A Cry for Rest

Hermione was tired. Pure and simple. She leaned over her stack of books, and checked the clock by her. It read 2:43. A late night, for most, but she didn't mind it. She found it easier to work late at night than during the evening when the common room bustled with the antics of the younger kids. Especially the second years. God, how she hated second years.

...second years cant they be quiet dont they know were trying to work here weve got newts to study for and tests to take and papers to write and books to read and they cant be that loud because we cant concentrate and ooh ill hex someone good one of these days...

They were young enough that she supposed she couldn't really fault them for vociferously messing around. The first years were sufficiently intimidated by the new surroundings that they usually tried to keep a low profile, so as not to annoy the older Gryffindors. But by second year, they'd conquered that fear, and laughed and gossiped and shrieked with more volume than she would ever have thought possible for eleven students. She had probably been like that once upon a time. Upon reflection, she realized that, no, she hadn't, which only made her more depressed.

...loud and so innocent carefree and happy why cant i be that happy anymore dont they know theyre making me jealous how can i hope to do anything when im watching them play games...

She thought back again to her second year. She had spent much of it petrified, she recalled ruefully, a state hardly conducive to loudness. Then, there were all the hours she spent in the library. She smiled vaguely at the memories, and fought back a tear. Why had she spent her youth like that? Marks in second year didn't matter at all.

...didnt know then how id turn out didnt get to choose was forced into it didnt mean for it to come out like this oh good hermione smart Hermione...

Hermione looked back at the paper she was working on, struggling to bring it into focus. She'd brewed bottles upon bottles of the Insomnus potion, to help her stay awake at night, but had become largely immune to its effects over the past two years. She yawned as she realized she'd have to double the concentration again soon. She'd have to research potential hazards of doing that sometime. Another project.

She picked up her quill, and started to continue her paper on the consequences of the prohibition of the use of the Unforgivable Curses. She began penning the paragraph on how the ban increased the strain on the Ministry, which was forced to counter the illegal use.

...paper isnt long enough only five inches over minimum have to do better cant leave it there do more research one more book itll be there the answer just one more paragraph...

Over the past years, Hermione had begun working harder than ever before. While she abandoned the use of a time-turner, which she had used in her third year, she still did more work than anyone would have thought possible. Anyone, that is, except herself.

...why are you so inept you've got so much potential why is it wasted hermione you could do better so much better try harder write more learn more hogwarts is almost over and you have to come out the best be on top always the best cant ever slip...

She continued writing, her handwriting smooth and free, seemingly effortless. When Professor Binns read it the next day, she knew he'd find it an extraordinary piece of work, and would think she'd done it at three in the afternoon, when she was fresh and thinking clearly, rather than twelve hours later. Hermione had gotten very good at making her late-night sessions appear without effort. The teachers always thought she was amazing that she got so much done so easily.

...but they dont know how hard it is and they think its so easy but it isnt its killing me slowly and i cant ever stop and i keep on going because it has to be perfect and if it isnt theyll ask whats wrong with me and why am i not myself i have to keep trying keep pushing dont stop to rest

Over the years, she'd slowly increased her workload, without decreasing the quality of her work. The secret, she'd discovered, was sleep. She'd found that one could go on three hours of sleep if one placed a strategic 15 minute power-nap in the middle of the day. She did this at lunch, slipping away after having gobbled down some food. It was enough to keep her awake for the rest of the day.

...awake yes but not alert youre slipping hermione and you cant slip not ever because youre hermione and youre perfect and you never slip ever...

Despite her rising marks, such as the 132 percent she'd received on her last transfiguration project, she wasn't satisfied, and often felt as if she was drowning. Which was absurd, she reasoned, because if she was getting all of the work done, and doing it well, and getting good marks, why should she feel as if she was suffocating from the inside out?

...because you know you cant do it and one day youll crash and give in and youll never be able to come back oh yes its st mungos for you youll go mad when you fail and you will oh you will...

As she finished her History of Magic, she began on her Potions. She'd only received a 112 on her last paper, and vowed to do better this time. Part of it, she knew, was that Professor Snape was a harsh grader. But she knew that another part was that she hadn't done her best on the assignment. She'd left out the effect that the Abiotrophy potion had when used on wooden objects, a foolish thing on her part, since it would have been the natural progression after having written the required discussed on organic objects, as well as the extra credit paragraphs on metal and earth objects. She should have done wood, she chided herself. The omission had been on her mind all week. She should have written about the wood.

