Hey guys, I liked the thought of this story. To all of you who are my DBZ fans please don't panic, I'm just kinda stumped as to how to proceed. But don't worry, I'm not giving up! This story may go on in the same time frame as my other, when ever I can do it. But, here's hoping you all are pleased! Bruchan

"Ahhhh!" She ran, her scream piercing the silence. She stumbled and looked back, her hair soaked from the rain and slapping her face. But she kept on running.

Suddenly she tripped on naught but air, and went flying down on the wet cobblestones. Her chin and knees were bruised, her body covered in very wet mud.

At the chuckle behind her, she panicked, and her arms and legs began to flail around in the air in the direction of her assailant. He only grinned, his slightly yellow teeth gleaming in the faint light of the streetlamps. His body fell heavily on her, and nearly smothered the breath out of her body.

As his face neared hers, she lashed out and bit him hard on the chin with her sharp little teeth. They sank in deep, blood gushing out and down her neck. His large filthy hand reached up and grabbed a hank of her hair, and pulled it viciously until her mouth left his face with a wail. 'Those beady eyes…'

"My Precious," He grinned manically, and his big elbow bruised her chest. The blow left her gasping for air, and as her mouth opened to breathe, his fat slimy tongue slipped into her mouth like a snake. She coughed, trying to dislodge it from her throat, but it seemed stuck from the size. One hand wandered down and caught the apex of her legs. Her skirt was thin and wet, and seeing as she had worn no panties that night, her sex was open to his fingers.

Her tears mingled freely with the rain on her face as she tried to free herself from him, but to no avail, as he was more than her size and strength. Cruelly his fingers groped her as his mouth attacked her breast. Her nails were digging unforgivingly into his flesh while her skirt was being torn open.

Her voice began anew its screaming trial, but it seemed as if no one heard. She panicked as she heard his belt undo and his zipper unzip. The crying began in earnest at the futility of her fighting, and that her first time, as special as she viewed it, was about to be taken by one not of her choosing.

Suddenly his body slumped heavily down atop hers. Her fingers were clawing at his body when it was heaved off of hers and she could breathe once again. She was laying sprawled eagle on the stone road, wet through and muddy, her skirt ripped and showing the almost stolen prize.

A man was standing above her, glancing down at her body in quiet appraisal. She was scared that he had saved her only to bring about her downfall. But he did not, as she had expected him to, begin to remove his pants. Instead he knelt beside her and covered her body with his cloak.

He whispered barely discernable words of comfort into her ear, his voice so light she wouldn't have been able to tell whose it was if she had known him. His hands were large and soft as they stroked her dark wet hair. He bundled her up into his arms and began a swift walk down the road, leaving behind the man's body in the road. He cradled her as if she were his baby, kissing her wounds, petting her small, shivering body.

Suddenly they came upon a house she knew, with its swaying form and mass additions. He carried her to the door, and set her down on her feet with gentle petting and a soft kiss on her brow. Then he disappeared.

Harry opened the door to the Burrow to find a bedraggled girl wrapped in a dark black cloak. She was soaked through and shivering, her brown eyes misty.

"Hermione?" She slumped forward into his waiting arms, so warm and caring. He noticed that her skirt had gone missing, and blushed at the thought of Hermione wearing nothing on her bottom while curled up in his arms. But then his thoughts focused.

"Hermione, what's happened?" He demanded softly, but he got no response. The wet girl in his arms lay quiet, almost asleep in her dear friend's arms. Harry knew he would get nothing from her of her night, and sat content at holding her close and safe.

As he carried her slowly up to her room, her thoughts wandered. "To who do those stormy grey eyes belong to?'