With no window – Hermione had difficulty in determining what time it could be – her nodding off didn't help matters and she didn't know exactly how long she was out. She figured that evening must have stumbled upon her once again as she soon heard the doorbell ring, followed by the rowdy greetings to her father by his friends. Another night of drinking and gambling, no doubt.
Hermione didn't know how many days had passed since she was first trapped in the basement, but she had a feeling that it was at least two – and now a 3rd evening would go by without any food or water. She settled further into the corner – hugging herself to keep warm, it was an exceptionally cold evening. All of a sudden, things grew very quiet upstairs. Hermione pricked her ears up – straining to hear, but it was abnormally quiet – the calm before the storm they say, as Hermione knew that her father and his friends were conspiring about SOMETHING upstairs. Hermione braced herself – attempting to keep her mind focused for what may happen, out of the thousands of possibilities she had time to concoct in her mind the past couple of days. But nothing – not even in the furthest realms of her imagination, prepared her for what was about to happen.
She heard the dull thud of work boots coming ever closer to the basement door, and for the first time in 2 days, Hermione saw light as the basement door was opened. She had to squint and shield her eyes in order to adjust being out of the darkness. Before she even had a chance to orient herself, two figures stomped quickly down the stairs and picked her up gently – escorting her up the stairs. For a moment she thought that her father's friends may be showing mercy towards her – realizing that her father was sick, and they needed to help her escape. The small feeling of relief that washed over her was quickly replaced by a sharp blow to the back of the head.
Amongst sounds of laughter, Hermione felt herself sprawled on her stomach in the main hallway of the home. Her head was still spinning after the blow – and she wasn't able to get a grip on what happened until she felt herself being flipped onto her back – with her wrists restrained above her head, against the floor. When she finally regained focus, she saw that she was face to face with her father – sitting on top of her, pinning her arms down.
Hermione knew immediately that he was out of his mind – a mixture of alcohol, rage, and what she had no doubt was just plain insanity. Her father had now completely lost her mind.
"How would you like to be a good little hostess and help my friends out?" Mr. Granger said with an evil grin on his face. Hermione attempted to fight against the grip of her father – to try and push him away, to free her arms – but he was too strong. Mr. Granger waved over one of his friends who took his place straddled over Hermione, while yet another kneeled at the top of Hermione's head and held her arms down. Fear washed over Hermione – she did not imagine this scenario – believing her father wouldn't be capable of something this atrocious. But she was wrong.
The man on top of her leaned down and attempted to kiss Hermione. He had a thick stench of alcohol on his breath, and sweat dripped onto her face as she looked into his bloodshot eyes – begging through hers for him to let her go. He didn't. Instead he licked her face – as though he were a dog greeting its master. Hands wandered forcefully all over Hermione's body as she struggled against them. She arched her back – attempting to flip herself over to get away, but now she felt a strong pairs of hands grabbing her ankles and securing them to the floor. Her gaze turned to the jacket she slung over the banister – only 3 feet away, but it might as well have been 30. She wasn't going to be able to get to her wand – Hermione knew she had to physically fight her way out. Her rational thought gave way to panic when she heard the first metal pants zipper come undone.
"No, no NO!" Hermione screamed – writhing under the arms holding her down.
"Yes, yes, yes." Said the man on top of her – becoming excited at her jerking movements. She arched her back – trying desperately to sit up, until a hand landed on her chest – shoving her back down on to the floor. Hermione gasped when her back made contact with the hardwood floor – knocking the breath out of her. She looked up into the eyes of her father. She was aware of the hands that were stripping her jeans and underwear down, but instead of fighting right then – she gazed into her father's eyes, hoping that there was some sort of compassion left in them. She knew that he was the only link left that could end this madness and allow her escape.
Hermione looked into his eyes, whispering "daddy, please" to him – and for a brief moment, she thought she saw something shining in his eyes that she hadn't seen since before finding out that she was a witch. No sooner had she seen that – did it disappear. Mr. Granger laughed and rolled his eyes at his only child – and the glimmer Hermione thought she saw was gone, the soul she was now looking into was not the soul of her father. He was dead – behind those eyes shone something more malevolent than Hermione could have imagined – this was not her father – not the father she knew. Over the span of less than a second, Hermione had a flashback to the father she used to adore, the father who was always so proud of his "little girl", the father who would hug her and love her like no other. That father was now gone. He was not under the curse of any magic that occurred in her world, he was under the curse of his own grief-stricken, bigoted self – which could prove far more dangerous than any magic…and it did.
He gazed down into her eyes – with a wolf grin on his face – as he allowed his 3 friends to rape his only child over and over again. "Daddy, please" – fell onto deaf ears – for Hermione wasn't even really there, he severed his emotional connections to her and all he saw was a person who turned his life upside down and destroyed his happy family. This feeling enraged him as he looked into those brown, pleading eyes – he clenched the fist that was not holding her down – and punched her face as hard as he could. Everything went black, and Hermione for a moment thought she was on the astronomy tower – that's how many stars she saw. She felt woozy and stopped fighting for a moment, trying to get her bearings – when she felt a whole new type of pain. Between her legs. The pain she felt hitched to the back of her throat – taking her breath away, she was aware of her father's friend thrusting himself inside of her. Hermione thought she was going to split right down the middle. As he continued to thrust, the pain became so great that Hermione turned her head to the side and vomited. She heard cackling and laughter throughout the room as her father's friend continued to thrust.
Hermione soon the unmistakable sound of release as her father's friend came hard inside of her. Tears welled up in her eyes as she focused on the ceiling fan above their heads. Round and round and round and round. That was what she forced herself to focus on. When the first friend finished, she felt the second one climb on – she was still being restrained and felt pain around her wrists and ankles from where she tried to fight back…so she stopped fighting. She stared blankly at the ceiling fan – round and round and round. She felt the warmth of her tears slide down her temples and into her hair and ears. "If I stop fighting, maybe this will end sooner" she tried to tell herself – though not full believing it. After hearing the second sound of release, Hermione felt her restraints disappear and realized that she was free. Stifling small sobs, she turned herself on to her stomach, and began to drag herself by her arms towards her jacket and towards the door. Everything was blurry through her teary eyes, and every part of her body hurt – some parts had a dull ache, some parts were sharp and stabbing. Hermione blinked through the pain as she crawled away from her attackers who were laughing at her pain and how she crawled away – like a wounded animal.
Hermione made it to the point where she could just barely feel the fabric of her coat on the banister, when someone grabbed her ankles and pulled her sharply back. Her chin hit the wooded floor and instantly Hermione knew that it had split – she was leaving a thin trail of blood behind as she was being dragged by her ankles down the hall. "Noooo!" she screamed – watching the door grow farther and farther away , yet she still reached out in front of her with her hands. She felt the strong foot of someone towards the middle of her back force her back down onto the floor. This time her right cheek was smashed against the hard wood as she cried and began outright begging – something she never envisioned herself doing to ANY man. Someone lifted her head on either side and slammed it back down to the floor – Hermione felt blood gush from her nose, and felt the split in her lip which was bleeding even more. Soon she felt the painful thrust of her father's next friend as he struggled to develop a rhythm. This time she had no ceiling fan to watch – round and round and round – nothing. She lay with the right side of her cheek against the cool wood, and began to let herself go. Something was dying within her, but it was not her physical self. It was her love of life, her vivaciousness, her tenacity, her strong will, her empathy towards others, her love of others, her very core…her soul.
This is when Hermione stopped fighting.
Comments/suggestions? More to come!