Author's Note:
This is a repost of a story I started long ago.
Chapter One
It was a decision to protect her that tore Hermione's mind to pieces.
The decision was made by Harry the night after she was hit by the curse slung from Dolohov's wand. The sight of her laid out on a cot, chest laboring for breath with the new scar that flamed purple against her pale skin, was enough. It was enough to make the two men next to her move their heads together and discuss the situation in hurried and hushed tones.
They sat long after the discussion was over, and stared down at her. Chestnut curls covered the pillow that she slept on, and Ron moved to tug on a coil. It felt smooth against his fingers as he caressed the wayward hairs, before letting go. It quickly sprung back into place. Guilt settled in the pit of his stomach.
The decision to protect her from the coming war was for her own good, they told themselves through the rapidly moving months. She was their's to protect. And so, they set about creating a plan that they would have to wait to implement until the exactly right moment.
If Hermione found their hushed conversations, that ended abruptly as she came within ear shot, odd, she didn't show it. She moved on, probably assuming that the discussions were of romantic natures. She wasn't blind to the way their touch lingered on the other. She wasn't cruel enough to stop those moments, even if there was a flicker of some barely there jealously.
The moment finally came during Bill and Fleur's wedding. Amongst the flames and smoke that took over Ron's childhood home, and Harry's supplemental home, the time had come for them to take action. The two shared a quick nod before grabbing the witch by each arm and apparating to the place that had been prepared.
The safe house was an old stone cottage that Harry had ended up inheriting from his God-father. Nestled in a quiet and secluded area, Harry and Ron knew she would be safe and untraceable.
It would all be fine. They would do what they needed to do, and be back for her. She would be safe, and this is what they told her as she screamed for them to let her out of the house which they had secured as secret keepers. It was just too dangerous for their quick-witted, and muggle-born friend. She would be an easy target. One that neither of them could live losing.
Ron shot his friend a tortured look as her hands pounded on the door as the spells they'd found in dusty books stitched themselves together in a protective layer. They told themselves that they would be back, they told themselves that she would be fine.
"No! Harry... Ron! Please!" Her words were hoarse from screaming. "Please." Her hand felt like fire as she pelted the door with angry slaps and punches.
For the first few days she spent hours trying to get out, but the boys had been clever in their spell work, and it was impossible for her to unwind the magic from the inside.
By the fifth day, the hopeless truth made her fall to the ground. Exhausted from the continual attempts to leave her prison, Hermione sobbed with despair. There was no way that they would survive with out her, there was no one else who even knew where she was. She would be destined to be imprisoned, and die, alone because of the simple heroic nature of her two best friends.
Her fingers dropped the useless wand and instead clung to strands of hair as her heart shattered into a million shards
Hermione's anger came in waves the following week. Pure unadulterated anger that seemed to stoke at her already fiery temper and swallow her whole. Time passed as she held onto the anger, used it as she smashed everything within her prison until she wasn't the only thing broken. As she sat there, bleeding on the floor of her prison, something sickening took seed in the depths of her mind. It crept, its tendrils smoothing her anger and caressing her. Ever so slowly, that rage morphed into something else.
Empty inside, Hermione watched as the shattered outer reflection of her existence was destroyed. Her face blank, and her heart empty, the witch stood. Yes, she thought to herself as she layed down on the lone bed, the truth was hopeless.
The day that Hermione Granger finally lost her mind was utterly uneventful. It consisted of tea, and chocolate biscuits from her prepared bag. Reading poetry by the evening sun, and an unwavering desire to get revenge.
The time ticked away for Hermione, who lost track of the hours, days, weeks.
And, while it was unintentional, it was still painfully efficient.
She would get her revenge.
She knew her moment would finally come when she turned from her morning tea to find two men standing abrasively before the open door of her prison..