Fanfiction .003
Title: "Mutilations"
Author: Annie Lovegood (when my username was __chericola)
Fandom: Harry Potter
Pairing: Harry/Hermione
Genre: Drama/Romance
Rated: PG-13
Synopsis: Bad happenings lead to huge, bad changes. (Written a long time ago.)
It started during the holidays, when I was 16. I remember it perfectly, so perfectly as if it had been yesterday. I remember every detail, every expression, every word, every gesture… It’s as if it had been tattooed on my brain, or written in my body with some ink that just won’t fade.
It was night and I was in my bedroom, dressing my pyjamas… I mean, starting to get undressed. When my mother knocked on the door and stepped in, I had just undressed my t-shirt, having only the bra covering my chest. As soon as I heard the door close behind her, I covered my chest with my arms and hid myself, afraid that she would see more than I wanted.
“Come on, baby, I’m not allowed to see your body anymore? Are you hiding something from me?” she asked, with that nice, kind smile she always carried upon her lips. “A tattoo? A piercing, maybe?” she said it with that smile, as if she was sure that it was just shame, as she walked towards me.
I tried to resist, when she held my arms, but I gave up. She would have to know about it someday…
Her expression when she looked at my chest, at the big mark on the side opposite my heart, varied between shock and pain. She was open-mouthed and backed away some steps, as if she was afraid of a simple “bruise”… as if I was a monster.
“H-Hermione… When did this happen?”
“A year ago, in June… in the Department of Mysteries…” my eyes were stuck to floor in a way that I could even tell how many tonalities did the wood have. I looked down for a reason that I didn’t know; I think it was because of the shame I felt.
“Where?”
“In the Ministry of Magic…” I told her the whole story: from Harry’s dream to the spell that had made the mark on my chest, not forgetting how we’d gotten into Umbridge’s office, how we escaped from her in the forest and how we’d flied on creatures we couldn’t even see to get to London. When I finished my tale, I looked up to see my mother’s reaction. She was still agape, sitting on my bed, her eyes full of tears staring at the “bruise”.
We stayed like that for a few minutes - I looked at her, waiting for a reaction, while she cried silently, suffering because of that sight -, until she seemed to have come back to reality and walked towards me. She kissed my forehead and left my bedroom, whispering “good night” before closing the door.
I was just about to fall asleep when I heard noise coming from downstairs. It wasn’t screams, but I got frightened when I realised my parents were arguing. I’d never seen them arguing like that, they were the sort of calm people… and, worst of all, I was the subject of the discussion… I, the mark on my chest and the precautions that should be taken to prevent worse disasters. My mom said I should leave Hogwarts and go and live in another country. My father, who paid more attention to my academic results, wanted me to stay at Hogwarts, in another “class” and without any contact with both Harry or anyone else involved, in any way, with Voldemort.
When I understood the whole thing, I thought I was going to explode. They had no right to do this! I was a person, I had an opinion and was the only one who could fully control myself and I… I had a heart too.
I had a heart too. Even if no one could see it. Sixteen years of suffering and quick-thing, filled with helping and comforting others, not caring about myself at all, came crashing down. I was like the others. I was like the others… I was a human too. Wasn’t I? A weird feeling grew inside me, like I wanted to know if I was like the other people… I wanted to cry. But the tears dried in my eyes. I wanted to bleed. To feel my own pain, not another's pain. Gone was the quick-thinking girl, who always thought three times before acting and analysed all the available consequences with full detail.
I jumped off my bed and in a quick act, went to the bathroom and looked at the mirror. The reflection seemed to speak, “I’m a monster. I can’t feel. I live through others. I’m not human.”. It made my head ache. I put my hands on my hears and whispered “Stop!”… Bitting my lip, I looked around me.
My eyes stopped on a little scissor… but I kept on looking, not knowing why. But my eyes kept on stopping on the scissor. It was like gold to a pirate’s eyes, like magnet attracting metal.
I don’t really know how the idea came through my head. It was instinctive, I supposed. And now that I remember it, I can’t help feeling stupid and silly and useless. Who would say? The so-called brightest-witch-of-her-age grabbing the scissor and a cloth and cutting her wrist… Who would’ve thought?
