Disclaimer: I do not own anything you recognize. Keep in mind, this was written late at night because I couldn't sleep.
Possible trigger warning! Story contains depression, drug abuse, self harm and attempted suicide.
Hermione crouched in the corner of the far stall in Moaning Myrtle's bathroom, remembering the events that had brought her here. She remembered everything, Dumbledore's funeral, all the lives lost in the final battle, saving Professor Snape's life, her parents kicking her out, and Harry's tragic suicide at the Burrow that summer. Tears ran down her cheeks as images flashed through her mind. The image of Harry's body, dangling limply from a beam in his bedroom at the Burrow lingered in Hermione's mind the longest. She regretted not stopping him, not talking to him. Most of all, she wished she wasn't thinking about following him. After all, one can only control their own thoughts to a point.
The Head girl knew she shouldn't do anything stupid. She was known as the brightest witch of her age for a reason. But she was so miserable. Hermione had pretty much given up on life, her hair was limp and dull, her eyes listless, her arms were covered with scars, and she couldn't sleep, or eat.
Hermione dragged her self up, wiped her eyes and headed back to her room. In the medicine chest of the head girl's bathroom was a bottle of muggle painkillers. Hermione knew she couldn't take dreamless sleep potions every night, they would eventually stop working so she turned to muggle means of procuring sleep. She pulled out the bottle, worked the cap off, and poured out a handful of the little blue and red pills. She knew it wouldn't be enough to die, but hopefully it would take away the pain for a little while.
She ran a bath while she waited for the pills to kick in. She pulled a razor from it's hiding spot under the sink. Hermione slipped into the warm, bubbly, vanilla scented bathwater. The hand holding the razor moved to her wrist. Feeling nothing, Hermione watched the blood drip into the water, staining the bubbles. Calmly, Hermione cut herself a few more times, finding the pain freeing. It reminded her that she was alive. She carefully cleaned the wounds, and returned the razor to it's hidden magnetic strip. After drying herself and dressing in her light nightgown, Hermione crawled into bed.
The next morning, Hermione awoke to light filtering softly through the sheer gold curtains. Checking the time, she swore, and rushed to get dressed. She had slept almost through breakfast. Luckily she had free period first, but unless she wanted to wait until lunch, she really had to get moving.
The Great Hall was nearly empty, only a few stragglers remained. Hermione snarfed down a plate of bacon and scrambled eggs. A group of seventh year Slytherins walked over as she was leaving, among them was Percy Parkinson, Pansy's younger brother, as well as yet another cousin of Draco's Phineas Malfoy.
"Where's your boy who lived now mudblood? Gone to be with his mum and dad? Maybe you should do the same. Nobody likes you. You're just a filthy mudblood who was never supposed to survive the war." Hermione found back tears as she turned and left for her rooms. All she could think of now was how badly she wanted to cut.
The portrait had barely swung shut behind her before Hermione was racing up the steps to her room. She pulled out the razor and laid on her bed, not bothering with the bed curtains. She turned the blade over in her hand a few times, watching the light glint off the metal. Without stopping to think, Hermione ran the blade across her arm. Deep. She was not alarmed by the amount of blood spilling to her coverlet. She looked at the cut for a moment. It wasn't enough. She ran the blade from elbow to wrist, opening the vein. Hermione laid on her back, watching the patterns dance behind her eyes. Her vision went fuzzy, the room began to dim. Hermione felt herself grow weaker, she knew she was dying, yet, she didn't panic.
"I'll be there soon Harry, Ron, Ginny. I've missed you guys."
Minerva McGonagall rushed through the halls, hoping she the rush wouldn't be necessary. After overhearing a group of Slytherins talking about her head girl, something about hoping she would go through with it, and something else about how the world would be better off with out another mudblood. Minerva gave them all detention with Filch for a week, then rushed to find the head girl, hopefully still living.
"Miss Granger?" The headmistress called as she stepped into the common room of the head boy and girls chambers. When she didn't receive an answer, Minerva ran for the staircase, hoping Hermione merely hadn't heard her.
The bedroom door was partially open, Minerva slowly pushed it aside. She stepped into the room, viewed the form on the bed, and immediately began to wail. It was a sound of pure pain. Somewhere between a scream and a moan. She moved to her prized student's bedside, and checked for a pulse. Tears were running freely down her face as she found a very faint, thready heartbeat.
Minerva moved to the floo and called Poppy up right away. The normally stoic headmistress cradled her favorite student in her arms, grasping at the girls wounded wrist, hoping to stop the blood flow. The fireplace glowed bright green and the matronly medi-witch stepped from the flames.
"Oh dear Merlin, what happened?" Poppy Pomphrey exclaimed as moved to the girl and began casting diagnostic spells.
"She cut her wrist." Minerva's voice was flat, she was in some state of shock.
"She's lost a lot of blood. Even with blood replenishing potions, I may not be able to save her." Poppy said sadly as she bustled about, pouring potions down Hermione's throat while putting a salve on her cuts. They closed, and Hermione slowly began to regain color.
"What the...?" Hermione tried to speak as she woke. Minerva hugged her tightly, tears still running down her cheeks. Hermione relaxed in her mentor's arms. The shock of waking up was wearing off. She buried her face in Minerva's neck and sobbed.
"It will be alright my dear, this shall pass." Minerva quietly spoke. The medi-witch had left to return to the infirmary, and to leave the witches in private now that Hermione was out of immediate danger. Hermione felt a sudden rush of admiration for her teacher. She would survive. She would thrive. She was alive.