Chapter 3

Where does hope end and despair begin? I wonder...

"Hermione." A quiet voice reached her foggy mind. She looked up from the stained spot in the Charms classroom only to realise that the entire class was staring at her. She looked at Harry, confused.

"Professor has been trying to get your attention for the last ten minutes…" he muttered from the corner of his mouth and looked away. She let her gaze linger on him for a second before turning to the professor.

"Are you alright, dear? You seem preoccupied…" the professor spoke in a soft voice. They were practicing creating foggy wisps of clouds today. Quite showy, actually. She had mastered them a long while ago. But today, try as she might, she could not get her wand to emit more than a few feeble smoky rings. That was when her mind had wandered to the events of last night. No, she couldn't think about them now. Not here. Not again.

"Forgive me, Professor. I have a slight headache…" she mumbled, eyes downcast. She really couldn't be surrounded by people anymore. She needed to leave. "Perhaps I could go to the Hospital Wing?" she said in a small voice. Anything to get out of the stifling room.

Any lie.

"Yes, yes. Of course. Perhaps Mr Potter would be so kind as to escort you. Go on, then. I hope you feel better soon," he replied kindly, giving her shoulder a gentle squeeze before moving on to the next desk.

At this, Harry took her hand in his and led her out of the room. Walking silently, they both avoided looking at each other. Neither had any idea of where they were headed. Neither cared. Turning the corner, they realised they were facing a dead end. As always.

Looking anywhere but her, Harry turned towards her, fumbling his robes.

"The Ministry has chosen for me."

The hollowness in his voice caused her heart to break. It was the last straw. The tears she had held since morning broke down the barriers and silently streamed down her face. She took his hand in hers and gave it a squeeze. He looked at her face, his green eyes empty and resigned. The Saviour of the world was no more than a mere name. The war always took its toll. For him, it had been greater. Perhaps.

"I… I will be leaving, Hermione. Soon," he whispered quietly.

She nodded, her lips pressed, holding together whatever shred of restraint she had, promising herself to not break. It was the right decision on his part. The only one that would let him preserve the last bit of sanity he had. He would leave the wizarding world and go east. He would leave. Perhaps I should have chosen the same. Perhaps I can go with him. No, she shook her head. She wouldn't live without this world. She couldn't survive. It was like air to her without which her lungs would wither away.

"Come with me, Hermione… You do not tell me but I can see it in your eyes. You're unhappy. No, that's a mild word. You're dying, I see it every time I look at you… Please, you're all I have left…" His voice shook as he tried to control himself. He would not cause her more pain by showing his helplessness, his despair. Typical, kind Harry. He always thought of her. He was the only one. She drew him into a deep hug and sobbed. All of last night's helplessness, rage broke loose as she clung to him.

"Shh… Don't… Please, come with me…" he pleaded in a desperate voice. She fell apart. Over and over again.

"You know I can't… Harry…" she choked. Her throat gagged. "I can't… No matter how much I wish it… You'll be fine… I know you… My dearest friend." She drew away to look into his eyes that shone with barely restrained tears. Gently cupping his face as he wiped her face with his handkerchief, she smiled. "When?"

"Tonight."

She lay in the armchair, gently stroking her silver necklace. It soothed her delirious mind. Yes, she was close to losing it. She had no one left. One by one, all had been taken from her. Her parents. Ron. And now Harry. Her last hope. The only one.

Gazing around the dark room, she wondered where her husband was. It had been two days since she had seen him. Two days since Harry had left. Wallowing in self-pity, she sighed. She hadn't studied in nearly a week. All the assignments lay neglected on her desk in the study. The sudden sound of footsteps drew her eyes to the door. She gripped the arms of her chair.

He took a cursory glance at her and then froze as he stared at the necklace in her hands. Curling his lips in derision, he spoke,

"Still mourning, you? What a pity… Your fool of a lover did, after all, deserve the splendid send off into the next world," he continued at the thunderstruck, wounded expression on her face, tears brimming in her eyes. "It was ten against one, what did the fool expect? No? Too bad, facts prove otherwise… He's dead." He moved over to her side, towering over her as she cowered in her armchair.

