Bruised
By: Penguiy At Your Service
Sirius Black ~ Hermione Granger
Rating: T
Genres: Angst&Romance
(A/N) Thanks for all the story alerts and reviews! Read at the bottom if you have any questions of why she's acting the way she is.
Chapter 2
Song: My Skin
Artist: Natalie Merchant
…
Take a look at my body; look at my hands, there's so much here that I don't understand.
When Hermione woke up, the only thing she felt was pain. Angry tears had welled up in her eyes, her body screaming its protest every time she moved an inch.
She looked at her hands, her small, pale, icy hands. They were swollen, probably broken, yet for some reason, they were wrapped. She didn't understand why someone, her own father, would hurt her.
It hadn't always been like that. Her dad used to be amazing, always taking her and her elder brother to the movies.
Then it happened. Her father had returned home drunk, positively reeking of alcohol. She had said 'Hi, daddy,' and waved at him happily, ignoring the danger signs. Her brother however had seen them. He had rushed her to her bedroom. That night Hermione snuck out of her room to get a glass of water. In the kitchen, her father was holding a metal bat, her mother pressed against the counter, begging him to put it down. He had seen her and yelled at her, she had frozen in place. He had slapped her. The next day he had apologized. Then it happened again, then again, then again, until the 'sorries' stopped and the pain came in its place.
Your face saving promise, whispered like prayers, I don't need them.
She remembered a deep voice promising her she would be safe, a kiss on her brow, the distant smell of coffee, yelling. She didn't need them. She didn't need a savior with a deep voice and light touches. She didn't need a kiss to the brow or a hug. She didn't want them.
Someone knocked at the door. She grunted.
The man who opened the door had warm brown eyes, and a fatherly aura about him. "Hello, Ms. Granger. I am Professor Remus Lupin. I will be teaching at Hogwarts this year; Defense Against The Dark Arts."
She merely stared at him, her gaze haunted, her eyes seeing left looking right through him. Finally, she spoke, "Okay."
She struggled to sit, to look well put together. Her perfect mask hardly quivered when a sharp pain stabbed her chest.
"Ms. Granger." Another voice spoke. This one like velvet, barely above a whisper. It made Hermione freeze in horror, "Lay back down before you manage to fracture your ribs again, foolish girl."
"Professor Snape." Hermione greeted with a stiff nod, "How are you doing, sir?"
His dark eyes glinted, though Hermione could not make out the emotion, "Much better than you, I expect."
"This?" Hermione inquired, lifting an eyebrow. She waved her hand over her body, "I'm afraid I'm terribly clumsy out of school. While at school, I found this interesting charm that helps you stay on your feet. At home, however, I fell down the stairs. Nothing to it."
"Bullshit!" it was the deep voice. The one who whispered to her and smoothed her hair.
I've been treated so wrong, I've been treated so long; as if I'm becoming untouchable.
She flinched away from the sheer volume of the exclamation.
"We can't help you if you won't let us, Ms. Granger. And if you won't get help, you'll never heal." Snape said, his silk like voice echoing through out the room.
Hermione looked at him, her dead eyes focused on his face. Her cold answer shocked them all, "What if I don't want to heal?"
She turned away from them, her back facing them, her face hidden in the shadows. "Turn the light out when you leave."
Contempt loves the silence; it thrives in the dark with fine winding tendrils that strangle the heart.
As she laid in silence, the darkness matching her mood, she wondered why she refused help.
She sighed into the darkness. She slightly shivered but didn't make a move to pull up the blanket that covered her frail body.
After a while, she felt for her heart beat, two fingers on her neck, making sure it was still there.
It wasn't that she thought she was dead. But, rather she didn't think she was alive. She breathed and walked, yet she didn't live. Her life was filled with pain.
She just existed, floating in and out of fields of grey each day, not evening knowing if she could lift her feet.
They say promises sweeten the blow but I don't need them. No, I don't need them.
Later, a knock was once again heard at the door. In walked Sirius Black, holding a steaming plate of Shepard's Pie.
"Eat up, little Granger." He said cheerfully pushing the plate towards her.
"Did you make this?" she questioned snidely, her lip curling in disgust.
"No. Remmy did." He answered, just as cheerful as before, "What would be wrong if I did make it?"
She gave him an Are-You-Really-This-Dumb? sort of stare. "Well, one, you've been in Azkaban for 12 years. Two, you are a 33 year old bachelor. Three, you're a convicted murderer. Need I go on?" She laughed coldly.
"Nah," Sirius replied lightly, "You can stop."
"Hand me my jacket." Hermione said, pointing at the gray jacket hanging over the side of a chair.
As soon as the jacket was in her hands, she started rooting through the pockets. Almost immediately, she pulled out a pack of cigarettes, lighting one up.
"How do you have those?" Sirius asked, surprised. "You're not even 14!"
Hermione blew some smoke towards him, "Its not that hard to steal someone's ID and get mail service."
A serene expression overtook her face. "I've been smoking since I was 12."
"That's horrible!" Sirius exclaimed, all joking aside.
Hermione giggled giving Sirius the suspicion that it wasn't just tobacco in the cigarette, "I've done all sorts of horrible things." Another giggle, "Potion fumes are really good too, though they do not hold a chance against muggle pills."
Sirius's horrorstruck face was staring back at her.
"You know what?" she asked, "I'm not hungry."
Almost robotically he walked out of the room, the steaming food in his hands.
Had he looked back, he would have seen the cool, calculating expression on Hermione's face, any serenity or affects of drugs unseen as she drug out the smoke, not even coughing as she slowly exhaled.
Oh, I need the darkness, the sweetness, the sadness, the weakness.
Oh, I need this.
I need a lullaby, a kiss goodnight, angel sweet love of my life.
Oh, I need this.
Well is it dark enough?
Can you see me?
Do you want me?
Can you reach me?
Oh, I'm leaving.
…
Review.
(A/N) Hermione is hesitant of excepting help because of the abuse she endured. She is rude to them because of not trusting anyone. Abuse often leads to this. She is a smoker because when things get tough, many times people search for a way out. Smoking became hers.
Adios,
Penguiy At Your Service
