Bellatrix had not been gone ten minutes when Hermione woke up. She opened her eyes and immediately shielded them from the sunlight streaming through the window to her right. She draped her right arm over her eyes and reached out with her left for Bellatrix, only to find an empty bed, the sheets still slightly warm where she had slept. She immediately sat up, panicked. Where was she? Had something happened to her? Was she in danger? What if her dream had somehow come true, if Bellatrix was lying dead in some unknown place, if she would never see her again? Hermione couldn't bear to think like that.
Hermione kicked the sheets off of her legs and jumped out of bed. With Bellatrix's absence, all of her fears came rushing back to her, stronger and fiercer than ever. What if the larger and smaller hands were just around the corner, waiting for her to walk straight into their trap? There was no doubt in her mind that they would pick up where they left off, with both of them inside her, pounding violently away at her with no concept of mercy in their frozen hearts. No matter how loudly she screamed, how desperately she begged, they would not stop until they were satisfied, and she was broken. Hell, she was already cracked, from her encounter with them, her time with Bellatrix, and her time without her; all she needed was for them to come along and shatter her into a million tiny pieces that not even the kindest (if she could ever be considered kind) Bellatrix she had seen could put back together.
The kindest Bellatrix she could think of was the Bellatrix she had seen at the hospital; the Bellatrix that stayed with her day and night, refusing to leave her side for seventy-two hours (more or less, she reminded herself. She still wasn't sure exactly how long she had been unconscious in that bed), the Bellatrix that screamed when she saw she was awake, that ran to her and kissed her, not caring that the nurse was still in the room, watching them. Unfortunately, that Bellatrix was also the Bellatrix that, as soon as she realized she had done all those things, became cold and uncaring, calling her a mudblood and walking right out of the room. But then again, what about the Bellatrix that had rescued her from the hands? The Bellatrix that pretended to have an asthma attack, only to jump up and disarm her attackers, the Bellatrix that tortured her own sister's beloved husband and son, not caring how it would hurt her, just because they had dared to hurt her lover, the Bellatrix that held her when she cried and reassured her that they wouldn't hurt her again, the Bellatrix that washed her hair for her and gave her clothes to wear, and a warm bed to sleep in.
Thinking of that Bellatrix brought back thoughts about the hands.
Hermione, skilled as she was, couldn't hold her own against them, especially the larger hands. She had seen them both in action and, though she could beat the smaller, together they would overpower her and she would be forced to endure whatever they wanted to put her through. She doubted she could defeat the larger, even if he was alone. He was a powerful set of hands, more powerful than Hermione could handle at the moment. She knew that, in time, she would be able to win against him, but for now, he would triumph over her. So if wands were drawn, she would have no choice but to surrender to them, and let them do whatever they liked with her. Who knew what else they would want to do with her? Hermione had no idea what went on in their twisted minds, how else they would want to punish her for insulting their precious Narcissa. All she had said was the truth, but she did regret saying it straight to the smaller's face. Or rather, his back.
Somewhere in the back of her mind, she knew that they were still hanging, bloody, bruised, and barely able to move, in Bellatrix's secret place, but that knowledge didn't do anything to calm the terror that paralyzed her, that rooted her to the spot. As she lifted her right foot and began to walk forward, she tried to remind herself that they weren't just around the corner, that they weren't going to get her again, because Bellatrix had them locked away somewhere, somewhere secret; but no matter how hard she tried, she couldn't stop believing that they were waiting for her. She took another step and pulled out her wand, holding it in front of her with a shaking hand and constantly looking around. There were a million places they could hide in Bellatrix's rooms; behind the bookcase, in the corner hidden by shadows, under the bed, in the bathroom. . . Hell, they could even be standing right in front of her, under a simple disillusionment charm. This thought only heightened her fears, and left her unable to move from her place on the green rug.
