No idea where this plunny came from but here you go.
Hermione is in Australia, living a toxic existence in an attempt to escape her old life. Eventually tracked down by her loved ones, what is it that brought her there? How did she get in this mess? How will she get out of it and will she be forgiven?
Trigger warning for dubious consent - actually, its date rape. Its rape. Consent was given but then void after... you know what, just read it. Or don't, if you are triggered by that kind of thing.
Hermione woke to a throbbing headache. The light from, what seemed to be a rather large and obnoxious window was shining on her face and preventing her from opening her eyes beyond a squint. She felt around for a pillow and pulled it aggressively it from it's almost impossible position beside her head, and almost jumped out of the bed when she heard a groan from beside her.
She held a hand up to block the sun and snuck a glance beside her to the form that was in the beginning stages of waking.
"Hey gorgeous, how 'd you sleep?" he asked in a thick Australian accent.
"Uh, fine, I think" she responded suddenly realising she was completely unclothed under the sheets.
"I'll get started on the bacon good eggs if you wanna get some coffee going" he said, "unless you wanna go again?" he added with a wink.
Her head spun.
"Look, uh..." she began, pausing in hopes that he would divulge his name... Her hopes faded when he just stared at her, "I'm sure you're a great guy, but I honestly have no recollection of meeting you, I don't even know your name. Let's just call this what it was, and I'll get up and go", she said, glancing around looking for a sign of her clothes.
"I didn't take advantage of you, you were into it " he said, panic etched on his face. It was something she was all too used to, as, somehow, this wasn't the first time she had woken in a stranger's bed.
"I'm sorry, I know, I mean, I had a great time. You were great", she said, leaving the room in search for her clothes.
She chastised herself as she found bits and pieces of last night outfit strewn from the bedroom to the front door of this man's apartment.
This wasn't the first time she had woken beside a stranger, hell, it wasn't even the first time this month. In fact, Hermione had formed quite a habit of going out and waking up beside strangers here in Australia.
She put on her dress, grateful that her wand was still stowed away in the seam compartment she added to all of her clothes. She was living a muggle life in a muggle world, but she didn't go anywhere without her wand.
"So that's a no on the bacon then?" the man said as he sauntered into the living room wearing loose grey track pants, leaving nothing to the imagination. She didn't remember the night before, but he was clearly quite well endowed.
"Yes sorry, like I said, I'm sure you're a great guy and I'm sure some day you'll find a girl who would love nothing more than to stick around and have breakfast and a sober shag with you. But that girl isn't me" she said, opening the door and heading out into the corridor with her shoes in her hand.
"Righto well if you change your mind..." he called as she turned and closed the door behind her.
She sighed as she made her way out of the building. In the stairwell, she took out her wand and changed her skimpy clubbing dress into suitable exercise clothes, so it wasn't abundantly clear that she was completing what was commonly known as the walk of shame.
Shame... It was an interesting concept and one she had thought of often as she completed the walk home many times these last few months. She felt immense shame upon waking, every single time, and would always go home, as she was currently doing, to her tiny flat to revel in the shame, bask in the feeling that she was punishing herself, that she was feeling disgusting and hope that it would be enough to someday make reparations for everything she had done.
Her flat was small but cosy. It was big enough to fit a couch, TV and bookshelf in the living room, a bed and a wardrobe in the bedroom and a bathtub in the bathroom.
Empty bottles of cheap wine littered her kitchen bench and a box of half-eaten pizza sat in the fridge. She picked at it as she ran a bath, running through her usual routine of attempting to wash away the feel of a stranger's hands on her body.
She slept till 2pm and got up, feeling much better. She threw on her jogging gear and took off for a few kilometres along the beach, as she had become accustomed to.
Her life now in this small Australian beach side suburb was filled with trying to stay fit whilst living on a dangerous combination of cheap wine and pizza, as well as attending the local university, which, surprisingly, had a quidditch team. She thought it was hilarious that they tried so hard to hide the wizarding aspect of their academia, however to a witch such as herself, it was plainly obvious. She didn't integrate though. She hid away from that part of who she was as much as she could, however, her one anchor was the wand that never ever left her side.
After her run she showered and dressed for a new night on the town. She was always guaranteed a big night on a Friday, Saturday and Wednesday, and every other night, there was always a pub or the uni bar open to compensate.
