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So far... Broken by the Dursleys' extreme cruelty, the bewildered Harry Potter is further traumatised at Hogwarts. Only Hermione shows him kindness – though he's isolated in Hufflepuff. A shared cruel detention with Snape brings them closer, and she teaches him to read and write in a far-off reading room. Draco and his gang find and humiliate Harry by forcing him to strip, then turn on Hermione. In self-defence, she scratches them with poison. At the end of an eventful year, she invites Harry to her home for the summer holidays. Now read on...

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Chapter 4

Cruel Separation

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An Unnatural Meal

Harry Potter was too broken to fully experience happiness; his best hope was for a few moments with less pain and fear.

Mrs Granger had taken a great deal of trouble preparing a welcoming dinner for her daughter's return, especially since she was bringing a schoolfriend. They'd met him previously of course, and Hermione had kept them informed about Harry – but they had no real idea what to expect. "There's a seat for you here, Harry, next to Hermione."

The boy stared in confusion. This was a family meal, a sacred gathering that must not be intruded upon by something as unnatural as himself. Nervously he looked around for an escape, then settled on the floor in a corner where there was a cat bowl – larger and far less dirty than his own cracked saucer back at the Dursleys.

Frowning, Mr Granger rose to his feet. "What are you–"

"–Let me, dear," said his wife. "Now, Harry, wouldn't you like to sit with us at the table?"

"uh ... uh..."

Mrs Granger whispered aside to Hermione, "I thought you said he could speak, darling?"

"He's just nervous," hissed Hermione. "I told you he only obeys uumm... orders."

Mr Granger growled, "Harry, you MUST sit with us at the table – I insist!"

Harry's jaw quivered as his anguish increased, but he stood up, in a hunched, cowering kind of stance, and crept towards them.

"Look, no, STOP! STOP!" cried Hermione. "You're hurting him."

"What!" thundered Mr Granger. "We are not animals! NOBODY'S eating on the floor in MY house!"

Harry took a step back in alarm, trembling in anticipation of punishment.

"I thought you said your friend ate at table in the school?" Hermione's mother asked her.

A doubtful look crossed Harry's face. He'd never met any of Hermione's friends – wasn't even sure she had any – who did Mrs Granger mean? Then it dawned on him. She was a Ravenclaw and must have plenty of really clever friends like Josey and Laura from their first-year train journey! Non-freakish friends who could read and write and speak properly, and with whom he could not possibly compare favourably. They'd have interesting things to talk about, while he, Harry Potter must be just a curious pet she occasionally mentioned in a kind of offhand, dismissive way so as to distance herself from him. Did they talk about him? Laugh? The Grangers were whispering even now...

"He doesn't sit really close to anyone, and not with... well this is erm... different. I think a family situation is different. Uumm. yes... different," Hermione was saying.

"Then he can damned well camp out in the–" Mr Granger paused. "Hermione, fetch in that plastic garden table and a chair, the fold-up ones we took camping last year."

"Good idea," said Mrs Granger.

Within the minute, Hermione returned and asked – no politely told – Harry, to set it down as near to the dinner table as would be comfortable for him.

Mr Granger's eyes rolled skyward when Harry placed it just outside the open doorway to the kitchen.

"Well, it's a start!" pouted Hermione.

Harry could tell she was ashamed of him. After all, he was abnormal. Perhaps he ought to have moved the table just out of sight nearer the pedal bin.

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The Girl, the Book, and the Cauldron

However, Hermione had been right about Harry starting to improve under her guidance – albeit incredibly slowly. By the end of summer, she'd inched his small garden table nearer and nearer until it was directly touching the Grangers' dining table. True, Harry could not yet bring himself to actually sit with the family at their table like a normal person, but Hermione had a sneaky plan to gradually extend the tablecloth over the plastic to make it seem as if there was only one table. Perhaps, she told herself, she could find a 'creep' spell in a book when they went to Diagon Alley to fetch their school supplies.