She had to get out. She had to get out of there, she couldn't stay in that room any longer. It was only when she had positioned herself and was about to Disapparate that she noticed she was naked. She squeaked in surprise and quickly reddened, thinking of what could have happened, had she gone without noticing. "Accio nightgown!" she said, her voice low for fear that they would hear her. Immediately, her nightgown, discarded carelessly the night before, came flying at her from across the room, and landed in her arms. She slipped it on and turned on the spot, Disapparating out of the room with a crack like thunder.
She landed easily in the cellar of Honeyduke's, at the trap door leading to the secret passage into Hogwarts. She looked covertly around as she reached down to the little door, feeling very much like a criminal suspicious of being caught. Seeing no one, she lugged the (shockingly heavy) door open and leapt down into the tunnel. As she landed, the door crashed closed after her, causing a rather loud noise. She flinched and looked up, listening closely for the sound of footsteps, voices, anything that would tell her someone was there. When, after a few moments, she was met with nothing but silence, she decided it was safe, and started to walk. Here, she decided, she was safe from the hands. She would know if they joined her in the passage, because she would hear the trap door opening and closing. She immediately relaxed, knowing they couldn't sneak up to her in here.
But what if they had come in before her? What if they had known this was where she was going to go, and so they had gone ahead of her and were just a little ways away, waiting for her to come along? Of course, that was it! They had known she would go back to Hogwarts, they had known she wouldn't have any way to get in other than the passage, and they had known that she would think she was safe, and therefore let her guard down. Her wand was in her hand before she even realized she had pulled it out. "Lumos maxima," she whispered, and the tip of her wand glowed dramatically in the semi-darkness. After spinning around once, making sure there was nobody behind her, she started walking quickly down the passageway. Her eyes were wide and her breaths short, bordering on frantic, as she looked around herself, her wand held out in front of her. She was sure they were there; she had half a mind to turn around and go back into Honeyduke's, but that would mean turning her back on them, and there was no way she was doing that. If she did that, they would sneak up behind her. At least if she continued toward Hogwarts, she would be able to see them before they attacked, and maybe get in a hex or two.
She could just see it: They would emerge from the shadows, and she would throw a few spells, curses, and jinxes before the larger hands disarmed her. The smaller would flick his wrist and she would be unable to move, possibly hanging from the ceiling like at their first meeting. They would unceremoniously rip off her thin nightgown, exposing her completely, and then they would violate her for as long as they pleased, in as many ways as they pleased. It was inevitable. She knew it would happen; the worst part was not knowing when it would happen. This passage was the perfect place for them to ambush her, too; since it was underground, there would be no chance for anyone to hear her screams. There wouldn't be anyone to hear her screams anyway, but even if there were, they wouldn't be able to hear.
Just the thought of it made her break into a run. She needed to get out of that tunnel, and fast. Maybe she could outrun them, make it to Hogwarts before they could catch her, and trap them underground. No, but then they would just turn back and go back to Honeyduke's. They were going to get her either way. Then she got an idea. She stopped dead in her tracks and breathed, "Nox." The darkness enveloped her, wrapped around her like a blanket. She welcomed it like an old friend. She quickly cast disillusionment and silencing charms around herself and took off down the passageway again. This way, they wouldn't be able to see or hear her coming. She might be able to slip past them! Yes, that had to be it. She couldn't think of any other solution. She would run right past them with them being none the wiser. She was proud of herself for figuring something like this out. She didn't think she would be able to find a way out of this awful situation she had found herself in, but she had! She silently praised herself at her cleverness, and continued down the tunnel. She decided that, since she no longer needed to run from them, she could slow to a walk. And so she did.
After about another half an hour, free from her tormentors and any stray thoughts about them, she reached the end of the tunnel. The ladder leading up into the third floor corridor looked old and rickety, like she shouldn't trust it. But nevertheless, she mounted it and climbed up, into the statue of the One-Eyed Witch. She opened it up just enough so that she could see through the crack, into the hall, and peered around. Once she was sure the coast was clear, and she couldn't hear any approaching footsteps or voices, she opened the statue completely and climbed out. She fell rather ungracefully onto the marble floor, and groaned softly. Just as quickly as she had fallen, she got back up and closed the entrance to the passage, making sure it was secure before hurrying off down the corridor. At least she knew that, at Hogwarts, she was safe from the hands. They couldn't get to her.