The night went as it usually did, she skipped from club to club, drinking, dancing, forgetting. Forgetting was the best part. She lived for the hours that she could just forget what brought her here in the first place, however, sometimes, when she failed to occupy her brain with mindless shags and copious amounts of booze, she would remember.
Sometimes, when she stumbled home to her tiny flat, when she unlocked the door and her shoes echoed in the empty space, she would remember.
This night was one of those. The men weren't that good, the girls were scrappy, and she almost landed herself in a fist fight before the bouncer suggested she call it a night.
She wandered to the kebab shop before heading home, and the loneliness, the silence, the deafening agonising heartbreaking grief all but consumed her as she made her way into her tiny flat.
She stood in the kitchen with tears streaming down her face, thinking herself lucky that sober Hermione wanted to live and took away all the knives in preparation for drunk Hermione and her impulsiveness. She could certainly make some stupid choices when she felt like this.
She took a sleeping potion and laid in her bed, feeling brief bliss when sleep consumed her.
Hermione Granger was a mess.
A few weeks and a few men later, Hermione found herself on another night out. She had recovered from her one night of grief and decided not to let it get her down. Her university degree was going well, she had received some pleasing marks and wanted to celebrate.
At first, she drank with some classmates, some people who were polite enough to her. She didn't allow herself to make friends. It wasn't what she was here for. The less relationships she developed, the better.
They spoke about the classes they shared and about the ridiculously good-looking tutor they had, who Hermione swore, if only to herself, she'd try and get into his pants as soon as she was done with that class. Pretty soon, however, her classmates drifted off and she was alone at the bar.
Alone, lonely, by herself with her thoughts.
She ordered her next drink, having a good feeling that it was likely to be the one to take her over the edge of tipsy and on her way to being drunk. It's what she needed. It's what she craved. The celebration was over, and she needed something more.
The dance floor was crowded, just as she liked it. The alcohol lowered, if not completely absolved her of her inhibitions and she just danced.
The sex, the men, the one night stands, she knew what she was doing. She knew why she needed it and understood the complex psychological forces that drove her live this life, but it only pushed her harder to do so. Theory said that she'd come crashing down eventually but she was willing to prove it wrong. She could keep this up. She could live this way.
If she could only just keep her mind occupied with the hands of whoever it was that was currently finger fucking her on the dance floor, then she wouldn't have to think, feel, hurt about everything that had gone on in the past.
She didn't know, nor did she care who saw her or what they thought, it wouldn't possibly be worse than what she thought of herself. Worse than how much she hated herself in her dark moments.
When men were using her for her body, she felt like it was her restitution. Her imprisonment behind the bars of anonymity and casual sex. She was punishing herself, taking away everything she used to want.
Once upon a time, she wouldn't so much as look at a man, she certainly never openly flirted or ever kissed a stranger. She was focused on her career, on her life, on success... Then... Well, everything changed, her whole life changed, and she knew, merlin, for a moment she knew she was happy. Beyond happy, till she wasn't. Till one day, everything changed.
Now...?
Now she rarely said no. The first man that would approach her, she would acquiesce to his desires, she would dance against him as he grew hard in his pants, and she knew she had him.
She needed it. She needed to feel, physically, something different to the hurt and agonising pain that drowned her during the harsh cold light of sobriety in the day.
It wasn't even about the men or the sex. It wasn't about control or a fetish or even about her own sexual desires. It was purely a distraction, a punishment, a way to pay for her sins.
"Wanna get out of here?" came the voice of the man who had his hands absolutely everywhere. She looked to him, perhaps for the first time and nodded, feeling the void as his fingers made a hasty retreat from her quim.
She followed him out of the club, the music still thumping in her ears, even though she was now out in the street.
"I have a place nearby" she heard him say.
She stumbled along beside him for a few blocks, not uttering a word, just desperate to go somewhere that wasn't her apartment. Every so often he'd pull her to him, kiss her, rub his hands up over her beasts and grab her ass. She relished in it. The oblivion. The de-humanising nature of it all.
She finally made it to his flat, where, it seemed, he lived with some housemates. Music was playing and voices could be heard as they neared the front door.
"My housemates are having a party. I'll grab us some drinks and we can sneak in… Man, I wanted to fuck you since I first saw you" he said as he looked her up and down.
