A.N. If you read Praying for the Dawn back in its infancy (2008-20012), then the story you are about to read has been changed. It has been cleaned up, edited, and expanded. I decided to delete the former story off of because it is evolving into something more than just a simple re-write.

I am sticking with the loose plotline of the last story, but I am am expanding it and I am working on a sequel. Nevertheless, I can guarantee that this fic will be full of Remus/Hermione goodies, frequent violence, mature language, and eventual lemons. Reader discretion is advised.

Slight AU from HP: HBP to HP: DH

Trigger Warning: Physical abuse, emotional abuse, and Sexual Content and PTSD (in later chapters)

As always, reviews are appreciated. I cannot get better if I don't receive constructive criticism. R&R!

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters in J.K. Rowling's Harry Potter series. I am simply borrowing them for my entertainment and, hopefully, yours.

Chapter 1: Cause I'm So Scared of Dying

To many of her classmates, Hermione Granger's life was almost perfect. She was one of the most talented witches in her class, had two devoted best friends who would die for her, and was well-liked and admired among the Hogwarts faculty for her academic achievements and general drive to succeed.

Certainly, the summer before her 7th and final year at Hogwarts should have been cause for celebration and not the abject horror Hermione felt as she tried to concentrate on her summer homework.

She was seated at her small desk trying to finish her essay for Muggle Studies but couldn't keep her eyes off of the alarm clock that sat on her dresser. She had broken two quills already in her anxiety which had left ugly ink blotches all over her paper.

The clock read 11:52PM when she glanced at it for the fifteenth time that hour. Her father was supposed to be home an hour ago and she was under his strict orders to wait for him to get home.

Hermione looked forlornly over at the letters that Ron and Harry had been sending her. Reading about their time at Grimmauld Place, getting into mischief, dueling with Fred and George, and feasting on Mrs. Weasley's excellent cooking, made a twinge of jealousy rise up in her chest.

Although she only had a week left to endure living with her father before she would be reunited with Harry and Ron, Hermione still felt isolated by her circumstance. Since her father and mother divorced during her 4th year, her father had began to drink heavily and during his drunken episodes would take to treating Hermione like his personal punching bag. She worked very hard at hiding the bruises and welts he inflicted, but it was becoming increasingly more difficult as his beatings progressively got worse. However, her steady use of Muggle antiseptic, bandages, talented makeup application, and constant lying made most of her injuries passable as something they weren't.

The clock now read 12:03AM. Giving up any attempts to finish her essay tonight, Hermione rolled up the parchment and put it in her trunk. She glanced down at Crookshanks's food dish at the bottom of her trunk and felt her eyes mist over. She had given Crookshanks to Susan Bones in her 5th year (much to Ron's and Harry's relief) after her father kicked him down their flight of stairs for getting under his feet.

Suddenly, a pair of headlights illuminated her bedroom window. She ran over and looked out the window and saw her father had swerved into their driveway and ran over their two garbage cans and parked over the top of the daffodils she had planted (and would be expected to now replant). His string of curses cut through the night silence as he stumbled out of the driver's seat. Hermione ran downstairs and unlocked the door for her drunken father and watched in certain horror as he stumbled across the threshold.

"What 'er you doin' up?" He slurred. Mr. Granger was handsome at one time, but several years of intense alcohol abuse gave his eyes a sunken and bloodshot appearance and made what hair that he once had sparse and greasy. Even his physique was beginning to feel the effects of his drinking. His belt could barely contain his expansive stomach and his clothing was constantly doused in sweat that reeked of booze.

"I was waiting up for you." Hermione replied meekly, not making eye contact with her father, "I wanted to make sure that you made it home okay."

"And what are you, my mother?" He snapped, "I don't need you asking where I am and policing my every movement. I'm your father dammit! I deserve respect."

Hermione backed away from her father and held her breath, her eyes downcast and not looking the monster in the eye. His ridiculous accusations and twisting her words around was a tell-tale sign that he was going to be especially angry and violent tonight.

"No dad. I didn't mean it like that. I, I just wanted to make sure you got home safe because I love you." Sometimes buttering up her father worked, but tonight it didn't.

"Bullshit you lying whore." Sometimes his words cut worse than his physical punishments did, "You don't love me. You are just going to leave me when you get the chance. You're just like your mother, you know. Your mother left me after I caught her fucking her boss in our bed."

