Chapter 7


Hermione blinked slowly. Wherever she was, there were soft lights around her, glowing in all colours of the spectrum. Further assessment of her situation revealed she was once again in the Hospital Wing. It must have been night already for the lights to be out.

Diagnostic charms were running beside her, and there were quiet voices to be heard in Madam Pomfrey's office. How long had she been here? And how did she even get here in the first place? The last thing she could remember was being in library and just too overwhelmed with everything that was going on, practically feeling Hermione Potter and Hermione Granger battling inside of her.

Speaking of, who was she? The mysterious third party that seemed to have taken residence, analysing everything, apparently.

Hermione's thoughts were interrupted by the door to the matron's office opening.

"Alright, I think those charms should be done by now."

"Will they be able to tell us more?"

"I certainly hope so."

The voice seemed vaguely familiar, but only when Hermione saw her did her brain put the pieces together. It was Healer Winters, the one who had helped getting her back to health the last time she was here. The one she had wondered about why she was even treating her in the first place. But now was not the time.

The two witches were approaching, and Hermione thought it prudent to close her eyes again.

"Hmm...", Healer Winters hummed.

"I have to admit, most of the things on here don't tell me a whole lot", Madam Pomfrey said.

"Don't worry, they wouldn't", Healer Winters assured her. "This is a spell I have designed myself, for my Master's degree, and it is almost never used."

"Why not? I imagine it would be good to have all this additional information you seem to be getting from it."

Healer Winters chuckled.

"True. However, it does take a rather long time to finish its calculations. No patient, or at least not most, would be willing to just sit there for several hours, waiting to be diagnosed."

And sometimes, time was of essence. Hermione knew that after having lived through a war. Most of the injuries she had encountered would have to be treated immediately, at least to some extent. People simply didn't have the time to have a test like that run on them. They would probably die halfway through, if not sooner.

Silence fell once again, as Healer Winters was – presumably – examining the spell's results, and Madam Pomfrey stood quietly by her side. Hermione didn't know how long it took, but suddenly, her left arm was gently lifted from below her duvet.

A sliver of panic hit her. That was her scarred arm, the one nobody could ever see! If they did, everything around her would fall apart.

"Her heart-rate's gone up", Madam Pomfrey said.

Healer Winters, who was presumable the one holding her arm, stilled her movements.

After a short pause she said: "Everything seems to be in order otherwise."

"Alright. I'll tell you if anything else changes."

"Thank you."

Then, Hermione's arm was turned. Unconsciously, she tensed. If the Healer made any move to roll up her sleeve, Hermione would be ready to strike. She would have to be. No one could know. Ever.

A gentle hand touched her wrist, and then her sleeve. Hermione took a deep breath, and waited. Then, the sleeve was pushed up. There was no doubt about what would happen next. So she did the only thing she could. She sat up abruptly, snatching back her arm, and glaring at both of them.

"What are you doing?", she hissed.

Healer Winters held up her hands defensively.

"No need to panic. I was only trying to verify something."

Oh, really.

"What?"

"Well, you see. My readings have shown that the two magical signatures inside of you have parted again, even though they had wholly merged the last time I saw you. And I traced back the cause to something, that is anchored in one of the signatures, the 'new one', if you want to call it that, that has not fully transferred to the other, 'old', one."

And that something obviously was her scar. As the realization hit her, Hermione covered her mouth to not let out the gasp. That's how the knife had been cursed. And why nothing could heal the letters carved into her skin. They were not only part of her body, but of her magic. Her self. This word, marking her as worthless, had been ingrained into her very being, and just like she couldn't change her eye or hair colour, at least not permanently, she couldn't remove the scar.

Only that it was worse. She couldn't cover it up with magic. She could with muggle means, but makeup just didn't cut it. It wasn't like a tattoo that left one's skin smooth. The letters had been carved into her skin, and that resulted in an impossible to hide texture. And it was the reason this one scar, unlike all the others she had gotten during the war, had reappeared.