"Well you're in luck because if there's one thing I need right now is a good fucking" she said, rubbing her palm against the front of his jeans.
He looked around the hall as he stopped fiddling with his keys. Instead of opening the door, he picked her up and slammed her against the wall behind her, before undoing his jeans and releasing his... Adequately sized erection. Her dress was short, and her underwear was... Minimal, so it was no shock to her when she found him easily entering her and fucking her against the wall in the corridor.
When a voice came from across the hall, she felt him still but he didn't release her.
"What are you doing, just fucking some chick in the hall?" the voice asked with a laugh.
"Look at her mate, she's gagging for it, wouldn't you?" the guy said, currently still impaling her as she was pinned against the wall.
The guy from the apartment closed the door behind him as he left the party and approached Hermione and the guy whose name she still didn't know.
He didn't answer his friends question but the look in his eyes said everything.
She wasn't concerned. She'd fucked a hundred guys, she'd been fucked in all kinds of places by all kinds of guys.
"I've seen her around uni" the second guy said as Hermione tried to see straight enough to tell if she recognised him. She couldn't.
Despite the situation, the strangeness of the conversation going on while she was literally mid fuck, she just wanted him to move, to thrust, to slam her against the wall again.
"Wanna share?" the first guy asked.
She just heard the other man laugh and through her blurred vision, watched him free himself from his shorts.
She was yet to try a three way, she had thought about it often enough, but always thought men preferred two women, rather than two men. Either way, she was here, she was up for whatever she was here for.
The first man grunted as her pulled her back from the wall. She wasn't heavy, in fact, she was quite slim, which meant, if he couldn't hold her weight, he was weak. She smirked to herself at this. She felt the hands of the second man on her, under her, in her. She felt him press against her back. She felt the warm wetness of his erection press against her, prodding, searching, seeking a place to bury itself she wondered which hole he was aiming for, whether she would accommodate both in one.
She had seen videos of it, of girls taking two guys at once, but before she could contemplate it any longer, she felt him press against her ass before hastily entering. It was rough, it didn't allow her time to adjust. She cried out from the surprise of it all, but one of them, she was no longer sure who was who, had placed a hand over her mouth.
It took a moment for the shock to turn to something else, for her to start to feel good. She loved being fucked, loved the pounding, the hard fast fucking that made her breasts bounce and her mouth hang open, the fucking that made her know she was paying for her sins, but this... This was something else.
This fullness, the stretched, penetrated, completeness of these two men fucking her at the same time was something else. The lack of coordination was frustrating but every so often, one of them would hit a spot that made her gasp, cry out, search for more.
She was vaguely aware when they both withdrew from her and took her inside the flat. She saw faceless people as she was taken through the living space and into a bedroom.
There were bottles and clothes strewn about the floor, and she was handed a drink, which she gulped down greedily. She barely had time to register anything else, other than the bare mattress, before she found herself on the bed on her hands and knees.
The feeling of these two men's hands on her started becoming fuzzier, their voices less clear. She had been quite drunk before, at passing out point, for certain, but she had never had this experience, never been so coherent in her head but completely out of it in her body.
She cried out when one of them roughly plunged into her ass from behind, but didn't have a chance to think before the other had his erection in her mouth and deep into her throat.
The fun, she felt, was over. She wasn't enjoying this; she wasn't feeling good anymore. She was gagging and choking, and tears were streaming down her face as she gripped the edge of the mattress. She felt the hands of the man behind her digging into her flesh and she knew that while it didn't hurt, it would surely leave a bruise.
The man fucking her face had a strong grip on her hair and her face and she knew that it she would not come out of this tomorrow without reminders of everything that had happened.
She never felt herself slip out of consciousness, but she knew she must have. She would open her eyes every so often and find herself in a new position, with a new man standing over her. Or was it the same one? She hadn't even looked at the second guys face.
She was now on the floor, her dress abandoned. She didn't feel afraid, she felt exactly how she thought she needed to... Punished.
"What's wrong with her?" she heard someone ask.
"I dunno, I put a pill in her drink when we got back. Maybe she's a bit more fucked up than they usually are?" she heard the other say.
She now realised exactly what this was. She had been set up, she had been chosen, taken here and drugged for this exact reason. To be the plaything for sickos. She instantly vomited on the floor, choking as she did.
"What do we do now?" she heard one ask.