She had heard this story more than a dozen times and he would always bring it up to make Hermione feel especially guilty – not because he was right, however – but because she remembered that night a little differently.

Hermione's mother, Ann, left after her father punched her in the face for accidentally dropping his dinner on the floor. Supposedly, years of constant abuse took its toll and Ann had decided to leave. Their yelling and her screams for help echoed through their house until well past midnight. When Hermione woke up in the morning, all of Ann's stuff was gone and her father beat her until he collapsed, sobbing, against their kitchen countertop.

Hermione knew that her mother was alive somewhere only because the police kept visiting their house every month that first year to follow up on domestic abuse complaints that were made by her and other anonymous tippers. Hermione felt like she was in between a rock and a hard place. Her father's best friend was a member of the police force and he helped make the complaints disappear. For nearly five years, Hermione felt entirely alone.

Hermione's father went to the fridge and grabbed four beers, opened two, and began drinking them like they were water. He then went to the freezer and found that his two bottles of vodka were gone.

"You." He growled as he stalked towards her. "What did you do you little bitch?"

"I poured them down the drain." She whispered. If she was going to die, then she was going to go down fighting.

He let out a guttural roar and began tearing open cabinets, drawers, and even pulling down the light fixture from the ceiling to find his stashes of booze.

"Don't bother looking for them. I found them all, even the two flasks that you hid inside of the watermelon in the fridge." Hermione said, watching her father out of the corner of her eye.

Her father turned around slowly. All color had drained from his face and yet his eyes held a psychotic fire in them. Those eyes which once saw her riding her first bicycle down the street, and looked after her as she cut pictures out of her coloring books to post on the kitchen fridge held no love for her now.

She bounded up the stairs with her father close on her heels. When she made it to the landing, her father grabbed her ankle and which sent her sprawling across the floor.

"You. Little. Bitch." He snarled as he struck her in tempo with his curses.

"Stop!" She cried out and landed a good kick against his jaw. She heard a crunch and his painful howling filled her ears. He spit at her and two of his teeth clattered against the hardwood floor.

Hermione curled herself into the fetal position and prepared for the onslaught.

"Oh no you don't." Her father spat as he grabbed her thick, curly hair and dragged her across the floor and into her room.

"Please! Stop!" Hermione cried as his strikes moved away from her face and towards the rest of her body.

Her father briefly stopped to grab the baseball bat from his room and aimed a couple of good swings to her ribcage which emitted a sickening crack.

Hermione screamed in intense pain and thought, So this is how I die? At the hands of my own father? Before she lost consciousness and passed out.

When Hermione awoke, she was still laying on her bedroom floor. The wooden baseball bat that her father had used had splotches of red stained in the wood which made Hermione' stomach twist and turn inside her body. She could barely take in a breath without crying out.

"Merlin..." she swore, as she tried to turn onto her back without aggravating her injuries too much. Hermione gingerly touched her face and found her entire left eye was swollen shut and felt blood that had matted to her hair. Every breath that she took felt like someone was repeatedly stabbing her in her ribcage. Her tongue was dry and felt like cotton in her mouth.

It took every ounce of Hermione's waning strength to slowly crawl across her bedroom floor and to her dresser where her wand was lying.

After nearly thirty minutes of work with moderately advanced healing spells, Hermione had healed her broken nose, split lip, ruptured ear drum, and cleaned most of the blood off of her face. However, she didn't have the skill to repair her broken ribs.

It took a herculean effort for her to simply pull herself up onto the bed, but once she did, she passed out again.

Surprisingly, the next few days went without incident. Her father stayed away from her. The kick to his face didn't break his jaw, but the teeth that he lost were replaced with false veneers. Nevertheless, his already alcohol swollen face was swollen and purple.

By Saturday, most of the swelling in Hermione's face had gone down and the lacerations that covered her body healed. Her ribs, however, were still tender to the touch and smarted fiercely when she took in too deep a breath.

Her father was at the pub. He didn't leave a note, but her personal wallet was gone along with his.

Hermione heard the doorbell ring and she nearly jumped out of her skin. Anxiety and a twinge of happy excitement filled her body. I am finally saved. She thought.