I was shaking as I placed the scissor on my wrist and drew a line on it, watching as it cried red tears of blood. It hurt at first, but the pain was compensated with the wave of energy running through my body. A-D-R-E-N-A-L-I-N.
--“--
I smiled as it got closer. Grimmauld Place. My friends. The bossy girl with bushy hair had returned to my body. And the cut was just an extreme reaction… nothing I would ever repeat, but I didn’t felt ashamed of having done it. And no one would have to know. Because I was going to have a hell of a time at Grimmauld Place, with my friends.
Wrong indeed. Very wrong. Things started to go wrong. Ron hadn’t made it on his Apparating test. Ginny was in despair, because she was dating a boy she loved so much, but still liked Harry a bit, or something like that. Mrs. Weasley was crying because of Percy’s death. And Harry closed himself on a dark room, barely talking to anyone. And there was nothing I could do.
Nothing I could do besides telling Ron to try doing the test again; hear Ginny mourning and say “It’ll be alright…”; pass the handkerchief to Mrs. Weasley and hug her; and watch Harry… And fight the temptation of cutting myself again, because my world had disappointed me when I thought everything would be okay. But it all came crashing down again and I couldn’t resist anymore.
And I did it. Closing myself on the bathroom, grabbing a scissor and a cloth, tracing the line on my wrist, I smiled like maniac at the blood. At the sensation of liberty and life and adrenalin I could get so easily.
And I repeated it. Over. And over again. Until I found it wasn’t just an extreme reaction, an instinctive thing. And it didn’t happen only when things got wrong…
As the seventh year went on, I also learned I couldn’t live without it. It was a habit. It was a drug. But no longer did I feel pain, nor pleasure, nor adrenaline. I only looked at the blood and smiled, when deep inside I wanted to cry. I was insane. My blood was my drug. And when I wiped away the blood, I wiped away a bit of me… I erased a bit of my personality, which slowly started to fade.
I stopped being me. I was a monster. I was the monster I’d seen on the mirror. I barely talked or spoke my mind about something. I stopped studying, reading books for hours… I kept talking to Harry, Ron, Ginny and Luna, I did my Head Girl duty and went to class… But it didn’t feel like before. I was a dead among the lived, with my hair covering my face, with my head bent, long-sleeved clothes so no one would see my scars [which I couldn’t erase magically] and circles round my eyes. I walked, ate, slept and closed myself on an empty room to cut my wrist.
And it was on one of those empty classrooms that I was, holding a letter, when someone knocked. I didn’t answer. They would go away if they realised there was no one there. But whoever it was knocked again and again and I kept on not answering, stubbornly. But I heard the knob and the old door creak.
It was dark, but I didn’t even need to look to know who had just come in. I was used to his presence.
“Hermione…”, he said, closing the door. He opened the windows just the enough to see me, and sat near me, laying against the wall.
That was when I noticed how my wrist looked and quickly covered it with the cloth. But he noticed the gesture and looked at it.
“What’s wrong with your wrist?” I didn’t answer. I didn’t look at him. He reached my arm and took the cloth off. I offered no resistance. If I struggled, I would faint. I stared at my lap. I didn’t want to see his reaction. “Why”, he asked. I handed him the letter I’d been holding. He was gripping my wrist as he read about the death of my parents due to an attack at the place we lived at.
After some seconds, I fell the cloth rubbing my skin. He cleaned the wound and caressed my wrist and placed a kiss on it.
“Harry, stop.”
“You could have killed yourself this way.”
“Would’ve been a wise thing to do.”
“You’ve done enough wise things, you don’t need to do any more.”
“Yes, and one of those wise things was not go home during Christmas break and let my parents get killed.” And I started cried. Like crazy. Like a baby. Like I hadn’t done in a long time. I looked away, so he wouldn’t notice, but soon I felt his arms around my body.
“And if you died, Ron and Ginny and Luna and I wouldn’t know what to do without your guidance.”, he whispered on my ear, sending shivers down my spine. There was something on his voice that soothed my pain.
He placed a kiss on my neck and I shivered again.
Eventually, I stopped crying. But I didn’t let go. Nor did he. And I felt warm and comfortable as his breath on my neck made me shudder.