And Hermione Potter wasn't a mudblood. She was as pure as they come, both the Potter and Black lines could be traced back for centuries. So of course, who she had been wouldn't just accept something like that as who she was. Because she wasn't. She couldn't be, it was physically impossible. Only now, she was. That was what had messed her recovery, the 'merge', whatever you wanted to call it, up.

"And?", Hermione prompted.

"And, I could trace this something back to your arm. So, I wanted to take a look."

"No."

"Why not? I assure you that my Healer's Oath does indeed enforce confidentiality. This thing is what caused you to be back here. And I'm sure that I am more knowledgeable in Hereditary Magic than you are. After all, it is my field of expertise."

And considering that in all her reading and research over the years, Hermione had never even heard of it, she was inclined to agree. What raised one very important question: What was Hereditary Magic? And what did it have to do with her time/dimension travel?

"I know what it is. But I can't show you."

"That's the only way for me to find out anything more, and possibly help you. Until I know the underlying causes, there is nothing I can do to work with you to prevent something like this from happening again."

And the questions wouldn't go away. Hermione realized that much. Still...

"How much can you reveal without your Healer's Oath stopping you?", she asked.

"To the average citizen?", Healer Winters said. "Nothing. If it's a colleague inquiring, no. If it's something that could be a danger to either yourself or the people around you, we can't tell details, but enough to keep everyone safe."

"What do you mean?", Hermione asked.

She had a bad feeling about this.

"It means that if, for example, you have a highly contagious illness, I will have to at least tell the Headmaster, so that you can either be taken to St. Mungo's or adequate measures can be taken here at school", Madam Pomfrey said.

Not good. She was, for all intents and purposes, from the future. And it wasn't like she hadn't worried before about what would happen if she was found out, usually in bed shortly before she fell asleep. Or not, as the thoughts running through her head, the scenarios that became worse and worse kept her awake.

Best case scenario, she would be pumped for all the information she had and then obliviated to keep their enemies from finding out. One of the worse cases would be to be locked up and poked at in the Ministry – Department of Mysteries, most likely – to find out how her 'travel' had even been possible in the first place.

"What if I refuse?", Hermione asked them.

"Then I will let it lie for now. However, as I said, these panic attacks will only stop once you recognize and resolve the underlying issue. And I don't want to talk down your abilities, but I don't think you will be able to do that without external help."

What a nice way to say that she was mental. Oh, wait. Not.

"So basically, I'm crazy and if I even want to be successful in pretending I'm not I'll have to talk to you?"

"It doesn't have to be me. It could be Madam Pomfrey. Or any other Healer that you trust. I am just the one that will most likely have to be involved with the magical aspect of things."

Great. She didn't know any Healers except those two. And even then, 'know' was a rather loose description.

"No thanks."

"Alright then", Healer Winters said. "I can't force you. I will have to have a closer look at whatever is causing the problems in your Merge, however. It would probably be best for you to sleep now, and maybe you'll have thought things over until tomorrow."

Hermione scowled at them, and after they retired to Madam Pomfrey's office, the soft glow of the diagnostic spell went out and Hermione was left in complete darkness. She could hear her heart beating, and her shallow breathing.

That had been way too close for comfort. But nonetheless, she needed to relax. And she needed to trust that her secret would stay hidden throughout the night, that neither Healer Winters nor Madam Pomfrey would go behind her back in that way. Common sense said she could, but her experiences had made her weary.

She had always trusted in authority. Up until the point when suddenly she found she didn't anymore. However, except breaking out of the Hospital Wind and unnecessarily risking her health, there was nothing Hermione could to. So she forced her heartbeat to slow, her breathing to deepen and her body to relax, succumbing to sleep.


The next day saw Hermione still in the Hospital Wing, and when she was released on Thursday morning, she threw herself back into her studies. She had missed Potions, Arithmancy and Runes on Wednesday, and had to catch up on that, next to her other research.

Unfortunately, she didn't get anything substantial done before Defence. She had been to breakfast, and then back in her dorm, and then in the library, but her concentration just wasn't there. Hermione didn't know if it was because of her panic attack, the near miss of a second one, or the prospect of being in a class with Bellatrix Black again. Maybe it was a combination of all three.