"No use wasting a good time" the other said. It was the last thing she heard before she felt her mind go blank and her body go limp.
She woke several hours later shaking from the cold. She could move her arms and legs now which was a good sign. She reached to the seam of her dress, which had apparently been put back on her, and took out her wand, casting a silent lumos around the room and examining her surroundings. Indeed she was in a right disgusting state.
There were all kinds of fluid smeared on her body, on her face, her breasts, her legs. Some was blood, she was sure of it.
She wanted to disapparate, she wanted nothing more than to get out of there, but she needed to see who these people were, she needed to know where she was.
She left the small bathroom after scourgifying herself twice and crept into the hall. Sounds of snoring came from every direction as she made her way through the apartment.
She eyed the faces of the passed out men in the bedroom, knowing that she had committed them to memory and she'd never forget. She didn't feel like she had been raped, she had consented to the sex and had consented to the three way even. But while she had known what she had been there for, perhaps, in the past, other girls hadn't. Perhaps they had drugged other girls who weren't as willing as she had been. She left the apartment and realised it was fairly close to her own, which was quite concerning. How hadn't she seen these guys before?
She went about her normal routine, cleaned herself up, laid down to sleep for a couple of hours and got up to run off her hangover.
The next night out, she was perhaps a little more weary. It was one bad experience out of loads so far, so she wasn't going to change her behaviour. Of course, if she was sleeping around there would be someone who would want to take advantage of her. Of course she'd find herself in an uncomfortable position. She knew men could be pigs, but there was still the occasional nice guy out there.
It almost made her think of her life before Australia. When she had the perfect guy. She shook herself out of that train wreck idea and ordered two shots, downing them both one after the other. The dance floor was pumping as usual and a whole new host of guys were available for the taking.
She made her way home in the early hours of the next morning after having shagged a very skilful man named Joshua.
She had lost count of the amount of orgasms he had pried from her body. The man had licked, sucked, and pleasured her for hours on end, sending her into oblivion and back time and time again. It was great, until her mind began to remind her that it was quite reminiscent of the things she used to experience at the mercy of the man she once had a life with.
With her head a mess and her body completely satiated, she politely thanked Joshua for his exceptional skilful pleasure and left, sobbing as she ran down the sidewalk looking for a secluded place for her to apparate from.
This was it, one of the moments where she would lose focus of why she was here, what her purpose was and the reasons behind her behaviour. When the sky was beginning to lighten and people were just getting out to go to work, she would think of him, of her and of the life they shared.
None of it was fair.
She had fought hard during the war, she had shed blood sweat and tears, all before she turned 20 and she thought that would mean she didn't have to suffer, that karma would give her a good life after all of that. She thought it did, she thought she had the perfect life, and she did. For a while. Until she didn't.
When the street was empty, she ducked behind a bus shelter and turned on the spot, arriving into her living room with a light pop.
She hung her bag on a hook and hastily removed her shoes, tossing them on the lounge. It was bittersweet to be home, alone.
When she heard a grunt, she pulled her wand out from her messy bun and aimed it at the sound.
"uhhh, Hermione?" a familiar voice asked.
Familiar was bad.
Familiar meant she had been found.
Tracked down, hunted.
"What are you doing here" she asked the Raven haired man who was placing his glasses on his face.
"That's no way to greet your best friend" Harry said.
"I thought that my leaving was a clear enough sign that I didn't want friends" she said.
"Well, what you want and what you need are two different things" he said, running his eyes.
She stood there looking around the room, peering into her bedroom to see if anyone else was there. It wasn't missed by Harry.
"It's just me" he said.
"Is he... I mean... Does he know where I am?" she asked, suddenly feeling very vulnerable.
"He is in the city, but he doesn't know your exact location" harry said.
She pondered this for a moment and knew she needed to act. Get him out of here get them away from her as fast as she could.
"Well, thanks for the visit Harry, but everything is good here. I'm fine. You can go" she said, making her way to the front door and holding it open, hoping that he didn't see how utterly untrue that was.
Harry got up and looked around, paying particular attention to the kitchen bench where the empty bottles sat.
"We're staying in the area for a bit. I'll see you round Hermione" harry said before offering her a sad smile and walking out the door.
Hermione's head started spinning the second he left and sobs escaped from deep within the minute she closed the door. She looked around at the state of her apartment and turned to the mirror and looked herself up and down.
