Rescue Me

Chapter Two: Pain

Your parents say everything is your fault

But they don't know you like I know you

They don't know you at all

I'm so sick of when they say

It's just a phase, you'll be OK

You're fine

But I know it's a lie...

-continued lyrics from "The Last Night" by Skillet

Hermione awoke the next morning to find blood stains on her shirt. She sighed; that happened sometimes. She always changed her shirt and washed it before anyone noticed, because that wasn't the way she wanted anyone to find out.

She went down to breakfast, holding a glum look on her face. Some people had, in fact, noticed that she didn't look as happy as she used to.

"Good morning, Hermione," Harry said cheerfully as she sat down.

"Mmhmm," she said, putting some eggs on her plate. She reached over to get the juice, and Ron grabbed her arm.

Hermione froze.

Would he finally notice?

He brought her arm down and held her hand. "Hermione," he said.

Her interest raised.

"I just wanted to say that I'm sorry that we don't get to talk anymore."

The words hit her like daggers.

"What?" she asked.

"We just never talk, and we're sort of distant now...and I feel like we've sort of grown apart. I just wanted to say that I'm sorry and if you ever need anything, I'm here for you."

He patted her shoulder and she winced; her upper shoulder had a fresh cut.

"You all right?" he asked, noticing her look of pain.

"Oh, yeah," she said, shrugging it. "I'm fine."

She looked down and continued to eat her breakfast. Harry and Ron shared a look, but both decided to shrug it off. If Hermione had a problem, they trusted that she would tell them.

Classes that day were definitely not fun. Hermione droned through them, and a lot of people actually started to notice something was wrong.

"Hermione?" asked Neville during potions. "What's the main ingredient to the Hormone Reduction potion?"

Hermione shrugged. "I have no idea."

Questions began to rise about Hermione. Whispers spread through the halls, people curious to know what was bothering Hermione Granger. She didn't care. She wanted people to notice. She wanted people to question her. She would get more and more destructive until someone decided she was good enough to save.

She knew her plans for that night. It wouldn't be just the normal cutting session. She would make this one more... interesting.

When the sun set behind the mountain, Hermione went to people she didn't normally talk to: The Slytherins. There was a Slytherin that she had talked to in Defense Against the Dark Arts, and she was the only Slytherin who didn't turn out to be a bitch.

"Hey, Marla," Hermione said, walking up to her and hugging her.

"Hey back," said Marla. "So are you ready?"

Hermione sighed. "As ready as I'll ever be."

She followed Marla down the hall. Marla opened a door, looked to make sure no one was watching, and entered the room and shut it. She set her back down and pulled out thirteen bottles of booze and a couple of shot glasses.

"So you've never done this before?" she asked.

"No," said Hermione. She felt really nervous about it, but she thought it would be fun to cut herself while she was drunk.

I've gotten so messed up...

Marla poured herself a shot and downed it. She poured another one and handed it to Hermione.

"What is it?" asked Hermione.

"It's Bacardi 151. It will fuck you up so bad."

Hermione sighed.

This is what I want.

She downed the shot. It burned. Hard. She felt it burning all the way down her stomach and the taste was so strong she didn't know if she could handle it.

"Wow!" she said, shaking her head.

"Yeah, this is some strong stuff right here," said Marla. She waved her hand around all the bottles. "I've got the hook up on anything you need."

Marla and Hermione sat there and drank for the next half hour. Once Hermione was completely drunk, she went back to the Common Room, sat on the chair, stared at the fire, and pulled out the dagger.

Maybe this time won't hurt so bad.

Her judgment was definitely impaired. She was surprised that she hadn't puked everything up on her way back.

She rolled up her sleeves. There wasn't any room left on her arms.

Will I fall further into the abyss?

Hermione sighed. Even though she was extremely drunk, she had enough sense to know that she couldn't cut on her arms.

She had to move somewhere else.

Hermione gently took off her shirt, wincing as the sleeves went over her fresh wounds from the night before.

She stared at her stomach.

Have I let myself sink this low?

Hermione put the dagger on her stomach. She took a couple of deep breaths, and pointed the tip a little bit onto it. It made just a little hole, a hole she couldn't feel, and there was a little amount of blood that came out of her.

It hurt so much less when she was drunk.

I'm scared...

Hermione didn't know what to do at the moment. Not being able to feel it made it feel so much better... made the intensity so much higher. She could go all night without being able to feel a single jab of pain.

Hermione flattened the blade onto her stomach. She moved it slightly to the right, and a thin cut began to form on her, blood trickling down onto her pants.

I don't deserve to live anymore.

Suddenly, Hermione's alcohol level didn't seem to affect her as much. She still couldn't feel the pain, but she was more aware now. The tears began to form again as she looked at her bleeding stomach.

She put the knife at another part of her stomach, pulling that one across, and a little further, going more towards her back.

Blood splattered on the chair.

Hermione grabbed the cloth that she'd always use to clean up the blood and dabbed at it. She got it to go away enough to where she could put a spell on it tomorrow to clean the blood out of it.

She watched her blood twinkle in the firelight. She felt her tears running hot down her face.

She watched her life wash away before her.

I've gone mad...

Hermione put the dagger somewhere else on her stomach. She decided she wanted to make an incision line going up her stomach, and she did.

Even though she was really wasted, that one hurt.

Hermione sat there and bled for a while, three good, fresh wounds penetrating her body. She watched the blood for a bit before cleaning it up with the cloth. The tears continued to stream down her face.

I haven't become this person...

Denial.

Denial was always the first step in every healing process. Hermione Granger was definitely going through a lot of denial.

She walked back up to her dorm, staggering her footsteps a bit because of her increased BAC. She laid down in bed and stared at the ceiling again.

Will someone please save me?

She was happy that people had started to notice her strange behavior. Rumors were being spread about her sanity... They thought she'd gone mental ever since Dumbledore died. But that was in the past... She still cried about that sometimes, and she knew that if Dumbledore were here, then he would help in any way that he could.

But he wasn't here. Dumbledore was dead, and that was the cold, hard truth. Hermione had to face her life on her own now. No one would be there to give her the same advice, no one would ever quite have the same twinkle in their eyes, the same hope that could get anybody through any day at any time.

Hermione knew that she was going off the deep end. She knew that she should just tell her friends so they could help her. But for the past six years, Hermione thought that her friends didn't notice her quite as much as she had wanted them to. She felt as if they had sort of ignored her, thinking that she might have been to good for them or something because she was so smart. She had never yearned for them so much in her entire life. She hoped someone would notice soon.

I hate myself for feeling this way.

She wished she could make all the pain go away. She was glad she at least had Marla now. She realized now why people drank so much; it relieves a lot of pain. A lot of stress. Of course, it wasn't a good way to do it because it was so harmful, but that's what Hermione wanted.

Harm.

I've fallen down, and I can't get up...