Hermione looked around, hoping no one would see her. Leaving Ron again was one of the hardest things she'd ever done, but the nightmares were getting worse, the depression deeper, and there was only one way she could think of to fix it. She slowly walked up to the door of the house she'd left only days before. The cold October wind whipped around her and she pulled the folds of her cloak tighter around her before knocking on the door. The lights were on and she could hear laughter coming from inside the house. The door flung open and a drunk man stumbled into the doorway. He looked at her and yelled over his shoulder, "Hey Michael, your bitch is back!" Then he grabbed her arm and pulled her roughly inside the house.
She looked around at probably about 10 men and women, all drunk. The sight of Michael, the man who had been her fiance not even a week earlier, with two drunk girls on his lap just made the anger inside Hermione grow. They got off him as he stumbled over to Hemione. He dropped the bottle of firewhiskey he'd been holding, grabbed hold of Hermione and dragged her into the kitchen. His breath stank of alcohol and he held his face as close to hers as he could. Hermione's hand gripped her wand, but she didn't make a move.
"Where the hell have you been, girl?" His words were slurred.
"As far away from you as possible."
"Aw, c'mon now. That's no way to treat your fiance." She laughed and spit on his shoes.
"You, sir, are not my fiance. You're nothing but a lying, cheating, alcoholic-" Her words were cut off by his hand stinging across her face. She fell to the ground and felt tears forming in her eyes. Her hand held onto her wand even tighter.
"Don't you dare say those thing to me ever again, you filthy little mudblood. Forgetting who took you in? Who held you while you mourned for your dead muggle parents? Who cared for you all these years, huh? Who loved you even when-" She stood up and began yelling.
"Loved? Loved? You never loved me. You cheated on me, you lied to me, you abused me. You did a lot of things to me, Michael, but don't you ever say that you loved me." She drew her wand and pointed it as his throat. The look in his eyes turned to that of pure terror. She could feel the energy coursing through her veins, the need to end him. End the cause of all her suffering. But, then again, there was that little voice in the back of her head saying this was wrong. Telling her that she was better than this, better than him. Why should she kill him when she could turn him into the police? But, then again, why should this monster be allowed to live? He would've killed her, if the situation was reversed, he'd threatened her with death enough. But there was still that little shred of sanity left inside Hermione. That one little strand of hope that was holding on and fighting with everything it had. She knew she couldn't kill him, she'd never been capable of killing. But she wanted him to pay. For the suffering. For the abuse. For each slash she had made on her wrist trying to escape his pain. He deserved to be punished. But she never got around to it. For, in those very seconds, the door was flung open and in barged a certain Weasley who was very, very angry.