Hermione had just pulled out her wand and was preparing to remove the silencing and disillusionment charms when she heard voices from a corridor near her. The temporarily anonymous people were speaking quietly, making it hard for Hermione to make out who it was. Curious, she followed the mysterious voices. They led her a little further down the hall and down a corridor to her right; at the end of the passage, two adults stood. They were both rather tall. Hermione still wasn't close enough to make out the voices, so as she walked, she tried to decipher their appearances. One was quite obviously a man, and the other a woman. She breathed a silent sigh of relief; there was no way they could be the hands. No matter how stupid it made her feel, she had held a fear in the back of her mind that it would be them. But, thank the gods, it wasn't. The man had long, silver hair, and a beard to match. Perched on his crooked nose were half-moon spectacles. Dumbledore. As she approached, Hermione picked up a strong Scottish accent and knew he was speaking with Professor McGonagall. She got closer and closer, and was able to make out their words, finally.
". . . not attending classes, suddenly getting low marks, repeatedly running out of classes without an explanation . . . Albus, something is obviously wrong," came the unmistakable voice of her Head of House.
"I'm sure there is a perfectly reasonable explanation for her behavior, Minerva," Dumbledore replied, placing a gentle hand on her shoulder and leading her down the hall. Hermione followed closely behind.
"This is very unlike her, and I am beginning to get worried," she said. Hermione could hear the tension in her voice. She wasn't used to hearing McGonagall speak in such a tone, a voice so laced with apprehension it forced the feelings on Hermione. "I'm afraid this is getting out of hand. We have to speak with her. Today, Albus."
Dumbledore nodded his head and said, "Today." And with that, they walked off. Hermione didn't follow.
They couldn't possibly be talking about . . . her, could they? Not attending classes, running out of the classes she did go to . . . sounds like her. If they had, indeed, been talking about her, then she needed to get to her dormitory. McGonagall had said that they would speak with the girl today, and today could be any time. At least, if she was the girl they had been talking about, she knew that she would be safe from the hands. Dumbledore and McGonagall would protect her, she was sure of it. Even though they weren't aware of her situation, she knew they would defend her. Of course, they would only be able to genuinelyinjure the larger, because the smaller was still a student. But they would still prevent them from hurting her.
As she started to walk again, a paralyzing thought stopped her in her tracks. What if the hands had taken Polyjuice potions, and McGonagall and Dumbledore weren't actually McGonagall and Dumbledore, but her tormentors? It was definitely something they would do. They would have resources at Hogwarts, no doubt. . . Suddenly, it all made sense. They must have known that she would be paranoid, scared that they would be at Bellatrix's home, that they would attack her there. They also must have known that, thinking they would ambush her at Lestrange Manor, she would go back to Hogwarts. And if they had known that, they would have an inside source get them the hairs of McGonagall and Dumbledore, and brew them the potions so that when they arrived at the school, they would simply have to drink them (she reasoned that they would have the source make the potion because, from what she had seen, the smaller was absolute rubbish at Potions, and she assumed that the larger was the same. Like father, like son, after all). If she could find out who their source was, she could report the person (or persons, she reminded herself. That was always a possibility) to the real Dumbledore and have them sent to Azkaban; or at least expelled. Now, who had regular access to both Dumbledore and McGonagall? Who had a way to contact the hands? Who could successfully make them two brews of Polyjuice potion without being caught? She knew, from experience, that it was difficult, not only to make the potion, but to keep it a secret. Then, it dawned on her.
