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The First Cut Is The Deepest by SapphireStone78

Format: One-shot
Chapters: 1
Word Count: 2,404
Status: WIP

Rating: 15+
Warnings: Mild Language, Mild Violence, Scenes of a Mild Sexual Nature, Substance Use or Abuse, Sensitive Topic/Issue/Theme

Genres: Romance, Drama
Characters: Ginny, Harry, Hermione, OC, Ron, Voldemort, Tonks
Pairings: Ron/Hermione

First Published: 01/31/2006
Last Chapter: 01/31/2006
Last Updated: 01/31/2006


Really bad at summaries, hmm... Hermione's parents are murdered, and she feels lost and confused. So she releases her pain in different ways... Wasn't that horrible?

Chapter 1: Feeling Pain
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Disclaimer: Yeah yeah yeah, tese aren’t my characters, yadda yadda yadda. How I wish they were. Sniffle. But sadly, they are JKR’s so, yeah. :(

Chapter one~ Feeling Pain

“Mum? Dad?”

Twenty two year old Hermione Weasley tugged the black knit hat further down over her curly brown hair as she stepped into her parents house. Her old house. Where she spent her childhood miserably during portions of the summer while at Hogwarts, and during the early years of her childhood.

It wasn’t her parents’ fault that she had been unhappy; they loved her and gave her the best care they could , which turned out to be very well on a muggle’s scale, but did nothing to protect her in the wizarding world. Sure, they had been able to protect her from little mean Missy Simmons in second grade who used to always taunt her for being so smart, and all the other kids who had hated her ( “Envy, the envy you sweetie. And who wouldn’t, you’re so beautiful!” Her mother would always say, cradling Hermione as she cried) and did everything in their power to make her school days a living hell.

But when it came to the wizarding world, they were powerless. They were defenseless against the Death Eaters, the followers of Voldemort, and Lord Voldemort himself to shield her away from it all. And even if they weren’t Hermione still wouldn’t let them. They meant too much to her just for Voldemort to take them away from her.

Hermione put her key into the front door and turned it, hearing the lock click. She gave the door a firm push (since snowy weather usually made it freeze a bit) and it swung open.

Swung open. Something it never did when it was properly locked. Hermione felt the blood rush to her face. As a professional Auror, she knew better than to leave doors unlocked, especially in a time such as this. And in all the years she remembered, the door never SUWNG open. It simply wasn’t that weak of a door. Hermione walked slowly into the cool entrance hall, convincing herself that it was nothing, that anything manmade was going to break one day, and that the war was making her paranoid.

But after checking the kitchen, the downstairs bathroom, the dining room, and the living room, she wasn’t so sure. She had told her parents countless times over the week that she was coming to see them for Christmas, and they had urged her that they would be there to greet her. And her parents words were anything but faulty. Cupping her hands around her mouth, Hermione went to the stairs, took a deep breath, and yelled at the top of her lungs.


Her shout was met by silence. Hermione sighed and stomped to the sofa, where she sat. So her parents had to step out. No big deal, maybe something came up.

Too bad ideas such as that one never settled for the witch. Pulling out her wand, she stood up, aimed it at the ceiling, and shouted, “ARMEAREDUCIO!”

A piercing red light filled the room, so powerful and bright it blinded Hermione before a BANG! Sounded and knocked her off her feet. Landing with a thump on the hardwood floor on the other side of the room, she landed on her stomach.

“Oof!” she groaned, pushing her self off of the ground. “Damn alarm-”

Her brown eyes widened in horror. She had put that shield on the house four years ago, so that she could be sure no dark wizards could get in and harm her parents. If any of them even tried to get in, the shield would blast them back to their original place and burn them. And what had just happened…

“Oh, my god,” Hermione whispered to herself, whipping her wand back out of her coat and spinning around the room, her eyes narrowed.

Whether her parents had taken the shield off (and that was definitely out of the question being that they were muggles), or someway, somehow, the shield had been taken off. Which meant that someone had broken in for tea and cookies, or-

Hermione felt her eyes fill with tears as she stumbled to the staircase, and she began running up it at top speed.