And I felt like there was no need for cuts anymore.
Author: Annie Lovegood (when my username was __chericola)
Fandom: Harry Potter
Pairing: Harry/Hermione
Genre: Drama/Romance
Rated: PG-13
Synopsis: Bad happenings lead to huge, bad changes. (Written a long time ago.)
It started during the holidays, when I was 16. I remember it perfectly, so perfectly as if it had been yesterday. I remember every detail, every expression, every word, every gesture… It’s as if it had been tattooed on my brain, or written in my body with some ink that just won’t fade.
It was night and I was in my bedroom, dressing my pyjamas… I mean, starting to get undressed. When my mother knocked on the door and stepped in, I had just undressed my t-shirt, having only the bra covering my chest. As soon as I heard the door close behind her, I covered my chest with my arms and hid myself, afraid that she would see more than I wanted.
“Come on, baby, I’m not allowed to see your body anymore? Are you hiding something from me?” she asked, with that nice, kind smile she always carried upon her lips. “A tattoo? A piercing, maybe?” she said it with that smile, as if she was sure that it was just shame, as she walked towards me.
I tried to resist, when she held my arms, but I gave up. She would have to know about it someday…
Her expression when she looked at my chest, at the big mark on the side opposite my heart, varied between shock and pain. She was open-mouthed and backed away some steps, as if she was afraid of a simple “bruise”… as if I was a monster.
“H-Hermione… When did this happen?”
“A year ago, in June… in the Department of Mysteries…” my eyes were stuck to floor in a way that I could even tell how many tonalities did the wood have. I looked down for a reason that I didn’t know; I think it was because of the shame I felt.
“Where?”
“In the Ministry of Magic…” I told her the whole story: from Harry’s dream to the spell that had made the mark on my chest, not forgetting how we’d gotten into Umbridge’s office, how we escaped from her in the forest and how we’d flied on creatures we couldn’t even see to get to London. When I finished my tale, I looked up to see my mother’s reaction. She was still agape, sitting on my bed, her eyes full of tears staring at the “bruise”.
We stayed like that for a few minutes - I looked at her, waiting for a reaction, while she cried silently, suffering because of that sight -, until she seemed to have come back to reality and walked towards me. She kissed my forehead and left my bedroom, whispering “good night” before closing the door.
I was just about to fall asleep when I heard noise coming from downstairs. It wasn’t screams, but I got frightened when I realised my parents were arguing. I’d never seen them arguing like that, they were the sort of calm people… and, worst of all, I was the subject of the discussion… I, the mark on my chest and the precautions that should be taken to prevent worse disasters. My mom said I should leave Hogwarts and go and live in another country. My father, who paid more attention to my academic results, wanted me to stay at Hogwarts, in another “class” and without any contact with both Harry or anyone else involved, in any way, with Voldemort.
When I understood the whole thing, I thought I was going to explode. They had no right to do this! I was a person, I had an opinion and was the only one who could fully control myself and I… I had a heart too.
I had a heart too. Even if no one could see it. Sixteen years of suffering and quick-thing, filled with helping and comforting others, not caring about myself at all, came crashing down. I was like the others. I was like the others… I was a human too. Wasn’t I? A weird feeling grew inside me, like I wanted to know if I was like the other people… I wanted to cry. But the tears dried in my eyes. I wanted to bleed. To feel my own pain, not another's pain. Gone was the quick-thinking girl, who always thought three times before acting and analysed all the available consequences with full detail.
I jumped off my bed and in a quick act, went to the bathroom and looked at the mirror. The reflection seemed to speak, “I’m a monster. I can’t feel. I live through others. I’m not human.”. It made my head ache. I put my hands on my hears and whispered “Stop!”… Bitting my lip, I looked around me.
My eyes stopped on a little scissor… but I kept on looking, not knowing why. But my eyes kept on stopping on the scissor. It was like gold to a pirate’s eyes, like magnet attracting metal.
I don’t really know how the idea came through my head. It was instinctive, I supposed. And now that I remember it, I can’t help feeling stupid and silly and useless. Who would say? The so-called brightest-witch-of-her-age grabbing the scissor and a cloth and cutting her wrist… Who would’ve thought?
