Authors Note: This is the first story I've done on this site for Harry Potter… Erm… VERY dark background to this story, rated M for a reason, a lot of confusing bloodlines and etc. The important part is, you don't know who you can trust when you can't trust Dumbledore.

Prologue: And She Pulled The Trigger

This year at Hogwarts had been different. As usual, the Golden Trio stuck together, but there was tension between the only female and the red head. He kept doing things that would cause her to stop and yell at him for no particular reason. No one read too far into it. She was a female, after all.

The Defence against the dark arts classes had certainly been interesting. A woman whose skin was white as snow taught them. And she wasn't snow white. Her name was Sara De Tyren. No one knew much about her, but she and Professor Snape were caught at odd moments arguing. The Slytherins adored her, and Hermione approved of her teaching, but not her personally.

She was a vampire, apparently she was about three thousand years old, and she had certain similarities to Professor Snape, but you wouldn't notice it unless you were looking for it- The shiny black hair, the obsidian black eyes and their height similarities. Although their physiques certainly didn't match. While she was about an inch shorter than Professor Snape, she was rather shapely. The students never commented badly on the fact that she was a bit chubby, some of the boys had commented on her saying 'that's a real woman'. It must have sprouted from the fact that she was infinitely beautiful. Professor Snape, in comparison, appeared to be tall and thin, and his features were hardly something to boast about.

Hermione Granger was the High Prefect, of course. And with three short weeks left in the year, all exams over and done with, simply relaxing and learning extracurricular things, she began to slip, falling down hard and fast. No one quite knew what was wrong with her, only that she somehow managed to get into strange positions and not be able to get herself out. Her appearance fell from thick dark brown curls to a wiry mass of tangles, from a carefully set poker face to one of utter misery, from a voluptuous body underneath her robes, to barely able to stand.

And this is how it nearly ended…

Hermione's Point Of View

I put the gun to my head. If Dumbledore told me that my home was a safe place to go to, then so was hell. I don't need him. I don't need to have the pressure of being part of the Golden Trio. I'm tired of fighting for myself and for the 'greater good'. Screw them all. If no Voldemort is the greatest good I'll ever get, then I don't want it.

The mortal sin… suicide. Hell is safer than home. Hell doesn't hurt like home. Burning flesh, an endless torture, is nothing compared to what I felt at home.

Seems pretty tragic that such an intelligent girl like me would be grabbing razors and slicing herself open, doesn't it? Yeah… Well every other intelligent girl hasn't been through what I have. Perhaps one or two in a million, but definitely not all of them.

And so the sharp pain hits… Funny, when you truly want to end your life, the pain is duller… It hurts more when you're just screwing around slicing yourself open for the pain. This is dull, this is blunt pain and this is death.

To cut… To bleed… This time I won't live to see the sunrise. I couldn't leave without a note of farewell, cliché as it is. Hell. Bleeding and cutting is the least I can do to myself.

I hope Harry understands why I did it. Ron should tell him when I'm gone.

Fuck Ronald. Fuck Dumbledore. Neither of them cared, neither of them listened or understood. 'That's right Hermione, just keep reading up on Voldemort, keep reading and finding out how to save the day. All will be well if you just marry me when we're of age, and never leave me, Hermione'. I hate him. He's still fooling around with Lavender, and he thinks I don't know? Some brightest witch of the century I'd be if I didn't know.

The sad part is- I don't even love Ron. I just dated him to make myself feel good, selfish as I know I am, it worked. For about three minutes.

Harry… He doesn't know about what I'm doing. He's too preoccupied with his boy-who-lived responsibilities to even send a second glance in my direction when I would purposely throw myself down five flights of concrete stairs, just because I liked the pain.

Five weeks in the infirmary and a very stern talking to from Madam Pomfrey later, I jumped out of a third story window.

How do I live through that, I wonder?

But I still love him. He'd protect me if he didn't have the entire United Kingdom to defend.