She was a mess.
Her dress was skewed, her hair was a mess and her makeup had obviously seen much better days.
She opened her cupboard and took out a shoe box that contained all the letters that had been sent to her over the months, begging her to come home, telling her everything was OK.
But everything was not OK. Nothing was OK, nothing ever would be OK.
She had ruined everything, and she left only to make life better for the ones she left behind.
After rifling through the letters, she shoved them back in the box, threw the box in the cupboard and slammed the cupboard shut, locking it for good measure.
The Hermione she left behind was just that, left behind. She no longer existed. It was better this way.
She hurried into the shower and, as per usual, she curled up in a ball on her bed, took a sleeping potion and allowed herself to disappear for 5 hours.
She half expected an apartment full of visitors when she woke but she was alone. It was a Saturday night and despite Harry's unexpected visit, she was still going to go out. Still going to stick to her routine.
After a jog on the beach and a dinner that consisted of canned soup and toast, she threw back 3 drinks before putting on a new dress with ridiculously high heels and headed out the door.
The streets were full of football revellers, apparently the local team had won a game and fans were out in red and white, in droves. She laughed and cheered on with some passers-by as she made her way through the town, eager to have her next drink and forget all things associated with Harry, and whoever it was that he had brought with him.
Her favourite bouncer welcomed her into her favourite club with open arms and she kissed him on the cheek as she entered, bopping to the music as she approached the bar.
Her first drink went down too easy, and after her second, she was still too sober.
The crowd was great, there seemed to be plenty of eligible guys out and about and she easily avoided ones who looked familiar. One night stands were just that. She wouldn't go back for a second time because it suited her to remain detached.
Don't form relationships, she told herself. That way, no one could get hurt.
After all, a lot of men often just wanted one thing, and she was more than willing to oblige.
After another couple of drinks, she was satisfactorily merry, and made her way to the dance floor to find her next distraction.
She said hello to some people she knew, steered clear of guys who wore rings on their left hands and avoided guys who she had seen dancing with other girls. She had a method to her seduction, and she always made sure they were single before she decided on her beau for the night.
As she danced, hands took her by the waist and pulled her towards the edge of the dance floor. She giggled at the audacity of whoever it was but when she turned around, she pushed him away
"Harry, I told you I'm not interested" she said.
"Hermione I'm not leaving" he said.
"Well stay here then, I'll go" she said as she made to leave the club.
Harry followed her down the stairs and out to the sitting area towards the exit. She looked up and down the street and spotted a taxi nearby. She made her way towards it and made eye contact with the driver, who started the engine. She opened the door and hesitated, looking back to Harry who was watching her leave.
He was flanked by his two friends, however she couldn't look any of them in the eye.
Memories of her perfect life flashed before her as she got in and yelled for the driver to "just go".
She made the mistake of looking up as the taxi passed where the three men stood and when her eyes met the eyes of the man she had loved, she broke down and asked the driver, rather than take her to the next club, to take her home.
The next morning, she woke, feeling lost and confused. It was rare that she woke in her own bed on a Sunday morning.
She laced up her jogging shoes and headed out the door to run off some steam, to sit by the ocean, to try and be free of the images of the face of the man she loved. He looked so sad, so betrayed, so hurt and confused. It wasn't what she wanted, it wasn't her plan. She had hoped that when she left, he'd get over her, he'd move on, realise that she only brought him pain and suffering, yet there he was.
She got home a couple of hours later, feeling sweaty and unsatisfied. Her mind was full of him, full of her, full of their life together. She opened a cupboard and pulled out an unopened bottle of wine. She cast a cooling charm on it to chill the pink bubbling liquid before pouring and drinking her first glass all at once.
She needed to forget, she needed to focus on something else. It was a Sunday night and the only place where she may get some distraction was the local pub. It wasn't much but there were always men there who eyed her off and she had occasionally lay down with them for some much-needed distraction.
She put on her butt hugging jeans and a low cut top and headed out hoping to portray the intention of having a real meal for once. The pub was filled with the usual crowd. Mostly men in their 30s who were looking for an escape from their wife and kids.
She heard them talking, she heard them complaining about how their wife never gets the housework done or their kids are always crying or their child doesn't want to know them.
'Maybe...' She thought, 'if you were home, your child would actually see that you care'.
