.

Hermione dropped the quill, no longer able to write. Her left arm seared in pain.

Hermione pulled up the sleeve of her robe to find, engraved in her skin, the words: I won't, just as she had written them.

Tears welled in her eyes. This was the quill Umbridge had used on Harry. This was the quill that had made him so miserable, the quill that had put the words, "I will not tell lies," onto his arm.

All the memories of her childhood came back. Between the ages of ten and seventeen, Hermione had endured more than she could handle. She could recall every night of fifth year, where she had sat in the bathroom holding a dull razor, cutting her skin, trying to release the pain she felt.

Despite her conscience and how much pain she felt, not only physically but also mentally, Hermione wrote the words again and again and again. Blood trickled down her arm, warm, red blood. Hermione smiled through the tears. It felt good. How could something so wrong feel so right?

It was only when the clock chimed at midnight that Hermione headed to bed, the words, "I won't," engraved into her arm, and a long, thin, black quill with a pointed end in her pocket.