A/N - So it's been a really long time since I tried writing anything. A lot happened and I just kinda gave up. Well I am going to try again. So here goes something. Read and review please. I don't own the Harry Potter Universe. I wish.


After the war Hermione had turned into a quiet riot really. She never came out and did anything that the Hogwarts staff saw, but she was in the infirmary what seemed like every other day with cuts and bruises or broken bones. Minerva, who in her own opinion, counted herself among Hermione's friends, was beginning to get worried. She honestly would have confronted the girl about it sooner but every time she tried the young witch found a reason to be somewhere else. Minerva had asked Harry and Ron about it many times but always came back with the same answer, they continually asked but never got any answers. Hermione never spoke to them about anything anymore.

The end of Christmas break had rolled around and Minerva found Hermione in Myrtle's bathroom. Quickly the older woman disillusioned herself to watch her star pupil. The young woman was nursing several cuts that had been sewed up with muggle stitches, dabbing them gently with a wet cloth then proceeded to wrap them with bandages. She pulled a bottle out of her bag with a package of cotton balls. The bottle had a clear liquid in it and Hermione very gently used the cotton balls to apply it to several massive, purple bruises and a few smaller yellow ones that decorated her arms and legs. Having finished this the girl turned so that her side was facing the mirror, and very carefully, very slowly lifted the hem of her shirt. What Minerva saw made her heart almost stop. The bruising on the girl's rib cage was horrific. The shades of yellow, green, blue, and purple were a definite contrast to the girls normally pale skin.

Hermione slowly pulled a washcloth from her bag and soaked it in the witch-hazel she carried with her. The bruising was all that was left of the 4 broken ribs she had suffered. Even that was going to be slow healing though. She knew enough about healing magic to fix her ribs having read several books on the theory before. The bruising though, that she wanted to heal slowly. The dull ache in most of her body reminded her that she was still alive. That she could still feel. She didn't take joy in learning anymore, didn't take joy in performing magic. Even Ron and Harry had turned their backs on her because she had become so cold. She hadn't cared though. Hadn't even cried when he told her they were over. She just couldn't feel. She placed the cloth back in her bag and looked herself in the eyes.

The woman staring back at her, that wasn't Hermione Granger, that was a shell. Not even a human being just a body. Speaking out loud she whispered to no one, "I would rather live to take the Dementor's kiss a hundred times, and feel the icy terror at the knowledge that they are stealing my soul, than live with this, this nothingness." She pulled from beneath her shirt a necklace then. On it hung a small razor blade. She pulled it off the chain and uncapped the sharp point. Carefully, gently so as not to put too much pressure and accidently cause herself to bleed out, she dragged the blade across her wrist. Once, the warmth of the blood running down her arm made her smile bitterly. Twice and she was closing her eyes as the tension of keeping up her fa├žade left her body. Three times and the blade was yanked out of her hand and thrown across the bathroom.

"What do you think you are doing?" She looked up into the eyes of her Headmistress.

"Nothing I haven't done before." Was the dead answer.

"Come on. We are going to get you looked at by Madam Pomfrey, then we will discuss your recent behavior, Miss Granger." The older witch wrapped her hand around Hermione's arm and started to walk away but the young woman was having none of it.

"Why?" She demanded. "Why should I bother? Why do you care? No one else does so what the fuck reasons do you have? Or are you just another person pretending to care that's just going to walk away? Just like Harry did. Just like Ron did. My parents. Ginny. Everyone. You don't know shit about me anymore professor so forgive my French but fuck off." The girl grabbed her bag and started to walk away but Minerva grabbed her wrist.

"Detention Miss Granger, 7o'clock sharp, my office, and don't you dare be late or you will find yourself loathing my company through your months' worth of detention. Do I make myself clear?" To say that Minerva McGonagall was pissed was an understatement. She was livid. Never had she allowed anyone to speak to her in such a manner. She would be damned to hell before she would allow Hermione to get away with it. Though she was angry with the girl she still kept in mind what she had seen and tried not to frighten the girl any more than necessary.

"Yes, Professor. Perfectly." With that said the young girl left the bathroom at a quick trot and made her way to her room. There she sat down and gazed at her reflection in the mirror. Bags under her eyes showed just how much sleep she got on a regular basis. Between the memories of the war and the argument she had with her parents and all of her friends turning against her she was constantly plagued with nightmares that left her shaking, screaming, and drenched in a cold sweat.

The rats and knots in her hair showed just how much she cared for herself anymore. She reached up and brushed a stubborn strand away from her face. When her wrist grazed her forehead she realized that, in her anger, Minerva had forgotten about taking her to see Poppy. Blood streaked into her hair from the cuts. Reaching down into her bag, which had been flung haphazardly underneath her bed, the young woman pulled out a handful of butterfly sutures and bandages. Reaching down again her fingers grazed something hard. Pulling it out she looked at the portrait of Minerva and her that had been taken almost 3 years prior at the Christmas they had all spent at Grimmauld Place. The people in the image were laughing and smiling. Things were so much happier back then.

She didn't know how long she stared at the photo, she often lost track of time these days, but thunder chose that moment to rip through the silence and tear her away from her thoughts. She glanced at the clock that hung on the wall. 7:38. Well shit. She thought guess I better get used to the woman while I've got the chance. I'm going to be spending a lot of time with her in the future. That daunting thought in mind Hermione made her way to the Headmistress's office.