The whole trip had been a bad idea, but she was here, she was out and she was, for once, hungry.
She ordered something simple and sat herself at a small table with the local newspaper to keep her distracted. Her plans for finding a human distraction were dashed by unappreciative assholes who didn't know that the best thing they have is waiting for them at home.
It made her mad.
Her electronic buzzer beeped and flashed on her table and she got up to collect her meal. When she returned to her table, she found it occupied.
"Sorry guys, I was..." she began, but stopped as soon as she realised who it was occupied by.
"You need to talk to us Hermione" harry said as she slammed her cutlery down in front of herself.
"I'm not doing this" she said, sitting down and picking at her food. She wouldn't look at any of them.
She focused her vision on her salad as Ron's hand reached towards her, pulling back as she pulled her entire chair away. She hesitated, looking between Harry and Ron before she got up and walked to the bar to order another drink.
She could easily walk away, go out the door, relocate, not look back but as she turned and looked at the three men who had come searching for her, something broke inside of her.
She took her drink back to her table as her eyes burnt with unshed tears. She didn't want to do this here. She knew she had to face her reality, but it wouldn't be pretty.
She looked from Harry to Ron and across the table to the person who, once upon a time, would be the least likely person to travel across the world to track her down. It was the first time making eye contact with him since she left England all those months ago, apart from the so so brief moment when she drove past in the taxi the night before.
It was the first time she had allowed herself to see the hurt in his face, to look at him, to remember him. To think of her. To see his eyes and think of hers.
"I can't do this..." she said as she got up and ran from the table, out the door, out into the street. It was quiet outside, no traffic, not a lot of people walking by, but she felt like everything was too loud, too hot, too much.
She tried to run but hands grabbed her shoulders and held her still.
"Get off me, I can't, I won't" she said, trying to break free from his grasp.
She would take any man who would touch her, anyone who would make her feel something, anything, except this. Except him.
"Hermione, look at me" he said, almost shaking her to turn her to look at him. She knew it would be bad, she'd known for months that if they found her, it wouldn't be easy.
"I won't, I can't... Don't... Don't make me" she cried out, it was almost a plea.
"Hermione..." he yelled, "Hermione...", "Granger!" he spat, and she froze.
He hadn't called her that in years.
She turned to face him and so slowly, she tore her eyes up from the ground to look at his face. His eyes, his pointed chin, his white blonde hair.
"Draco..." it was almost a whisper, she was arguing with herself whether or not to disapparate but she didn't want to splinch him.
"Please, just talk to me, please, I'm begging you" he said.
His eyes bore into hers, everything they once shared was there. Like she never left. Like the terrible thing never happened.
She saw Harry and Ron standing nearby but didn't acknowledge them. Perhaps they were letting them have this moment, letting this play out however it needed to.
"I can't, I... It's... Draco, you don't know what I've done" she said.
"I don't care, I don't care what you've done" he said.
"You should. Draco, you should care, the fact that I'm here, the furthest place I could possibly go to let you live your life without me, that should mean something", she said.
"T hat's not what I wanted, it isn't what we needed. We needed each other. I need you" he said, tears filling his eyes.
"You... You shouldn't" she said.
"Why not? Huh? Why not Granger? In sickness and health, remember?" he yelled, holding his left hand up at her and shoving the gold band in her face, the gold band she knew well.
"Draco..." she said, eyes wide, fearful of facing the truth but knowing it had to come. "Draco, I killed her. It was me, my fault, I did it. I left because I couldn't stand the way it felt to see her in you every single day. Sickness and health, not death" she said through tears.
"You didn't... Hermione, it wasn't your fault. You didn't… you weren't to blame" he said.
"I let her die, I should have been there, I could have done something" she said.
"It was a terrible thing that happened, but no one could have stopped it. You were there, the doctors, muggle and wizard, she died in her sleep" he said.
"I put her in her crib Draco, I did that. I could have held her, I could have been watching her..." she cried out.
"Hermione..." Harry said softly, "it wasn't your fault" he continued.
"I... It was... I could have..." she stammered.
Ron approached and wrapped his arms around her. Comfortable, friendly, supportive... But still, just a bit too much.
"No, you couldn't have" he said with a sad smile.
"But..." she tried to argue, to make them see her perspective.
She had a daughter and her daughter died on her watch.