Disclaimer: Nothing but this plot belongs to me.
A/N: Please read and review.
Chapter 1
The War was over, it was not much of a war actually. Harry Potter and his gang had simply entered Lord Voldemort's private chambers and hit him with the killing curse. Three seventh year's and one sixth year's killing curse, done all at once, had done the trick.
Even though the Wizarding War was over. There were still many wars that people, of all ages, had to face. Take Hermione Granger, for instance. She had played a large part of Voldemort's death but she still had her own war to face. Her father.
Her parents had gotten a divorce in her third year, it was partially why she was so stressed and uptight. They had no idea that Hermione's mother was pregnant when the divorce papers were signed, and so, Hermione's mother had the baby alone. Father unaware of his own child.
She sat upright on her tattered matress and took a pen knife out from her bed side drawer. The blade slowly came out from hiding, making its way to her left wrist. Despite the darkness, she could see the metal blade, with help from the light that shone through the crack in her wall. She finally found a spot which was not already scarred. Placing the blunt tip of the shiny blade on her skin, she slowly slit it. Digging deep into her flesh,savouring every moment of pain she inflicted upon herself. She watched the crimson liquid slide down her forearm, then to her elbow and then dripping onto her already ensanguined sheets. It was bliss. All the pain, regret and dirt flowing out of her veins.
The pain the wounds on her back inflicted on her were close to unbearable. The whipping she received from her father earlier were inhuman. As she leaned back onto her matress, she felt blood seeping through her shirt.
The Wizarding World was her escape. Her escape from an alchohal addict whom she called her father.
Her mother was dead. Robbed, shot and left to bleed in a middle of London. It happened late at night when she was on the way home from work and her four-year-old sister, Leigha, was left in the care of her seventeen-year-old sister. There was a court case after the murder, Hermione had heard, which Hermione's neighbour took Leigha to. Their father had won custody over the two girls.
Her father obviously felt guilty about her mother and had taken to drinking and drugs. All this happened when Hermione was at camp. When she came back, her father had become abusive, blaming her mother's death on her. Telling her that if maybe she was there, she would be able to stop it from happening. Hermione had personally made sure he either took no notice of Leigha or distract him from her, so as to protect her by taking all the blows he had sent towards the girl.
Her stomache growled and she was in pain constantly. She would feel her stomache acids eating at her walls. She hardly ate. Her father never let her eat anything but a piece of stale bread a day. She couldn't steal because her father monitored the frige. She had become but skin and bone. Everything she had, she gave to Leigha, every drop of blood she shad, was for Leigha but Leigha was her reason. Her reason of living. If not for Leigha, she would have killed herself a long time ago.
During the days, she would be with Leigha and during the nights, she and Leigha would take a trip down town to a pub her friend's father owned and sell herself off as a slut. A dancer, that is, while Leigha slept peacefully in the dressing rooms. Of course, she would have to pay for her disappearance but it was how she had to survive.
She stared at her naked self in the cracked mirror, the one which her father threw her against every day she was home since the end of 5th year. She hoped, wished to find a figure or a vision worth looking at. She did not. She opened her mouth to speak to herself. Nothing but a croak came out. Nowadays, she hardly spoke. There was no one else to speak to but Leigha. Ron and Harry were to pre-occupied with their girlfriends, Ginny and Lavender. Her mother was dead. Her father was hardly at home, when he was, he would only talk with his fist and legs. Other than those people, she had hardly any other people to talk to, besides herself and Leigha that is.
It was not as if she felt like talking anyway. She could always send a letter to Viktor. If he was not with his girlfriend that is. He had two timed Hermione with a slut. She remembered when she tried to ask him for help.
Dear Vikor,
Hi, it's me. Hermione. I was just thinking on accepting that offer about going to stay at your place this summer. It's it fine if you come and pick my little sister and I up asap?
Love always,
Hermione
Did he not see it as a cry for help?
The next day, she received his reply.
Hermione,
Sorry but I have a friend staying at my place this summer. I cannot come and pick you up. Oh and I don't think this relationship is going anywhere. I think it would be better if we just remained friends. That friend that is staying at my place is my girlfriend.
Viktor
Friends? Not if she could help it. How could he?
She didn't reply to that letter. She was trapped in the hell-hole and no one was here to save her. She didn't cry over this though. She was too hurt. That summer, her whole world collapsed.
The world that she had created in 15 years had simply collapsed in a matter of 3 months. She could not bring herself to tell anyone about her abusive father. She was afraid. She had a reputation to mantain. She was the brave, smart, witty Gryfindor. Right?
She went back to school, putting on a perfect facade. She was a wonderful actress, that's how she did it. Never cried, slowly slipping into depression.
She changed into black pants and a long-sleeved top, they were slightly big for her, they were her mother's. She had dyed all the clothes that her mother had left for her black. It was her preferred choice.
