Disclaimer: these song that this one-shot is based on is not mine, it belongs to Avril Lavigne, or whoever wrote "Nobody's Home". Also, the characters belong to JK Rowling.

This is a songfic based on "Nobody's Home" by Avril Lavigne. It illustrates a point in Hermione's life when she feels unaccepted and detached from everyone. It's very, very short. Please R&R

(this is edited and reposted)

please go read my other fic, Everlasting Rain, please. I promise, you'll like it. (ok i can't promise it, but i try. :)


She just felt so lost. The safety and comfort she had with her friends was gone. There was no reason for it, because Ron and Harry were still alive and well, but somehow, their friendship was starting to seem a bit strained. The smiles were more like big, ugly grins, and they were so uncomfortable around each other; she had to admit, it was a bit comical to watch. Perhaps it was the recent, rather violent breakup between Harry and her. And how was her ex doing with Ginny? She didn't want to know. Every day felt so forced, but she didn't want to give up. Not yet.

There was a constant feeling of being watched. Someone was urging her to watch where she stepped. Someone was calling her. She wanted to answer, but she was afraid. Her life was a cycle of mistake after mistake, and often the same ones, over and over. The voice seemed to be calling her, telling her, "Don't!" but she couldn't help it. She didn't feel like making the right choices. She couldn't be bothered to try and live anymore.

She didn't know what was wrong. Her depression seemed pointless, because the war was over. Three years of fighting and Lord Voldemort had been vanquished, leaving a cacophony of ruin and destruction. She was tired. Tired of the fighting, tired of the endless problems that streamed her way. And yet, there were no problems. Every one else seemed to be content with piecing their world back together. Somehow, she saw no point in rebuilding. All that was in front of her eyes was a shield of destruction, of hate, of lies and deceit.

There were so many things to deal with… so many problems left unsolved. Harry should have been with HER. But no, he had to go run off with Ginny. Was Ginny there for Harry when he was trying to get the Sorcerer's Stone? Was SHE the one who got him past the logic phase of the obstacle course that Harry had to go through to get the stone? Who was the one who figured out where the chamber of Secrets was? She, Hermione was. If it wasn't for her, Ginny wouldn't even be alive. Yet there she was, repaying her debt by running off with Hermione's boyfriend. Some kind of friend she is. Just like the Weasel she is. But she couldn't say that. The Burrow was the only home she had left. Hermione had nowhere else to go. Her parents were brutally murdered by Lucius Malfoy, and her home was consumed in flames. All her possessions, her childhood memories, were gone, devoured by the inferno, turned into ashes and nothing more. She was now Weasley #9. But she didn't fit in there either. She couldn't possibly live with the lying little skank. Sharing a house with that traitorous sneak would tear Hermione's last few strings of sanity into pieces. She didn't belong anywhere. She wasn't accepted. She was alone.

Hermione crawled out from under the comforter. A one-room apartment. With her government unemployment staple, that was all she could afford. A person could hardly call the cramped, dirty place a home. It just wasn't proper. A home is where you're loved. A home is where your family is. A home is where you return nightly, into safety. Her dingy space was none of that. She was loved by no one. Her family was gone. There was no safety from her own poisonous thoughts. God, she could have filled that place to the brim with her tears, her depression, her discarded dreams and ambitions. She was dead, broken.

What she needed to do was to open her eyes to reality, and clear her mind of the infectious sadness that infiltrated her actions and words. She couldn't figure out why she, the smartest of all her Hogwarts companions, was thrown out like trash, uncared for and forgotten. Why was she, alone, rejected and unloved? She couldn't remember the days that she had been contented with what she had, when she had been truly happy. But what DID she have? Her smarts, her books, her friends, her FAMILY? In the highly pureblood dominated society, she was nothing. She was of no higher standing than a squib. Loath she say it, she was a mudblood, doomed to nothingness.

She couldn't fight the darkness that penetrated her heart. It tightened its grasp on her every day. She didn't have the strength or the will to throw it off. She had too many problems, and no one who would spare time to listen to them. Even if they did, though, she wouldn't have told them. She would hide her feelings. Shy Hermione, sweet Hermione, happy Hermione, would keep her distresses a secret and pretend to be content until the day she died. She would tell them there was nothing wrong. She would lie about the cuts, the pills, the nightmares. She was close to losing her mind. She has lost her faith in life. What was there that life could offer her? Dreams to be shattered, loved ones to lose, hearts to break? What life willingly put into her hands, she would destroy it. She was all over the place. She was stuck within herself, brooding on her problems.

Would she ever clear her eyes to the reality, that if she opened her arms, she'd be accepted? If she rose out of her dark circle, would she overcome her fears? She wouldn't. She didn't have the strength. She was tired, of dying, and resurrecting, dying, and resurrecting, every single day.

Yet, consumed by those inevitable letdowns, she forced herself to live, to break out of her cycle of meaningless renewal and destruction. Who cares if she was lost and couldn't find a soul to help her? She couldn't fight the darkness, but she could avoid it. Giving in, she finally realized, was from habit, not defeat. Be strong, be strong now, a whispered voice urged. And so she would. She could live through Harry's betrayal, Ginny's deceit. Hermione, she told herself, you are better than them. You don't need them to survive. You will prosper on your own.

So she did. With each gasp of life, she struggled to claw her way out of her sunken hole of self-pity. With each step, she began to see light. Hermione Granger was no flake. Harry or no Harry, she'd make it on her own.

Like that muggle song she used to croon to on the radio, she was a survivor.

Finally, after years of self-destruction, she was alive.


That was one of my first songfics, its kind of angsty, then abrubtly turns better… yeah that's kind of weird, but, I hope you like it, and remember…

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and go look at Everlasting Rain. kthx

x3, Prinxess oF daEm0Ns