Ultimately, Hermione was glad when it was time to go to class. Hopefully, it would distract her, and she'd be forced to do something else than just sit around uselessly and mentally berating herself for it. The first thing Hermione noticed when she entered the classroom was that once again, the chairs and desks were lining the walls, and the runic circle Professor Mercer had drawn last time was still mostly there.

As usual, Hermione was the first one there, so she put down her bag and then moved on to inspect the circle. She hadn't had the chance to do so last time, and she was curious. There wasn't much about it in the library that she hadn't read before, not even in the Restricted Section. There was a bit more about runic casting, books that either wouldn't be there anymore in a few decades, or that she had just not bothered to read before.

There wasn't much on the actual practice, only that it was heavily restricted, of not outright banned – which Hermione had already known – and they didn't even give an outright reason. From what Hermione could read between the lines though, it was because of the danger it posed, not just to the people around the one casting, but also the caster themselves.

Runic circles, however, didn't have the same risks, as the energy was grounded more, but they could still very easily explode in your face if you made a mistake. The fact that Professor Mercer was using them in class must mean she was indeed very good at runes.

Hermione wondered where she had learned that, and if she maybe would teach her? But no, probably not. You needed a license for that, and chances were, Professor Mercer didn't have one. If she did, why would she be at Hogwarts as the DADA instructor? On the other hand, maybe she did, considering she was all but advertising her skills to anybody who cared to look.

Going around the circle, Hermione couldn't help but be impressed at the accuracy of the runes drawn. They seemed to be perfectly balanced in length and width, as well as spacing, and the general arrangement in a perfectly round circle. If Hermione had wanted to do something like that, she would have double checked everything, and made corrections along the way, before checking again.

Professor Mercer, not so much. She had drawn the circle quickly, almost sketching it. Loosely. Like she had done it countless times before, and could do it in her sleep. As it had happened, Hermione hadn't known enough to truly appreciate the genius behind it, but now... It wasn't even just one language. It was at least five, of which Hermione recognized only three, maybe four, and even with those, she wasn't absolutely sure. It was, just, wow!

She had always thought of herself well educated, and very knowledgeable. She had been called the Brightest Witch of her Age, and she was sure she had deserved the title. However, she was twenty-two years old. Professor Mercer didn't seem to be much older, despite her authoritative presence in class.

"Has the circle captured your interest?", a voice suddenly asked from behind Hermione, and she almost jumped out of her skin.

Be aware of your surroundings, Hermione!, she scolded herself almost immediately.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to startle you", Professor Mercer said.

"It's alright", Hermione replied. "And yes. I find it fascinating."

The Professor gave her a small smile.

"I doubt many others have recognized it for what it is", she said.

"Well, the others are stupid then. Not that I'd have expected anything else", a derisive voice spoke from behind Hermione.

This time, she let no reaction show, even though her insides curled with fear. She knew that voice.

"Is that so, Miss Black?", Professor Mercer answered.

There was a playfulness in her voice that Hermione had no idea what to do with. Luckily, others were slowly starting to enter the classroom, after all class would begin in a few minutes, and Hermione could just go back to where she had dropped her stuff and lean against one of the desks.

Nobody was talking to her, as she had become accustomed to in the last few days, but she could feel someone watching her. She didn't know who it was, and she was too afraid to turn her head and find out.

"Alright, let's begin", Professor Mercer said, the moment the bell rang. "I have looked over my notes of your duels last time, and I've made four groups. In every group, there will be people that ranked at the very top, in the middle, and at the bottom. I expect those of you who have already mastered a spell to help the ones in your group that haven't yet.

"Your group will be your team. Over the course of this school year, this class will be a sort of tournament. There will be a tally kept that has nothing to do with house points, and everything to do with team points. There are things that will help you gain points, like working together, and things that will lose you points, like ignoring when someone in your teams needs help.

"Every month, there will also be a duelling round. It will be in teams, sometimes, and sometimes in smaller groups or one on one. For each duel, you have to put forward some of your points. Depending on how well you performed in the preceding duels, and how proficient you are at the spells allowed, you will get a factor that the points you put forward will be multiplied with if you win.

