Restricted

2

A few days had passed and Hermione continued to avoid her friends more ferociously than ever.

She sat in the library, next to the small rounded window she liked that projected the golden glow of evening dusk onto her page. She was sipping at a cup of green tea that sat upon a pile of books.
Her back was turned to the world, and although she could hear others still lingering behind bookshelves she focussed solely on her research.
All homework had been completed and she began to read through an article surrounding an individuals outlook on the impact of Horcrux's, hoping she could relay the information back to Harry and help figure a little more out to aid their quest.

As much as the lack of motivation and her low mood made life difficult, she still wished desperately for prejudice against her and other muggleborn's to end.

Although she wasn't hugely involved in the plans against Voldemort—she quietly researched and lent a hand when she could.
However most people now had slowly stopped asking her for help. Even Harry.

He felt bad asking Hermione for help when her behaviours were becoming so destructive and when the pain of a lack of sleep was etched into every sharp angled detail of her face.
Even if she was the brightest witch of her age and they needed her help.

She wouldn't stop though, she'd hand Harry and Ron new research with a fake smile slapped across her face, like they couldn't tell, and presumably they'd update the order and get on with whatever they did behind closed doors.

At least then she wouldn't feel like a complete failure— and the research was becoming a bloody good distraction for other matters.

She used her wand to flick forward to the next page and ignored her surroundings as the chatter around her began to calm and students began to leave.
Curfew must have been approaching, but she didn't care to look up at the clock.

As soon as she felt the library empty, she let out a deep breath and collapsed further down into her chair. Hermione slipped off her school shoes and comfortably stretched out each toe.
Reaching to her left she selected a new article and began to read, highlighting important words with her wand. Her brow was furrowed, eyes narrowed with deep concentration in her research. Dark magic certainly required that since it wasn't something she was particularly well acquainted with.
Her long dark lashes fluttered heavily over her lids sleepily, head and stomach battling for her attention with sleep and hunger.

She ignored both— and didn't give a shit.

Head angling toward the window, she noticed the darkness closing in again.
Silence surrounded her, apart from the faint ticking of the clock on the wall.
Reminding her to return to her dorm.

Hermione looked down at her arm, lightly tanned and infiltrated with the constant reminder that she was nothing but a mud blood. She ran the pad of her middle finger over the scar on her forearm, tracing each red stained letter.
Mud blood.
That incident had happened over a year ago now and Hermione still repulsed herself at the sight of it. Another reason why she didn't dare to leave the walls of Hogwarts again.

She wasn't scared— in fact sometimes she often thought putting an end to it all might make her constant depressive struggle easier.
If only she was a little stronger to go through with it.
Her brain seemed to be the only strong factor about her left.

She traced the words once again.
Mud blood.

Hermione chuckled to herself at the sight of it, etched into her flesh forever. What could she do if not laugh?