Though it hurt her heart to do so, Molly pushed Hermione and Ginny to return to Hogwarts on the Sunday night that followed. She expressed her desire to come along, but all of them knew that the other students would notice and grow more suspicious, even if Molly stayed in their dorm room and lived off whatever scraps they could pilfer from the Great Hall during meals.

So in the end, only the two girls climbed into the green flames of the fireplace for the half-hour floo-connection specially set up between it and the Gryffindor common room. Neither of them was ready, Hermione most of all, but neither of them knew how much longer it would be before the Wizengamot reached its decision. As it was, Ginny had OWLs quickly approaching and even Hermione had left off schoolwork during her time at the Burrow. If there was a trial, even more days in class might be lost, so they couldn't afford to linger and wait.

Tonks had explained to Hermione, that if, as they hoped, a trial was initiated, the choice of whether or not to be present was hers alone. Though such cases were held in closed-court, she had the right to attend as a victim, along with anyone supporting her. But she also had the right, as a minor under Gwendyll's Law, to have her signed statement read in her absence. With the confession they'd gotten, there would be no need for much cross-examination anyway.

Ginny and Molly had already firmly declared their intentions to be present, and Tonks had echoed the sentiment. Hermione, however, would not yet commit either way. Every time she pictured him in her mind, pictured him being in the same room with her, her fear told her she could never do it.

And he wasn't the only one Hermione was afraid of facing. She knew from Harry just how large the Wizengamot was, and that the headmaster of her school was the Chief Warlock sitting it. Already, she worried about running into him in the hallways of Hogwarts or meeting his blue eyes during dinner in the Great Hall. Although the decision on the petition facing the court was not Dumbledore's alone to make, he of all people would have to read each and every detail while it was under consideration. Even if Hermione's name was left off it, and she wasn't sure if it was at this point in the proceedings, she still sensed that Dumbledore would know who the victim of those acts was. After all, how many other recently-orphaned witches had been pulled out of school in the last week due to suspected abuse?

No, she thought, it was one thing that she would probably cringe inside every time she now saw the headmaster, aware of his new, specific knowledge. It was another thing to have to do that with a whole skew of other, as yet unknown, witches and wizards of the court, ones she might have to work with when she finished school, if she went into the ministry herself.

Again, it was one thing to know that Dumbledore had read her words on a page, another thing to physically be there, all eyes on her, when the details of everything Jacob did to her were read aloud for the court.

Yet Hermione had not expressed these specific worries, not even to Ginny, who, she sensed, thought it might do her good to go and see him locked away with her own eyes. She'd leave that decision for when the time came, for as much as it hurt her to think of the pains the trial might bring, it hurt her more to hope for any good that could come out of it. She didn't want to dwell on his conviction until she knew that there was a chance it could come to pass, especially since so much in her still feared that there might not even be a trial.

For now she would push those thoughts aside, and brace herself instead for the return to school that was upon them.

Stepping into the common room and dusting the soot from their jeans, Hermione and Ginny were not surprised to find two anxious sixth-year boys standing there waiting for them. Arthur, with Hermione's permission, had owled ahead the girls' arrival time, and even an arcromantula infestation would not have kept Ron and Harry from meeting their friend the moment she arrived.

It was awkward at first, seeing each other again, as so many letters had passed between the four-some but so many words, until this moment, had been left unspoken.

Finally, Ron broke the silence, stepping forward to hug his sister and then his mate, muttering, "Al'right then, Herm?"

Facing them both, Hermione's lips began to form the words to convince them that everything was fine, but she stopped and reminded herself that the time for such simple lies had long passed. Instead, she simply shook her head "no" to Ron's question.

"Suppose you wouldn't be, eh?" Harry chimed in, gesturing to an empty seat by the fire and taking a position on the rug close to it.

"Yeah, ruddy-hell," Ron added, joining his friend on the floor, "Suppose I wouldn't be either."

Hermione, ignoring the proffered chair, sat between them and pressed both hands to the bridge of her nose as if she had a headache. She was unsure of what to say next and everyone else seemed to be too.

"Do you, er, wanna talk about it?" Harry finally asked, as Ron leaned his head back against the empty chair and Ginny took a seat facing Hermione.

She nodded; she did. The problem was that she still wasn't sure how.

"Right then," Ron added, giving her a half-shrug, "Whenever you're, you know . . . ready."

Taking a deep breath, Hermione thought about what she would say. She wanted to apologize for everything she had put them through and for all of the lies she had told, to bask in the reassurance that they might not be mad at her. She wanted to thank them for their letters and tell them how much their concern had meant, to tell them what Tonks had discovered about her parents' death, to rattle off all of her worries about the upcoming trial and whether or not there would even be one. There were a million things Hermione wanted to say, but she knew she wouldn't say any of them if she let her thoughts run away with her instead of simply making a start.

The last thing she planned to say, though, was the words that actually left her mouth. "Harry, Ron, . . . he didn't just hit me."

Ron looked down, his face red in embarrassment and both of his fists balled tight in anger, while Harry, his face pale but his eyes still on Hermione, nodded and said, "We kinda figured."

"Yeah," Ron added, his breathing measured, "When it was Ginny . . . and well, you didn't tell anyone for so long."

"And," Harry said, "Mrs. Weasley was so careful about it."

Noticing how faint Hermione looked, he added, "We, err . . . don't know exactly what he, uh, did to you. We don't know anything really. But we thought that there might be more to it, and that since we were guys, maybe you didn't tell us because it had to do with . . . well, you know, you don't have to tell us. You can; we want you to. But you don't have to."

Hermione took a deep breath, and, barely above a whisper, sealed the decision she hadn't thought herself brave enough to make. "He raped me."

The air went out of Ron, and when Hermione looked at him, she saw a tear sliding down his freckled cheek.

Then she looked at Harry, whose own eyes were wet, and noticed him holding out an arm with a hesitant expression as if he wanted to embrace her but wouldn't touch her without permission. Taking Ron's hand, she nodded to him, and before she knew it one boy was hugging her from each side, with Ginny giving her an encouraging smile just beyond.

Nothing more was said, and nothing more needed to be. She knew she would never tell them all the haunting details, not like she had done with Ginny. But neither would she need to lie to her two oldest friends again.