Prologue.
Hermione.
Smack
"You stupid whore! It's like you're asking to get raped in those mini shorts! Next time, I'll fuck you myself!" Hermione cowered by the wall, waiting for what she knew was going to happen next. Her father towered over her, his face red and splotchy and his eyes dark.
Harold Granger had recently taken up drinking himself into a stupor. The death of his wife, Jean Granger, had sent him over the edge. He was always angry, depressed or unconscious. Hermione, still 15, was left alone to take care of her drunken father. Unlike most girls, Hermione didn't have the luxury of learning how to talk to boys, or learn how to put on make up. She was left learning how to cover bruises and how to heal cuts without a wand. She was terrified to leave the house, for fear of what may wait for her when she returned. Yes, it was safe to say that Hermione was alone in this situation. No one ever replied to her letters, or tried to pick up the phone when she called. She was completely and utterly alone and she knew it.
"Slut! You are not to leave this house without my permission ever again! You can tell your little magic freak friends that they're going to need to get you, or you aren't leaving this fucking house! Fuck Hogwarts! It's a poison school and you will never ever fit in!" Hermione felt her father's words fit in and felt her chest hollow. He was right. She would never fit in. She saw Harold's reddened eyes grow angrier and she braced herself for what was coming next. His arm was raised and the blow hit her harder than she was used to, hitting a concealed bruise. She felt her head spin and stumbled into the wall. Hit after hit came and she felt blood dripping down her cheek. After what felt like eternity but could have only been an hour, she felt her abusive father recede, probably going off to find more alcohol.
Pulling herself from the floor felt like a monumental task, but she knew that if she stayed there, he would come back. Slowly, Hermione pulled herself up and dragged herself to her room. She looked into the mirror and had to push back the bile rising in her throat. It had never been this bad before. She had a deep cut on her brow, a black eye; bruises riddled her face and trailed all the way down to her torn up shirt. Looking at herself in the mirror made her feel nauseous, and as she looked at her face, she realized that her eyes were hollow. Once sparkling and brown eyes were now dull and murky. She felt nothing but the pain that shook her breath when she moved.
Hermione was not just a lonely girl. She was shattered beyond repair.