A/N: I was recently diagnosed with Bipolar Depression...the idea for this little fic came pretty quickly after that. The whole idea is that the world can be perfect and everyone can be happy, but those suffering from depression may not see it that way. This is the unfortunate result of some victims who suffer from bipolar disorder and don't get the help they need.
Warnings: Character death. Implications of suicide.
Disclaimer: I own nothing. Not making money..blah blah. Just writing for fun! lol
Hermione's breath was deep and ragged. Her hands wouldn't stay still no matter how hard she tried. This was the end. Knowing that almost gave her some sort of relief. She looked at the little vial. The smooth glass glistened in the candle light, it's amber color entrancing Hermione. One swallow and everything would be better.
No one understood that the war had never really ended. Amidst all of the parties and celebrations, Hermione was still fighting a battle of her own; a losing battle.
It never occurred to her that she'd be in this position, but at this point it was her only choice. Harry didn't see. Ron didn't see. Ginny didn't see. No one could see. Everyone was blind to this alternate reality Hermione was stuck in. Even when she should be happy...she wasn't.
Ron would be home from work any minute now. He'd find her on the bed, peaceful and finally free from the monsters that plagued her. In her hand would be clutched the letter they would all read. Everyone would read it. They'd mourn. They'd be sad, confused, and maybe hurt. None of them would have seen it coming, even though they should have. They'd eventually come to understand, even if it took years. Years after visiting their headstone and placing flowers under her name, they'd come to realize what happened.
She tipped the vial into her mouth, the liquid pouring down her throat much smoother than she'd anticipated. It smelled of fresh flowers, tasted like mandrake root, and its effects were slow. Her senses gradually began to fail. The vial slipped from her numb hands, hitting the floor but not breaking. The smell of flowers was gone, faded away like a memory she'd almost experienced. She could hear music playing from the radio slowly fading. She laid down gracefully on the bed and got comfortable just as her eyesight began to fail. "Finally..." she breathed.
Ron did come home soon after. The smell of flowers from the vial was still strong in the air as he brought a box of chocolates into their bedroom. He looked at her form, smiling. She looked so happy and content. Then the panic set in as he glanced at the parchment clutched in her pale hand. Ron knew that Hermione Granger wouldn't be waking from this sleep.
I won't say I'm sorry. This was where my journey ended. I tried to fit in.
I tried to blend. But I couldn't deal with the ups and downs anymore.
I couldn't stay happy long enough to make this work. No one could have done anything.
No one could have saved me.
Take solace in knowing that I've found my place.
Don't hate me.
(A/N: Hope you enjoyed my fic. Sad, but I really enjoyed writing it. Simplistic in form, but speaks volumes between the lines. Read and review..no flames!)