Bad Blood

Sleepsong

Sleepsong

Oh in the strangest dreams, walking by your side

It is the hole you impose upon your life.

When you're out, loneliness, it crawls up in the ground

It's what you feel, but you can't articulate it out loud

Oh you go to sleep on your own and you wake each day with your thoughts

And it scares you being alone

It's a last resort

Your dreams and memories blurring into one

The scenes which hold the waking world slowly come undone

You'll come undone.

5 years ago

Hermione took a deep breath, trying to still her shaking body. The darkness around her was suffocating her. She couldn't breathe...there were too many shadows. She wanted to close her eyes but she knew that wouldn't help. She remembered the simpler days when she was little, her father used to tell her to just close her eyes, breathe, and wish the monsters in the dark away. Back then she still believed that she could wish the monsters in the dark away, but now she knew that no matter how hard she wished the monsters would never go away. They were inside her and around her and there was nothing she could do. When she closed her eyes their faces jumped out at her; the faces of Death Eaters and the ones she loved and lost. When she opened her eyes reality set in. The devastation and loss hit her like a wrecking ball. There was no escape for her.

That's why she went out to find one. It started innocently, like most good things did, with a pill here and a drink there.

Being Hermione Granger wasn't easy; but escaping Hermione Granger was twice as hard. Luckily she was smart; disappearing had been easy for her. The only ones who would miss her were Ron and Harry, but she didn't feel like explaining anything to them. How could she explain something to them when she couldn't even explain it to herself? How could she explain her dependency and the effect the pills and alcohol had on her? They didn't understand, they never will.

She had been gone for almost a year now, staying in her little bubble where reality couldn't touch her. She reached out to take another pill out of the bottle, putting it under her tongue before sitting back. It would take a few moments to dissolve and a few minutes to reach her bloodstream. What she really wanted was to shoot up, but she couldn't afford it. She refused to touch the money in her vault. Right now she wasn't Hermione Granger.

The world where she was known, where she had money and magic and friends, was long gone. It was but a distant memory that quickly faded when the pills grabbed hold of her. The pills offered a comforting abyss, it wasn't dark, but it wasn't light either. It was some place in between where she could float for days and where she felt light as a feather. That was the place she wanted to be in forever. Nothing was a priority anymore, she was free.

Or so she thought. No good thing lasts forever right?

She swayed back and forth, smiling as the pills took effect. She let all her worries melt away, she let herself melt away. There was nothing in this world that could touch her, and she was fine with that.

Her fingers lightly traced the scar on her arm. Mudblood. They had tried everything, but it wouldn't go away. That was her worst memory; that was the one that always jumped out at her. The searing pain, the words were not being etched into her skin but into her soul. She had been like cattle and she would be slaughtered like cattle. Her fingers shook as she picked up the knife. It was blood stained.

She opened her eyes, swallowing hard as she looked at her arm. If she gave up magic what did that make her? Certainly not a mudblood. She would be normal, just another muggle. She blinked, her eyes focusing on the words.

"Not anymore..." She mumbled as she slowly dragged the knife across her arm, like she was scratching out a spelling mistake. Her eyes burned with tears as she breathed hard, pushing the knife deeper. She wanted to do that to her memories. She wanted to stab them and kill them and cross them out. Blood ran down her arm as she cut herself deeper, her emotional turmoil was enough to block out the physical pain. It was either that or the pills and the booze, she didn't really care.

"Mudblood..." The blood that ran down her arm was bright red, just like everyone else's. "Why me? Why my blood?" She was the same inside as all the rest, why did she have to be so different? It was ugly to be different. Society encouraged her to be herself but shunned her when she was different from everyone else. She was told to follow her dreams but her dreams were frowned upon. She was different, she stood out, but she could never fit in. That was the problem, it was not her inside, it was the outside. Inside everyone was the same, but outside they weren't. That's how they were judged.

Looks, clothes, status...she would never fit in, even if her blood was bright red just like theirs.

Her head was turning now, it became harder to breathe. Her vision blurred...the pills weren't supposed to do this. She looked down at her arm, only to discover she had pushed the knife too deep. Blood spurted from the wound.

This was good. Let them all see her blood was the same as theirs. She forced her eyes to focus again, gathering enough strength to dip her fingers in the blood on the ground. With a shaking hand she slowly wrote on the white floor in her own blood.

"It's the same as yours..."

Then everything went black.

The front page of The Daily Prophet read "Golden Suicide Attempt."

Hermione almost laughed as Harry showed her the paper, but the look on his face made her bite it back. She didn't know what to tell her best friend.

"A year Hermione! A bloody year!" He had been going off at her all morning, yelling and shouting and occasionally just raising his voice. "We thought Death Eaters had gotten a hold of you! We've sent search parties all over the world! You've been missing for a year!"

She had to stop herself from rolling her eyes at him. She heard the same speech from Ron, Molly, Arthur, Ginny, Luna and Neville. She just sat there through it all, not saying a word to them. What could she say? Was she supposed to thank the Auror's for finding her just before she bled out? Was she supposed to thank them for saving her life? She didn't want to be saved. She didn't need it.

"Why, Hermione?" Harry's green eyes pleaded her to answer him. Her hands were tied to the bed. Ron had told the nurses to tie her down, he was afraid she might try something again. She kept a watchful eye on the clock. In two hours her body would go into shock and she would start detoxing.

Hermione just stared numbly at Harry before sinking back into the pillow, closing her eyes. She just wanted to get out of here. The darkness was going to close in on her again. She needed her pills to keep the darkness away. She focused on her breathing, keeping it steady to fool Harry into thinking she was asleep.

"Harry?" It was the voice of Seamus. After the war he decided he wanted to become a healer. He couldn't stand seeing people in pain and he wanted to help. He wanted to save lives, not take them.

"Yeah?"

"She's been using, only for a few months." She could hear him curse under his breath. "Her body will go into shock and withdrawal symptoms will start to show soon."

"I'm staying here," Harry stated, Seamus couldn't scare him away. Hermione wished that he would just leave.

"There is something else..." Seamus cleared his throat before speaking again. "She has clinical depression."

Harry was silent for a moment. "So?"

"There are times she may feel sad, lonely, or hopeless for a few days, that's normal considering what has happened. But major depression - clinical depression - lasts longer and is disabling. It prevents her from functioning normally. An episode of clinical depression may occur only once in a person's lifetime. More often, though, it recurs throughout a person's life. Usually in cases like hers where she has abused drugs we ignore depression symptoms, but...she's lost the will to live Harry. She's been barely functioning for over a year now. She wanted to die."