Snape. Since Snape was a Death Eater (and long-time friend of the larger hands, from what she had put together), he would have no problem consorting with the hands. He was also one of Dumbledore's most trusted, and could get to him and the Transfiguration professor quite easily. Not to mention that he was the Potions professor. He could brew as much Polyjuice potion as he pleased, without being questioned. And he had full access to every ingredient he would need to make such a difficult potion, not to mention the skills to do so. Snape was the most gifted wizard or witch in the art of potion-making that Hermione had ever seen. There was no doubt in her mind that he was working with the hands, working to crush her in any way possible. Snape had always hated her, though she had no idea why. She hadn't provoked him in any way, other than being bright. He was seemingly annoyed by the fact that whenever he asked the class a question, she had the answer in just a second or two. She had no idea why; she thought a professor would be pleased by a student acting in such a way, paying such close attention in his (or her) class, getting such high marks in things no other student could do well in. In several cases, he had called her a "Know-It-All," which she didn't mind a bit. She took pride in "knowing it all," always being able to come up with a solution for things, just like she was doing at that moment.
The hands thought they had outsmarted her, but no one outsmarts Hermione Granger. Even though they were Pureblooded (a highly overrated status, in her opinion, that should not have anything to do with how smart one is seen as; some of the most idiotic students she had ever seen were Pureblooded. Take, for instance, Pansy Parkinson. Complete idiot), and she was "just" a Muggle-born (a status also wrongly perceived. Why should it matter if she was born to Muggles? She was still the best in her year, in every class), they wouldn't get the best of her. She was the Brightest Witch of Her Age, and she would not be tricked by a pair of rapists, no matter what their blood.
Confidence surged through her, and she walked through the corridors with purpose. She would go to the dungeons and confront Snape, the bloody traitor. "I know what you're doing," she would say, pointing an accusing finger directly at his abnormally large nose. He would give her a detention, deduct House points, whatever he deemed appropriate, but she wouldn't care. She would go on to tell him that she was going to go to Dumbledore and tell him all about how he was helping the hands get to her, and that he would be fired. He would fall to his knees in front of her, begging her not to, saying that if she did, the Dark Lord would murder him. She smirked to herself at the thought of Snape, in tears, pleading with her to show him some mercy. Of course, she wouldn't. He hadn't, in all the time he'd known her, so why should she? She was sick and tired of people assuming she was weak, and walking all over her because of it. Hermione Jean Granger was a strong witch that would no longer take shit from anyone, not even Bellatrix.
This thought faltered, however, when fingers curled around her upper arm, and she was pulled into a dark corner. Immediately, she screamed out, fighting furiously against her attacker. It was the hands, she was sure of it. Judging from the hand still squeezing her flesh, it was the larger that had caught her, and she knew the smaller would be coming along soon. "NO!" she shrieked, tears pouring suddenly down her face. She hadn't even felt them well up, hadn't fell the telltale sting behind her eyes before they were raining down her face in a hurricane of emotions. Since only one arm was being held still, she raised the other and began desperately beating against a large chest, forgetting that she was still surrounded by a silencing charm as she begged for clemency. A strong hand closed around her wrist, rendering her immobile.
"Miss Granger," came an unmistakable voice, and she let out a sob of pure joy. It wasn't the hands; it was Snape. True, he wasn't much better, but at least she could be sure that it wasn't them, as they were currently Dumbledore and McGonagall. She opened her eyes (which had snapped shut on their own) just in time to see him wave his wand, expanding both the silencing and disillusionment charms to accommodate him, as well. When she looked up and met his eyes, she saw something there that she had never seen before. There was genuine concern in his eyes. "Miss Granger," he repeated, still holding her arms tightly.
"P-Professor Snape, I—" She quickly made to explain herself, but he cut her off.
"Are you alright?" he asked suddenly. "What's happened?"
Hermione was stunned, to say the least, at his words. She opened her mouth to respond, and immediately closed it. For the first time in a long time, she was speechless. She opened her mouth again, only to let it close once more. After a moment, instead of answering him, she asked, "How did you find me?"
His face turned sour, and he scowled at her. "Do you actually believe, or are you truly naïve enough to think, that I don't recognize a disillusionment charm when I see one?" he said, raising an eyebrow.
