Disclaimer: I, Bridget Paloumar own only the plot of this story, Jamie and Jennifer (Jenny) Granger (as I have her in this story, not as she is in the Meant to Be series as she is property of the fan fiction author JennyGranger there), Eric Hanson, and any other characters I create. The familiar HP characters are the sole property of J. K. Rowling, and song lyrics are property of their respective artists. Now, with the boring stuff out of the way, enjoy!

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The Child You Never Knew About II:

What If Jamie Lived?

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Chapter 1: The Night It All Went Wrong

In a dank, musty basement, a young girl of about 13 sat huddled in a corner, to some extent hidden by a pile of decomposing boxes. Mold-covered documents spilled messily out of the disintegrating squares of cardboard, slime coated the walls, and the only light came from a single light bulb dangling from a cable from the mold-coated ceiling. Papers littered the coarse cement floor, littered with snippets of coloured cloth, cellophane wrappers, books, and a few pop cans that had spilled from several large, black plastic garbage sacks. An old cracked bookcase sat in the corner about a foot ahead of the girl, partially blocking her from the view of anyone looking for her. Some chairs were lying around the room haphazardly, as well. There were boxes by her side, making her hiding place uncomfortably cramped. Still she stayed.

The young girl shivered miserably, but didn't dare to move. She sat as a rabbit does when he knows a hawk is after him, like a small creature trying to avoid its relentless predator. She had her long, dark hair held securely out of her eyes in a black hair tie. Her eyes a deep, dark brown in colour, were quite large with trepidation. Her name was Hermione Jane Granger. She was in the corner not of her own free will, but trapped there by a man she had thought she could trust, a man with whom she would have laid her life in his hands without a second. Hermione had known this man since she was a mere infant, he was a trusted family friend and yet, a friend no longer.

He, Eric Hanson, had always seemed like a father to her, a replacement for the father that was rarely around for her. Yet, here he was, cornering her and trying to hurt her; that much she was sure of. He was putting her in a position in which she knew she was in danger. The 13-year-old choked back frightened tears as she sank further down in her hiding place to avoid being seen by Eric. Even though he kept calling out to her and telling her to come out, everything was okay, she knew nothing was okay in the least.

She was afraid of him; he could kill her if he wanted to. Matter of fact, he could do pretty much anything he damn well pleased with her for the simple reason that nobody was around to hear anything: her parents were away on muggle business, their neighbors off at some fancy party. There was no hope for her; this was the end of her.

Her small body was hard-pressed into the damp, slimy corner as firmly as she could push herself into it. His intimidating, massive shadow loomed over her, threatening her. Her body shook even harder with her barely controlled terror. What would he do to her? Where had that caring, father-like figure gone to? What was wrong with Eric?

She soon knew what was wrong with him as he bent down towards her, eyes gleaming like polished glass in the dim light. She could smell the alcohol on his breath, see his bloodshot eyes. She quivered even more as he reached out with on e of his hands and she felt it close like a vise around her thin wrist. Panic was about to set in, but she refused to acknowledge it – her life depended on it. She felt sick.

"Come here, bitch!" he roared, his fetid breath making her feel still sicker.

"Eric, no! Think about what you're doing!" Hermione pleaded ineffectively.

"Shut up, you fucking bitch! You're a useless little whore, you realize that? What's a damn little slut going to do to me, call all your slutty friends on me? Like hell you will, because I won't let you live, you hear me? You're going to die, you little bitch! You're just a fucking little whore, and you know it!" he screamed at her, rage showing in his crazed eyes.

Hermione didn't know what he was talking about, but she was smart enough to know to let him scream at her, that it was better he screamed than tried to kill her now. If only she had known at that point what was in the making for her…

He beckoned to her angrily, but she stayed where she was, lying in a heap on the cold cement floor. He screamed at her again, hit her cruelly upside her head, and ordered her to get up again. She painfully peeled herself away from the slime-coated wall and took a diffident step towards him. She thought that maybe if she did what he said, somehow she would be okay, but she wasn't that lucky. As she drew near him, he swung his arm out yet again, knocking her over and out as her head made contact with the hard, unforgiving floor.

