She is beautiful.
And I am obsessed with her.
She has shown me what love is, when nobody else could.
I have come to think of her as the missing jewel in my crown, comparing her beauty to a flower's- she is delicate and perfect, innocent and unsullied.
But yet, she has rejected me, and indeed, everyone else at Hogwarts that has been intent on becoming her friend.
She sits at the Slytherin table alone, surrounded by a substantial veil of gossip and intrigue.
What makes her all the more captivating is that although she is a Slytherin, she has shown no signs of malice or contempt towards others.
I want to crack her open like a nut, want to slice her open like a taxidermist stuffing an animal.
It is late in the Slytherin common room. Hermione and Tom are the only students left.
"Tom? Can I ask you a question?"
Tom immediately gets up, crossing the room to sit across from her in an armchair.
"Of course. But as your intellect is far superior to mine, I don't know if I'll be able to answer any question you have for me."
A joke, uttered in a wry yet playful tone.
Hermione laughs, covering her hand with her mouth like he has made a scandalous joke.
As he watches her, smiling, Tom suddenly finds himself unable to move anything but his mouth.
Laughing harder, Hermione seems suddenly threatening. The realization hits him like a scarlet train, an unpleasant, deadening sensation: she covered her hand to hide her mouthing a spell.
"Oh Tom, seeing you like this gives me such joy. I'm sure you're shocked, of course; judging from your expression, you thought me to be quite innocent. You can speak, you know- the spell I've used on you is a variation of petrificus totalus that leaves the mouth and vocal cords unaffected."
"Poor, speechless Tom. How pitiable."
Laughing again, Hermione gets up and slinks behind his chair.
Tom feels cold hands stroke through his hair, then slither down to his neck, curling around and tracing where his carotid artery is.
He croaks a few words, barely audible, meant to intimidate her but falling thousands of miles short-
"You were meant to be my flower."
As she pulls a butterfly knife from her bra, she whispers to him,
"Oh Tom, flowers are so much more beautiful when they are dead."
He is unable to move as she slits his throat slowly,
so that he can feel the smooth motion gliding through his skin.
Blood spurts onto the chair as he dies, motionless except for his arteries draining themselves.
"How unfortunate, you stained the chair."
Hermione inspects her fingers, licking one tip clean, then walks up into her dormitory and sleeps peacefully all night.