In the meantime, they spent every day together, with Hermione encouraging Harry to talk to her. She learnt of the systematic cruelty he'd endured from a young age at the Dursleys' home. How he'd never been registered for Muggle school and rarely even left the house until he was eleven. The Ministry of Magic had no knowledge of his circumstances or even his whereabouts. And he was completely unknown to Muggle Social Services, having secretly been taken in by his aunt after the death of his parents. Hermione became more determined than ever to help him if she could. But how?

Close to the end of August, they entered Flourish and Blotts and began searching the shelves for the books they'd need. The place was packed with students and their parents, jostling and chattering; Harry struggled to stay with the Grangers.

"Hermione?" he whispered in his usual, near-inaudible voice.

But Hermione had been distracted. Over someone's shoulder, Harry could see her face gazing dreamily at a man with wavy golden hair and gleaming white teeth. Harry didn't like the look of him, nor the way Hermione was staring at the handsome wizard's face.

Harry managed to edge away to the far side of the room, where it was quieter. A little girl with long red hair and not much bigger than himself was standing next to a cauldron in which were several schoolbooks that Harry recognised from his first year at Hogwarts. She gave him a timid smile, then her eyes widened in recognition and her face turned quite pink. He backed away. He'd seen that look before when small children were frightened by his freakishness. He hoped her aunt and uncle didn't beat her, nor keep her in a cupboard, and let relatives play horrible, horrible tricks on her! He shuddered and was backing even further away so as not to scare her anymore when–

"–Watch where you're– POTTER!" thundered a voice.

As Harry turned, he saw where his shoulder blade had been jabbed by a shabby little book now being swiftly hidden up the voluminous sleeve of–

"–Despicable cretin! Murderer!" snarled the man, grabbing Harry by the arm and flinging him into the little girl who had been shocked by the outburst. "You killed my son yet you–" He stopped in mid-flow. The girl's cauldron had been overturned spilling her books onto the floor which she was now scrabbling to recover.

"Here!" The man stooped as if to help, grabbing one of the larger books and thrusting it back into the cauldron. "Take more care of your–"

"–Lucius! What's going on here?" A man with balding red hair was glaring their way, and accompanied by several other young redheads.

"Recklessness, Arthur. Not content with bringing about my son's death, Potter here rushed clumsily at me, but bounced back, causing even more havoc. Seems he causes trouble wherever he goes! APOLOGISE, Potter!"

Harry, who had shrivelled down as small as he could, dared to glance upwards. He gasped. The man's likeness to Draco, including the blond hair, was unmistakable. "sorry..." he whispered in a tiny voice.

"My business here is done," growled Mr Malfoy, then hissed down at Harry, "But not with you and your vile, poisonous pen! That card finally broke my son's will to live!"

Harry held his breath as he watched the man stride out of the bookshop, then turned. He wanted to help the little girl gather up the rest of her books, but she was too pretty, and he too timid. He wanted to warn her about the shabby black book he'd seen Mr Malfoy slip into her cauldron. Harry's own sufferance of trickery alerted him to–

"–I'll help you, Ginny," said one of the brothers who was scowling at Harry. "That's the useless puff who stole Scabbers. I know he did!"

Scabbers? What were scabbers? They sounded like the nasty sandpaper wound-scrapers Dudley used on his own almost-healed injuries, Harry thought, but then he was used to being framed for stealing strange things he'd never even heard of, and anyway, Mr Malfoy's curious book was far more important! Perhaps he might tell one of the older boys – but no, they were all scowling at him because they knew now it was all his fault the cauldron had been overturned! Wasn't it? He inched back behind a bookshelf... But what if the strange book was full of spidery things? Or worse – rude words he'd not yet learnt to spell! Unthinkable words! Words that girls never knew! And Ginny looked so naive and innocent that–

"–SOD OFF, RON! I told you it wasn't his fault!"

"Ginny! Don't let Mum catch you talking like that!"

"Don't worry, she won't!"

"Harry, I've got your books and–" Hermione's voice was at his side. "What's happening?"

