Disclaimer: I do not own or claim to own the characters and plot to the novel series "Harry Potter". No profit is made from the writing and publishing of this story, however should this story offend the legal owners of Harry Potter and its affiliated characters, it will be deleted without hesitation.

Author's Note:

This came to me during work (bad Pace, very bad Pace) and I simply had to write it down. Personally I had very much fun doing so (I believe my co-worker was slightly disturbed about my somewhat-dreamy-manic grin) and I hope you will enjoy this short bit of reading.

I am open to any form of constructive criticism so don't hesitate to drop me a line or two.

I've rated this 'R' for safety reasons – no naughty smut in here, though. You'll have to turn somewhere else for that.

Please read the second part of this story before you start bombarding me with flames.

Insanely yours,

Pace

The Assault

There really was no point in arguing, she realized with a dull pang of fear. His mind was set and she could not ignore the determined look of his eyes, although she tried hard to. "You can't possibly mean to do this... now of all times," she whispered to him, careful as to not attract the attention of her fellow students, still hoping to somehow change his mind. He couldn't assault her right now, he simply couldn't!

"Why not?" he asked her calmly, his eyes sweeping over the four house tables of the Great Hall. No one would notice – Hogwarts at breakfast time was always a hustle-bustle of students hurrying back and forth; of people laughing, chattering and occasionally yelling; of doors being pushed open and slammed shut; of tinkling cutlery and the dull sound of plates and goblets moving over the heavy wooden tables.

Most of their teachers had already left for their classes and those that were still lingering were engrossed in deep conversation, it seemed. He noticed the quick movement of her eyes. She was nibbling on her bottom lip, too – a clear sign that her mind was reeling, working in overdrive to find a solution, to somehow avoid the unavoidable. His eyes darkened slightly. "Forget it. You won't stop me," he added sharply. She was familiar with that tone of voice; it meant trouble.

"Harry, please," she whimpered. "Don't, please don't." He could almost taste the panic seeping into her voice and gave her an evil grin that sent shivers down her spine. "You didn't think I'd let you off the hook so easily after last night, did you?" he asked her and Hermione's gaze dropped onto her plate. Her cheeks grew warm – she was blushing.

As of lately, Harry hadn't been very shy about doing 'it' to her, occasionally inviting others to join in on the fun. He must have invited half of the Gryffindors in their year to help him and Hermione had been shocked when almost all of them complied – even Neville had let her down (somewhat too eager for her taste; at least Dean and Seamus had thought Harry's invitation over for a moment before they had accepted). Ron would always invite himself and Harry didn't seem to mind that at all, sometimes retreating from her body to give Ron a full reign, cheering on his best male friend. And afterwards, they'd laugh.

She tried to fight, she really did. She had been sorted into Gryffindor after all and Gryffindors never give up, but she simply wasn't strong enough. Once she had managed to escape, Harry and Ron hot on her heels and she had hidden behind Malfoy – Draco Malfoy of all people. When they caught her later that day Ron had joked that if she had wanted to have Malfoy join them so badly, they'd invite him the next time.

She had thought about asking for help – but who to ask and what to say? Would people even believe her? Hagrid would, she thought bitterly – the half-giant had joined them on more than one occasion when they would be doing it outside and sometimes, when he forgot his strength, he had caused her some nasty bruises which she had found difficult to explain to her roommates (Harry and Ron were always careful not to leave a single mark on her).

Outside – there had been a time when those assaults of her so-called two best friends had been limited to the privacy of Ron's room at the Burrow and an empty Gryffindor common room. It had seemed as if they hadn't wanted to share the sight of her wriggling and writhing body with anyone. But then they had grown somewhat bolder. Empty classrooms were added to their lists. The hallways. Moaning Myrtle's bathroom (much to the dead girl's delight). The school grounds. Her beloved library. The Quidditch pitch. Then they had stopped caring whether the common room was empty or full, as long as they got what they wanted. Sometimes they had even done it in class – discreetly, of course, not wanting to alert their teachers. And almost always both of them had been on her at the same time, capturing her between their bodies, laughing at her and mocking her.

Then the first invitation came. They had invited Lee Jordan first because they had known that she liked him (a silly school girl crush, nothing else) – Lee had gleefully accepted despite her begging him not to. She had never felt so ashamed in her whole life – Harry, Ron and Lee had laughed afterwards.

Harry's hand edged closer to her and she scooted away carefully. If she could bring enough distance between them she might be able to jump up and make a mad dash for it. Ron wasn't there yet – she knew she had a pretty good chance if she managed to catch Harry unaware.

A body brushed against hers as someone sat down at her other side. Her head whipped around to come face to face with the Ron Weasley's freckled nose and blue eyes. She swallowed hard.

"Why Hermione, so eager for my," he paused dramatically before continuing. "Company?" Her only reply was a wide-eyed, horrorstruck look.

It wasn't fair, she decided. It really wasn't fair. She hated it when they did that, when they touched her like that. She hated the way they looked at her when they overpowered her, hated the way their eyes lit up the moment her resolve broke – for that was the worst part of it all. Somehow they had managed to make her like it. The way her skin was tingling now in both, awareness of their close proximity and anticipation of what they would do to her, was proof enough. Hermione cursed her treacherous body.

"Hermione," Harry drawled, scooting closer (did he know how much he sounded like Malfoy?). "Hermione," Ron echoed, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively and moving in on her as well. She caught Neville's gaze, looking at him pleadingly before a large grin planted itself on his face. She shut her eyes tightly knowing no one would help her.

"I'm sure Sirius wouldn't have approved if he knew you were treating me like that," she squeaked in hopes that the mentioning of his now 2 years dead godfather would stop Harry's advances. Silence. Carefully she opened an eye, peeking first at Ron, who was looking quizzical, then at Harry. The black-haired boy looked somberly at her and then sighed.

"Well... maybe it's time I tell you this. You see, it was Sirius idea to begin with," he told her calmly, then grinned. "And a ruddy brilliant idea it was," Ron said from behind her.

"No," she gasped. "No. No! NO!"