Hermione had figured out how to sneak Leigha into school without being caught. Leigha, of course, was a very smart toddler, who understood exactly what ' keep quite and stay under the cloak ' meant. Hermione had stolen a huge invisibilty coat from a magical shop in Hogsmeade and used it to hide Leigha. Leigha never cried at night, so it was easy but she had to listen to a lullaby before going to sleep. It was quite easy for Hermione, since she was a prefect, she had a prefect headquarters which she shared with twelve other girls.
How was it possible for a teenage girl to withstand all this without going mental?
Hermione had choosen drinking and music as her stress relievers. Come on, if her father had cartons and cartons of beer which he would finish in but a week.What was wrong with going to a pub and getting drunk?
She had a large CD collection at home, most of them were stolen. How else was she to get those CDs?
Hermione would go to a CD shop, grab a few CDs and run. Somehow the cops didn't manage to catch her. She would run and jump over shrubs and fences. Occasionally run through the thick forest, to escape. It was amazing, her speed and all but she never noticed.
Whenever she was thirsty, she would drink. When she was stressed, she would drink. Even when she was at Hogwarts, she would drink. She'd intoxicate herself until darkness would overcome her. No one cared, no one bothered. They all thought Miss Perfect would never go into depression. How wrong she proved them. Her father's loud footsteps would wake her up and she would be punished, for taking his beer or for nothing, he never gave her an reason. She had not been influenced by her father though, at camp, she had simply had the best tasting fruit punch. Spiked with alchohal, of course.
All this, had made her become a very sickly child. She was illergic to some potions like the healing potion she had tried to cure her cuts and bruises with, she vomited out whatever she had eaten for a week. She was athsmatic, she wouldn't be able to breathe properly in the middle of class. She had gastric, something that was expected and she was illergic to seafood, at anytime, she would be able to vomit just by thinking of something disgusting.
She lay face front on her blood-stained sheets. Uneasily, she closed her eyes. She had never gotten decent sleep since she came back from Hogwarts, three weeks ago. Her father's figure clouded her mind, when she was sleeping or bathing, whenever, wherever. It fustrated her how no one knew about this. Leigha never saw the pain she had gone through for her because Hermione would hide her whenever she heard loud 'thumping' noises. Leigha was already fast asleep. Her peaceful features relaxed Hermione. No harm was done to her. " Happy Birthday, My Little Dragon, " she mumbled into Leigha's ear before falling into a light slumber.
A/N: Please read and review.
Chapter 1
The War was over, it was not much of a war actually. Harry Potter and his gang had simply entered Lord Voldemort's private chambers and hit him with the killing curse. Three seventh year's and one sixth year's killing curse, done all at once, had done the trick.
Even though the Wizarding War was over. There were still many wars that people, of all ages, had to face. Take Hermione Granger, for instance. She had played a large part of Voldemort's death but she still had her own war to face. Her father.
Her parents had gotten a divorce in her third year, it was partially why she was so stressed and uptight. They had no idea that Hermione's mother was pregnant when the divorce papers were signed, and so, Hermione's mother had the baby alone. Father unaware of his own child.
She sat upright on her tattered matress and took a pen knife out from her bed side drawer. The blade slowly came out from hiding, making its way to her left wrist. Despite the darkness, she could see the metal blade, with help from the light that shone through the crack in her wall. She finally found a spot which was not already scarred. Placing the blunt tip of the shiny blade on her skin, she slowly slit it. Digging deep into her flesh,savouring every moment of pain she inflicted upon herself. She watched the crimson liquid slide down her forearm, then to her elbow and then dripping onto her already ensanguined sheets. It was bliss. All the pain, regret and dirt flowing out of her veins.
The pain the wounds on her back inflicted on her were close to unbearable. The whipping she received from her father earlier were inhuman. As she leaned back onto her matress, she felt blood seeping through her shirt.
The Wizarding World was her escape. Her escape from an alchohal addict whom she called her father.
Her mother was dead. Robbed, shot and left to bleed in a middle of London. It happened late at night when she was on the way home from work and her four-year-old sister, Leigha, was left in the care of her seventeen-year-old sister. There was a court case after the murder, Hermione had heard, which Hermione's neighbour took Leigha to. Their father had won custody over the two girls.
Her father obviously felt guilty about her mother and had taken to drinking and drugs. All this happened when Hermione was at camp. When she came back, her father had become abusive, blaming her mother's death on her. Telling her that if maybe she was there, she would be able to stop it from happening. Hermione had personally made sure he either took no notice of Leigha or distract him from her, so as to protect her by taking all the blows he had sent towards the girl.
Her stomache growled and she was in pain constantly. She would feel her stomache acids eating at her walls. She hardly ate. Her father never let her eat anything but a piece of stale bread a day. She couldn't steal because her father monitored the frige. She had become but skin and bone. Everything she had, she gave to Leigha, every drop of blood she shad, was for Leigha but Leigha was her reason. Her reason of living. If not for Leigha, she would have killed herself a long time ago.