...youre slipping and you know it and youre going to get worse because youre tired hermione youre tired and you cant sleep because youll fail if you do but youll fail if you dont because you cant keep going and you know it...

A tear slipped down the solitary seventh year's cheek, unchecked, and almost unnoticed. She was used to crying at this hour. Leaking, she liked to call it, because there wasn't really any pressure behind it. Just a silent, solitary tear, carrying the burden of guilt placed on it by the girl who had failed to discuss wood. She'd long since learned to ignore these tears, because she always had something to the effect of the potions paper on her mind. One week it would be that she'd neglected to bring her transfiguration homework down from the tower, and had to accio it there in the middle of class.

...how could you forget you scatterbrained klutz cant you do anything at all you should be able to remember a simple paper...

Another week, it had been forgetting to help Ron with his Herbology.

...he needed it and you let him down all because you were being selfish and doing your work first even though hes failing and youre not you self-centered imbecile how could you leave him to do it on his own...

More often than not, it was forgetting a piece of knowledge that she knew she'd read before. She hated that, more than anything.

...you knew about the loops in graptomancy you learned that in third year why cant you remember it now you forgetful unlearned dunce...

Her friends always tried to tell her that such errors were inconsequential, but it only hurt more. They told her she was perfect and amazing, which only made her feel more and more panicked that one day she might fail to be so. They expected her to be superhuman, and she had no choice left but to try. Even if she knew she would fail

...and then what will happen youll find out what its like to be normal and ordinary and everyone who thought you were special will glare and frown and purse their lips and say youre not the girl they thought you were and then theyll all walk away...

Once, Harry had seen her at lunchtime, just waking up from her nap. He asked her why she pushed herself so hard. She had tried to explain it to him, that everyone expected her to be perfect, so she had to oblige, but he didn't seem to understand. She tried to explain to him that she was slacking off. She had so much potential, everyone told her, she was smart, and would go far in life. She wanted to be perfect, and she was told that she had the potential to be perfect. So why wasn't she? The only rational explanation, she reasoned, was that she wasn't trying hard enough. Which was the reason she now sat in the common room, at 3:15 in the morning.

...so much potential you can go far but you have to try try harder you cant ever get there if you dont try harder...

She walked to open a window. It was distinctly stuffy. The cool night air felt good as she walked back to the chair and rummaged through her bag. Her hand struck a bottle before finding another bottle of ink. The bottle, she knew without looking, contained a high-strength calming potion. Professor McGonagall had given them to her. She claimed that Hermione was harming herself over nothing, and that the potion would help her realize that she was actually an amazing and productive person.

...always amazing and productive arent you hermione yes you are and you have to be because everyone thinks you are and you wouldnt want to let them down would you no they have to think its all okay even when its obviously not...

She'd never taken it. She smiled and thanked Professor McGonagall, and appeared happy, healthy and well-balanced every time she saw the woman. But it remained unopened. Somehow, she couldn't take it out of her bag, but she had resolved never to drink the stuff. After all, she didn't need it. She was perfectly content. Well, perhaps not content, but surely no worse off than any of the other students. She cried a little more, but that was only because she wasn't as good at hiding her emotions as the others. She was a Gryffindor. Gryffindors are brave. They don't need help. Help like this was for the weak, and for those deluded enough to believe that it would change anything for the better. Hermione knew that she didn't need it, because if she took it she'd never get to be perfect. And she couldn't do that. Curbing her drive to be the best, to be perfect was what McGonagall had implied. Hermione sneered. Who would want to stop being the best?

...should have been in Slytherin with that attitude but you do ant to stop you know you do because youre tired and you just want to rest and don't want to be perfect anymore because its killing you isnt it from the inside out its killing you and you dont even know it you cant even see it youre so blind...

A breeze blew in from the open window. She raised her head, and arched her neck, feeling the wind blow past it, cooling and comforting her. It picked up, and she welcomed it into the room. Still faster it blew, until the papers on her desk were scattered throughout the room, and when she stood up to retrieve them, her hair blew in the wind too, coming out of the careful bun into which she wound it every morning to tame it. She grabbed at the reports and notes which whirled around the room, and noticed with a heavy heart that several had been blown out the window, torn, or otherwise ruined.