“MUM! DAD! THIS ISN’T FUNNY!” Hermione screamed, turning behind her every few steps to make sure no one was behind her. She reached the second landing and looked down the long hallway. “Mum?”

She peeked into the bathroom, the hall closet, the guest room, and her old bedroom, which was still blue and still contained all her childhood things. She went over to her old toy chest and picked up her old stuffed bear, truffles. “Stop it,” Hermione told herself firmly. “This isn’t a time to think about old times.” She turned back around, prepared to leave, and stopped dead in her tracks.

A dark red, crimson pool of something was stained into the hall carpet outside her door. And Hermione had a nagging feeling that it wasn’t cranberry juice.

Blood. Hermione pressed her hand to her mouth, ignoring the urge to throw up. She stumbled to the doorway and stared down at it, gripping the doorframe weakly, her knees trembling. That’s when she saw the rest.

There were huge blood spots and streaks, staining the carpet, the wall, all which led in a path up the dark attic stairs on the other side of the hallway. Hermione looked up them. It was pitch black at the top.

She knew that at this point that if she didn’t call Ron, he’d kill her. “Heading into darkness after you know that danger is around is stupid,” her trainer had said once at Auror training. “If you see anything indicating danger, or the fact that dark wizards, or any wizards had been in the vicinity, call someone. Never explore an area like that alone.”

But it was harder to obey when applied to real life. Hermione went to the steps, looked up them, and saw nothing. She felt the cold, damp air around her and the silence grew louder in her ears. She took a deep breath.

“Mum? Dad, please-”


Hermione jumped back before criticizing herself. “It’s nerves, Hermione,” she whispered shakily to herself as she took a step up the wooden stairs. “It’s just your imagination…”

At the top, everything was dark and empty. She felt that if she stayed like this, in the dark, she could be captured if anyone was up there. She also knew that if she lit her wand, she’d see something she didn’t want to see… her hand trembling and her brain racing, she held out her wand and in a chocked voice, while the tears fell down her eyes, she whimpered, “Lumos…”

And as the light filled the room, as she took in everything around her, she heard an unearthly, piercing scream fill the room. Only as her head hit the dusty, filth covered floor below her and consciousness fled her body did she realized that the sound came from her own mouth.


Hermione woke that night, pale and sweaty. She threw the covers off and sat up, gasping. Pushing her damp hair out of her face, she turned to tap Ron, but stopped.

Ron understood everything Hermione told him, but could he understand this? Could he understand how it felt for the people who raised her, gave birth to her, who were always there for her, to be gone? And to know that she would never see them again? Hermione smiled numbly at his sleeping figure before untangling her feet from the covers and stumbling to their bathroom.

Hermione clicked on the light and rubbed her eyes sleepily. She opened the medicine cabinet and rummaged through it, looking for Tylenol. She didn’t care how good magic was, there was nothing like a couple of Tylenols and a nice cup of hot tea to calm the nerves. And her nerves severely needed calming right then.

Spotting the Tylenol, she reached in and got it, but bumped the other small containers and jars with her hand, sending everything clattering roughly to the floor. She groaned and bent down to pick it all up.

That’s when the gleaming silver metal caught her eye. She picked the object up and looked at it, her eyes widening.

It was her razor, the four sharp blades glinting mysteriously in the bathroom’s light. She felt a pang in her chest and sat down on the edge of the bathtub, massaging her temples.

She didn’t know what to do. All she knew was that she was so sick of feeling the pain, the suffering. Her parents hadn’t deserved to die. They were nice, wonderful people. Some of the best people anyone would’ve ever met. They didn’t deserve what happened to them. A sob escaped Hermione’s throat.

