Damaged

Disclaimer: I do not own HP or anything in the HP universe. If I did, 1. I would have a car with a heater, 2. I wouldn't be going to a community college and 3. Draco Malfoy and Hermione Granger as a couple would definatly be canon.

WARNING!!!!!!!: This story contains descriptions of physical abuse, drug abuse, self-injury, and other issues which are considered taboo and may offend some readers.

Foreward

This story is based loosely (sp?) on my life. I have changed my life and have recovered from my drug abuse and anorexia/bulimia. I strongly advise against the use of cutting, drug and alcohol abuse, and eating disorders as a way to cope. I nearly died because of them. I wrote this story to try to get all of this off of my chest and to try to help others to overcome their own personal deamons. If you are one of these who needs help with this, please feel free to email me and I will try my best to help you in anyway that I can. My email address is dracoluverx10@hotmail.com. Also, I want everyone to know that I do not condone anything that happens in this story. Abuse is wrong no matter what the reason is and if you are being abused, it is not your fault and you deserve much better than to be in that situation.



“God damn it Hermione! How many fucking times do I have to tell you not to speak to me like that?” He screamed at his girlfriend as she lay cowering in the corner of her bedroom.

“But Ron, this is my uncle we’re talking about here.” She whimpered as a fresh set of tears fell down her pale face.

“I don’t fucking care!” He said as he backhanded her and she fell to the ground. “You still aren’t going! You weren’t close to him anyway!”

“Only because you haven’t let me see my family for almost a year!” It had killed Hermione to tell her parents that she wasn’t coming home for summer holidays, but she did anyway for fear that if she didn’t, he would beat her again.

The summer had been wonderful. He hadn’t laid one finger on her because his parents were around. He had even allowed her to go home to see her family for a few days. Grant it, he was with her and he only did it because her uncle had been diagnosed with leukemia, but he had still allowed her to go.

“You don’t need then Hermione! You have me. You aren’t going!”

“Damn it Ron! My fucking uncle just died! I do need my family, and they need me too!”

As he came towards her and backhanded her once again she fell on the floor in the corner in front of him. “NO! You can’t go! End of discussion.” And with that, he exited her bedroom to return to Gryffindor tower.

About an hour later she was still laying in the corner, bruised, reliving the events that had transpired and the events of the past few months. How had her once loving boyfriend turned into the monster that he was now? It hadn’t happened over night. It wasn’t like one day he was caring and attentive and the next he was beating the hell out of her. No, it was nothing like that. It started out with a few little things; dirty looks across the table when she’d speak to a guy that wasn’t either him or Harry. Now she wasn’t even allowed to talk to anyone at all, even Harry, unless Ron was there. She couldn’t even go to the library unless he was with her. Frankly, it was bullshit that he treated her that way and she was sick of it.

The only problem was that she didn’t know how to get out. Even if she broke up with him, they still had school and she’d have to see him. And, as ashamed as she was to admit it, she was afraid of him. No, not afraid, petrified. She was tired of thinking about it. Tired of not knowing what to do about it. So she just did what she always did. She got up and walked over to her dresser, grabbed the jewelry box and went to sit on her bed.

The box was beautiful. I was a black circular box that her, now dead, uncle had given her for her birthday. Who would have though that something as beautiful as this box could hold something so ugly within?

She hesitated, but holding something that reminded her of her uncle made her remember why she had gotten the box out to begin with. She undid the lock and raised the lid. The box had several compartments. In the top compartments was jewelry. The lower compartments held her coping tools: sleeping pills, muscle relaxers, pain killers, razor blades, a couple of packs of cigarettes, laxatives, some screens, some cocaine, her pipe and an ounce of weed (or at least what had been an ounce two weeks ago, now it was about half that).

Since this whole thing with Ron started, she had begun going many things to deal. Smoking pot, cutting, doing lines, popping pills, drinking, smoking cigarettes and cutting had all become part of her everyday routine. She was also bulimic.

She opened up one of the packs of cigarettes, pulled one out and lit it. Taking a deep drag, she sighed and chose a blade from her collection and removed it from the box before drawing it across her skin, waiting for the red blood to come out so that she could forget about her problems.

So that she could prove that she could feel pain other than the pain that Ron had caused her.

So that she could be in control, if only for a moment.

For that moment, it seemed as if the pain of her terrible situation could flow away from her and her life just as the blood would flow from her veins. For that moment, she felt whole again.
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A/N: Thanks for reading. I would really appreciate a review so that I know whether or not I should keep writing this story.