Author's Note: Welcome to the sequel of Deceiving Hearts. --WARNING-- This story is based upon the very real, and VERY serious condition of depression. I urge anyone who is not comfortable reading about it, don't. Simple as that. If you don't like dark/angst then this story is not going to be for you. Please don't leave comments saying anything along the lines of "I hate this..why do you have to write a story that is so dark and serious?" Quick answer, that's the plot I created based on Deceiving Hearts, and that's the plot I am sticking to.
Another fast note- This story is very close to me. I suffered from serious depression a year ago, so the details WILL be vivid and true to what some people go through. With that said, keep the angry flamers to a minimum, thank you :D
Black and blue, suffering fools
By the age of seventeen
Low and high, just one more time
Felt like an eternity
Right or wrong, never too strong
Friends became my enemies
God forsaken, never too late
~Audioslave: The Worm
It was eating. Constantly hungry and devouring whatever came near it. There were no preferences or exclusions from the darkness. It consumed just because people allow it to thrive inside. Residing in the most secret and personal places. Hearts, minds, thoughts, and actions. Nothing was safe once it attached. Only the strong of will and healthy of mind could fight against it. But, it found me again, here in my shower. There was no use in running or trying to fight. My soul was already destroyed and there was nothing left to salvage. All I could do now was wait out each individual attack as they came. I had about as much control over it as I had over the ocean. A person can splash and disrupt the ocean, but it remained. Buckets can be pulled from the ocean and poured out onto the land, but the water will eventually run back into the ocean. It was useless to fight anymore. Another steadying breath and the feel of the water against my back returned. The pressure in my chest subsided and air flowed naturally to my lungs again. I was letting it worsen just because of a stupid letter.
“I hate them,” I whispered to myself, but thought not as much as I hate myself. I thought about the letter Ginny had sent me not but an hour ago. I would read it a hundred times more, and even though I knew it would happen, I still would hate myself for it. The letters and the reminders were like a fast acting catalyst. I could go two weeks of never being sad, and then an owl would tap on my window. I’d fall back into it so quick that my parents wouldn’t even realize an owl had come.
“Hermione, please, hot water isn’t free.” My mother’s voice said sweetly from the other side of the locked door. I sighed and ran the water through my hair again before shutting it off. The steam escaped from the shower and the chill swept me up. I could feel the uncomfortable shudders down my back as I rushed for my towel. In my hurry, I accidentally rubbed the towel on the insides of my thighs too hard.
“Shoot,” I whispered and snatched up a piece of toilet paper. A small amount of blood leaked onto the toilet paper and then stopped. The cuts were shallow and thin, just enough to release the tension. I was on a freight train to death, and the blade was a temporary braking system.
I dried the rest of my body and wrapped the towel tightly around my chest. My room was right across the hall from the bathroom. I dropped my towel the moment the lock fell into place and wandered over to my bed. The letter lay open on top of my sheets glaring back at me. Even without clothes, my body felt constrained and uncomfortable. I caved and snatched up the letter even though I knew it would be like torture.
Harry and Ron are off again on another mission. Dumbledore sent them to the coast of Ireland in search of some old Irish wizard that could offer some help. They would find him faster with you along, but no one will listen to me. For once, the Order is making a huge mistake. I just hope that the boys don’t get hurt. But, you probably don’t care about that too much and I still don’t blame you. I’ll send you news of their trip as soon as I hear anything.
It had less of an effect the second time around. Harry and Ron were off again, without me, and succeeding just as well. I scoffed the first time they went it alone, but when the boys completed Dumbledore’s task it was like a punch to the face. All those years thinking that I was the glue, and in reality, all I had truly been was dead weight. But what upsets me most is why I was cast aside in the first place. Like so many things lately, it was Ron’s fault. The Order had been conducting many meetings day after day and I was staying at Number 12 Grimwald with all the others. Ron and I never really spoke outside of the meetings together for the obvious reasons. One day, I was napping and had been caught mumbling in my sleep again about Draco. The next morning at breakfast Ron brought it up. “How deep in your pants did he have to go for you to say his name like that?” He asked me in front of all the Weasleys, Harry, and Lupin. I was mortified and he took a bowl of oatmeal to the face. Then, I did something hot tempered. I transformed him into a small disgusting rat and let Crookshanks have some fun. Dumbledore returned Ron to normal an hour later when Harry caught him. To my pleasure, Crookshanks had done a pretty job on his whole body. Too bad Dumbledore didn’t find the humor. He told me that I wasn’t allowed to be within a certain distance of Ron anymore. That banned me from missions and from Number 12 Grimwald for a majority of the summer. So, I stopped showing up and putting in my input about things. I wouldn’t be surprised if only Ginny had noticed because her letters are the only I’ve received.
