Thanks for sticking with this and for all your support and comments. Slightly shorter chapter this time, but this seemed like the right point to break.

Possible trigger warning for this chapter, remember, this story is fiction, but if anything like this has happened to you, please make sure you talk to someone...

Love Merrick x


The police were very thorough. Once her injuries, and Harry's bruised knuckles had been photographed, Hermione sat on the sofa, mug of tea in hand, wrapped in Harry's dressing gown, which drowned her, but felt warm and safe, while they gave their statement to the police sergeant. The younger PC had remained in the kitchen photographing the disordered furniture and the smear of blood across the kitchen wall. He was probably also photographing the remains of her underwear Hermione thought suddenly, but then it was only evidence to him. Somehow that didn't feel like much of a consolation at that point.

"...And you hit him Mr Potter"

"That's right"

The female police officer – Sergeant Jean Terry, Harry recalled – frowned suspiciously. "Mr Potter, your statement, and the blood smear on the kitchen wall indicates that you must have knocked Jack Bartholomew clear across the kitchen and into the wall. Now I understand that you come from a security background and presumably have some training, but Mr Bartholomew is a big man. How is that possible?"

Harry's eyes, which had been watching Hermione, curled up beside him, looked up at her, and Terry was shocked at the cold rage in his eyes. "I was in the garden when I heard my girlfriend scream. I ran into the kitchen and found her pinned practically naked to the kitchen floor, Jack Bartholomew was trying to choke the life out of her with one hand and unzipping his trousers with the other – I didn't need to ask where this was going.. When she did manage to get away from him he backhanded her clear across the kitchen" He paused, trying to get himself back together. "I was very, very angry."

"... Bartholomew was drunk" Hermione interrupted. "He was very drunk. He may have lost his balance"

Sergeant Terry sighed. "Yes Ms Granger. We know how drunk he was."

Harry looked at her steadily. "There's more to this isn't there? What's going on Sergeant Terry? What's happening in the village?"

The older woman put down her tea, moving to crouch in front of Hermione...

"Ms Granger – Hermione – I want to make it absolutely clear – this is not your fault." She took as deep breath. "We were called to The Golden Lion this evening. The call came in about half an hour or so after your first call Mr Potter. I have to tell you that Jack Bartholomew is dead. He went back to his flat above the pub and hung himself in the stairwell. By the time they found him it was far too late to do anything." Terry paused for a moment, waiting as Harry drew Hermione against him, her face in his shoulder, waiting for her to compose herself.

"Hermione. I'm sorry to have to ask you this question, but had Bartholomew ever – shown any interest in you before?"

From Harry's shoulder, Hermione drew a deep, ragged breath...

"Yes."

"Can you tell me – take your time"

Hermione sat up, pushing her tangle of dark hair off her face and took a steadying sip of tea. Harry reached into his jeans pocket and smiled. "I thought so. I've been finding these damn things all around the house recently. He opened his hand to reveal a hair band. Smiling a little wanly, Hermione took a moment to sort herself out before squaring her shoulders and facing the sergeant once more.

"I've known Jack Bartholomew my whole life. I would never have called him a friend, but this is a small village you know…? As I got older he seemed to be – attentive, around a lot more I suppose. He singled me out. I was flattered really, he was two years older than me, and a lot of my friends were mad about him, but, there was something about him I didn't trust. I think I must have known even then what it was he wanted. Eventually I relented and went on one date with him when I was fifteen and he would've been nearly eighteen by then. I remember that he borrowed his Dad's car for the afternoon. We went to the cinema in Bodmin." She shuddered. "It was a disaster, he acted as though we were engaged or something, and on the way home he... he got completely out of hand. He pulled into the lay by at the top of the village. At first he just kissed me, which was ok, but then he started pulling at my clothes…. I was only fifteen. I tried to push him off and he got angry - I slapped him and jumped out of the car - then ran home across the fields. I was soaked by the time I got home, and covered in mud. He didn't leave me alone for ages, always watching me, trying to catch me by myself, phoning the house at all hours of the day and night. In the end my Mum threatened to call the police." Hermione shook her head angrily. "My Mum was dying of a brain tumour, and had to deal with that bastard and his raging hormones and over inflated ego. He just refused to believe that I truly wasn't interested. His Dad got involved eventually, and there was a terrible row." She took another sip of her tea before continuing. "Everything seemed to settle down for a while, but then Mum died when I was eighteen. For a while I was lost... adrift. He was there for me. Not romantically – I thought he was a friend. I thought we were over all that. But we weren't..."

"Go on Ms Granger"

Hermione's voice was little more than a whisper. "I went to the pub one night and got rather drunk. Very drunk in fact." She buried her head in Harry's shoulder again. "This is awful..."

"Take your time Hermione"

Harry looked up, still angry... "Is this really necessary. She was almost... hasn't she been through enough?"