During the days, she would be with Leigha and during the nights, she and Leigha would take a trip down town to a pub her friend's father owned and sell herself off as a slut. A dancer, that is, while Leigha slept peacefully in the dressing rooms. Of course, she would have to pay for her disappearance but it was how she had to survive.
She stared at her naked self in the cracked mirror, the one which her father threw her against every day she was home since the end of 5th year. She hoped, wished to find a figure or a vision worth looking at. She did not. She opened her mouth to speak to herself. Nothing but a croak came out. Nowadays, she hardly spoke. There was no one else to speak to but Leigha. Ron and Harry were to pre-occupied with their girlfriends, Ginny and Lavender. Her mother was dead. Her father was hardly at home, when he was, he would only talk with his fist and legs. Other than those people, she had hardly any other people to talk to, besides herself and Leigha that is.
It was not as if she felt like talking anyway. She could always send a letter to Viktor. If he was not with his girlfriend that is. He had two timed Hermione with a slut. She remembered when she tried to ask him for help.
Dear Vikor,
Hi, it's me. Hermione. I was just thinking on accepting that offer about going to stay at your place this summer. It's it fine if you come and pick my little sister and I up asap?
Love always,
Hermione
Did he not see it as a cry for help?
The next day, she received his reply.
Hermione,
Sorry but I have a friend staying at my place this summer. I cannot come and pick you up. Oh and I don't think this relationship is going anywhere. I think it would be better if we just remained friends. That friend that is staying at my place is my girlfriend.
Viktor
Friends? Not if she could help it. How could he?
She didn't reply to that letter. She was trapped in the hell-hole and no one was here to save her. She didn't cry over this though. She was too hurt. That summer, her whole world collapsed.
The world that she had created in 15 years had simply collapsed in a matter of 3 months. She could not bring herself to tell anyone about her abusive father. She was afraid. She had a reputation to mantain. She was the brave, smart, witty Gryfindor. Right?
She went back to school, putting on a perfect facade. She was a wonderful actress, that's how she did it. Never cried, slowly slipping into depression.
She changed into black pants and a long-sleeved top, they were slightly big for her, they were her mother's. She had dyed all the clothes that her mother had left for her black. It was her preferred choice.
Hermione had figured out how to sneak Leigha into school without being caught. Leigha, of course, was a very smart toddler, who understood exactly what ' keep quite and stay under the cloak ' meant. Hermione had stolen a huge invisibilty coat from a magical shop in Hogsmeade and used it to hide Leigha. Leigha never cried at night, so it was easy but she had to listen to a lullaby before going to sleep. It was quite easy for Hermione, since she was a prefect, she had a prefect headquarters which she shared with twelve other girls.
How was it possible for a teenage girl to withstand all this without going mental?
Hermione had choosen drinking and music as her stress relievers. Come on, if her father had cartons and cartons of beer which he would finish in but a week.What was wrong with going to a pub and getting drunk?
She had a large CD collection at home, most of them were stolen. How else was she to get those CDs?
Hermione would go to a CD shop, grab a few CDs and run. Somehow the cops didn't manage to catch her. She would run and jump over shrubs and fences. Occasionally run through the thick forest, to escape. It was amazing, her speed and all but she never noticed.
Whenever she was thirsty, she would drink. When she was stressed, she would drink. Even when she was at Hogwarts, she would drink. She'd intoxicate herself until darkness would overcome her. No one cared, no one bothered. They all thought Miss Perfect would never go into depression. How wrong she proved them. Her father's loud footsteps would wake her up and she would be punished, for taking his beer or for nothing, he never gave her an reason. She had not been influenced by her father though, at camp, she had simply had the best tasting fruit punch. Spiked with alchohal, of course.
All this, had made her become a very sickly child. She was illergic to some potions like the healing potion she had tried to cure her cuts and bruises with, she vomited out whatever she had eaten for a week. She was athsmatic, she wouldn't be able to breathe properly in the middle of class. She had gastric, something that was expected and she was illergic to seafood, at anytime, she would be able to vomit just by thinking of something disgusting.
She lay face front on her blood-stained sheets. Uneasily, she closed her eyes. She had never gotten decent sleep since she came back from Hogwarts, three weeks ago. Her father's figure clouded her mind, when she was sleeping or bathing, whenever, wherever. It fustrated her how no one knew about this. Leigha never saw the pain she had gone through for her because Hermione would hide her whenever she heard loud 'thumping' noises. Leigha was already fast asleep. Her peaceful features relaxed Hermione. No harm was done to her. " Happy Birthday, My Little Dragon, " she mumbled into Leigha's ear before falling into a light slumber.