"Each duel will have individual rules and restrictions, and failure to abide by them will automatically lose you the round. I will hand out a piece of parchment for everyone with the rules, and how everything works in more detail. If you have any questions, please feel free to come to me. Understood?"

A collective not and murmurs of 'yes' went through the class. Hermione was impressed. This was a lot more – and a lot more complicated – than she had expected. And still, it would do a lot of good. People would be forced to work together, and there would be regular duels. Which was a good thing, because being able to cast a spell in a classroom with all the time in the world, or under duress while facing an opponent, having to shield and dodge and attack at the same time, were very different things. Hermione should know, she had earned that knowledge the hard way.

A red-headed boy next to her handed her a small pile of parchment.

"Thanks", she smiled softly, took the one at the top and handed it off to the girl next to her.

She was a Ravenclaw, Hermione noticed. Then, she looked at what was actually written, and she almost choked. Her 'team' of sorts was probably the worst one she could have gotten. They were fourteen people in Defence overall, and there were four teams, two with three and two with four people. She was in one with four people, and in the only team where there was one member of each house.

There was Paul Stewart from Hufflepuff, who had ranked bottom, then Gawain Robarts from Ravenclaw and herself had ranked in the middle, and to top things off, Bellatrix Black from Slytherin. Great!

On one hand, Hermione supposed she should be glad she wouldn't have to duel Bellatrix after all, there was nothing about inter-team duels anywhere, but on the other hand... They would have to work together. She would have to take tips from Bellatrix, or even orders. And she really didn't know of she could do that. Maybe if she made an effort, but how long could she keep that up? Convincingly?

She knew that, if she had wanted, she could have ranked at the top. She had made a conscious decision not to, but now, it looked like it would have been better that way. Someone else in the other teams would have been ranked down in comparison to her, and she could have taken their spot, forcibly being on a different team than Bellatrix.

Oh well, what's done was done. She would have to remain calm. She just recovered from a panic attack, she couldn't afford another one so soon after. Or ever.

Professor Mercer got Hermione's attention again by clapping her hands.

"Good. Any immediate questions?"

"Can we change teams?", someone asked.

"No. Anything else?"

So much for that then. Hermione hadn't even considered it yet, but obviously that option was out anyway.

"Alright, then we're going to start with the first spell. You will notice that the circle I drew last time is still there. It will serve our purposes today. Before you can cast anything, you first need to get a feel for your magic. Those of you who have Runes will have imbued them with power before. For those of you who haven't, it's basically directing raw power into the rune to charge it, and the rune converts the energy into the form it needs."

Looking around, Professor Mercer noticed a raised hand and gestured towards the boy holding it up.

"Yes, Mr...?"

"Robarts. I was wondering if those who have runes will always have an advantage in your class?"

He didn't sound too pleased by the thought, and Hermione supposed she could understand. Sort of. She did have Runes, after all, and would consider herself more knowledgeable about them than the average sixteen-year-old.

"No, Mr Robarts, that won't always be the case. In the beginning, however, it is important to get a feel for the flow of your magic, and I learned it with runes, so that's the way I'm teaching you. If you would like to suggest another method, however, and are proficient enough at it to teach it, then you're very welcome to do so in your free time."

"Understood", Robarts said courtly.

Hermione glanced down on her parchment to double-check, but she had been right. This Mr Robarts was one of her teammates, the one from Ravenclaw. Gawain Robarts. His name seemed familiar, somehow.

"Then let's continue. Before you start flinging spells around, I believe it is very important to know yourself, and to know the feel of your magic. How fast it rises, how fast it flows, and what emotions it responds most to. That will allow you more control and precision in your spellwork, as you won't waste any power that you otherwise might have.

"Runes are perfect for this exercise for two reasons. One, to be charged they need raw magic, only directed through our wands, without it being shaped to perform a certain task. And two, if you overpower it, the rune will simply disintegrate. Now, be careful though. If working with a circle or similar, all the runes are connected to each other, so if the whole circle is overpowered and all runes disintegrate simultaneously, there will be a big explosion, and that's dangerous.