Harry explained in breathy whispers what had taken place, and about the book he'd seen Mr Malfoy put in Ginny's cauldron. "Suppose it's a wicked story? She'd be terribly–"

"–You have to tell them, Harry! Look, they're leaving!"

He bit hard on his lower lip and shook his head. What if they laughed at him? What if they poked him? What if the girl thought he was silly? What if–

"–Mr Weasley!" Hermione ran to the doorway.

Harry crept further inside the shop, seeking sanctuary. Perhaps there might be a dark corner somewhere...

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The Lying, The Witch, and The Cupboard

"Can I help you, Madam?"

"I hope so, my daughter was looking for uumm..." – Mrs Granger shuffled uncomfortably – "a kind of erm... magical pulling spell? It's for a tablecloth so–"

"–The fourth-year shelves are all sold out. Could you come back this afternoon?"

"Hermione! Over here! Mr...?"

"Blott."

"Hermione, Mr Blott might have a book later that–"

"–This is your daughter?" snapped Mr Blott.

"That's right. Hermione, Mr Blott is–"

"–I'm sorry, Madam, but the summoning charm you want is fourth-year. Your daughter couldn't possibly–"

"–So there is a spell? Might I try?" cried Hermione. "I'm much older than I look and it's really important."

Mrs Granger frowned at her daughter's fib, but nodded in support. "That's right, she's nearly erm... fourteen."

Blott shook his head resignedly. "If you're that desperate to waste your money then come back later this–"

"–You have it in stock?" said Mrs Granger. "Surely you could...?"

Mr Blott stared down at the diminutive girl bouncing up and down eagerly on her heels. "Oh, very well. Come this way."

He led them through a door at the back of the shop into a room stacked with boxes, and opened one of the many store cupboards. There was a little boy crouched inside, trembling.

"Harry!" cried Hermione. "We've been looking everywhere for you! Dad's out searching up and down Diagon Alley!"

"This... boy is with you?" Mr Blott's shoulders drooped. It had been a very busy day.

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Missing Creatures

The inner corridor of the Hogwarts Express was a tight fit. Harry watched in admiration as Hermione hovered his trunk on top of her own so she could float them along together.

"Please lead the way, Harry." The girl continued to hope Harry would learn some initiative, but she still had most success by giving him a specific order rather than a request. "Find an empty compartment if you can."

Harry bit his lip. He was a follower not a leader. His steps were as cautious as any jungle adventurer. After only a few minutes he came to an abrupt halt. "creepy-crawly..." He pointed ahead, shuddering.

"Oh for heaven's–!" Hermione struggled to be patient sometimes. "It's just a toad – that Gryffindor boy's remember?" She lowered the trunks then, bringing to mind the new fourth-year spell she learned, took careful aim with her wand. "Accio toad!"

Harry ducked fearfully. Hermione's skills were impressive but she could be scary sometimes. Towards the end of the holidays, he'd watched the Grangers' tablecloth creeping nearer but had pretended not to notice.

"I suppose we'll have to find its owner," she sighed.

With Harry now lagging behind, she poked her head into each compartment they passed. "Anyone seen a boy who's lost a toad?" They had success in the next carriage...

"Trevor!"

Harry recognised him as a boy who shared his Herbology lessons. He'd helped Harry once with a spiky bush that had become irritable. He was the sole occupant so Hermione floated their baggage up onto the racks. "You need to–"

"–take more care, I know," said the boy. "Someone in my dorm had his rat run off last year when– erm... I'm Neville Longbottom, by the way."

"Hermione Granger, and this is Harry Potter. I didn't know they allowed rats." Hermione frowned. "When what?"

"Pardon?"

"His rat ran off when what?"

"Oh, nothing..."

Hermione noticed Neville had glanced nervously at Harry. "Was this the day that...?" She cocked her head sideways at Harry.

Neville flushed and nodded. Nobody ever mentioned Harry's naked sprint through the Great Hall, but Hermione knew that's what it was about. Two girls with the shakes had been withdrawn from Hogwarts by their parents after that episode.