All those summers where she’d stayed with the Weasleys, all those holidays where she’d rejected her parents invitations to come home and instead spent those at the Burrow, or at school with Harry and Ron she could’ve been with them. She had known she’d hurt them whenever she seemed to rather be with the Weasleys than with them, but they were part of a world that she had never known of… a world where she fit in, which was something she had wanted for so long…

“But it was no reason to forget about where you came from,” Hermione told herself. She looked into the mirror, taking in the dark shadows under her eyes, her pale skin, her hair in its’ messy ponytail. She rubbed her eyes and stared down at the razor.

She’d had friends who had cut themselves before, and when she’d discovered it, she blew a gasket case. “There’s other ways to deal with pain!” she had said to them.

But was it really that bad? Sure, she knew that it was dangerous and you could seriously be hurt, but did it matter, as long as somehow, someway, her anguish and hurt could be released?

Hermione shook her head. She couldn’t. She wouldn’t-

But the razor beckoned to her from its place on the sink. Hermione stared at it, contemplating for another moment or two.

It wasn’t like anyone would care. Ron hadn’t said a word to her when they got home that night, After rushing to her through the crowd of nosy neighbors and wizards (dressed as muggles, of course) to learn what had happened, he and Harry had taken her home and talked in hushed whispers in the living room while she sat alone in the kitchen. And when Harry had left and Ron had came into their room, Hermione had laid on her side facing away from him and simply didn’t talk to him. And he didn’t say anything back; he just cut off the light and fell asleep.

Hermione sighed. She felt so empty. Confused. Lonely. She didn’t know if she could ever be happy again, not when she knew what her parents went through.

And it was all because Hermione was a muggleborn. Just because she wasn’t from any wizard ancestry, her parents were punished. And it wasn’t fair.

Hermione looked towards the door, where on the other side she knew Ron was still asleep. She could just make out his snores, which made her smile for what seemed like the first time in hours. She loved him so much it hurt. She’d do anything for him and knew he thought the same way about her.

What if Ron died and it were all her fault? What if the Death Eaters did the same thing to him as they had her poor parents? What if she lost the only other person in her life who she held close to her?

Hermione grabbed the razor before she could change her mind. The metal felt cool in her grasp. Hermione sat back down on the edge of the tub and positioned it carefully in her hand. Then, she slowly lowered it to her left arm, her hand trembling and tears already tricking down her cheeks for the pain she knew was coming.

She placed the tip on her arm, thinking of all the pain in her life. The taunting, the deaths, the affects of the war… Hermione watched her blood stain the inside of the bathtub as it trickled off of her wrist. Hermione gasped, sobbing now. She just wanted her pain to be gone. Was that too much to ask? Ash the razor trailed down her arm, Hermione felt the pain mix with her other pain and create a sensation that spread through her toes… a mixture of satisfaction, confusion, and relief.


Hermione’s heart stopped as she heard Ron knock on the door. “Hermione, are you okay?”

Hermione quickly rinsed of the razor and threw it back into the medicine cabinet. “Fine!” she yelled through the door. There was a pause.

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah.” Hermione rested her head against the door, feeling anger at Ron for interrupting her. “I just want to be left alone.”

She could tell that her cold remark had stung him. “Alright,” Ron said, and Hermione heard him go back to bed. She sighed, then looked down to her arm. Its bleeding had slowed down, but there were still blood spots on the floor and in the bathtub. She cleaned them up, then wrapped her arm in a bandage. If Ron asked she could always tell him she hit her arm on the sink…

After crawling back into bed, Hermione laid on her side and looked at her bandaged arm. She traced a finger on the bandage, a light smile on her face. At least she had finally had a reason to feel pain. At least she knew that pain was real, and she could still feel it.

If she wouldn’t have been occupied with her own thoughts, she would’ve noticed that Ron’s snores were missing and that he was in fact staring towards the medicine cabinet in the dark bathroom.

A/N: That was the first chapter of my first fanfic, what do you guys think? I'm just noticing how short that was, so i'll have to make the next one longer. Let me know because I’m felling kinda nervous since I usually don’t share my writing. R&R! You know you want to!

Please? :)