...now what are you going to do you cant fix it you cant do them all again theres no time and youll have to go to class and tell them what happened tell them that perfect wonderful studious hermione lost her papers when they blew out the window and that theres nothing she can do to save them even with all her magical skill because she was too tired to think of anything but how much she wants to stop...

Hermione sank down in one of the armchairs, taking deep soothing breaths. She felt the fabric. It was smooth, and as a tear fell onto it, it darkened the maroon fabric into a blood red where the tear landed.

...what are you going to do you cant fix it you cant hide it you cant go back and redo it if only you hadnt opened the window to let in air you knew it would be a bad idea but you did it you never think before you act and now its ruined all because you didnt think you shortsighted idiot girl...

Hermione thought of what would happen that day. Professor Binns would blink a few times in disbelief and disapproval, before telling her that, given her good track record, she could turn it in to him by the end of the day. Professor Snape would smile his half-smile and dock points because obviously the pressure was too much for the poor, stupid Gryffindor girl. She'd never live that down. And Professor McGonagall...she took a few heaving breaths, choking back tears at what her head of house would say. She'd frown upon the fact that Hermione had been working so late, and then she'd tell Hermione that she was overworked, and should probably cut back a bit, especially as the NEWTs were coming up...

... and everyone who thought you were special will glare and frown and purse their lips and say youre not the girl they thought you were and then theyll walk away and leave you alone all alone...

...especially as the NEWTs were coming up...

...the newts hermione did you know youre going to have to study more and spend more time and do your schoolwork and be perfect there and you have to get more newts than anyone ever because you have to prove to them that you are hermione you are perfect and you can...

Hermione collapsed further into the chair, muscles giving over to the heaving sobs which wracked her body. Her breaths came short and shallow, and she whispered a single phrase.

"I can't do this."

...no you cant you cant do this you cant because you arent perfect and no one knows because they think youre special but you know youre not and youre not so you cant do it and you wont ever be able to however hard you try...

The words echoed in her mind. Having said them aloud for the first time, she could almost believe that they were true. She wasn't sure if she wanted them to be true.

...give up now hermione...weve got newts to study for and tests to take and papers to write and books to read...ill hex someone good one of these days... why cant i be that happy anymore ...oh good hermione smart hermione...

"I can't do this." They were true. Oh god, they were true.

...just one more paragraph...why are you so inept youve got so much potential...you could do better so much better try harder...cant ever slip...and theyll ask whats wrong with me and why am i not myself...dont stop to rest... youre slipping Hermione...you never slip ever... youll go mad when you fail and you will oh you will...

"I can't do this," she repeated.

...youre tired hermione youre tired... you scatterbrained klutz ...you were being selfish...you self-centered imbecile...you forgetful unlearned dunce...

"I can't do this."

...and everyone who thought you were special will glare and frown and purse their lips and say youre not the girl they thought you were and then theyll walk away and leave you alone all alone...

"I can't do this."

...you have to try try harder you cant ever get there if you dont try harder...they have to think its all okay even when its obviously not... just want to rest...and then theyll walk away and leave you alone all alone...

"I can't do this. I can't--"

...just want to rest...

"I can't."

* * *

It was Parvati who found her the next morning, surrounded by reams of notes and papers in Hermione's flawless, orderly handwriting. They covered subjects Parvati had never read a word about, even though she was taking most of the same classes as Hermione. Hermione herself was curled up in a ball in the middle of a maroon armchair, hair out of place, clothing wrinkled, and a pained expression on her face. Seated on the armrest, Parvati gently shook Hermione awake.

"Hermione?" she asked softly. Hermione's eyes opened, revealing a desperate, pleading look. "Are you okay?" Parvati asked.

"I can't do it," Hermione responded simply, and reached for Parvati's hand. She gazed into Parvati's eyes, as if trying to communicate a message of vital importance. "Do you understand? I cannot do it."

Hermione then closed her eyes in a pained, resigned fashion. She stood up determinedly, and left for their dormitory, leaving behind a blizzard of papers, and a perplexed Parvati, who wondered what on earth it could be that the perfect and amazing Hermione couldn't do.