"I have taken care to disconnect all of the runes that are drawn here. The only reason we are still using the circle is basically because I didn't have the time to draw that many runes for this lesson, that are going to be destroyed anyway."

Considering the speed at which she had set the circle up in their last lesson, Hermione rather doubted that. And judging from a stifled snort at her back, she wasn't the only one who thought so.

"So, your task for today is to pick a rune you like, for whatever reason, and try to imbue it with your magic. There is no incantation, as the magic isn't formed. Just try to feel the power flowing through your veins, and into your wand. Remember what it felt like when you first connected with it, and maybe remember the sparks that came out of it. How many there were, how bright they were, which colour they had. All these things can help you find your magic.

"And don't be discouraged if you don't manage it right away. Those that have Runes, and have done this before, might be able to assist you, and I'm also there if you have any questions."

Okay, wow. Hermione knew how to power runes, thank you very much. But it had taken her a long time to get that hang of it, much reading, and meditation, and personal instruction from Professor Babbling. They had started in Third Year, and only a few months before OWLs had anyone managed to successfully power anything.

For Professor Mercer to expect them to learn this, in such a short amount of time, was insanity. Besides, wouldn't it be wasted time for those who already knew the technique? Never mind. She was still their teacher, and if she thought it would do anything but frustrate those who couldn't do it and bore those who could, who was she to protest? It would only gain her unwanted attention anyway, and the rest of the lesson plan did seem to be reasonable, so... It would be alright, Hermione supposed.


"Hermione?", someone called out to her.

Turning around, she saw Gawain Robarts, trying to catch up with her.

"Yes?"

What did he want?

"I was wondering... you know, you're in Runes, so, you know how this whole feeling your magic thing works."

Oh. Wait... was that a genuine call for help, or a Ravenclaw's attempt at getting her alone to sleep with her? Because that wasn't something she felt up to at the moment. Even though... he did look good, and maybe it would help her forget.

"Yes?", she asked again.

She wanted him to clearly state what he wanted. It wouldn't do to misread the situation, and embarrass herself.

"Could you teach me?" Hermione shrugged.

"I can try. I don't know if I'm any good at teaching, though."

Didn't he have any friends that were in Runes?

"I'd appreciate you trying", he said smiling.

"So, when are you free?", Hermione asked.

"Friday morning would probably be best. I don't have Herbology, or Astronomy."

"Me neither", Hermione replied.

She did have to patrol Thursdays from 12am to 2am though. Today from 12 to 2, she realized with a start.

"Can we still start at ten, or later? I have rounds until two on Thursdays."

"Of course", Gawain smiled. "Meet in front of the library, tomorrow at ten?"

"Alright", Hermione said.

Then, she turned and went back to Gryffindor Tower. Originally, she had planned to go to the library, but seeing how unproductive she had been that morning, she resolved to try something different to get her thoughts back in order. It was moments like this when she missed Crookshanks.

He had stayed at the Burrow after the war, because Ron still didn't like him, and Hermione hadn't fought him on that. She knew that her cat would be happier there than in a small flat. He had always comforted her, however, and brought her a piece of mind that nothing else could have accomplished. She could get a new cat, she supposed, but it wouldn't be the same.

When she entered the Gryffindor Common Room, it was louder than she had expected with most people, especially the younger ones still in class. At fault were very obviously the Prewett twins, and their sister Molly. Molly soon-to-be Weasley, who was very loudly arguing with them, her (probably) boyfriend Arthur beside her, trying to calm her down, and the twins not paying them any attention at all, and rather continuing to make fun of two of their housemates.

Whom Hermione, after having to take a second look, were her fellow Prefect, something Johnson, and one of her dorm mates. At least she thought the girl was in her year, she hadn't really paid any attention to anyone around her, too busy trying to sort out her own life. What made recognizing them even harder was the fact that everything about them seemed to have been switched. Not only their clothes, but also their hair, and even their skin tone.

It did look interesting, Hermione had to admit, and the genius it would take to turn such an idea into reality was astounding. And very impressive indeed. Maybe she would have to seek the twins out sooner or later, and pick their brains a little. If she managed to ignore the fact they were technically corpses in her mind, that is.

