1/2/09 - I've begun to work on this story again. During my revising, I realized how quickly developed and, frankly, OOC everyone in this story is. As an author, I owe my first story enough respect to go back and fix her. So, in the following weeks, I will be completely remodeling this story. All plot and events will be the same, just the Dramione romance will be more realistic and develope slower. I will also give more explanation to some facts that reviewers have drawn confused attention to. Thank you all for your past support of this story, and I hope that all my loyal readers will still love the new Secret Lusts
I've been left out here, in the dark, by everyone who once knew the real me, the old me. At first they just had fake smiles, thinking they would be able to handle it all, well, that didn't last long. So now, here I am, alone in a cold, dark world. What I am, what I was made, destroyed everything I had ever worked for. It's like my old life never existed. Sure, I still have the same looks, but what are looks if people run from you once they find out your secret. This is the exact reason why I'm petrified to go back to Hogwarts. That was my old life, before, before I became a monster. I'm Hermione Granger, and I have a story to tell you.
Hermione was lying, collapsed on the cool, damp grass outside someone's home. She was grabbing her silky chestnut hair repeating over and over, "Get control over your self, 'Mione. STOP IT NOW!" She continued like that until finally she began sobbing into her hands admitting defeat over her undeniable urges. She wasn't strong enough, she didn’t know what else she was supposed to do, but deep down she wanted to die. She lived a half life now, it wasn't worth causing the pain and aguish anymore. It never was, but she never gave up before because she had others helping her, making sure she never slipped.
It was like liquid copper, thick and sticky, coating her mouth in a way that made her gasped into her victim's necks. Hermione would never allow herself to kill anyone, nobody deserved such a death. Every time she would drink from someone, she would cry. Cry for what she was doing to innocent people, and cry for how weak she was. Even though nobody would ever die, the guilt was too heavy for Hermione. She was relieved when she found out that whomever she drank from never felt pain, just pleasure from her bites. Tonight she found a man to drink from near a small park just fifteen minutes away from her home. He was tall with dark brown hair and blue green eyes. He was very attractive and Hermione couldn't help but choose him.
Before she sank her razor sharp teeth into the man's soft neck she whispered a quick apology. The man didn't even hear her, and she knew that, but she still felt she owed him a "sorry" for what she was about to do to him. Though it felt good for them both, Hermione's guilty conscience would get the best of her prior to taking the last of his blood. When she was finished she could feel she took more than she expected too, but he would still live, she hoped. His weak heartbeat began to quicken in the minutes Hermione spent sitting next to his motionless body. When he started coming to, she caringly said, "Thank you, sir, you don't know how much this means to me..." And, before he could even realize what was going on, she disappeared.
That night Hermione could only help but feel responsible for the confusion and pain she caused each and every one of the people she fed from. Her parents were even terrified when Hermione told them. They were always different, never wanting to upset her in anyway for fear of being killed. Killed by their daughter, that is what always hurt Hermione the most.
"Hermione, you have mail, and dinner is ready!" Her mother yelled up to a sleeping Hermione.
"Mum, can you just come up with some dinner and my mail for me?” Hermione shouted in an unsure voice.
"Umm, honey? Do I really have to?" Her mother asked in an almost worried voice. She was always scared to go into Hermione's room, into the ‘vampire's lair’.
Hermione was always hurt when her mother had to consider seeing her daughter, she even cried sometimes. That was the night Hermione left her house, she couldn't take the constant fear in her home. She was always telling her parents she would never allow herself to hurt them, but they never listened, never even once. She now lived with a woman a couple years older than her. The woman was one of those stereotypical dumb blondes. She was a muggle, so Hermione was always catching herself before she drew out her wand. A couple times her roommate, Lauren, would see a magic book or Hermione's wand laying somewhere, but never asked questions. Hermione paid her half of the rent every month, and that’s all that mattered.
"Only four more days to wait until Hogwarts." Hermione mumbled to herself before stepping into the old 16th century manor that was rebuilt into an apartment building.
Her apartment was small, too small during the day, but at night, it was the perfect size. Hermione trudged up the four flights of stairs to her room. She walked into her not-so-furnished apartment and just stood in the doorway. A couple minutes later she laid down her jacket and removed her shoes next to a maroon plush couch a foot away from the heavy wood door. Hermione quickly got into her bedroom and plopped herself onto the cushy bed on the other side of the room. Hermione practically melted into the warm embrace of the flannel comforter she had. It was plaid blue, not the nicest thing to look at, but it what she could afford and it kept her warm and comfortable.