"Just a minute!" She called down the stairs and surveyed herself once more in the mirror. The makeup job she did looked passable and the darkest bruises on her neck and shoulders were hidden by her thick bushy hair. She grabbed her small knapsack and looked at her bedroom one last time vowing that she would never return.

Hermione walked downstairs and opened the front door and saw Remus Lupin casually lounging against the door frame.

During Dumbledore's funeral, Hermione, Harry, and Ron decided to become more active in the Order of the Phoenix - or as active as Mrs. Weasley would let them - and wanted to use their summer to plan out their journey to recover the Horcruxes. Ron and Harry had been at Grimmauld Place since June. The separation from her best friends made her appreciate the frustrations that Harry felt when he was stuck at his Aunt and Uncle's house during the summer.

"Hello, Professor." She said meekly.

He chuckled, "Hermione, I'm not your professor anymore. Please, Remus will do. Are you ready to go?"

He smiled down at the witch in front of him. Out of all of his former students and friends, Hermione was his favorite person to be around. Her thirst for knowledge and her inquisitive mind only served to enhance and accent her other great attributes.

"Yes, I have everything packed upstairs."

"I'll be by again later tonight to pick up your things. The Order has been overly cautious this summer about the traffic going in and out of Grimmauld didn't want to make it obvious that we have several underage wizards, well more accurately having Harry, living under our roof."

Hermione balked. Remus couldn't come back tonight to get her things. He would see my father drunk and probably pissed off. He would figure out everything right away.

"Uh no, it's okay. I'll just send them to Grimmauld Place now. I won't be a minute." She dashed back upstairs before Remus could refuse.

He was taken aback by her sudden impulsivity and flightiness. Granted he didn't see much of her outside of Grimmauld Place, but he couldn't remember a time when she was this ... unsettled about something that wasn't school-related.

Then it hit him. Fear. Her fear left an almost visible scent trail into the house and up the stairs.

Interesting, Moony growled in his head. Our little pet is as scared as a rabbit caught by a fox. How exciting.

"No!" Remus said out loud and then looked around sheepishly. Moony knew exactly what to say to make him look like a mad man.

"So how are we getting to Headquarters?" She asked breathlessly. True to her word, Hermione was back with just a small suitcase in addition to her rucksack. The smell of fear abated and Remus could think clearly again.

"Don't you want to say goodbye to your mother and father?" he asked, trying to draw his attention back to the matter at hand. "You probably won't see them until the Christmas holidays."

"Oh, well mum is visiting her parents for the weekend and my dad is at work." Hermione hated how easy lying was becoming for her. "They know that term starts soon so we said our goodbyes last night."

"Well, maybe you should just leave a note instead."

"Honestly Remus, I'm fine. I'm of legal age and never worry about me. So how are we getting to headquarters?" She closed the door behind her and started walking down the driveway.

"A portkey." He replied, drawing a broken pocketwatch out of his pocket. He didn't believe Hermione's story. She looked nervous and agitated whenever she talked to him. And the stink of fear that radiated off of her body proved that she was obviously hiding something, but he didn't want to press the issue further.

"We should go someplace a little more private first." Remus said, placing a guiding hand on the small of her back caused her to whimper in pain.

Remus drew back his hand like he had been shocked. "Are you okay, Hermione?"

"Uh, yes, yes. I fell off of my bed and clipped my dresser a few nights ago and it is just starting to bruise. I'm so clumsy. I'll be fine. Do you think the thicket behind the park is private enough?"

"Uh yes. As long as we are hidden from Muggles it should work." Remus noticed the smooth change in conversation but again decided to let it slide.

They found a spot that was secluded in the brambles and bushes and he pulled out the pocketwatch again.

"Hermione, if you'd please touch it. It is almost time."

Hermione placed a finger on the watch and felt a familiar tug as her feet left the ground. Her body was immobilized as they whirled through a psychedelic vortex of colors and shapes. Fighting nausea, Hermione closed her eyes and tried to brace herself for their landing. When their feet touched the ground, her felt as though they had turned to jelly and she crumpled against Remus as her body fought to support her weight. She cried out in pain as his elbow accidentally made contact with her ribs.

"Hermione? Are you alright?"

Her body collapsed into his. If it wasn't for his embrace she would have collapsed on the ground.