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Hermione awoke some time later on the floor of the basement. As she tried to open her eyes, pain seared through her head, causing her to nearly black out. The pain was fierce and unmerciful. She nearly cried out from it, but instinct told her to remain still and quiet. The basement was dark, she realized as she slowly came back to consciousness.

As she became aware of her surroundings, she wished she could just pass out again. It seemed that there was not a single inch of her body that didn't hurt. Biting back the pain and nausea, Hermione slowly sat up. She waited for what seemed an eternity for the world to stop lunging and spinning around her, but it was a long wait, as though the world was forever just one big swirl of terrifying pain.

For awhile, Hermione wondered if this was death. Eric said he was going to kill her – had he? After a good deal of time had passed, she could see a few vague shapes in the dark. She wished desperately for her wand, but it was locked in her trunk in her room to keep curious muggles from destroying it. Not only could she have light to see by, but it could help ease her pain. Pain seemed to be all she consisted of. As she became more coherent, she realized her inner thighs were covered in something sticky and drying. After a few more seconds, she realized the sticky substance was her own blood, which appeared to be omnipresent.

She fought down nausea for what seemed to be the millionth time that night and agonizingly dragged herself to her feet. She began to stumble towards the stairs and fight her way back to her room with only the thought of reaching her wand for protection of herself; screw underage magic. Besides, she definitely had a damn good reason to break the rules; she might die if she didn't.

She was almost to the stairs when she tripped over what she thought to be Eric's out-stretched arm. Upon turning around to investigate, she discovered it was simply a musty old blanket. Eric was gone. She waited until her breathing became halfway normal and her heart quit thundering painfully against her bruised chest. Then she cautiously resumed her never-ending trip to her room and safety.

Climbing the stairs seemed to be a never-ending chore for her bruised and torn body. There were several gashes on her body that began to bleed freely as she moved. They hurt her like hell and she had to bite her lip hard to keep from screaming. The pain was nearly unbearable, but she knew she had a bottle of pain-reliever (magical, of course) in her trunk under her robes, tucked between her various spell books.

Each step she took sent pain twisting down her battered body, made her want to sit down, give up, and die. Tears, even though she tried to hold them back, coursed down her pale cheeks, staining her shirt with their wet trails. It seemed as though the stairs would never end, that relief would never come. It was as if she would never get to the top of the stairs, yet she did. She opened her door, got the potion from her trunk, swallowed it, locked her door, and fell on top of her bed, too sore and too upset to do any more than that.

She lay totally lifeless on her bed, having neither the will nor the energy to move. There was no movement in her room, save for the minutes shifting on her alarm clock and the tears seeping down her cheeks, fading like ghosts into her pillow. It just wasn't fair, not for her. She was the "perfect" girl with the "perfect" life: how could this happen to her? Why had he turned against her? There just weren't any answers, not tonight, anyway.

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Author's Note: For those of you who are new to this ("The Child You Never Knew About") series, here a few things about this series. First off, this is the second story in the trilogy, the first being "The Child You Never Knew About". Secondly, parts of this story actually happened in my own life; the rape, the threat, the suicidal thoughts, the self-harm, the fear & other emotions. Unfortunately, to this day the guys who did it walk free because I was too afraid to do anything about it until it was too late, years too late.

My goal in writing this series, in fact, the series' whole purpose, is to help at least one other person out there and to give readers an insider's view of this awful reality; yes, it actually happens. I have absolutely no intentions of gaining pity or anything like that, because I have learned to be a survivor of both rape and abuse. I really do hope that if you have any questions about this story or anything I may be able to answer, you'll feel free to send me a message. (I don't bite!) If you're a rape victim and just want some advice or to talk, I'm here.

-Bridget

"MysticGranger"

"Unknown Wolf"