"I'm sorry. I know this is hard, but it's really important that we get the full picture... please - carry on Hermione"

"...I was really drunk. Jack offered to take me home. I went up to bed, he promised to lock the door. I assumed that he would lock it on the way out. Unfortunately he didn't. I must have passed out, and when I came round a while later he was – he..."

"Hermione, let me be clear on one thing. The fact that you were too drunk to consent doesn't give him an excuse – doesn't let him off the hook"

Hermione took a deep breath. "He didn't – he tried but he..." her face was utterly mortified. "He had had a few drinks himself, and he must have been... worked up.

… very worked up…"

"Ah"

"He was furious – and humiliated. He blamed me..."

"Did he leave?"

She nodded. "Since then, he's been – weird... creepy. I tried to put it behind me, made certain I was never alone with him, but he just made my skin crawl. He worked in London for years, and I hoped that if – when he came back he would be over it... but his eyes. He would watch me, follow me... When I had security cameras put in in the shop, and in the entrance to the flat I told everyone it was because of burglars, shoplifters, but it wasn't. It was because of him. It made me feel a little safer." She looked up at Harry. "When you suggested going elsewhere the other night I nearly said yes. But part of me hoped that if he saw us together he might finally get the hint - that it was you I was interested in, not him."

"Hermione. To be honest I don't think there was much you could've done to convince him at this stage There's something that you need to see..." Sergeant Terry fished a tablet out of her bag, and opened some pictures. "We found these in Bartholomew's flat at the pub. Were you aware of any of these being taken?"

Hermione took the tablet, flicking through the pictures, her face going from flushed with embarrassment to chalk white in a matter of moments. "Oh my God" her voice was little more than a whisper... "Oh my God".

Pictures. Hundreds of them. From odd snaps of her as a girl, all the way to her walking up to Harry's cottage a few days ago. – hundreds and hundreds of photographs "I had no idea."

The Sergeant's face was grim

"That's enough" Harry took the tablet from Hermione's shaking hands and passed it firmly back to the Sergeant. "She's been through enough now. Do you have everything that you need?"

The young PC appeared to have finished take pictures and samples from the kitchen, and was hovering nervously in the doorway, blissfully oblivious of the fact that a certain – rather transparent - elderly woman was trying to peer at his notebook over his shoulder.

Terry clearly agreed, gathering her equipment and her PC, she rose to leave. "Hermione, our tech guys will take a look at Bartholomew's laptop tomorrow morning. I have to warn you that there may be more to find yet." Her hand gripped Hermione's shoulder momentarily. "The worst is over, but this isn't just going to go away." She nodded up at Harry, now standing, fiercely protective, at her side. "It looks like you have some great support here, but if you need to talk to someone, if you think of anything that might help, call. There are people that can help, that I can put you in touch with. My Detective Inspector is still down at the Lion taking care of the other end of things, but we'll put our heads together on this, and I should be able to update you – for your own personal satisfaction really, as I don't think we'll be looking for anyone else in the case… unless of course there are other victims."

Hermione's face was chalk white. Clearly she hadn't thought of that. "You mean there may be others like me?"

"We can't rule it out I'm afraid. It may be no consolation now but your having the guts to report this may help to bring closure to other women like you." Sergeant Terry held her hand out. "Thank you Hermione, we'll be in touch."

Harry let them both out, locking the door carefully. Bartholomew may have gone but this was far from over, and anything that could make Hermione feel safer was fine by him. Once the last bolt was shot, and magical wards put in place for good measure he turned and sighed with relief, leaning back on the heavy door.

Hermione was standing in the kitchen doorway, looking at the disordered furniture, her expression unreadable.

Harry rested his hands on her shoulders, rubbing his thumb across the back of her neck, under her hair. Dull fury soured his stomach, and he had to breath deeply, trying to stay calm. "I wish I'd killed him myself… If I'd known what he did to you.. How long…."

"I know". The distinct catch in her voice was like a punch in his stomach. Gently he turned her around, drawing her close.

For a moment, the slim body in his arms was tense, then her hands were gripping his sweater, burying her face in his shoulder, her shoulders shaking. For a long time, Harry held her, feeling the damp spread across his sweater, running soothing hands down her back, murmuring soothing nonsense into her hair, until finally she was utterly spent.

Trying not to think of the way they had done the same thing earlier. Harry scooped her up in his arms, and carried her up the stairs. Limp and exhausted, she rested her head against his shoulder.

"Stay with me..."

"I promise"

ooo0ooo

It was well after midnight when DI John Benedict arrived back at Bodmin police station to find Jean Terry, and the young PC, Nigel Timms poring over computer screens, mugs of coffee in hand.

"Any coffee left for me?"

Timms scuttled out of his seat to pour a mug for the DI, who took it with a grunt of thanks, eyes on the screen.

"What've you got?"

Terry rubbed her eyes wearily. It had been a long day, and she should have been off shift hours ago. "Nothing local, but I called the Metropolitan Police. It appears that our Miss Granger - while the longest, and undoubtedly the worst, may not have been the only one...


Only one chapter to go, and maybe an epilogue... M x