This is a story about Hemione, lies and fear

A/N: This is a story about Hermione, lies, and fear. It takes place during and after the events in DH, ignoring the epilogue and allowing certain characters to live. This story has several implied themes including, but not limited to: rape, non-con, mental manipulation, BDSM, and phobias. If you feel that these may offend you, I recommend you seek out a different story.

Agoraphobia – The abnormal fear of being helpless in a situation from which escape may be difficult that is characterized initially by panic or anxiety and finally by avoidance of open or public places. As a result, severe suffers of agoraphobia may become confined to their homes, experiencing difficulty traveling from this "safe place."

In case you live under a rock, Harry Potter and associated characters belong to J.K. Rowling. Chapter title is from Pretty Hate Machine, Nine Inch Nails.


Hermione Granger was sitting out in the small courtyard of her building. She usually came out a few times a week to soak up the sun. This was the only place, besides her small flat, she felt safe. She never ventured out into the world. Her time was spent reading and dreaming of how things could have been, if only…

If only the Light had won. If only Harry hadn't died. If only she had someone to talk to. If only she wasn't afraid to leave.

With her eyes closed and the sun on her face, she could relax. She could dream. She could remember all the good times. They could not find her here. In fact, even she wasn't sure just where here was.

All she remembered was waking up here. There had been a short note telling her she was safe and not to leave. She had tried to leave that first day, but the windows and doors had been locked and warded. She had tried every spell she knew but hadn't been able to get them to open.

The next day, she'd begun receiving newspaper clippings about the final battle. Harry was dead and Voldemort had won. The members of the Order were either dead or in the dungeons at Hogwarts.

The clippings had been rather graphic, describing the tortures placed upon other Muggle-born witches and wizards. Every so often, there'd been a picture of a beaten and dead body. So Hermione had stayed hidden in her little flat.

Every week, she'd noticed that her pantry and supplies were restocked and more clippings appeared. Occasionally a book, either magical or Muggle, had showed up on her shelves.

After a month, she'd noticed that the doors were no longer locked. That first day she had opened a window, just to breath fresh air. Yet her fear of being found had kept her inside.

The following few weeks had found her venturing as far as the front door of her building. She once almost made it outside when she'd seen a man standing across the street in a dark, hooded cloak.

She'd run back to her flat, locking and warding her door before collapsing into a chair. That had been the last time she tried to leave. She felt safe here. She had good food and books. She knew someone, somewhere, was protecting her.

And so she lived for years alone.


Harry Potter could have done just about anything he wanted in the world. Many people wanted him to be Minister of Magic. Others approached him with offers to play Seeker for various Quidditch teams.

Harry only ever wanted to be an Auror. After the Battle of Hogwarts, he began his training. He excelled and graduated the academy at the top of his class. He spent the next several years searching and bringing in rogue Death Eaters.

A freak training accident had brought his active career to a halt. The bones in his wand arm were shattered. Hundreds of tiny pieces of bone. The Healers were able to mend it, but there was some residual weaknesses left from the injury. For the young Auror, the injury was devastating. It meant never being in the field again. He would remain behind his desk for the rest of career.

So Harry decided it was time to take up one of the many other offers he had. He became the newest member of staff at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. He filled the ever-vacant DADA spot and returned to fill it every year there after. It was almost like the position had been waiting for him. The long running curse had been lifted.

During his third year of teaching, he became the Head of House for Gryffindor. It brought on so many more responsibilities, but he enjoyed it. He became closer to his students. They began to realize that there was a real person behind the war hero.

One of his many duties as Head was to meet with the new Muggle-born students and their parents to deliver their Hogwarts letters. It was just such a meeting that he was heading to.

Since this was to be his first meeting with the family, he brought with him the acceptance letter, a copy of her transcripts and a slim file of records they had on her. He also had the newest copy of 'Hogwarts: A History'. Since becoming Head of Gryffindor, he had given every Muggle-born student a copy. In a way, it was a secret tribute to a friend that was lost during the Battle of Hogwarts.

The family lived in a small flat near the outskirts of London. As this was his initial visit, he was dressed in jeans with a green buttoned-down shirt and a black blazer, and he arrived by cab.

After a quick climb to the third floor, he knocked on the door. He was greeted by a young girl with curly, black hair and inquisitive, black eyes. She was very tall and thin for someone her age.

"Hello, I am Harry Potter. I have an appointment with Perdita Randall."

