Drarry Oneshots 2

the story

I'm back on my bullshit making stories that no one requested smh

--Heavily inspired by The Story by Conan Gray--

********TRIGGER WARNING*********

Trigger warning for suicide and mentions of rape

Suicide hotline: 1-800-273-8255

Please do not take these ideas to heart, this is purely for writing purposes. If you are feeling suicidal, please get help. You mean something to this world.

For those of you who don't understand the American schooling system, junior year is our third year of high school, and 11th grade. Senior year is our fourth and last year of high school, and 12th grade.

Let me tell you a story,
About a boy and a girl,
It's kinda short, kinda boring,
But the end is a whirl
They were just sixteen when the people were mean,
So they didn't love themselves and not they're gone,
Headstones on a lawn

It was a school full of white kids.

A school full of white kids, and her.

Hermione Granger.

She was like a fly in a bowl of marshmallows, small and insignificant, but they wanted to get rid of her.

Their hair was straight or wavy, light in color, dyed blue and red and purple and every color they could think of.

Her hair was tight and curly and black, and they told her putting color in it would look ugly.

When she tried to straighten it one morning, her mom came in and yelled at her, that she should be proud of her natural hair, that being different wasn't bad.

But when she went to school with her natural hair, people stared.

Their skin was light, sometimes with scatterings of freckles.

Her skin was dark, and they liked to joke that even if she had freckles, they wouldn't be able to see them.

They would turn off the lights in class and pretend they couldn't see her.

They would tell her that what she was wearing looked awful with her skin color.

They would tell her they were glad she had dark brown eyes, because with blue eyes like theirs, she would look terrifying.

They would tell her she didn't belong in this school.

They would tell her she should go back to where she came from, and just laughed when she insisted she was born here.

Every day she heard these things.

When she reached her junior year, more boys started talking to her.

That was when she started to feel like she belonged again.

But when Theodore Nott put his hand a little too high on her thigh in the middle of class, she decided she would rather go back to how it was before.

So she would avoid them.

That is, until Zacharias Smith locked himself in the girls bathroom with her and did unspeakable things to her.

After that, she felt a lot more hollow. Empty.

One time in class, he leaned toward her and murmured about how he liked variety in his diet.

She excused herself to go to the bathroom and threw up.

She was pushed in the halls, laughed at in class, and stared at every time she made any sort of movement.