The train jerked into motion and for several moments they adjusted to the movement and listened to the new sounds.

"What's his name?" said Hermione, eager to try out her summoning spell once more.

"Ron Weasley."

"I mean his rat."

"Oh, uumm... Scabbers."

Hermione noticed Harry stiffen, and she herself thought she'd heard that name somewhere – yes, the shouting that had drawn her attention in Flourish and Blotts. "What is it, Harry?"

Harry lowered his head and whispered, "He said I stole it, but I didn't."

"You can talk!" cried Neville.

"Of course he can talk," snapped Hermione. "And read and write! Why?"

"Oh, nothing... I just thought..." His face brightened suddenly. "My magic didn't come out till I was nearly ten so..." He stopped and pretended to look at some huge Muggle advertising posters passing by the window.

"Harry can do magic," said Hermione defensively. "You'll see." But inwardly she wondered. Would he ever?

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A Taste of Happiness

"Weasley, Ginevra!"

Harry watched the little redheaded girl Sorted into Gryffindor. She was pretty, so he'd been hoping she'd be in Hufflepuff. All girls were pretty he thought to himself. Dudley had said it was so they could trick you while they pulled down your pants. He'd begun to wonder now if that was really true.

"Aren't you hungry?"

Harry looked up, startled. Hannah Abbot was sitting opposite him again. And she'd spoken to him! He nodded and ducked his head to stare down at his knees, hoping she'd give him permission to eat or he'd have to sneak into the house-elves kitchen when he could. They always insisted he help himself to whatever he wanted, so he had to do as he was told by his superiors.

"Try the prawns and rice – it's scrumptious."

His face lit up and he took a bite of the delicious meal. "thank you."

She smiled.

Deep feelings stirred within the boy. Girls really had such lovely faces. He sensed the trap of course, but could not resist. He smiled timidly back. It seemed worth it even if she had put something dreadful in the rice. For one brief moment their eyes locked. Excitement swooped up within him; it was the same sensation he'd experienced when she'd swooned at his nakedness alone in the Hufflepuff common room. He wondered about that. It had been the worst shame of his life, and yet–

"–It's really nice, isn't it?" she said with such gentle sincerity that he wished he could believe it were real.

He gulped, swallowed, and wondered why he was crying.

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The Wishful Witness

From the Ravenclaw table, Hermione stared over the top of her steaming goblet. She'd watched Harry drool as that Weasley hussy was sorted; now he was positively leering bright-eyed at Hannah! What was she saying to him? He was so gullible and easy to manipulate he'd do anything for her. Anything!

"Granger, when you've finished eating–"

–And bloody Abbott was leaning across with her arm outstretched behind that turnip tureen! Was she ordering Harry to hold her hand! Even stroking his fingertips with hers? The bitch! Hermione stabbed a fork viciously at her chicken wing salad. She has no right to–

"–GRANGER! Pay attention! The Headmaster wishes to see you in his office after dinner."

The fork clattered out of Hermione's hand with its chicken still impaled. "Sorry, Penelope. See me? Whatever for?"

"You'll find out soon enough. My guess is it's about that Potter boy. What have you two been up to? Word to the wise, Granger, don't cross the Headmaster. He's the gentlest, most kindhearted person you could wish to meet but–"

"–Penny!" called another prefect who was assembling the Ravenclaw first-years ready to show them up to their tower.

"Coming..."

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The Seeds of Fury

Hermione worried over the rest of her meal before reluctantly making her way upstairs. She found the Headmaster's office was already crowded as she cautiously pushed open the door.

"Ah, come in, Miss Granger," said Professor Dumbledore. There was a calm but severe blue gleam in his eyes that conveyed... triumph. "Mr Potter has just confessed to us that you forced him to run away from home over the holidays, and, I might add, encouraged and supported his writing of a poison pen letter to a vulnerable, dying child.

"WHAT!" Hermione's eyes flashed angrily as she scanned the room: Harry looking utterly crushed and shrunken in a low chair, Lucius Malfoy gloating fury, Ron Weasley sneering with what looked like his ugly fat mother seething next to him, every Head of House frowning their displeasure and disappointment, and an old lady that Hermione did not recognise.

