Alone. Forgotten. Desolate.

A/N: Hi feeling unexplainably morbid and depressed tonight. This lovely, happy little tid-bit came to me while I was looking at gothic pictures and found a certain one (I'll post it on my profile) I don't own the image or Harry Potter. Hope you little morbidly dark fic lovers enjoy it.

It's supposed to be about if Dobby had came whilst Hermione was being tortured. In my mind Ron convinced Harry that because they couldn't hear anymore screams, that Hermione was dead. Wanting to escape as quickly as possible they left Luna and Olivander behind, although they took Griphook and Dean. This is from a deranged Hermione's POV

They left her.

Hermione Granger endured hours of torture protecting their secrets.

And they left her.

Harry left her.

She who stayed by his side through everything.

Believed him over everyone else.

She who would have jumped in front of curses for him.

Left her.

She could not remember how long she had been in this prison.

The cuts in her wrists long healed- and reopened by the manacles that bound her.

She refused to cry.

She stopped crying weeks ago.

Or was it months?

She didn't cry when they hexed and cursed her, or when they locked her in a room with Greyback.

She didn't cry when after her first transformation, she discovered that the manacles were made of silver.

She didn't cry when her virginity was stolen by unrepentant death eaters.

Or when Voldemort himself, decided he would try and break the little mudblood.

The last time she cried was when Harry left her.

She didn't care that Ron left.

To be completely honest, she expected it.

But not Harry.

Not the boy she would stay up until the early hours of the morning nursing because of a nightmare.

Not the boy who frequently declared that they were closer than siblings.

Not Harry.

She bent her head again as she heard footsteps coming.

Less pain if your head was down.

Luna told her that.

But Luna stopped talking a while ago.

Now she just sits by me staring at me, but not seeing.

She started to odour a while ago, but then I bet I don't smell of roses either.

Blood, sweat and other bodily fluids will do that.

The footsteps are coming closer.

They slam open the door.

Silence.

Their staring at me, I can tell.

Sob.

Their crying.

I won't cry.

I can't cry.

Crying makes you weak.

I can't be weak.

Olivander was weak.

He lasted three days after the boys left.

Bellatrix was angry after that.

I should know.

I have the scars to prove it.

One of the people are coming closer.

I tense slightly waiting for the blow.

My hair.

They're touching my hair.

My head snaps up of its own accord.

Startling the person in front of me.

Not person.

Man.

Men hurt you.

They don't need a reason.

My eyes narrow.

Sorry Luna.

I forgot to keep my head down.

He's whispering something.

'Mione, I thought you were dead.

Death, they've tried many times.

Harry used to call me 'Mione.

Harry.

Green eyes.

Black hair.

Harry returned.

I've wanted this for so long.

He hasn't changed.

No new battle scars adorning his face.

Ron squats beside Harry.

Red hair.

Freckles.

More red hair.

Woman.

Ginny.

Ginny didn't save me.

Ron didn't save me.

Harry didn't save me.

They move away suddenly.

I grin.

I can smell their fear in the air as they take in my appearance.

Once wild chocolate curls are now black with blood clinging to my face.

Blood stains where the tears used to fall.

Voldemort decided when I couldn't cry tears; I would have to cry blood.

My once wide hazel eyes are now almost white.

My body is covered in a modest white gown.

Well it was white, now it is red and brown.

Brown the colour of mud.

Mudblood.

My blood.

I open my mouth to ask if they missed me.

Ron stupefied me.

When I awoke I was in a hospital of some kind.

Bright lights.

Interrogations.

White sheets.

Ghosts.

Luna.

Memories are too hard to forget.

Its been a year since they found me.

Two since the war.

Ron left.

Harry left.

Ginny didn't find me.

It's my turn to leave them.

My turn.

Dressed in a white gown.

Like that night they found me.

Walking to the black lake.

Water.

Calm.

Serenity.

Peace.

Peace at last.

No more memories.

I don't shiver as the ice water touches my unprotected skin.

I don't panic as the water covered my senses.

My mouth.

Cna't speak.

My nose.

Can't breathe.

My hands.

Can't move.

My eyes.

Still see.

But don't see anything at all.

But I can hear Luna calling me.

Luna knows.

Luna saved me.

Minerva McGonagall was devastated when they removed Hermione's body from the lilly pads she was entwined with. It was a sight to behold. Her battle scars revealed by death. Blood ran down her face in place of tears. Cuts adorned her body like intricate bracelets. But the saddest thing at all about Hermione Granger's body.

Although she died alone, in an ice cold lake, of her own doing. Hermione Granger died with a smile on her face, as if she was home at last. Free.