Scream

You throw them away
Like they mean nothing to you to release them
In a stream of daggers piercing
And you don't care
Nothing can break through your bastard exterior
So you drive relentlessly on
Pushing me forever away

But I'll just come back again
Forgetting again
Ready to be hurt again
And you will act as though nothing has happened
Your outside never showing the evil which dwells within
Your words pleasing light

And I am cursed by your possession slowly breaking

('Bastard', by citcat299)

-o-o-o-

White. A pristine white ceiling that seemed to sparkle in an almost unreal light. It was soothing, lulling her sore body to rest.

Hermione blinked, and the ceiling blurred before coming sharply back into focus. Was she dreaming? It felt like it. Then again, she couldn't remember the last time she had felt truly awake. Her life was a hate filled, bloody nightmare that she couldn't escape from no matter how hard she tried, she felt like she was caged and she wanted to scream and scream till she finally awoke. Till she truly woke up. A single tear trickled down her cheek and sank in the white satin pillow, leaving no trace. The memories of the previous day came flooding back.

Malfoy sneered down at her from his position at the head of the group of 7th year Slytherins that had casually encircled her. After all, to them it was only a game. A sick game which they played on a regular basis. Nothing new.

"I see you made a particular effort today bitch. You look even more filthy than usual, or are you just doing it for me?"

The Slytherins sniggered as Malfoy slid a finger down her cheek. She stood there, as still as glass, simply looking on with deadened eyes.

She could never let him see the pain he caused her, but then she sometimes wondered how she could even feel it. Inside she was dying.

"Filthy little mudblood."

Harry paused as he walked past the Slytherins after catching the desperately pleading look Hermione send him through glassy eyes. But when he spoke, his voice was thick with hatred.

"You're right. She's dirty." Without a backwards glance, he strode into the Potions classroom, Ron at his side.

At that point, something in Hermione truly broke.

Unconsciously, Hermione ran her fingers over the knotted scars that criss crossed her arms. Once she had started the cutting, she had been unable to stop. It was like a drug, an addiction. She was filled with so much hate and so much pain. Nobody knew, but then there was nobody left to tell. Everyone she had ever cared about was gone in one way or another. Either they were dead or she was dead to them. She was alone.

Hermione laughed bitterly. There was no point to her life anymore and sometimes she wondered why she didn't just finish it off. No one would care. It would be quick and painless and it would be an end. An end to all her suffering. But for some reason she still hung on. There was something inside her that just wouldn't let go, but then again her Mum had always called her a fighter.

She ran a finger over a particularly thick scar across her upper forearm. It had become a habit lately.

Her Mum and Dad were both dead, murdered in the beginning of her 7th year by Lord Voldemort. He had found out about her friendship with Harry and decided to attack her parents, hoping that if he hurt her, it would get to Harry. It was ironic really, considering that by the time he killed them, Harry had no longer been her friend.

The night she was told of their deaths was the same night she started the cutting.

She longed for the sweet sweet pain the cutting brought her, the release of her hate, her hate of everything, but mainly herself. As she ruined and mutilated her unblemished fair skin she felt a deep satisfaction. For once the pain on the outside could join the pain on the inside. Pain overriding pain.

The pain kept her alive.

-o-o-o-

"Look Albus, I don't care what you do but this has to stop. Don't you understand, if she goes on in this way she might die!" Madame Pomfry's voice broke.

"I know, but I'm afraid there's not much we can do. She's an adult now, and she has to make her own decisions."

There was a long pause.

"I can't believe it, I simply can't believe it! This girl is killing herself and this is all you have to say-"

"Now is not the time to-"

Madame Pomfry's voice rose several notches.

"You know what? You're wrong Dumbledore. Now IS the time to do something. Something I should have done LONG ago. I QUIT!!!"

Hermione heard the sound of running footsteps and a door slammed.

Another set of footsteps, these ones slower and heavier, hobbled towards the bed she was lying on.

"Ms Granger?"

She turned to see Dumbledore standing, his back facing her, his head hung. His voice sounded heavy, defeated.

"I suggest you get to class."

She blinked and he was gone, the heavy hospital door swinging shut behind him. Softly.