She quickly realized that, yes, he would notice. She looked away, down at her feet, a slight blush creeping onto her cheeks, as she responded, "No, Sir."
"Then why would you presume you could hide from me?" he asked, his voice suddenly hard, all remnants of what was almost worry gone. She shrank back a little, frightened that he would strike her. She knew, somewhere in the back of her mind, that he wouldn't, but the fear was still there.
"I didn't, Professor," she said in a small voice. "I wasn't thinking about whether or not you would be able to find me. I just didn't want to be seen."
"Why not?" he asked, the concern slowly edging back into his low voice. "Why wouldn't you want to be seen? You have nothing to hide from." He raised an eyebrow at her, obviously expecting an answer.
Hermione was taken aback by Snape's tone. She had never known the Potions Master to be a man that worried himself with his students' matters. Maybe he wasn't working with the hands, after all. Maybe it was someone else, like Crabbe or Goyle, or another teacher. For the first time since her third year, Hermione found herself trusting the greasy bastard. She relaxed a bit and, again, answered his questions with another question, one that was almost completely unrelated to what he had asked her. "Professor Snape," she started softly. "If something . . . happened, you would protect me, wouldn't you?" She realized that she sounded vaguely like a small, frightened child, but she didn't care, and looked up at him, her eyes a bit wide.
Snape seemed startled by her response, along with the expression she wore. Hermione couldn't blame him; she had sprung the question on him unexpectedly, and she was sure that she had never looked this way in front of him, even in her first year. After a moment, during which she could see he was studying her, mostly likely looking for any sign of trickery, he answered slowly, "Yes, I suppose I would protect you." He pressed his lips into a thin line once he spoke, and watched her carefully. Then he added, "What do you mean, 'if something happened'?" He raised an eyebrow before continuing, "Nothing will happen here. The school is secure."
"Yes, Sir," she said softly, looking back toward the ground. She didn't know what else to say.
"Miss Granger, what are you wearing?" he asked abruptly, and she realized that she was still clad only in Bellatrix's slip of a nightgown, with not even panties under it. A dusting of light pink crept onto her cheeks. Despite this, she raised her amber eyes to meet his black ones almost defiantly.
"A nightgown," she said simply.
He narrowed his eyes at her and she didn't falter. "Obviously," he said in a near-snarl. "But why are you not in your school robes? Not only is your nightgown inappropriate, but today is not a free day, for you to wear whatever you wish."
Hermione opened her mouth to speak, but closed it soon after. She didn't know how to answer him without giving away that she was off campus when she should have been in class. Of course, he would find out that part soon enough, but she didn't want to be the one to tell him. Actually, now that she thought about it, she had probably had Potions today, and hadn't shown up.
At her silence, he said, "Five points from Gryffindor, Miss Granger, for not answering a professor when he asks a question, and twenty more points for that nightgown." He hissed the last word in a way that made Hermione flinch. She found herself scared of the Potions Master once more. "Now, go to your dormitory and change immediately."
She nodded and hurried off, head ducked in a show of embarrassment. After a few steps, however, she stopped and turned back to him. "Professor?" she said quietly, flushing a little.
An audible sigh slipped past his lips and he turned to face her. "Yes, Miss Granger?"
She cast her eyes downward before asking, "Could you . . . escort me to Gryffindor tower?" She didn't dare look up at him, not wanting to see the expression on his face.
"Why?" She could hear the obvious annoyance in his voice, and didn't need to look up to know that he had rolled his eyes. "What are you afraid of?"
"Nothing!" she said, a little defensively, tightening her jaw as her hands clenched into fists at her sides. "Just . . ." She sighed and looked up at him with wide eyes, looking very innocent in that moment. "Please?"