There was a tapping on my door and my mother’s soft voice mumbled behind it. I pulled myself from my bed and tossed my old robe over myself before opening the door.
“You haven’t taken your medicine yet.” My mum told me sweetly and held out a small white pill along with a glass of water.
“Thanks mum.” I smiled at her and popped the pill in my mouth. She handed the water to me and I took a big swig out of it. I gave the glass back to her and flashed another smile.
“Dinner is going to be ready soon, are you hungry?”
“I’ll be down before it gets cold.” I told her and slowly began to close my door. She got the hint and shuffled away down the hall. The lock tumbled into place and I moved over to my window. I slid it open quietly and felt the warm breeze blow through my thin robe. I lifted my tongue and fished the pill out from under it. The pill was only slightly dissolved as I examined it in my fingertips. I flicked the stupid thing out the window and as quietly as before, I slid the window back closed. Countless times I have done that. I refuse to take any sort of medication that would take away my pain. It was my pain to hold on to and it was mine to take away.
I untied the robe and tossed it to the ground along with my wet towel. I walked over to my dresser and pulled out a pair of long pajama pants and a light tank top. It was warm outside, but I crawled under my thick comforter anyway. Sometimes the weight makes me feel better. One night I will be unable to handle the constraining feeling of my sheets and I’ll sleep on the floor. The very next night I could be stacking pillows and tucking my sheets in tighter and tighter so that I could feel the pressure. Those were the nights that scared me. Wanting to feel the pressure, needing to have the constraints to be able to sleep is a horrible thing. Especially since those were the nights that I thought about Draco. I wished that the weight on me was him. The tight sheets were his protective arms. The heat was from his body.
For nearly half of my sixth year I spent obsessing over the stupid git. I wanted him on an unhealthy level, and I was too blind to see that he didn’t share those feelings. When I needed him the most, he wasn’t there to set aside his pride and help me. Never once did he tell me that he loved me. It was always how he loved how my body made him tingle inside. I wasn’t a person to him; I was merely an object to play with. I hate him, and yet, even in my misery, I could never stop thinking about him. He was the cause of everything dark and painful in my life and I wasn’t able to erase his face from my mind. So much pain that I wish I could cry out. If only I could cry. If only I could just feel something maybe I would heal. I’m a cold stone unable to be cracked open. In the state I’m currently in, both of my parents could pass and I would just sit motionless for the rest of my life. I would die of starvation instead of my own hand because of how far I would be taken. There is a point that people like me reach. You become so consumed that you aren’t even able to form coherent enough thoughts to follow through and just end it. I suppose that’s where I am right now because I can’t see myself ending anything. Maybe that’s why I won’t take those pills. I’m afraid to clear my head and think straight again. It’s dangerous.
I fluffed my pillow and kicked away my sheets. It seems as though tonight is one of those ‘floor nights’. I waited another few minutes in uncomfortable restraints before giving up and rolling to the floor. Crookshanks hopped off the bed also and curled up against my stomach and fell immediately back to sleep. I rubbed his head and listened to his rhythmic purring as I began to drift. The last thought through my mind was one of absolute terror. Within a single week I would be boarding the Hogwarts Express as Head Girl. I could only guess who the Head Boy would end up being. The claws returned around my heart before I could fall into a restful sleep.
Author's Note: This first chapter is short, I'm sorry, but I hope everyone enjoyed anyway :). I wanted it to be longer, but I thought that this was enough to get us started. So far I have around 18 chapters to write for this entire story. That number will most likely change and get longer (hopefully).