"Impressed?", a voice asked from behind her.

Without missing a beat, Hermione whirled around, her wand drawn and a spell on her lips, before she reminded herself that there was no danger. Instead, there was a boy looking down on her, and a rather handsome one. Oh well, if that wasn't the distraction she had been waiting for.

Wait. What?, a small part of her brain supplied, but she ignored it. She needed this, she needed to forget and just feel good for a moment. She wouldn't let stupid Hermione Granger's conscience take that from her. So, instead of distancing herself, she took a step closer to whomever it was she was talking to – probably a seventh year – and quirked her lips up in a smile.

"What's it to you?", she asked playfully.

He sighed dramatically.

"You wound me! Have I not been seen with the Prewett twins, and accused of helping them often enough for the assumption of my involvement to become silent fact?"

Hermione laughed.

"Careful, there! You wouldn't want to give up your plausible deniability."

"True", the boy said, and stepped forward, close enough that their noses were touching.

"Care to make sure you have an alibi?", Hermione whispered, her lips brushing over his.

"Let's go", he said, took her hand and led her out of the Common Room. Squeezing through the portrait hole was slightly uncomfortable, as he still didn't let go of her hand, but they managed, and soon it was Hermione leading the way, through several secret passages into an abandoned classroom.

Only then did she take out her wand, and thoroughly ward the room. The spells came over her lips almost automatically, and she was reminded, only for a moment, of being on the run, moving the tent every so often, and always casting the same sequence of spells, their purpose to keep them from being discovered, and then tortured or killed.

As soon as the thought came to her, however, Hermione forcefully pushed it away. Now was neither the time nor place for this. She wanted to forget. When she turned around, her companion, whom she still didn't know the name of, smirked at her.

"Ready?", he asked.

"Almost", Hermione replied coyly.

Then, she conjured a bed. It was inspired by the ones in the Gryffindor dormitories, with four posts and curtains all around. It was about twice as wide, however, and the sheets were red silk instead of white cotton.

"I like", the boy said.

She would call him Bob in her mind, she decided.

"I'm glad", Hermione answered.

Then, she stepped forward again and let her lips be caught in between Bob's. It felt... average, she supposed. His mouth was soft, his tongue was wet, and there was a slight stubble on his chin that scratched her, only a little bit, but enough to keep her from being lost in the other sensations. Still, she opened her mouth to him, let his tongue into her mouth, swirling around with her own.

She let him dominate and pushed herself closer. She needed more. Her hand fisted his short brown hair, one staying on his neck, the other trailing down to his chest. He groaned into her mouth, and the sound vibrated through her whole body. His right hand found the small of her back and pressed her even closer, if that was possible, and his left wandered upwards, teasing the hem of her shirt and slipping under it.

Feeling his slightly calloused fingers trace her skin gave her goosebumps. It was soft and tender, and Hermione could feel herself falling. Finally letting go. When his hand reached her right breast and his thumb swiped over her nipple, only her bra preventing direct skin contact, she couldn't hold back a small moan. It felt good. Really good.

Hermione shrugged off her robes, and then helped Bob get rid of her shirt, so she could press against him again. His clothes weren't as soft as his skin, though, and she longed for that softness, so she pushed his robes off him and lifted his shirt over his head. He did have a bit of chest hair, and some of his pubic hair trailed up to his bellybutton. It contrasted with the rest of his torso, and Hermione wasn't sure she really liked it, but that didn't really matter.

Her bra snapped open, and cold air hit her breasts that made her nipples go hard. She didn't like the cold. So she pushed Bob backwards, until they fell on the bed. The sheets were soft and warm, exactly what Hermione had wanted them to be. Bob flipped them around, so that Hermione was lying below him. He smiled down on her and grinned.

"Ready?", he asked again.

"Yes", Hermione answered breathily.

She needed this.

"Then let's get rid of those, right?", he said, gesturing to their remaining clothes.