"Hermione!" He said, this time more severely. "What happened? Are you alright?"

Then he smelled blood. "Merlin, Hermione I think you are bleeding."

"I'm fine Prof- I mean Remus. I skinned my knee. I wasn't expecting such a rough landing and it only exacerbated my pre-existing injuries."

"You mean from when you fell off of your bed and clipped your dresser?" He asked sardonically.

"Uh. Yes."

"I can clean your knee right now before it gets infected, and Molly look at your other injuries." He replied.

"No, no. Nobody has ever died from a skin knee. I'm just being a baby. I'll be fine." She replied and began to walk down the street towards Grimmauld Place. Remus had no choice but to follow. As he walked behind her, he noticed that she was clearly favoring her right side.

Hermione glanced around at the Muggles living peacefully in the flats nearby trying to ignore Remus's heated stare. A little girl was baking cookies with her mum and a teenage boy and his father were engrossed in the football match. Their families looked so perfect and Hermione had to push down the jealousy and bitterness that bubbled to the surface.

Remus knocked four times on the old wooden door that marked the entrance to Grimmauld Place and it swung open with a squeak. Despite the dreary weather outside, the atmosphere inside was cheery and warm. Hermione could smell Mrs. Weasley's cooking and saw several pots full of stews and puddings bubbling in the hearth. Dozens of pies and other pastries were sitting on any open countertops that were available. Two were even levitating off of the ground.

"Molly?" Remus called out. "Hermione is here."

"Oh Hermione! It's so nice to have you here, dear." Molly cried as she emerged from the kitchen. She swept Hermione into a giant hug which took every inch of willpower to not cry out from the pain emitting from her ribs.

"Molly, don't squeeze the poor girl to death. She's a little battered up. It seems she took a spill earlier in the week and clipped her dresser." Remus said with a slight smirk. "Oh, and she also skinned her knee. She should probably go upstairs and make sure that it isn't infected."

Hermione's expression automatically soured. Damn him. Why is he trying to make this so difficult on me?

"Oh you poor dear. Be more careful. You might give Tonks a running for most clumsy in this family." tutted Molly, "You march right up to Ginny's room. Your stuff is already there. I'll be up in a bit with some salve and some food and then it is off to bed with you. You look like you haven't slept all week. You look peaky. I'll come wake you up when it is time for dinner. We are having a celebratory feast for all of the children and Order members before the start of a new term at Hogwarts."

Hermione tried to protest but they fell on deaf ears as she was literally dragged to the room that Ginny was staying in. The door closed and an awkward silence filled the room. Ginny's owl, Petra, hooted indignantly in its cage.

"Hermione!" Two voices cried. She swung around just in time to see Ron's red hair and the glint of Harry's glasses as they both swept her up for a group hug.

"When did you get here?"

"Why haven't you responded to our letters?"

"Did you hear that Percy finally stopped being a prat and has been helping father with Order business?"

Questions bombarded her and she desperately wanted to disparate elsewhere. Her body burned from their strong embraces and she began to wheeze. Hearing her distress, the boys let go of her immediately and backed away with faces etched with concern.

"Be gentle boys," she half chided and half choked out, "You both are a lot stronger than you think."

"Are you okay?" Harry asked.

"Yes, yes." She replied with a dismissive wave of her hand. She tried to straighten her spine but a sharp pain in her side and back threatened to take the wind from her again. Instead, she sank heavily onto her bed. "I'm just not use to being attacked by fully grown apes"

"Oi, who are you calling an ape?" Ron joked. "It isn't mine and Harry's fault that you're so dainty and small."

"Hermione," Harry said as he took a seat on Ginny's bed. "I find it funny that I'm asking this of you, but why didn't you answer any of our letters? Ron and I must have sent you at least seven apiece. It made it really hard to plan ... this summer ... without your help."

Hermione flinched slightly. She knew that Harry meant nothing by the comment, but she couldn't help but hear it as an accusation.

"Oh you know how it is Harry with Muggle parents. I don't have an owl and I didn't have a way to mail you the letters here without giving away the location if it were to be intercepted." She replied, lying again. Actually, Hedwig had waited dutifully by her window after each delivery. That was until her father tried to poison her when Hermione was out buying groceries.