She walked to the door in an almost dreamlike state. With every footstep hitting the cold unyielding tiles she wondered why she bothered. Her grades were still perfect, her appearance presentable. She supposed she was living in hope that life would give her something to live for. Her future was dark and there was no light at the end of the tunnel. Not anymore.

As she stepped into the hallway and turned she saw something that somehow she knew she would see. Something inevitable.

Malfoy.

At once all the memories came flooding back, she stifled a cry and refused to fall to her knees. She had to be strong.

Blood.

That was the only thing that seemed to be constant about the pictures splayed across the front page of the Daily Prophet. Across the normal headline was a strip of jet black, accenting the menacing red words. 'Massacre at St Mungos!'

Hermione dropped the paper feeling sick. It was too much, all the bloodshed and horrific images that she had seen. All because of the cold blooded murderers who called themselves 'pure', while drowning themselves in the blood of innocents. The irony was not lost on her. She needed air.

With unseeing eyes, Hermione stood up and calmly walked out of the Great Hall, into the main corridor and straight into Malfoy.

That was when the nightmare truly began.

He took a step forward, watching, always watching.

She stepped back, the same way she had on that fateful day. The events that followed, the events that would, replayed over and over again like a broken record. She knew what happened in the next scene.

'Malfoy', she gasped unevenly, taking a step backwards.

He stepped towards her, smirking.

Hate flooded her senses, empowering her, filling her with a pure black energy.

"You. You did this, you you BASTARD!!!"

She leapt at him, hands outstretched, wanting him to feel something, wanting him to feel the pain that he had brought upon so many others. And he was ready for her. He was always ready.

Both of his powerful arms grabbed hers and she was trapped, helpless before him.

He whispered in her ear, "So what if I did?" then brought his lips crashing down upon hers.

And she snapped.

She kissed him back with ferocity and desperation, her arms around his neck, and her hands tangled in his hair as their tongues twisted together in a passionate fury.

She needed to feel, she was burning up from the inside in solitude and fear, from the knowledge that she fought with daily, constantly, the knowledge that grew continually stronger. The knowledge that she was going to die.

She lost her mind as the barriers she had worked so hard to erect broke, and all the feelings flooded out. All straight into the kiss.

As her body was set ablaze with lust she lost all ability to think and she ground into him and moaned. He growled and pulled her to him as they collapsed onto the floor.

His hand slid up her skirt and she cried out in ecstasy as his other hand roughly pulled up her school blouse. He sensuously fondled her breasts and her moans were lost in their raging mouths.

He pulled his hand away and used it to pull up her skirt, pulled down her underwear, rip off his pants, and tug down his boxers in a few skilled movements.

She stared up at him with lust swamped eyes and pulled her arms tight around him, as he began to plunge in and out of her, sending them both into waves of painful pleasure.

Harry pushed open the Great Hall doors and at that moment he, along with Ron and most of the school population, saw his best friend fucking his worst enemy, a death eater who had murdered countless people and laughed in the face of their agony.

It was then the screaming began.

"Stay away from me," she muttered brokenly, "Stay away from me bastard."

"No." He said simply.

He backed her into a wall, effectively blocking any escape routes. She didn't know why he bothered; she was too tired to run. To tired in every way.

"I have something to say."

He covered her mouth with his hand, and leaned in close to her, silver eyes staring into brown.

"I'm sorry," he whispered.

And with those two words, the world as she knew it came crashing down around her ears. How could he say that to her, how could he?

She tried to scream at him, to kick, to hurt him, to wail. But his hand was against her mouth and his body was pressed hard against hers, trapping her between him and the wall. Silent tears of hate poured down her cheeks.

Suddenly his wand was out, and aimed steadily at the point between her eyes.

"And now I have to kill you."

And Hermione was thrown into a state of calm, a surreal feeling. It all made sense now, everything was how it should be. She was ready to die; tired of living in the bloody and lonely hell that was slowly crushing her soul. She would finally be free, released. She didn't, couldn't, care any more. But she had one nagging need left. The need to know-

"Why?" She asked dully.

"Because I love you."

And in one moment of pure bliss Hermione had her redemption. Someone loved her. She was emancipated.

This play had a different ending.

He pressed his soft lips to hers and pulled away. She smiled.

"Avada Kedavra"

-o-o-o-