Authors Note: Hey guys! I'm so sorry this chapter is so short. I'm trying to update every couple of days so that means shorter chapters. I'm not cutting down the story, just publishing it in smaller installments. I'm in marching band so it's really hard to find enough time. At this rate, I'll have a billion chapters…Lol. When I'm completely done (who knows when that will be) I will most likely group chapters together. But for those of you tuning in now, I hope you don't mind a bunch of short chapters. If you'd rather me put up longer chapters like once a week, let me know. Like I said, I'm still gonna take my time getting to the juicy stuff.

Onward!!

Hermione groggily opened her eyes as the warm morning light glittered through the window and on to her face. She found it ironic that something so beautiful, so pure, could touch a girl so repulsive. Hermione felt hideous, maybe not so much her appearance as the dirtiness she felt inside. Her soul was ugly. A black seed had been planted, and it spread with each moment, pushing her farther and farther away from what she used to be. Hermione hadn't looked in the mirror for weeks, fearing that the inner ugliness she felt with each aching breath would somehow be visible on her battered body.

Each day felt like a year and the weeks were only marked by letters with which her only response was a mouthful of lies, bringing tears to her eyes each time she sealed them shut. Harry, Ron, Hogwarts…it all felt so far away. She no longer wanted to remember. It hurt too much: knowing how happy she had been. She felt undeserving of her friends; they would never lie to her like this. She watched mournfully as she took their trust and tore it to shreds, just like everything else in her life. She often went to bed sobbing for the friendship they would never regain. They might not have known it yet, but the Hermione they had loved was dead. Letters would fool them, but she could imagine their disgusted faces, when they finally understood the truth: she was gone. They would never see her again. Harry and Ron might see her body, but they wouldn't see Hermione.

It was choking her, life was coking her. Everything she had once been, everything she had once loved, was gone, never to return. She could in no way ever again be the Hermione Granger that pushed open the door on that fateful day. She walked out of that room a different person, now unrecognizable to even herself.

She found no joy, no passion, no reason to continue. Books no longer held the majesty they once did. She looked back on those days of literary captivation and shed a silent tear. Some people found books to be a mean of escape, but for Hermione they were a prison of painful memories, a deafening echo of her had-been passion.

Yet continue she did; however altered she was, it had not dampened her primal instinct of self preservation. Hermione often felt that if she just took a few more pills, pushed the blade just a little deeper…

But she wouldn't. She couldn't. She would not become her mother's daughter. Utter refusal and stubbornness was the only thing that kept her trudging through these dark days. That's funny seeing as its summer Hermione thought bitterly.

Glancing regretfully at the clock, she did a quick mental calculation. Only 9 hours till he gets home…

Hermione was suddenly filled with an anxious, nauseated feeling. The beatings had been progressively getting worse day after day as her father seemingly lost more control with each blow. She didn't know if her body, or mind, could handle another "incident." She had been washing dishes last night when a plate had slipped out of her shaking hand. She shuddered as she remembered the vigorous kick to her skull that was responsible for the bruised throbbing she could now feel in her temples.

Tap, Tap, Tap.

Hermione mentally jumped, startled by the noise, but quickly realized with a painful turn of her head that it was only Hedwig with another vague letter she assumed was from Harry.

Another week gone by. Hermione honestly had no idea what month it even was. Trivial things like the date no longer had any meaning in this non-existence of hers.

Bloody hell Hermione thought harshly as she slowly attempted to get up. She pulled off the blue covers of her small bed to find a mass of horribly colored bruises along her side and stomach. She no longer slept in anything but undergarments. Pajamas were a hassle to put on each night as she crawled into bed, usually on the verge of a black-out. She shuddered at the ghastly condition of her body, inwardly cursing as she remembered bitterly, once again, that her wand was of no use. She hadn't turned seventeen yet. No healing charms, no disillusionment spells…

Damn.

Author's Note (again):

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