At least I tell myself that, anyway.

I reach up onto the plain stone wall, in the plain stone room and leave my cliché goodbye message, arm scratching along the grey bricks as I wrote with my entire forearm.

'I'm so sorry.

You're like my brother, Harry, but I can't do this.

I'm so sorry.'

I stood up and looked at the self inflicted wounds. No. I'm right. I can't put a child through a life of them knowing that they were a result of rape. 'Where's daddy?' 'He's your grandfather, child.'

It's not possible in any way to do that to a child. Death is the better option. All those years, I managed to destroy all my children. I've been pregnant about five times, this is the sixth. I've thrown myself down stairs, I've fallen out of windows, crashed my brooms, stabbed myself, caused my spells to backfire, thus killing the other soul within myself…

I'm out of plausible excuses. If I end myself, then no more pain comes to innocent souls. I no longer need to throw myself down stairs. I no longer hurt myself to save the innocence of another.

I no longer believe in myself. It's all that held myself together for the majority of my life. Who do I have left if I don't have myself? To bring a little bit of humour to my death, I've inscribed a phrase on the bullet: Do you want to be liberated?

Say yes to pull the trigger.

Finally, I'm going to some place safe. I say yes.

And I pulled the trigger.

Severus' Point Of View

I knew someone was going to kill them self in the room of requirement tonight.

I don't proclaim to be a Seer, but I do have more talent than Sybil Trelawney, that's for certain. I don't know who would do it, but I had to stop them. I ran to the room of requirement walking past the door three times, I thought one line with the background image of the back of a curly haired girl, the weapon to her head. I had a fair idea of who it was, but she's just as important as anyone else. House rivalries aside.

'I need to save her. I need to save her. I need to save her.'

And the door appeared. So I burst through, wand at the ready.

"Expelliarmus!" I snarled, the metal weapon flying out of her hand with a clatter against the wall and floor, while she was thrown in the opposite direction, the perfect imagery would have been a rag doll being flung across a room, it's exactly what she looked like.

She looked up, confusion and irritation displayed across her face. She took in her surroundings, starting with me, and looked shocked at what she saw.

She wasn't the only one receiving the shock. I took one look at her and saw that it was the High Prefect. The good, old efficient Hermione Granger, High Prefect.

"You insipid chit, what do you think you're doing?" I sneered at her. Of all the times she tried to kill herself, she was going to use a gun this time.

"Killing myself. And if you don't mind, I'd like to complete the job." She said, attempting to pick herself up off the floor, but I simply waved my wand to keep her down for a few minutes.

"Why would you do that?" It wasn't enough that I had to deal with her throwing herself out windows on a regular basis, but now she was going to kill herself and she couldn't even be unconscious for the occasion.

"Go ask your owner, Dumblefuck, maybe he'll enlighten you as to my situation, you greasy git. Now get the fuck out so I can fucking finish myself off!" I shook my head as she screamed at me.

"Miss Granger, thirty points from Gryffindor for obscene language, now kindly come with me, we're going to visit Professor McGonagall."

"How about I tell you to fuck yourself?" She waved her hand at me, sending a wandless spell, causing me to crash against the door and stay there. I tried to wriggle free from the door, but it was like I'd been glued to it.

She stood up and looked at me. "Release me at once, Miss Granger!" I managed to hiss.

"I'm sorry, sir, I have to do this. I have to end it here tonight. Tell Ginny I'm sorry, but the rest of the Weasley's really need to fuck each other… Inbred bunch of wankers…" She walked across the room, her feet splashing lightly in her puddles of blood, picking up the gun and pointing it at her temple.

"Why?" I at least wanted to know this much.

"I'm correcting the existence of two lives." She muttered, looking me in the eyes. "Tell them about my note, won't you?"

And Hermione pulled the trigger.

Reviews are loved. This is the prologue. If you think it's crap, I'll just remove it and pretend it never existed :)

-Bella