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Her Fugue, His Lie, and Their Story

Chapter 5: Fragments

*WARNING: this chapter describes sexual assault that may be uncomfortable for some readers*

There were little bursts of light shooting up into the midnight blue sky above her, like fireworks but without the laughter. Cool mist drifted down onto her cheeks- it was almost peaceful and yet something buried deep down told her that those lights shouldn't be thought of as pretty. That they should be thought of as wicked- evil even, and that she should do nothing else but run. But she couldn't. She was lying, back flat on hard cobblestone, struggling with ever fiber of her being to move. Ropes were binding her there, invisible ropes, and then suddenly there was a man who smelled of mothballs and whiskey. He muttered something foul. She couldn't make out his face as he forced himself into her- once, twice, three, four, ten, twenty. She lost count.

"See what happens when you choose the wrong side? See what happens when you trust a boy over a lord?" His words came out in between thrusts, muffled to her ears as if she were underwater, "You little fucking whore. I'm going to have my way with you and then I'm going to kill you, Granger, just- like- that, just like the Dark Lord is going to kill Potter. We'll keep it between us, you and I. Nobody will ever know. They'll be nothing left of you but a memory."

The lights were still going up into thin air, and though her body jostled with his increasingly violent movements, her eyes remained steady in the sky. It comforted her that it would remain there no matter if she didn't. The sun would go on up and fall back down as it had for centuries and as it would for centuries to come. As she thought more about it, the corners of her vision darkened. It was death coming and she welcomed it.

There was literally nothing she could do but lie there for a horrific moment, completely paralyzed by fear and repulsion, the only movement of her body being the thumping of her furious heart. If it could have broken skin and cut through rib it would have thrown itself right out of her chest onto the floor and scurried away. Its screeching in her ears so loud, she could hardly hear herself think.

It was just a dream, she said to herself, just a nightmare. But as soon as the thought crossed her mind, another sickening sensation overcame her, and without another logic, she threw the blankets away from her legs.

Red.

It was everywhere. All she could see was her own blood seeping thickly down into the sheets and mattress below. The insides of her thighs were slathered in it, her shins decorated sporadically, like tribal paint on an African. It was only then, regarding the catastrophe, did she felt the true terror of it all- that it hadn't been a nightmare, it was simply a memory, rearing its wicked head.

Absolute panic took her by the throat and dragged her frail body to the bathroom across the hall. She hurled the door closed behind, clamoured to the sink and then lost her footing in her haze, taking the shower curtain with her.

So there she was- a lump of messy hair, tears, and drying blood, sprawled on the tile like dirty old clothes. It wasn't until she heard a frantic rapping on the door that she realized what a scene she had made.

"What's happened? What's wrong?" Madam Pomfrey's anxious voice called from the hallway. She jangled the doorknob. "Hermione, open the door."

She stared miserably at a blood smear on the tile. Perhaps Pomfrey thought she was killing herself right then and there and perhaps it would have been better that way anyhow.

Her head rolled over on it's hinge with a pathetic sob, "I'm bleeding."

There was a resolute moment of silence, she knew she had said nothing, and yet Pomfrey knew everything. There was a rustling of silk,

"John, go- no, just go! Alohomora."

The door swung open and Pomfrey's figure swayed with a rapid inhale. The noise was quickly smothered, however, as she fell to her knees and began waving her wand up and down the girl.

"What on earth were doing?"

Pomfrey's voice fell on her ears as horribly accusing, and she continued to cry in that honestly pitiful way, tangled up there in the shower curtain and her bloodied nightgown. Poppy must have felt some sort of compassion, for she rocked back on her knees, and tucked her wand into her pocket, pulling away from any further abrasion and suddenly looking rather old.

"There now, it doesn't matter." she sighed, "The stitches have torn, that's all there is to it. I'll fetch you a pain potion and we'll get you sorted out in no time. It's alright."

"It does matter." The girl insisted woefully, clapping her hand around Pomfrey's wrist,"I- I thought it was all a nightmare but it can't have been. I know it happened, I just know it."

"Know what?" The woman's voice went a pitch higher although she was finally beginning to understand, "You remember, don't you?"

"Parts. But I can't make out his face. I don't know who he is."

And with that a grim look of realization sunk into the lines of Madam Pomfrey's expression. Her face drained of all its rosy color. The one mercy of Hermione's amnesia was that she did not have to relive that wretched scene, and yet, now she had, with a faceless man. It wasn't useless, but it seemed very, very cruel.

"Come along, dear, there's no use in this."

She lifted Hermione by the elbows, walked her bracingly into the hallway, and much to both their mortification, Snape was there. He was lingering apprehensively in a corner, only visible by the translucence of his skin.

"Severus?" Pomfrey threw herself in between the two of them, as to save the girl further humiliation. "What the hell are you thinking? Get back into bed."

For a moment his black eyes met with Hermione's, glittering with a mix of emotion, before he forcibly turned away. If it was possible for him to grow paler, he did, "I heard something, and I thought-

"- I've told you, you're not to be out of bed. Now return this instant before I bind you there against your very own will."

"Damnit to hell, Poppy!" He barked, but his chest rose and fell in short. He as left panting after his outburst, knuckles going white with his grip on the doorframe, "I'm not a child."

"Then stop behaving like one!" cried Pomfrey, "For mercy's sake, I've got to get a handle on this house at night! Just once in your headstrong life, do as I say."

Snape twitched, as if he had received a lashing, but turned on his unsteady heel and retreated into the darkness of his own room without another word. The way he had looked at her sent a chill through her body. He knew something, she was sure he did, and she was going to find out what. She watched him sink smoothly back into the blackness like a shadow.

It seemed he belonged nowhere else but there.


A/N: Thanks for reading! I'm already working on the next chapter so I promise it won't be as long until the next update. School is finally out so I'll definitely be here more. Please review!