"That's me!"

"Well, I'm pleased to meet you. Are your parents home?"

"Yes, yes. Come in. You can call me Peri, everyone does."

She turned from the door and led him to the sitting area.

"Mum, Dad, there is someone here to see us."

Peri's parents came down the hall to meet them. He looked at her parents and then back to the girl. The family could not have been more opposite if they tried.

Mrs. Randall was not very tall, but very plump. She reminded him of a children's nursery rhyme he used to hear his aunt singing to his cousin. Mr. Randall was not much taller; though he was thinner than his wife, he would never be called a thin man. Their young daughter towered over both of them.

They both looked to be in their fifties, which was fairly old to have an eleven-year-old in the Muggle world. Though Mr. Randall was bald, you could tell he had had fair hair in his younger days, possibly the same color as his wife's.

Shaking himself from his thoughts, Harry quickly crossed the room to greet both of them.

"Hello, I am Harry Potter. We spoke on the phone last week."

"Yes, I remember," Mr. Randall said, motioning for him to have a seat.

"I am here to speak to you about your daughter's future." And with that, he launched into a lecture he had come to think of as part speech, part theatrics, and part humor. He gave the family their first glimpse of true magic and explained all about the school and the world their daughter would become a part of.

After nearly an hour of questions and answers from the inquisitive young girl and her family, Harry stood to leave when a question that had been burning on his tongue finally made its way forward. He looked over to Peri, who was deeply engrossed in the book he had given her.

"Mr. and Mrs. Randall, if I may, I have a few questions for you?"

"Of course, Professor, ask away."

"Has anyone in either of your families ever made mention of being a witch or wizard?"

"No, I can't say that they have," Mrs. Randall said, her husband shaking his head in agreement. "Is that going to be a problem for Peri?"

"No, no. She will not have any problems I am sure. It is just that Peri's schooling has already been paid for. While it is not uncommon for wizarding families to pay in advance for future generations, it is almost unheard of for a Muggle-born witch."

"Well, to be perfectly honest with you, Peri is not our biological daughter. We adopted her when she was just an infant."

"It is the strangest thing," Mr. Randall continued. "We had never discussed adoption. We were both quite happy just as we were. And then one day, my wife and I just got up and drove down to the orphanage. We came home a few weeks later with Peri."

"Don't get us wrong, Professor," Mrs. Randall cut in. "We love our daughter very much. We just never felt we needed to have a child to complete our family."

The puzzle was starting to make more sense to Harry. He thought for a moment.

"Is there anything you can tall me about her parents? Did the orphanage give you any idea who they were?"

"They had very little information for us. They told us it was a young couple and they did not want to give her up, but they felt they had little choice. The only condition was that she be allowed to keep her given name. I think it might have been a family name."

"I see. Well, I must be going. Peri, I will return in a few weeks to take you for your school things."

"Thanks, Professor. Er… Professor, can I ask you a question?"

"Of course, Peri. What is it?"

"This book, the one you gave me. It, well, does… What I mean to say is, are you THE Harry Potter from this book."

With a smile breaking out on his face, he replied, "Yes. I am the one the book mentions. But that was a long time ago, and now I am just your teacher."

"Wow, my teacher is a hero." Everyone laughed.

"It was a long time ago, Peri. Now remember, you must keep this a secret from everyone."

"Okay."

"Mr. and Mrs. Randall, it has been a pleasure. I will see you in a few weeks," Harry said, shaking their hands as he made his way to the door.

Harry made his way to an alley close by so he could Apparate back to Hogwarts.


It was a beautiful day in early July that Hermione found herself out in the little courtyard behind her building. She spent the morning reading, and now she was just relaxing in the warm rays of sunshine.

Apparation makes a very distinct 'pop' when it occurs. If you know what to listen for, you can hear it over the noise of the traffic traveling down the street.

Hermione Granger was still enjoying the sun when she heard the 'pop'. She bolted upright and looked around her in horror. Her worst fears were being found by a dark wizard or a Death Eater and being dragged back to the Wizarding world to be tortured or killed.

She was frozen in fear. Her wand, which she rarely carried anymore, was safely sitting on the dressing table in her room.

Gathering her strength and courage, she bolted for the door leading to the courtyard, ran up to the second floor, flung open her front door, and ran inside. A few quick waves of her wand and the door was warded and locked with every spell she knew.


A/N: My thanks to Sempra for reading through this, time and time again, until I got it all right.