CHAPTER 15: HAUNTED
WARNING: This chapter contains explicit violence and a non-consensual, graphic rape sex scene. These scenes take place in a memory/nightmare scenario and will be in italics if you wish to skip them, the last seven paragraphs of this chapter being the most graphic. The experience is integral to the overall plot and therefore I will add another quick author note to the end of the chapter to summarise the events for those who choose not to read.
Hermione watched as Bellatrix tossed the werewolf back his wand and pulled a short silver knife from her robes. She reached down and cut Hermione free from Ron and Harry. The deranged witch grabbed Hermione by the hair and dragged her into the centre on the room. From the corner of her eye she could see the boy's being forced out of the room by Greyback.
Bellatrix, her hand still firmly in Hermione's hair, forced her to her knees. She stepped back and raised her wand at the young witch in front of her. With a crazed smirk she shouted, "Crucio!"
Hermione fell face first onto the polished marble floor, her body contorted under the sheer force of the pain she felt. In the distance she heard a blood curdling scream, only it wasn't distant, it was her voice, her scream. Just as she thought the pain would never end, the spell ceases. Bellatrix lifted Hermione's head from the floor by her hair, kneeling in front of her, she demanded, "where did you get this sword?"
Hermione, refusing to answer gazed adamantly at the floor.
"Crucio!"
The pain burnt through her body once more, ripping from her a deafening scream.
Again the pain eased and Bellatrix was in front of her once more. "I'm going to ask you again! Where did you get this sword? Where?"
Hermione gathered her strength to spit out an answer, "We found it... we found it... PLEASE!" She screamed as Bellatrix began the Cruciatus Curse a new.
"You are lying, filthy Mudblood, and I know it! You have been inside my vault at Gringotts! Tell the truth, tell the truth! CRUCIO!"
Hermione's eyes flew open and she pulled herself into a sitting position atop her bed. Hair matted and damp with sweat. The sun had now risen above the horizon and its warm rays of light streamed in through her window. Clambering from her bed she crossed the room to stand before her simple floor length mirror. She gazed into her own reflection, noting her dishevelled appearance. Lifting her chin she assessed the damage to her neck and winced in pain. The skin was immensely tender, though thankfully the bruise salve had evidently had some impact. Her marred skin was not the deep, violent tone she had expected, the markings having already faded to the earthy hue of an injury days passed.
Her body stiff and unresponsive, she groaned outwardly as she reached up to sweep the matted hair from the tacky surface of her face. In desperate need of a shower, quickly she gathered a fresh set of school robes and set out for the Eighth year bathroom facilities.
As she crossed the threshold into the large room, Hermione's stride faltered. She found herself face to face with the last witch she desired to encounter.
"What happened to your neck Granger? Your skin is looking a tad muddy. I hope that tainted blood of yours doesn't stain you permanently." Parkinson smirked. Hermione could not help the thought that crossed her mind, that that particular expression was far less appealing on her smug face, than it had become on a certain blonde.
Hermione inhaled a deep, calming breath through her nose and tried to ignore the pug faced wenches words. Stepping forward, she crossed Parkinson's path in silence.
The Slytherin witch, clearly unable to accept Hermione's lack of rebuttal, stamped her foot in a juvenile display. "He has forgotten who his is and what you are. But mark my word, he will remember his place." The Slytherin witch hissed before retreating through the bathroom's ornate double doors.
An ache in her jaw caused Hermione to abruptly realise she had been clenching her teeth throughout the duration of their unpleasant encounter. Shutting her eyes tight, she willed herself to focus on her breathing as she massaged her taut facial muscles. A shower simply would not suffice to undo the strain she felt within her body. Gazing down at the elaborate sunken bath in the centre of the room, she acknowledged that if ever there were a time that warranted a decompressing soak, surely her current circumstance would qualified. She knelt down at the baths edge and examined its many silver taps curiously. There was no system of labels or any indication whatsoever as to what tap served what purpose. Closing her eyes she conjured to mind the memory of a pleasant scent and with a swift flick of her wand water burst forth from the array of spouts. Hermione could not help but grin as she watched the water level in the large sunken bath rise rapidly. The hot liquid swirled and frothed, a mass of shimmering bubbles forming on its surface. As steam began to fill the rooms great expanse a sweet vanilla aroma graced her senses.
