1

I remember it hurt, seeing her hurt. My father is giving me a serious talk on the gravity of my most recent errors, but all I can think of is the broken girl asleep on my bed upstairs. Father doesn't know that I've moved the girl to a more comfortable place. Father and I now function on a need-to-know basis.

When he's done reprimanding me (or, rather, when he can't come up with more ways to call me a disgrace to the Manor) he leaves the study. Three minutes later, I leave it too, and walk up to my room. The Manor is empty, making me wish for the house elves to wait on me, just so that the place would feel alive. So that I would feel alive.

Instead, I knock on the door of my bedroom, giving the girl a chance to get decent if she's awake. I open the out to find out she isn't. Awake, that is. She is wearing a crumpled green collared t-shirt, long blue jeans and sport shoes. She's decent enough.

Outside, the rain pelts down on the Manor. I kneel against the only window in the room and press my cheek to the curtains. I don't need to draw the curtains to feel the rain. Because it is raining, I don't cry. Not because it is ridiculously clichéd to cry with the skies, but because when it rains, it means my job of crying has been taken over by someone far more efficient. So I let the skies cry for me.

When she stirs, I jolt awake from my semi-slumber. My neck cricks when I turn to look at the bed – apparently falling asleep at my desk chair wasn't the wisest choice.

I watch her sit up, rub her eyes and look around, not noticing me immediately. Her usually fierce red hair is pulled back into a messy ponytail. Her legs fold beneath her as she leans against the headboard. She looks involuntarily ready for battle.

When she spots me, she doesn't react. Instead she pulls herself out of my bed and searches her pocket, presumable for her wand. She doesn't have it – it's in the front of my robes.

"How did I get here?" she asks. Her voice is cold; I'd expect no less. "I was put in the cellar, wasn't I?"

"They had to use the cellar for other things, so they moved you up." I try to act indifferent, but I'm still sitting down and I'm still looking at her, trying to figure out when my foolishness began getting the better of me. There are dozens of things around the room that would immediately tell her that this room is mine.

"Am I to believe that no other rooms in the Manor were empty? And what are you, my watchdog?"

I don't reply.

"Where are Harry and Ron?"

I look away.

"Fine, then, if this is how it's going to work." She stomps to my door and wrenches at its handle. It doesn't budge. I locked it before I fell asleep, and it will only open at a tap from my wand. She turns around, frustration on her face. "I want to get out of here."

"Well, I can't let you."

She shrieks.

"Be quiet," I snap. "Nobody knows you are still here."

She narrows her eyes at me. "Then why am I still here?"

"If you were in the cellar they'd be torturing you by now. Killing you." I watch her shudder. She walks back to my bed, sits down at the edge and hunches her shoulders. Her bangs fall over her face, and I'm sure I can hear her sniffle. I'm in awe of the sight in front of me. Hermione Granger, broken.

"Do they think I've gotten away?" she asks. Her voice is thick now.

"Presumable," I reply.

"Won't they wonder how? I'm wandless."

"I took your wand from you only when I moved you up. and besides, you're the brightest witch alive. You'd have figured something out."

She turns her head in my direction and studies me. I study her, too. Her forehead and arms have bloody slashes on them. There is a thin lining of sweat on her face. Her hair looks stringy and her clothes look grimy.

"Should I get some meds for you? Or do you want to fix your scars by yourself?"

Now she's giving me the silent treatment.

"You've been on the run," I comment.

"You haven't been eating," she shoots back.

I snort. "That's hardly important."

"Where are Harry and Ron?"

"I am not at liberty to –"

"Are they safe?" The second question is seemingly more important than the first.

"Considerably."

Her brown eyes land on mine, delving. She's always shared that eerie gift with Albus Dumbledore. My stomach turns at the thought.

"You helped them escape." It isn't a question. She looks both hopeful and disgusted.

"I did my best. They will have to see themselves through the rest."

Now, she falls silent. It seems all she cared about was her two friends reaching safety. I find that hard to believe. Leaning forward in my chair, I ask, "Where do you want to go?"

"Home," she replies immediately. Then, she gives me a dry laugh. I don't particularly like the sound of that laugh. "Except I don't know where home is, anymore."

I fish into the front of my robes and fetch her wand. I throw it to her and she catches it. "Go find it," I tell her.

She stands up and regards me gingerly. "Chances are I won't get far."

"Then you can come back." I surprise myself with my words, but she looks unfazed. Turning on the spot, Hermione Granger disapparates.

I take in her absence, and then I crawl into my bed. It smells of the woods and restlessness and her, and I fall asleep.

I'm sure it's midnight when I next wake up. in my hazy eyesight, I see Hermione sitting cross-legged on the floor next to my bed, leaning against the wall. Asleep.

I turn over and look at the drawn curtains. It isn't raining, so I cry.

More to come! I miss the fanfiction world. R&R, lovelies. :*

Kristopher