TWO

June 29, 1998

Hermione woke to being mercilessly pulled out of bed by her arm. She was tossed onto the hard-wood floor and she cried out as her head hit the floor hard.

"Go shower and then clean up this mess. It'll start smelling something awful if it's left around all morning." Frank ordered, not waiting for her to recover. She suspected he didn't care anymore.

"Yes, daddy." She said softly as she got up. She didn't bother covering her nude body up. He would just smack her, bruising her cheek, and make her go another round with him before repeating this entire situation all over again. It was easier to just swallow her modesty. She went into the door-less bathroom and turned on the shower.

The hot water relaxed her tense muscles, even as she hurried to wash herself and her severely hair. It hadn't been washed in four days and there were knots so horrible they resembled a bird's nest. Even so, she was out and dressed in loose blue jeans and a red tank top in ten minutes.

After putting her still wet hair in a ponytail, she observed the mess she had been ordered to clean up in shock. Her father had cooked his own breakfast… and used what looked like every dish they had in the process! What had he been thinking? It was then that she smelled the scent of whiskey. Of course he had been drinking this morning… And what had he made for his breakfast? It looked more like he was concocting a poison than food.

Without wasting any time, she prepared the dish water in the sink, making sure it was hot enough to kill whatever he had created in the pots and pans, and started to wash. If he had made this much of a mess, how could she have slept through it?

She was halfway through when Frank stood behind her. She almost dropped the soapy plate in her hands when he placed his hands on her hips and leaned in to speak at her ear. She could smell the whiskey coming off of his breath and almost gagged.

"I'm leaving for a while. A man in town offered me a job and I intend to take it. I want dishes done and supper on the table when I get home. Understand?"

"Yes, daddy."

He brushed a stray lock of her hair back away from her neck. "You may have some of the potatoes from supper last night for lunch."

"Thank you, daddy."

"Be good while I'm gone. You don't want to be punished again, do you?" He asked, running his hand along her collarbone.

She closed her eyes, wishing this was all just a bad dream. If it was, what was it saying about her mental health? But, she did fight in and survive a war, after all. She wasn't expected to be perfectly normal. Right? "No, daddy."

"Good." He patted her bottom before grabbing his keys and heading out the door.

She heard the car door slam and him speed off. She kept her eyes closed and gripped the plate so hard she thought it would shatter in her hands. "This isn't me, this isn't me, this isn't my fault…" She whispered. It was the first she had spoken aloud without permission in ages. Even when she was alone she didn't speak for fear of being heard and punished.

She had been telling herself that none of this was her fault since the beginning of it, but she was losing faith in her mantra. In herself. What kind of Witch let herself be dominated by a muggle man? She knew she was weak. She wouldn't be in this position otherwise. She was bound to him. He was her father. She was all he had left.

Hermione finished the dishes and planned out supper before stopping and resting. She sat on the bed and looked out the window. Feeling nauseous, she leaned down and put her head between her knees. It helped a bit, but not much. She sighed. Why was dust affecting her now of all times? It never bothered her back in England.

Sitting up and looking at the clock she saw it was almost noon. That left her roughly five hours to make sure everything was perfect for when her father came home. She wished she could use magic to get it all done and have time to take a good nap.

I was a war heroine… How did I end up like this? A slave in my own home…

She stood and took the potatoes out of the fridge. It was so hot out, she got the feeling leaving the container outside for five minutes would have the same effect as a microwave, but she didn't want dust and dirt in them, so she scooped a small amount into a bowl and ate them cold. It was disgusting, but she was hungry. It was the first time she had eaten in three days. She had no right to complain.

After she finished eating, she washed her bowl and fork and put the remaining potatoes back in the fridge. She paced in front of the window, weighing her options as she did every time she was given time alone, which wasn't often. She tapped her forefinger against her lips.

Four hours left.

Realizing her chores would take quite a while, Hermione cleaned the windows twice, swept the floors again, made the bed with the few sheets and one blanket on it, wiped down the table, scrubbed the counters until they shone, and dusted the television.

One hour left.

She began to cook supper. She had found a note from her father in between the wall and his pillow while making the bed saying to make spaghetti. She guessed he put the note in such an odd spot to check if she was cleaning properly. She hoped she didn't miss a note somewhere and cook the wrong thing, but she couldn't stop now or there would be nothing ready. She knew cooking the wrong thing was better than cooking nothing at all.

She cooked all of supper in half an hour, leaving her time to wash the extra dishes she had used and to set the table, double checking its cleanliness before putting any dishes on it. She kept the food warm on low heat on the stove, stirring it every few minutes so it didn't burn. Cold food would not give her a peaceful sleep that night.

By the time Frank walked in the door at 5 o' clock sharp, Hermione had the spaghetti pot on the table along with a cold beer for him at his place setting. She really wasn't sure if he ever drank water anymore.

Frank smiled, but it did not reach his eyes and it was not warm or friendly. Just cold and pleased. "I see you found my note." He said, his eyes looking at the table and his mouth still smiling.

She folded her hands and bowed her head. "Yes, daddy."

He sat down and spooned some pasta and sauce onto his plate. He gestured for Hermione to sit down, which she did. He forked the food into his mouth and, once again ignoring the basic etiquette, spoke. "Delicious, baby. Go get yourself a plate and have some."

Hermione was extremely confused, but went and got another plate anyway. She sat back down and slowly put some food on it and twirled the pasta on her fork. She looked up at him once more for permission. He nodded encouragingly and she put the pasta in her mouth, chewing slower than she ever had, trying to taste the poison. But, there was none.

~ooOoo~

After supper had been put away and the dishes washed, Frank sat back on the bed. He pulled Hermione to him and held her in his arms. He reeked of alcohol, but it was the closest to peace as she thought she would get. She didn't know what was going on and she didn't know if she cared. He wasn't hitting her or violating her. Who was she to question that?

"You know I love you, right, baby?" He asked so softly she wasn't sure if he even said it. But he had and she had to answer.

"Yes, daddy." This was love? No. It couldn't be.

"And you know I'll protect you from anyone who tries to take you away from me, right?"

Tears welled in her eyes, but she didn't allow them to be audible cries. "Yes, daddy."

"Do you love me, too?" His voice sounded far away. As if his mind was trapped in another world than theirs.

"Yes, daddy." She whispered. And she found it wasn't completely a lie. He was still the man who had been a loving father and a doting husband to her mother. He had just gotten lost after she died. Someone had to help him, but she didn't know how.

"I promise everything will work out just fine. We will be a family again. Just us three."

Us… three? Was he remarrying? What woman would be mad enough to settle down with him?

She heard his soft snore and then he rolled over, trapping her in his arms, suffocating her in the stench of booze. It made her dizzy and she fought the urge to get sick. Then, a horrendous thought came to her.

"No…" Not this… Anything but this…