Removing her sweat stained clothes eagerly from her body Hermione plunged herself into the depths of the tub. Inhaling deeply, she held her breath as she submerged herself fully beneath the water. As she rose up and broke through the surface she exhaled, expelling the pent up tension from within her. Swiftly she scrubbed her body, relishing the sensation of the heat against her flesh. With her body cleansed she leant back against the baths stone edge, allowing her limbs to float freely as she relaxed amongst the suds. She found herself scrutinising Parkinson's words, the Slytherin witch had been unfalteringly sure of herself. Though the more she thought on the matter, the more Hermione became steadfast in her conviction. The wizard she had come to know over the weeks passed was truly the man Malfoy wished to be. She was certain he would never return to his old behaviours. Finding herself surprised yet comforted by the absolute confidence of her realisation, Hermione released a soft sigh.
Suddenly the bathrooms ostentatious timber door creaked open and Hermione let slip a startled squeak. Realising far too late that in the wake of Parkinson's departure her mind had been distracted and she had neglected to cast a locking charm. She turned her head towards the entrance, mouth agape as her eyes fell upon Malfoy. The wizards chest was bare, his simple cotton pyjama bottoms hanging low on his angular hips. He stood there in stunned silence, towel thrown over his shoulder and wand tucked haphazardly into his waistband. Hermione hastily sunk down further into the waters depths, gathering masses of shimmering bubbles frantically towards her with her arms in a pitiful attempt to obscure the exposed flesh of her naked body. Blood rushed to her face and she felt her cheeks grow warm as a profuse blush spread across her features.
Malfoy remained frozen in stunned silence as his eyelids fluttered rapidly. Abruptly he shook his head and spun on his heal. As he turned his back on her he called out. "Sorry Granger! I honestly had no clue anyone was even in here."
She appreciated his obvious attempt to protect her modesty and she felt herself relax a small degree. Regaining a semblance of control over her composure she looked up at wizard before her. With closer inspection she noted the perceptible tension of his lean, muscular back. Overcome by the compulsion to reassure him, she felt the need to clarify that she placed no blame on him for his unintentional intrusion. "No. It's my fault Malfoy. It turns out I neglected to lock the door."
"Well, I will let you finish your bath then. See you later." He supplied briskly as he raised his hand in the air and offered a brief gesture in farewell. He hastily departed the room without so much as a secondary glance in her direction. Arm snapping up from the water, she grasped her wand, swiftly casting the necessary charms to thoroughly lock the door in his wake.
In his absence she thought back over their interaction, her mind replayed the sight of his sculpted abdominal muscles and low hanging pants. She recalled the rigidity of his posture as he had courteously turned away, as if he had been holding his breath. If Hermione was not mistaken, in that very moment she had seen him reach down and swiftly adjust himself through the thin material of his cotton sleepwear.
Unable to prevent the grin that spread across her face, she bit down on her lower lip sensually. Had the sight of her naked form really brought about such arousal in him? She had never felt truly attractive, truly desirable to a man before. She embraced the feeling, savouring the sense of power it brought.
She rinsed the last of the dissipated bubbles from her flesh and turned to face the baths ledge. Placing both palms open on the stone floor she lifted herself from the water in one clean motion. She stood, stretching her arms up above her head, water drops falling from her breasts and tracing the curves of her body as she did so. With a series of non-verbal spells she deftly dried both her body and hair. Leaving her long locks to fall down across her shoulders, hiding the sight of her blemished neck. Pulling on her long school robes she gathered her things and set out to embark on her day.
As she readied herself for bed that night Hermione pulled the small vial of dreamless sleep potion from her beside drawer. As she uncorked its stomper and brought the liquid to her lips she prayed it would keep the night terrors at bay. Laying her head down upon her pillow she willed herself to focus on pleasant thoughts as she drifted into slumber.
Again the pain ripped through her, she tried to search for something, anything, to anchor her to reality. With each use of the Cruciatus Curse she could feel herself slipping away, something deep inside her breaking.