"Mrs Figg here informs me that young Harry was not at home for the entirety of the–"

"–How could she possibly know!" cried Hermione, glaring at the woman. "Harry was never allowed outside, and even if she snooped at the windows, he spent most of his time locked away in a–"

"–You are greatly mistaken," said Dumbledore, staring benignly at the girl over his spectacles. "I have personally taken care to visit and found, if anything, his loving family have spoilt the child."

"NOT TRUE! Harry has–"

"–Miss Granger!" McGonagall shouted her down. "You will show respect for your Headmaster!"

"Now, now," said Mr Malfoy, "I'm sure Granger means the lies coming from Potter's mouth. The miscreant placed a cursed diary in poor Miss Weasley's cauldron, then claimed that it was I that did the deed! Such malice! Such–"

"–And he stole my pet rat," blurted Ron. He seemed to be reciting words he'd learned by rote: "Scabbers is almost human to me. And I loved him dearly. And Potter was jealous. And because he's got nobody! Well nobody normal anyway."

"Miss Granger," said Dumbledore, pulling a book out of his desk drawer and placing it on top. It was small and thin with a shabby black cover. "Did you see Harry put this dark object into Miss Weasley's cauldron?"

"HE DIDN'T! It was–"

"–Did you actually witness the cursed book being foisted on Potter's victim?"

"Of course I – well, no, not as such."

"Then why did you run after Mr Weasley to tell him such an outrageous deceit?"

"Harry told me of course!"

"Ah...!" Dumbledore's sigh seemed to be echoed by most of those present.

The Headmaster leaned forward over his desk, steepling his hands almost in prayer and tapping his forehead with his fingertips as one in deep thought. "In light of your confessions, it falls to me to pass judgement. Firstly, one hundred points will be deducted from both Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw. Secondly, a week of detentions with your Heads of–"

"–Albus," squeaked little Flitwick. "I'd prefer to learn more about–"

"–Very well, Miss Granger will serve her detentions with... let's see now... Professor Snape, and–"

"–no!" whimpered Harry, rising to his feet then immediately cowering back down.

"We observe no repentance or remorse in the boy whatsoever!" drawled Mr Malfoy. "A month of detentions is deserved at the very least."

"Much as I would agree with you, Lucius," said Dumbledore, "I value moderation and tolerance above all, by way of example to the other children. I think therefore, two weeks of detention. I'm sure Pomona has many difficult plants that require... a great deal of care."

"Indeed I do, Headmaster!" Madam Sprout rubbed her chubby hands together. "I've not forgotten his perverse exposure on poor Miss Abbott when he squirmed lasciviously about on–"

"–Yes, yes, well, I'm sure you'll be able to straighten the kinks out of the lad," said the Headmaster. "I hear the Venomous Tentacular plants are especially belligerent this year?"

Sprout blanched. "Headmaster! Potter flees from mere stinging nettles! Do you really think...?"

"Yes, Pomona, I do. Regrettably, fear is key to disciplinary reform. I'd be eager to serve the detentions for him myself, of course, but alas, that would not help the boy find his way."

"Is that all!" screamed Mrs Weasley. "What's he done with my Ron's poor, helpless little creature? Poked with pins? Drowned?"

"Calm yourself, Molly. ... Tell me, Harry, do you still refuse to tell us where and what you have done with Young Weasley's pet rat?"

"uh...?" Harry shook his head in confusion.

"Very well then. Here is my final judgement. Since you care so little for the affections of others, I order you to have no further contact whatsoever with Miss Granger until you inform us of the whereabouts of the stolen animal."

"But that's not fair!" cried Hermione. "He doesn't know anything about–"

"–SILENCE!" boomed Snape, who had so far kept his input down to sneers and gloating. "Or your cauldron-scrubbing may be... extended."

"You understand the significance of my order, Harry?" continued Dumbledore. "You will not communicate in any way with Miss Granger. Do not exchange messages, do not look at her, and do not even think of her again, is that clear?"

