The Perfect Fit

And again I AM NO HERMIONE HATER, I LOVE HER DEARLY

Hermione had tried to diminish her individuality, but it just seemed to lag behind her.

I could make a dress, a robe fit for a prince. I could clothe a continent, but I cannot sew a stitch.

She had no to turn to, Harry and Ron were in their own little world. In addition she didn't know how to approach the professors or even her own parents. Hermione decided to try and become a normal teenage girl. Putting on make-up and what not.

I can paint my face, and stand very still. It's not very practical, but it still pays the bills.

It didn't seem to help, like it did for other girls. The dresses and perfumes made her feel more cheap. Well, until Malfoy began to notice her. No longer bucked tooth or a Mudblood, but as something of an angel.

I can't change my name, but I could be your type. I can dance, and win at games like backgammon and life.

In the middle of the night she would sneak off to the Slytherin Common Room. He made her feel special, alive. But things begun to change, and Hermione was oblivious to any of it.

I used to be the smart one, sharp as a tack. Funny how skipping years ahead has held me back.

Draco's touches once gentle and sweet are now rough and careless. She tried to avoid him, but that made him more angry. Making him leave bruises, and scrapes on her. Hermione's brain that had been somewhere else, had now decided to return. Which Hermione decided to run straight to the Headmaster.

I used to be the bright one, top in my class. Funny what they give you when you just learn how to ask.

Dumbledore's fingers traced over her injuries. Moments later Malfoy was expelled from Hogwarts. Weeks passed, and Hermione began to put her nose back into the books. The scars still fresh on her mind.

I can write a song, but I can't sing in key. I can play the piano, but I never learned to read.

Harry and Ron knew now from the rumors buzzing around the school, and they begged her to talk to them about it. But tears would well up in her eyes, and she trampled up the stairs to her room. Where she would close the curtains of her four poster bed, and hug Crookshanks close to her chest letting the tears spill.

I can't trap a mouse, but I can pet a cat. No, I'm being serious. I'm really very good at that.

Nothing seemed to be able to console her. To be alone she went to the showers putting only hot water in the tub, to scald her skin. Hermione had found a temporary solution to her problems there.

She had cut her leg while shaving, it would normally hurt, but Hermione wasn't normal anymore. She had found it soothing, like a lullaby to a newborn child. So when she believed she was alone, she would put a few cuts on her upper thighs and arms.

I used to be the bright one, smart as a whip. Funny how you slip so far when teachers don't keep track of it.

It maybe wasn't the most logical thing to do but….put it this way when the blood came out so did Hermione's problems. The physical pain replaced the emotional, and when the physical pain was gone so was the emotional. She tried to focus on all the good times she has had. But each time she tried they became harder and harder to grasp.

I used to be the tight one, the perfect fit. Funny how those compliments can make you feel so full of it.

Hermione kept up the façade, making top marks, helping Ron and Harry with their homework. She left the true side of her a secret. The side no one could understand, not even herself. She would smile, and giggle. It's safe to say Ron had begun to take notice.

I can't fix a car, but I can fix a flat. I can fix a lot of things, but I'd rather not get into that.

Between lessons Ron would walk closer to Hermione than before, waiting for the exact moment to entwine his fingers with hers. His kisses, maybe at one time would've felt like Heaven, but now made her feel ill.

I can shuffle, cut, and deal, but I can't draw a hand. I can't draw a lot of things, I hope you understand.

She laid with him, and at the end they would tell each other the deepest desires of their hearts. Hermione couldn't help it, everything seemed to be going her way now. But looks can be deceiving. The pain still lingered upon her, and she wouldn't dare tell anyone what she was planning to do.

I am not exceptionally shy, but I've never had a man. That I could look straight in the eye, and tell my secret plan.

Hermione would stare into the bluish flame, thinking of how to go about it. That's when Ron would come. He would see her smile, and he would be convinced that it was his mere presence that made her giddy.

I can take a vow, and I can wear a ring. And I can make you promises, but they won't mean a thing.

What he didn't know was that every fight, every single name he had called her simmered deep inside her, sending her that much closer to the edge.

Can't you just do it for me? I'll pay you well. I'll pay you anything if you can make the damn thing work.

The time had come, Hermione went into a small nook in the library, her sanctuary. She knew how to slit her wrists. Just like anything else that had become to be in her interest she studied it down to the core. She cut herself straight down the vein making sure they were even. She felt more pleasure than she could ever remember having.

Can't you fix it for me, it's gone beserk. I'll give you anything if you can make the damn thing work.

Ron found her on the floor, at first thinking she had just fell asleep studying. Like she often did. But he then noticed the blood seeping in the floor. He scooped her in his arms like a white knight. Carrying her to Madam Pomphrey in what seemed to be a blur. The nurse told him she was in critical condition, and she had done everything she could do.

I'll pay you anything, if you just end this. Hello I love you will you tell me your name? Hello I'm good for nothing, will you love me just the same?

Harry's side. But to let you know I have the plot down, and if you don't review you

won't see the secret side of Ron to what drove Hermione….So R & R please. Don't

care what you put as long as it's not hate mail.