"How did you get into my vault?" Bellatrix commanded. "Did that dirty little goblin in the cellar help you?"
"We only met him tonight!" Hermione sobbed. She needed to think, she needed to find something Bellatrix could believe. At all costs she could not let the crazed witch know they had the real sword of Gryffindor.
"It isn't the real sword! It's a copy, just a copy!"
"A copy?" Screeched Bellatrix. "Oh, a likely story!"
Lucius's voice drifted into her focus, "But we can find out easily! Draco, fetch the goblin, he can tell us whether the sword is real or not!"
Hermione prayed the goblin would lie, they couldn't know the truth. Suddenly she was aware that Bellatrix was straddling her lap, her small silver blade in her grasp. Hermione felt the witch's breathe on her ear, "I know you were in there! What did you take from my vault?"
With a feeble whimper Hermione responded, "I wasn't, I didn't take anything!" She felt the material being ripped from her right arm. Once again, she felt the searing pain of Bellatrix's knife upon her skin. Turning her head, she saw the witch was carving crude letters deep into her flesh, M - U - D - B. Hermione tore her gaze from the horrific sight, her remaining strength slowly leaving her body.
Vaguely aware that Bellatrix was no longer butchering her skin, Hermione heard the witch's manic voice a short distance away, "Well? Is it the true sword?"
"No," she heard Griphook say. "It is a fake."
"Are you sure?" Bellatrix panted. "Quite sure?"
"Yes." The goblin replied.
"Good." Hermione could hear the relief in Bellatrix's voice. She felt her own sense of relief, they had fooled the witch. Now all she hoped was that Harry and Ron could get away, and complete their task.
"And now," Bellatrix announced, her voice triumphant, "we call the Dark Lord!"
Hermione felt her grasp on consciousness falter, the voices in the room growing distant.
"And I think." Bellatrix spoke with indifference, "we can dispose of the Mudblood. Greyback, take her if you wish. Do with her what pleases you."
Greyback grinned wickedly, bearing his sharp, fanged teeth. He pounced on her immediately, his back hunched with a bestial quality. Reaching down, he grabbed a fist full of her now blood matted hair and began to drag her across the marble floor.
"Oh no, n-no… NO! This can't be happening!" Hermione cried weakly to herself, not a soul in her presence paying heed to her frantic pleas. She hoped in vain that someone, anyone would come and save her from this terrible fate.
As if reading her mind, Greyback crouched down and breathed in her ear, "No one is coming to save you little girl, you're all mine now!" Snarling the last word, he lifted her from the ground by her hair, tossing her like a limp rag doll across the threshold of an adjacent room.
Landing on the cold stone floor with a thud, Hermione whimpered weakly. Her body was beyond fatigued from the torture and blood loss. She needed to move. She needed to get away from this crazed Werewolf. She needed to survive. A surge of adrenaline radiated throughout her body, rushing to her limbs. Frantically, she started to crawl, to pull herself away from the predator at her heels. Her palms slipped atop the smooth surface, slick from the blood oozing of her open wounds. Behind her, Greyback let loose a guttural, manic roar of laughter. His clawed digits seized her ankle roughly, tugging her back to where she had begun.
Gasping for air Hermione air pulled herself into an upright, alert position. She knew all too well the horrors that came next in her recurrent nightmare and cared not to experience them again. Suppressing the logical component of her brain that knew she would undoubtedly regret the action at a later time, she reached into her drawer and uncorked the violet potion once more. Draining the vial of every last drop she collapsed backwards, her eyes rolling back in her head as the glass toppled from her loose grasp and shattered upon her bedroom floor.
A warmth spread over her body gently coaxing Hermione from her slumber. Prying open her sleep heavy eyelids, she took in the golden glow of her surroundings. She had not felt so thoroughly rested in weeks. Stretching her limbs, she savoured the pleasant sensation before pulling herself upright into a seated position. She tossed the covers from her legs and swung them off the side of her bed to stand. A sudden excruciating pain tore through the sole of her foot and Hermione swore, stumbling backwards onto her mattress. Glancing down at her feet and was overcome by a fleeting sense of confusion as she took in the scene. The floor was littered with shards of broken glass and the spattering of her own crimson blood. Immediately the night's events flooded her memory and the realisation hit her that she had recklessly consumed her full week's allowance of dreamless sleep. Hermione groaned loudly and she reached for her wand. She stemmed the flow of blood, healing her wound before clearing away the shattered vial.