Snape looked at her, studying her expression. Then he breathed out slowly, making sure she was aware of his irritation, and closed his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose. Hermione rolled her eyes. He was being completely immature! It wasn't like she was asking him to do something completely outrageous; she was requesting (quite nicely, as well) that he take her safely back to her dormitory because she was afraid of being raped (not that she would ever tell him that). Was that ridiculous? Of course not! At least, not in Hermione's mind. And it wasn't like he was in a hurry to get somewhere or do something. He had taken the time to pull her aside and speak with her, so why couldn't he spend a few extra minutes walking her to Gryffindor tower? After what seemed to both of them like an eternity, he opened his eyes, said, "Very well, then," and took off down the corridor at a brisk pace, his robes billowing out behind him. Hermione was almost jogging as she struggled to keep up with him, but she did not protest or ask him to slow down, lest he stop and leave her alone, completely vulnerable.
She knew that Snape was powerful, and so she felt almost as safe with him as she did with Bellatrix. Not completely, but almost. Knowing she was with someone that could and would protect her (if need be) was a much better feeling than the one she got while around people that would but couldn't, like Ron and Harry. All three of them combined would be enough to fend off the hands for a time, but after a while the hands would overpower them. On the contrary, she knew that Snape could take on both the larger and the smaller, and he wouldn't be defeated. He could at least distract them while Hermione got away, or he could stun the smaller and take the larger one-on-one. If she was honest with herself, that was a fight she would pay to see. It would be an epic battle, as they were both powerful wizards. They were two of the Dark Lord's most trusted for a reason, after all. She was pulled out of her thoughts when Snape stopped suddenly, and she walked right into him. She stumbled backward and blushed a little at her clumsiness.
"Miss Granger, have you heard a word I've been saying?" he asked, turning and arching an eyebrow at her.
She scrambled for words. "O-of course, Professor," she said, looking anywhere but at him. She knew that if he looked into her eyes, he would be able to see that she was lying.
"Then what did I just say?" he asked, raising the other eyebrow to join the first. He narrowed his eyes dangerously at her.
"Oh, uh," she said, blinking as she struggled to come up with an answer. "I, uh . . ."
"Exactly," he said. "Ten points from Gryffindor. And if you would like to keep from losing even more House points, I suggest you pay attention." He scowled at her before turning and continuing his brisk walk, talking once again. Hermione didn't pay attention. She didn't care if she lost House points. Sure, her House mates would be upset with her, but did that really matter? What did it matter if they lost a few points? Why did everyone obsess over winning the House Cup? How would it really help anything? It was just a stupid competition. She really didn't care. So she stayed silent, pretending to listen to him, half-running behind him until they reached the Fat Lady.
"Thank you, Professor," she said as she stepped up to the painting. "It . . . means a lot." She flushed slightly and didn't turn to look at him.
"Yes, yes," he said dismissively, waving a hand. "Now, I suggest you go and change before anyone else sees you." With that, he turned on his heel and walked away.
Hermione quickly gave the password, and the portrait swung open. She ran into the room and pulled the door shut after her, making sure no one could slip in after her. Her heart sank a little as she realized the common room was empty. She had hoped to see someone. It would have been nice to see one of her friends, like Harry or Ron, or even Ginny. Which reminded her, she needed to speak with Ginny about going to see Narcissa. Judging from the way Ginny had spoken about the woman the other night, she would want to get her alone as soon as possible; the only problem was whether or not Narcissa would be available. Hermione thought that, considering the fact that her husband and son were "missing," she wouldn't be doing much, which included being "unavailable." Knowing Narcissa, (even though she didn't know her very well), Hermione thought that she would be somewhere secluded, like a study or her bedroom, crying over her broken family. A perfect opportunity for Ginny! She could go and find her (with Bellatrix's assistance, of course. Hermione was sure Bellatrix would be able to find her), and . . . cheer her up, in a way. Hopefully, Ginny would be able to please her with her amateur almost-abilities. Now that she thought about it, Hermione should probably give her some lessons, help her learn what to do. Maybe Bellatrix could help. Of course Bellatrix could help! Bellatrix knew every weak spot on her sister, Hermione was sure of it. From the way Bellatrix had pulled climax after climax from her littlest sister, Hermione knew that they had been together in that way for a very long time. And while that bothered her a little bit (who wouldn't be bothered if her lover had been intimate with her own sister for years on end?), it also planted a little happy feeling in the pit of her stomach. She wasn't sure what it was, or why it was there, but it was. It sent tingly feelings throughout her entire being, and made her feel safe, in a way. She knew it shouldn't but, for whatever reason, it did.
