Perfect Passion

NOW

     Chapter one

    Harry Potter looked himself over for the umpteenth time in the hour. He looked great in fancy black robes which brought out his golden tan. His green eyes were adorable, flecked with little specks of brown. He spritzed himself with a musky cologne that he had gotten from the Weasleys on Christmas.

    His best friend Ron Weasley was sitting next to him, advising him on what to wear and how to magically gel his hair back so that it looked slick and glossy. He wanted to look special. Today was a special day. It was the day he would tell Hermione how he felt about her. How he had always felt about her.

    " Got to get going, Ron. Thanks for the help. " Ron looked embarrassed. " Oh........it was nothing, " he muttered. " Good luck, " said Ron softly. Flowers under his arm, whistling cheerfully, Harry went off. He walked out of the boy’s dorm. Harry started walking up the stairs to the girl’s dorm, still whistling.

    From the moment he reached the last step, Harry could tell something was wrong. It was a sort of instinct, a sixth sense. His brain thick with unease, he knocked on the door. No response. He knocked louder. CRAAACK! He tried breaking down the door, magic forgotten. Harry twisted the knob forcefully.

    Suddenly........CREEAK..... the door creaked open. Harry ran in, his face pale with exhaustion. No one was inside the room. He gasped as he saw a small brown-red puddle of blood gathering near the bathroom door. He pulled out his wand, his fingers raked with sweat. " Alohomora! " he shouted, his heart racing. The bathroom door burst open, and Harry rushed in. The sight he witnessed inside was almost too appalling for words.

    He saw a beautiful girl wearing angelic white robes in the bathtub. The bathtub was filled to the brim with crimson-red colored water. The girl’s eyes were closed, and her light brown, almost honey-colored hair, framed her white face. Her slender hands were folded neatly against her chest. Harry picked up one of her lifeless hands in his golden-brown ones, and as he looked at the line of blood across her wrist, he realized that the girl must have committed suicide.

    In shock, Harry looked around the spacious bathroom and noticed a white envelope on the counter. He grabbed it and ripped it open. It was in a feminine, flowery print that he knew all too well.

    Dear Harry,

You never noticed me. I always loved you, and you never cared for me. I mean, why would you? You had everything you ever wanted. You are the famous Harry Potter, are you not? I’m sorry, but I saw no reason to go on living anymore. Please tell my parents that it wasn’t their fault, that I love them very much. Also tell my brother that he can have my stereo and CD player.

The signature at the bottom of the letter read Hermione Granger.

    The colors all flowed together: the rusty red color of blood, the pale red spray of freckles against Hermione’s white skin, the light brown hair which stood out next to her fair face. The colors swirled crazily until what he saw was no longer a dead girl with blood across her wrists. The curtain of different shades parted, and what he saw in front of him was a beautiful angel.