It was becoming clear to her that Parkinson's orchestrated attack had caused a greater burden on her psyche than first anticipated. With the symptoms of her post traumatic stress disorder growing ever stronger, she admitted she needed help. She needed to talk to someone. Dressing quickly, Hermione collected her things and strode out into the Eighth year common room.
To her surprise she did not need search far for whom she sought. Directly in front of her sat Harry, lazily tying his shoelace as he yawned sleepily. Hermione dashed forward and threw herself down in the seat beside him. Harry looked up wide eyed and blinked slowly before he spoke, "Oh! Mornin' 'Mione."
"Hi Harry. Listen, do you think we could have a talk?"
Harry reached up and tussled his hair. "Ah yeah, of course. Right now I am on my way to meet Ginny for breakfast though. Mind if we catch up at lunch?"
Feeling herself deflate a increment she forced herself nod in agreement and watched Harry stroll off, a joyous spring to his step.
Perched on the bench of the Gryffindor's long house table Hermione awaited Harry to arrive for their lunch as promised. She watched the Halls entrance attentively, searching for her bespectacled best friend. When he entered the Hall without his red headed shadow in tow Hermione allowed herself a small relieved sigh.
"Hey 'Mione." Harry said as he took his seat and began to pile an odd assortment of food onto his plate. "So what did you want to talk about?"
She inhaled and expelled a deep calming breath, this was her chance. "I need to talk to someone Harry, I need to talk to my friend."
Harry pulled his eyes away from his half demolished steak and kidney pie and tilted his head curiously, "What's up?"
"Well... Honestly I don't even know where to begin." She muttered, dropping her eyes to her hands. She needed to gather her thoughts, find the right way to explain what she had been suffering through.
"Oh there you are babe!" Hermione heard Ginny call and her shoulders sunk in defeat.
"Ginny, I told you I needed to talk to Hermione." Harry remarked and Hermione felt a wave of affection for her friend.
Hermione looked up to see Ginny pouting pathetically. The Gryffindor witch edged forward and wrapped her arms around her boyfriend possessively. She brought her lips down to Harry's ear and spoke in a pseudo whisper, "Baby, you know I don't like being away from my man."
As Ginny leaned is and claimed his lips Hermione sighed, her moment was gone.
"He doesn't mean it you know."
Hermione's head snapped around to face the source of the whimsical voice. Behind her in the isle stood Luna, her facial expression, or lack thereof, as unreadable as ever.
"Harry." She continued, answering Hermione's unspoken question. "He doesn't mean to disregard your feeling."
Hermione sighed as her shoulders slumped. "I know."
For a brief moment she considered speaking to Luna, divulging the inner most workings of her troubled mind. However, as much as she desperately needed to speak to someone, she had never been particularly close to the Ravenclaw witch.
The sun had long set yet still Hermione was unwilling to face the threat of sleep. She sat in the Eighth year common room alone by the light of the fireplace, a half consumed Firewhisky bottle nestled in her lap. She had tried in vain to retreat to her quarters for the evening, but her bedroom had felt isolated and suffocatingly small. In her desperation she had chosen to resort to her old methods of driving away the terror. So here she sat, drowning her fears in alcohol, praying a dreamless expanse on unconsciousness would claim her.
A part of her had hoped that by situating herself in the common room that perchance she would encounter a certain blonde wizard. But the hour grew late and her hopes of seeing Malfoy had long diminished.
Swaying back and forth ever so slightly she gazed into the depths of the fires glowing embers. She found it increasingly difficult to raise her eyelids with each passing blink. Suddenly the sound of the portrait hole opening broke the room's heavy silence and Hermione sat upright, newly alert.
By the dying light of the fire Hermione could only just recognise Anthony Goldstein as he walked by. "Merlin Goldstein, you were out late."