"Don't…" she whispered, her tone pleading. "Please… Don't."

Grabbing her by the wrist, he pulled her to her feet. She staggered as he caught her and backed her against the wall, knocking the flower-pot off the side table. Pinning her to the wall, he looked into her eyes, his face hard and cold.

"It hurts you, wife? I hurt you, do I? Would you rather I were dead and he alive? Your pathetic moping lover? Have you no sense of honour…. being married and all?" he spoke in a venomous tone. "Either way, I do not care. But do refrain from this weak display to garner my pity. You will have none. Neither will your dead swine of a boyfriend!"

At this, something snapped inside her. Rage. Pure hatred as she had never felt before caused her to do the unthinkable. With all her strength, she pushed against his muscular form. He stumbled backwards as she caught herself and drew her wand. Her hands shook as she pointed it at his surprised face. Perhaps he hadn't expected her to retaliate.

"Don't… Don't you fucking dare, ever, again, speak about him! You miserable excuse for a human being. I hate you, I despise your existence, helpless as I am to bear it." She shook as rage and anguish, both intertwined, attacked her simultaneously. "You! Consorting with whores when your wife is in the next room, speak about honour!" she spat as he narrowed his eyes at her in anger. "I am glad she left you, and that she's dead. To see what you became…" She shook her head but before she could finish, he flung her wand out of her hand with a simple flick of his wrist and slammed her into the wall and his fingers closed around her throat.

"Speak of her again and you would not live," he murmured, his tone deadly. "Do not presume of what you don't know. You have been warned."

Loosening his grip, he drew away as she slid down the wall. The angry red marks on her throat stung as she sought the carpet to support her weight. A painful throb in her right hand alerted her to the wifely duties she would be compelled to perform tonight. The ring, the bane of her existence, was burning.

She had not moved as hours passed and it was nearly midnight. She sat hugging her figure close to her chest, dreading what was to come soon. Only a silent creak announced his arrival. His dark figure stood by the door, ominous and heartless. For a second he stood with an unfathomable expression on his face. Moving towards her, he grabbed her arm and pulled her towards the bed.

"Not t… tonight. Please," she spoke weakly, unable to bear any more emotional assault on herself. She knew, though, it would have to be endured. Nothing she said or he did would change the fact. They would end up in jail for dereliction of duty to the society.

"We have no choice."

Moving gingerly towards the bed, she sat at the edge as though that would be her haven. As though anything could save her. She bit back a silent whimper as he clutched her wrist and drew her towards the centre of the bed. He was still dressed, as always. She closed her eyes as if to lessen to the trauma of this weekly form of torture that the Ministry had devised. No, she could not see or feel anymore. She did not feel his nimble fingers undo her belt. She could not feel him remove her skirt, pulling it down as he struggled to unzip his own pants. She would not feel him remove her panties, she would not feel his throbbing, pulsating erection as he delved into her opening. Although it had been five months, she still hadn't got used to this experience. It hurt every time he pushed into her folds. It hurt as her muscles expanded to allow him entry. It hurt badly. His thrusts weren't gentle, far from it. Tonight, they were exceptionally rough. She whimpered in pain as the uncaring man above her concentrated on the drawer at the far end of the bed so as to not meet her eyes or look at her face. She gasped for breath as his unrelenting assault lessened and with a last grunt he rolled off her. With a quick wave of his hand, his clothes gathered themselves and without a look backwards at her, he left the room.

Drawing her knees to her chest, she lay on bed. She lay in the foetal position for a long time in the darkness. Clutching the sheets to her as she covered herself, she cried into the pillow. Screaming into the feathery mass, she relieved herself of the agony she felt. Her heart bled. Her soul felt tattered. She twisted and writhed, her nerves straining to gain control. She bit into the pillow, its softness gagging her until her breath relaxed. Relatively calmed, she wiped the tears off her face as she remembered her treasure. Moving over to her side, left side, she slid down the bed and locating the fallen necklace beside the armchair, picked it up. Closing her fingers over it, she lay down on the bed again. Gently caressing it, she eased in her position. It was long before sleep claimed her. She would have no respite.

There would be no respite for the forsaken.