"uuh..." whimpered Harry, who had been staring dumbly at the floor for the past few minutes.

"Look at me, Harry. I am ordering you to avoid Miss Granger henceforth and I want your spoken word that you will obey me. Your word, Harry."

When he looked up, Harry's eyes were full of tears. "yes, sir, I promise ... never to have anything to do with ... Hermione ... ever ag–"–He burst into floods of tears as he completed his enforced pact with the devil.

"Now I want you to apologise to everybody and show them you are truly remorseful."

Harry's lower lip quivered. He wiped his eyes with the back of his sleeve and looked fearfully and swiftly around at all the hostile faces. "sorry, everyone, sorry..." he whimpered, before ducking his head once more.

"And now you, Miss Granger, if you would. Swear to not contact Harry and–"

"–NEVER!" cried Hermione. "If you think for one minute that I'd–"

"–Then I shall enforce my order by expelling you from this school and–"

–Harry's squeal of misery broke Hermione's heart and spirit. She turned her face away from him one last time. "I swear I will not approach Harry Potter again."

"And now your apologies, if you will...?"

"What?"

"Miss Granger, you have inconvenienced a great many of us. Please apologise or... else."

Hermione winced. The injustice was so extreme that for several moments she could not bring herself to speak. Finally, she spoke in a cracked, subservient voice, "I'm sorry, everyone, for every wrong I've ever done any of you, and I will try to do better in the future."

"Thank you. That's very gracious of you."

It was a pity that Dumbledore hadn't a clue as to how smart this Ravenclaw girl really was. If he had, he'd have paid more attention to her carefully chosen words. If he thought he'd bested Hermione Granger then he'd got another think coming. The seeds of fury had been sown this day, and the harvest would be dark indeed.

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—oOo—

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Author's Notes

Let me just clear up this 'another thing' confusion before anyone says I've got it wrong. You don't say: If you think that pheasant's tail is beautiful, you should see a peacock's 'thing'. Nor do you say: Call that a knife? THIS is a 'thing'. 'Got another think coming' means you'll be forced to rethink the situation, not that you'll get a new THING. What thing? If you think the moon is made of green cheese then you've got another THING coming. Huh? What thing? A parcel from Amazon? A new TV? A taxicab? A coach and four? No, you'll have to THINK again, not THING again. (rant over!)

A reader pm'd me a question about what Hermione meant by "he's not a–" when during detention Snape said Harry should learn to keep upright like a real man. She was just trying to point out he was only a boy not a man.

Abdullahsaurus wondered how such a mentally damaged version of Harry can be justified and that the premise is hard to believe. That's a good point, and my answer is that this fic is a parody that explores what might happen if the original Harry Potter caricaturisations were pushed to extremes for the purposes of interest, emotion, and entertainment. Unfortunately, there are not enough genre types for me to include all those I wanted (humour, mystery, angst, romance, friendship, crime, etc. etc.) so I originally settled on drama and hurt/comfort. After further consideration, I've changed it to parody and hurt/comfort. This fic is AU and so are the characters. It exaggerates Dumbledore's disregard of the way the Dursleys and Snape emotionally tortured Harry (which was never realistic in the first place. Most of the school turning against Harry in Books 2 and 4 in particular, with the staff turning a blind eye never made much sense. Hagrid's oafish stupidity (placing young children at extreme risk of injury and death from very dangerous creatures) was never meant to be taken as realistic truth. The dull drone of Binns is yet another crazy caricature that is fun rather than 'believable'. Yes, my parody twists the blade of reality much deeper, but ask yourself if the story holds your interest? Is it boring or do you wish to know what will happen to Harry as Voldemort returns and gathers strength? Do you find yourself immersed sufficiently to carry on through your disbelief?.

Many thanks for all comments and reviews. These are most welcome and very encouraging. Let me know of any weaknesses or faults – I'm always trying to improve my writing so feedback is really useful. :)

– Hippothestrowl

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