Goldstein did not so much as flinch as her words shattered the room's quietude. He walked right by her, not bothering to utter a response and disappeared into his own room. Hermione shrugged, perhaps he had stayed out late with a witch and wished not to discuss it, who was she to judge. She glanced down at her substantially lightened bottle of Firewhisky and conceded that she too should retreat to her own lodgings for the night. She did not wish for anyone to happen upon her thrashing about on the common room lounge come morning.
She swung her bedroom door closed behind her and mumbled a series of locking charms. She brought the neck of the glass bottle to her lips and swallowed one last mouthful of the numbing amber liquid for good measure. Placing the near empty bottle down on her timber desktop she stumbled forward, shuffling her legs free from the confines of her pants and collapsed in a heap atop her bed.
Landing on the cold stone floor with a thud, Hermione whimpered weakly. Her body was beyond fatigued from the torture and blood loss. She needed to move. She needed to get away from this crazed Werewolf. She needed to survive. A surge of adrenaline radiated throughout her body, rushing to her limbs. Frantically, she started to crawl, to pull herself away from the predator at her heels. Her palms slipped atop the smooth surface, slick from the blood oozing of her open wounds. Behind her, Greyback let loose a guttural, manic roar of laughter. His clawed digits seized her ankle roughly, tugging her back to where she had begun.
"You're not going anywhere Mudblood!" Greyback growled, grabbing her shoulder and forcefully flipping her onto her back. Her head cracked on the marble, pain shooting down her spine and vision blurring at the edges. Greyback grasped her jaw, his claw like nails digging into her flesh. He turned her face so she was looking directly up into his dark, soulless eyes. He was so close, flecks of his saliva spattered her face as he spoke. "Uh uh, little Mudblood, I want you awake, I want to see you suffer." Hermione was overwhelmed by the stench of rotten flesh upon his breath. She was immediately aware that this was it, this was how she was going to die.
Still holding her jaw firmly in his grip, he began to slowly undo her jacket with his other hand. Hermione panicked, she was certain he was going to murder her, but this was worse, so much worse than she had first realised. She started to kick and thrash, attempting to throw the large werewolf off her much smaller form.
Leaning in Greyback languidly licked the side of her face, stopping at her ear he whispered hoarsely, "Good girl, I like it better when you try to fight."
Prying her legs apart with his knees, he pressed his pelvis forcefully onto hers. Through their clothing Hermione could feel his arousal pushing against her core. She tried to squirm, to buck him off her, her attempts only further hastened his ministrations, as he ground his bulge harder into her heat.
With an animalistic growl Greyback reached down between them, ripping her garments to shreds. Suddenly her lower half was exposed, only shredded denim remained, hanging limply from her lower legs. A sound of sick appreciation vibrated from his throat, as tears began to leak from Hermione's eyes. She tried in vain to struggle, unwilling to give in. Greyback reached down between them, finding the button of his slacks. Unfastening his pants, he slid them down his thighs and grasped his engorged cock. Hermione became suddenly rigid, save for her quivering jaw as she felt him, slick with his own pre-cum slide up and down her folds.
Abruptly he thrust his full length deep inside her, tearing through her virginity. Hermione wailed, more pain then she could have ever fathomed radiating within her. Grunting, Greyback began to pump in and out of her with incredible force. Hermione, tears flowing freely, had ceased fighting the monster, resigned to her fate. As his pace began to quicken, she felt his cock start to spasm within her. With one final thrust, he arched his head backwards half growling, half howling, as his seed filled her. Panting, Greyback looked down at her, moving his hand to grasp a fistful of her hair. He tugged at her hair roughly, causing Hermione to expose her slender neck. With his cock still buried deep instead her he lent down, sinking his sharp teeth into her throat, tearing away her flesh.
A/N: For those who chose to skip the violent scenes I will provide a brief summary of Hermione's reoccurring night terror. After being tortured by Bellatrix in Malfoy Manor, Hermione is given to Greyback. She is raped by the werewolf and murdered by having her throat torn out by his teeth.
I contemplated glazing over this scene and only alluding to the rape and violence. However I have chosen to address these issues in detail as it will have significant impact on the story going forward. This story has a primary focus on trauma, mental health and PTSD, I felt it was only right to fully depict the level of ongoing trauma those with PTSD experience.
Please read and review.
LilithShade x