"Oh. Well didn't Hedwig wait for you to write a response? I specifically asked her to."

"Nope. She took off right after she delivered the letter. She doesn't like to stick around." Hermione replied a little guiltily, this was her third lie in less than ten minutes. "I guess I don't have the affinity with owls like you have Harry."

Harry still wasn't convinced but he let the issue go. "Well, it's nice to see you 'Mione. We've missed you terribly and Ron missed copying off your homework."

Harry said the last bit a little louder for the sake of any eavesdroppers. Hermione knew that neither of them even attempted any of their summer homework. What was the point since they weren't going back to Hogwarts for their seventh year.

"Oi! I've missed her too." Ron said, "But, Harry's right. You never answered my question. Did you finish your Potions essay? I'm still half a parchment length short and I couldn't think of anything else to add."

Before Hermione could answer Molly barged through the open door. "Ronald Weasley, you will be doing your own homework and you will let Hermione rest. She just got here. Let her have some time to rest. Besides, your father needs help clearing that boggart from the cupboard downstairs. It seems like the one in the wardrobe wasn't the only one left."

Ron smirked as they were both ushered out of the room.

"Sleep well Hermione." Harry said.

Mrs. Weasley shook her head in exacerbation and closed the door. She conjured up a tray of mini pies, small sandwiches, and a pitcher of pumpkin juice with a couple of cups and set them on Hermione's dresser.

"Here is that ointment for your side dear." She said, fishing a small round container out of her apron pocket. "Now if you'll just raise your shirt and show me where it hurts, I'll have you right as rain in no time."

"Uh...Mrs. Weasley. I don't think that's necessary. I can put it on myself."

"Come now girl. Don't be shy." Mrs. Weasley replied thinking Hermione's hesitation was out of fear that she would see her partially naked. "I've raised seven kids. You won't be showing me anything I haven't seen before. Besides I'll need to take a look at it to make sure it isn't too serious."

Hermione jumped back from Mrs. Weasley's touch and shrank back on the bed. "No, I insist that I do it myself. It's really not as bad as I am making it out to be. I can be a baby sometimes, I guess. I'm sorry Mrs. Weasley. Really I am. I shouldn't have troubled you."

Mrs. Weasley was skeptical but finally relented. "Alright, if you're sure. I'll just leave this here then. Use it sparingly though Hermione, it is pretty powerful stuff."

"Yes, I will. Thank you Mrs. Weasley."

"Not a problem, dear. Now you help yourself to some food and rest for a bit. I'll have Ginny come wake you when the party starts."

Mrs. Weasley left the room and Hermione finally let most of her tension drift away. Exhausting at it was to keep up this charade; Hermione couldn't bear to see the looks of pity, and possibly disappointment, on their face if they found out the truth.

After washing her face in the basin on the dresser and sampling some of the delicious pies and sandwiches, she opened the bottle of salve that Mrs. Weasley left and squeezed a knut-sized dab onto her hand. Walking over to the full length mirror, Hermione unbuttoned the shirt she was wearing and lifted her tank top up to her chest. She would have gasped if it didn't hurt to do so. Her stomach and sides were covered in ugly yellow, black, and blue splotches. Ugly deep purple lines marked where her ribs were broken and the pain was nearly unbearable when she put the salve on her skin.

It took nearly half of the bottle to make any impact on the bruises that covered her torso. However, it seemed as though the ointment only healed surface bruises because her ribs were still decidedly broken.

After Hermione had addressed the bruises that she was able to reach comfortably – the ones on her back and the back of her legs would have to wait until later – she tried to raise her shirt over her head but cried out as her body protested. Emitting a long and frustrated sigh, she threw back the quilt on her bed and gingerly laid herself down.

Hermione felt safe lying in the bed. She knew she was surrounded by people who cared and loved her, but she still felt uncomfortable letting them in on this deep, dark secret.

You have to tell someone, she told herself. They all care about you and want to help you.

While this was definitely true, Hermione couldn't push out the sick, nervous feeling that was twisting in her gut.

Alright, she grudgingly conceded, I'll tell Remus as soon as I wake up.

For the first time in over three months, Hermione fell asleep with a smile on her face and without tear-stains on her pillow.

A.N. Thank you for reading. If you are so inclined, I appreciate any reviews and feedback that I can get.