Why wasn't she jealous? Why didn't she want to take Bellatrix for her own, and make sure she never, ever, went back to her sister? Maybe it was because she knew that, with proper training, Ginny would satisfy Narcissa, and she would have no use for Bellatrix anymore. Besides, considering the fact that Bellatrix had de-dicked her husband and son, and was now keeping them in some secret place, barely alive, she didn't think that Narcissa would even want to be with her sister anymore. But still, she should be upset that the petite blonde ever had her Death Eater at all, shouldn't she? Why wasn't she? Why was she okay with it all? A normal person wouldn't like it, but Hermione found she didn't mind. In fact, sometimes she found herself wanting to witness it again. But then again, since when was Hermione a normal person? She had willingly agreed to be a sex slave, something she would have never dreamt she would do. And not only was she a sex slave, she was the sex slave of Bellatrix Lestrange, a woman – correction: a Death Eater; a Pureblooded Death Eater that was known for her hatred of Muggle-borns like Hermione. Just the way Bellatrix had treated her at Malfoy Manor should have turned her off, but it hadn't. It had made Hermione nearly obsessed; she had needed Bellatrix, if only once, and to this day she had no idea why.
She was confused, and scared, and angry, which made her even more confused. Why did she have to get involved with Bellatrix at all? Of course, she was happy that she had, but at the same time, she wished she hadn't. It had just complicated her life, and at the moment, all she wanted was to be at least sort of normal. Life with Bellatrix (if it could be called that) was nowhere near normal, especially considering what had happened in the past few weeks.
Hermione sighed a little and hurried up the stairs to her dormitory. Maybe somebody would be in there. She walked straight into her dorm, and froze. In the middle of the room stood the hands, smirking, as if they knew of her crippling fear. She couldn't move, couldn't make a sound. She felt the same way she had when she had arrived at Malfoy Manor, and they had been waiting for her. She didn't take her eyes off of them as they approached her, silent. When they finally stood in front of her, she looked up to meet the eyes of the larger. He sneered down at her. Then a hand touched her arm and she let out a scream that seemed never-ending. She shut her eyes tightly and raised her fists, swinging blindly and connecting with nothing. As another hand fell on her other arm, squeezing hard, but not hard enough to actually hurt her, she shrieked louder, fought harder, and still kept her eyes clenched tightly shut. Distantly, she heard a familiar voice. "HERMIONE!"
Her eyes flew open. Immediately, she recognized the red hair, freckles, and brown eyes. "Ginny." Her voice came out as a sob, breaking with emotion. As the tears came pouring down her cheeks, she threw herself at her friend and wrapped her arms around her neck. She felt the redhead's arms wind around her waist, and she cried into her shoulder. It wasn't until she felt a soft material at the backs of her knees that she realized Ginny had led her to her bed. She sat down and looked at her hands in her lap, ashamed of her foolishness, as Ginny walked away briefly. The tears slowed to a stop, and she took a deep, calming breath. She felt a heavy material drape around her shoulders and saw Ginny's knees in front of her. Then they disappeared once more, and the bed sunk down a little on her left side.
"You're shaking," came Ginny's voice from beside her as the material wrapped around her was pulled tighter by Ginny's gentle hands. Truthfully, Hermione was trembling from fear and embarrassment, but she didn't tell Ginny that; she was perfectly fine with Ginny thinking she was simply cold. Slender arms wrapped around her shoulders and she was pulled into Ginny's chest. She didn't speak immediately, for fear that she would break down in tears again. After a moment, Ginny spoke softly.
"What was that?" she asked, looking down at Hermione's bowed head.
"What was what?" Hermione replied in a near-whimper.
"Just now," she said. "You had this . . . this look in your eyes."