I was shaking as I placed the scissor on my wrist and drew a line on it, watching as it cried red tears of blood. It hurt at first, but the pain was compensated with the wave of energy running through my body. A-D-R-E-N-A-L-I-N.
--“--
I smiled as it got closer. Grimmauld Place. My friends. The bossy girl with bushy hair had returned to my body. And the cut was just an extreme reaction… nothing I would ever repeat, but I didn’t felt ashamed of having done it. And no one would have to know. Because I was going to have a hell of a time at Grimmauld Place, with my friends.
Wrong indeed. Very wrong. Things started to go wrong. Ron hadn’t made it on his Apparating test. Ginny was in despair, because she was dating a boy she loved so much, but still liked Harry a bit, or something like that. Mrs. Weasley was crying because of Percy’s death. And Harry closed himself on a dark room, barely talking to anyone. And there was nothing I could do.
Nothing I could do besides telling Ron to try doing the test again; hear Ginny mourning and say “It’ll be alright…”; pass the handkerchief to Mrs. Weasley and hug her; and watch Harry… And fight the temptation of cutting myself again, because my world had disappointed me when I thought everything would be okay. But it all came crashing down again and I couldn’t resist anymore.
And I did it. Closing myself on the bathroom, grabbing a scissor and a cloth, tracing the line on my wrist, I smiled like maniac at the blood. At the sensation of liberty and life and adrenalin I could get so easily.
And I repeated it. Over. And over again. Until I found it wasn’t just an extreme reaction, an instinctive thing. And it didn’t happen only when things got wrong…
As the seventh year went on, I also learned I couldn’t live without it. It was a habit. It was a drug. But no longer did I feel pain, nor pleasure, nor adrenaline. I only looked at the blood and smiled, when deep inside I wanted to cry. I was insane. My blood was my drug. And when I wiped away the blood, I wiped away a bit of me… I erased a bit of my personality, which slowly started to fade.
I stopped being me. I was a monster. I was the monster I’d seen on the mirror. I barely talked or spoke my mind about something. I stopped studying, reading books for hours… I kept talking to Harry, Ron, Ginny and Luna, I did my Head Girl duty and went to class… But it didn’t feel like before. I was a dead among the lived, with my hair covering my face, with my head bent, long-sleeved clothes so no one would see my scars [which I couldn’t erase magically] and circles round my eyes. I walked, ate, slept and closed myself on an empty room to cut my wrist.
And it was on one of those empty classrooms that I was, holding a letter, when someone knocked. I didn’t answer. They would go away if they realised there was no one there. But whoever it was knocked again and again and I kept on not answering, stubbornly. But I heard the knob and the old door creak.
It was dark, but I didn’t even need to look to know who had just come in. I was used to his presence.
“Hermione…”, he said, closing the door. He opened the windows just the enough to see me, and sat near me, laying against the wall.
That was when I noticed how my wrist looked and quickly covered it with the cloth. But he noticed the gesture and looked at it.
“What’s wrong with your wrist?” I didn’t answer. I didn’t look at him. He reached my arm and took the cloth off. I offered no resistance. If I struggled, I would faint. I stared at my lap. I didn’t want to see his reaction. “Why”, he asked. I handed him the letter I’d been holding. He was gripping my wrist as he read about the death of my parents due to an attack at the place we lived at.
After some seconds, I fell the cloth rubbing my skin. He cleaned the wound and caressed my wrist and placed a kiss on it.
“Harry, stop.”
“You could have killed yourself this way.”
“Would’ve been a wise thing to do.”
“You’ve done enough wise things, you don’t need to do any more.”
“Yes, and one of those wise things was not go home during Christmas break and let my parents get killed.” And I started cried. Like crazy. Like a baby. Like I hadn’t done in a long time. I looked away, so he wouldn’t notice, but soon I felt his arms around my body.
“And if you died, Ron and Ginny and Luna and I wouldn’t know what to do without your guidance.”, he whispered on my ear, sending shivers down my spine. There was something on his voice that soothed my pain.
He placed a kiss on my neck and I shivered again.
Eventually, I stopped crying. But I didn’t let go. Nor did he. And I felt warm and comfortable as his breath on my neck made me shudder.
And I felt like there was no need for cuts anymore.