Loss of Control

Chapter Two

She thanked the Gods that it was Saturday. Looking at the tiny wristwatch that hung limply off her right wrist, she saw that she had missed breakfast; as was the case on most weekend mornings. Running her thumb over the red mark left from the night before, she grimaced at the throb of her bruises. But she felt renewed, forgiven of the bitterness she had succumbed to. The blood that had trickled forth had washed away her sinful thoughts, and she felt forgiven.

She started as there was a tapping on the window pane. A plain brown school owl hovered in the air outside, and she made her way to let it in. Impatiently it hopped about on the windowsill, one leg thrust into the air waiting for her to remove its burden.

Hermione hardly noticed as the owl soared back out the window. She slowly unraveled the string around the letter, and carefully smoothed out the creases. Her brows knit together and she slightly squinted while reading it. A low growl emitted from deep in her throat as she cast the paper down onto her bed. Standing there, staring at the incriminating note she reached out, picking it up again before savagely ripping it in half, then in half again and again. With a slightly muffled screech, she tossed the shreds across the room, and watched as they lightly fluttered to the ground. But she was not satisfied. Grabbing the glass that sat beside Parvati's bed, she hurled it across the room smiling in satisfaction as it crashed and broke apart upon impact with the stone wall.

'Why is my best never good enough for them?' her mind screamed. 'When did my accomplishments become so trivial to them? When did they stop caring?' Her mind begged for answers. She could remember her youth, sitting side by side with her father as he grilled her for answers the night before a big test. She remembered the joy in their eyes when she came home with an 'A'. She could still remember the day that she had noticed that the light was no longer there, that the fact she got another 'A' didn't really matter to them. She could remember the day she put on fake tears, and told them she failed. "As long as you try your best darling," was all her father could say. And she could remember the sad shake of their heads when she hurled the paper at his face - the one with a sickly red 'A' scrawled across the top - and stormed from the room.

'When did I become such a disappointment?'

This time the pain seared as she drew the red line; but she didn't care. She didn't notice the blood dripping on the floor, or how it seeped through the white shirt she pulled on. She didn't notice how this time she just couldn't stop, until her arm was raw, and she was breathless. And as she pulled on her dark school robes and ran panting from the room, she didn't notice the dark stain that crept across the fabric.

Hermione didn't stop running until she was half way around the lake. She came to a stop when she had passed the last of the students who had decided to spend the last warm autumn day outside. She narrowed her eyes against the yellow of the sun, its brightness mocking her. Hermione began to walk, slowly this time, her back to the lake, winding her way through the few trees that made up the outskirts of the forest.

As Hermione heard a rustling coming from behind her, she stiffened, her fists clenching her wand. She heard a voice muttering softly.

"Imperious."