He didn't wait for a reply, and proceeded to pull off his shoes and socks, then unbuckling his belt. Hermione followed his example, and was left sitting on the bed with only her panties on. She knew she had to take those off as well, but for some reason, she hesitated. It didn't seem to matter that much to Bob, however.

He was completely naked, and very hard, as Hermione confirmed with a glance. He seemed to have caught her looking, why else would he flash a playful grin at her before moving forward and capturing her lips in a kiss again?

Hermione once again gave her best to become lost in the sensations, but for some reason, it just didn't work. He was lying on top of her, she could feel his erection pressing against her body, their breaths intermingled, and his weight was pushing her into the mattress.

But something was off. She didn't feel safe anymore, floating and free. She felt restricted, suffocated by his presence. His body seemed to trap her under him, his kiss becoming harder, threatening.

Hermione forced her eyes to open, and snap out of whatever it was, but to no success. Bob's brown hair seemed to have attained a reddish tinge, his movements an edge of forcefulness that hadn't been there before. He was rubbing up and down on her body, and when he moaned into her mouth and started moving down towards her neck, sucking at her pulse point, Hermione knew she had to get out of there.

Memories of his actions just shortly before she had landed in this new life started to overlap with the present, and the analytical part of her brain, that was just watching from the outside, completely emotionally detached, told her that it wouldn't be long until Bob noticed something was wrong, or worse, she herself lashed out.

"Stop", she said quietly, not really believing it would have any effect.

It didn't before, after all. Against all her expectations, however, he did stop. He looked up at her, concerned, and rolled off her.

"What is it?", he asked.

"I-", Hermione said.

I can't explain. She never would be able to.

"I don't know. Sorry. I didn't mean to...", she said instead. "You can continue."

Well, if that didn't sound unromantic. But whatever.

"If you're sure", Bob said.

"I am", Hermione answered.

And then, he was back on top of her, his mouth on her breast this time, his fingers teasing her pussy through her panties. He gently eased them down her thighs, and pulled them off completely. When he aligned himself with her entrance, Hermione could fell herself growing stiff.

Relax, she told herself. You want this, you need this. You know you do. So don't screw it up.

She didn't think Bob had noticed anything. He was lost in his own world, of lust and getting off, she imagined. And then, without any prior warning whatsoever, he grunted and thrust into her.

"No!", Hermione shouted in immediate reaction.

Mentally, she was back in the future, her old life, that last night she had lived that had led her to wanting to take her life. Adrenaline coursed through her veins, and she pushed the body off of her. She wouldn't let this happen to her again! She would not be a victim anymore. Never again!

Bob landed on the floor, hard, and obviously displeased.

"What the fuck?", he shouted. "What's going on with you?!"

Shaking, Hermione sat on the bed, trying to get her wits back together.

"I won't let you", she whispered. "Never again."

Then, she wandlessly summoned her wand and conjured herself some clothes. Then, she cleaned herself up, and fixed her hair. Bob, on the floor, was completely stunned. Hermione got up from the bed and vanished it. Then, she exited the classroom and let the door slam behind her, loudly.

Automatically, her feet carried her to the library. Halfway there, however, she remembered lunch. She had to go. And damn, Bob also had to go. He had to have friends who would wonder where he was, and what had happened. And then, he would tell them what had transpired between them. Raising questions she didn't want to answer.

So, she had to face him again. Now. She had to go back, and take care of his memories, as much as she disliked the thought of doing that after it had gone so pear-shaped with her parents. She bumped into him on the way up to their classroom. He was walking a little funnily, and Hermione realized he must have been hurt when she pushed him.

Suddenly, she felt bad for him. He had done nothing, not really, and she had overreacted, so much that he had gotten physically hurt. And she couldn't even heal it for him. She knew a few healing spells, but she didn't even know what was wrong with him, so if she just hit him with something, she would probably only make it worse.

"What do you want?", he snapped at her.

Completely deserved, Hermione thought.

"I'm sorry", she said softly.

Then, she raised her wand and pointed it directly at him.

"Obliviate."


Well, that last scene was awkward to write, but I hope I didn't completely screw it up. It was unfortunately necessary.

Please consider reviewing, it does make me extremely happy :)