A.N. – Hi, my first Harry Potter fan fic, it very shot and it didn't take long to write. I stray a little from facts, but I hope you like it. Read and Review please!

Being with her was…unreal. I didn't know it was possible to have someone that could make you pull out your hair one minute, but dance with joy the next. But it wasn't always pretty.


She was sitting by the window in the common room, with what had originally been a mirror besides her.

"Hermione, what's wrong?"

There was so much glass…and so much blood. I lift her thick hair away from her face and saw the blackened tears falling down her face.

"Was it Krum? Did that monster do something to you?"

She shook her head, trying to hide the tissues that were stained with a mix of her blood and tears.

"What wrong? You can tell me, you can always tell me," She looked so beautiful when she entered to great hall in her gown. She still looked beautiful, though her make-up was running and she was just in her night-gown.

"Did you hear them tonight?"

"Mi, everyone thought you were beautiful…I thought you were beautiful…I always do!"

"They said that I was a 'polished turn' and no amount of make-up could cover my filthy blood,"

I could barely make out the last few words. Gently, I took her hand in mine and looked her in the eyes.

"They're jealous – all of them! They all know that they will never be as pretty, as clever, as confident as you. You're the most amazing girl in the world, and my favorite person in the world,"

She finally managed something that could be taken as a smile.

I looked down at her arms, at the brutal marks that were so prominent against her fair skin.


"You've nothing to be sorry for,"

I took one of the many tissues and started – as gently as I could – trying to clean her up. Taking her by the hand, I led her up to the boy's dormitory. I didn't want her to be alone.

I still don't understand how someone could hate my Hermione. It hurt so to see her in so much pain – she didn't deserve it. I tried to protect her, I really did, but one night I couldn't.

It was all over the papers. I didn't know why she did it – maybe it was her parent's death, maybe it was losing Hugo, but either way she went. I came home one night, after a long day at work, and found her just lying there. Things had been difficult between us for a while, and I suppose we weren't connecting like we usually did, but I didn't realize that her depression was back. I walked through to our living room, and she was on our armchair. She looked peaceful for the first time in months. She was so pale, but her blood was so red.

It just brought back the night of the yule ball. But now I couldn't tell her she was perfect. I couldn't go to sleep with her in my arms. It was too late. She was gone. My Hermione was gone, and she wasn't coming back.