The dream again. The thin blond man approaches her, grabs her by the hair and throws her to the floor. She is helpless to stop him, can only beg and hope that he will be merciful this time. The first blow lands, solid and knife-sharp across her back. She is driven into the classroom floor until her face is inches from the filthy surface. The blows fall faster and faster, the blond man laughing while she pleads with him to stop. She can no longer bite back the screams.
"Stop!! Stop!!
"Ann!! Ann, wake up. It's Hermione. You're having another nightmare, Ann, please wake up."
She awoke screaming, clutching tight to Hermione's neck, begging him not to touch her again. The girls of Gryffindor gathered in nervous clutches, whispering among themselves as Hermione rocked the sobbing girl in her arms.
One Month Later
"Harry Potter! If you don't stop longing after her from afar I'll...I'll..I'll hex your broomstick before the next match!" Hermione's voice cut sharply through his reverie.
"Hm? What?" He blinked, clearing the last of a pleasant daydream out of his head. Something about Ann and a moonlit night on the Quidditch pitch...He pushed the remains of his breakfast toast around on his plate.
"Aw, 'Mione, leave him alone. Let him moon over her if he wants. At least he's mooning over someone. By the way, Harry, have you kissed her yet?" Ron tugged at his girlfriend's curls.
Harry shook his head dejectedly. "I'm just so bloody nervous about what she'll do. Half the time she runs away, I don't know what I've said. Could you imagine what might happen if I try to kiss her?"
"Come off it, Harry. Just kiss her.You can't pretend you don't want to, not when you can't take your eyes off her whenever she's in the room. You're sweet on her, and everyone in school knows." Ron crossed his arms, daring Harry to say different.
"If Harry's so sweet on Ann, why doesn't he just go tell her? I'm pretty sure she won't laugh at you, Harry. She likes you. You've spent enough time together this last moth that I'm sure she can't think you don't."
"Yeah, she likes me like a friend. Besides, there's something I don't think she's telling us. She's so unhappy all the time," Harry's voice was heavy with worry.
Hermione nodded emphatically. "I know. And she hardly eats anything, have you noticed? She just puts stuff on her plate and picks at it so that nobody notices."
Ron cut in. "And she practically jumps out of her skin if you tap her on the shoulder. She's so high-strung she makes you look comatose, Hermione." He ducked a playful swat.
Harry leaned his dark head into one long hand. "I just can't figure it out. It's got to have something to do with that Academy she used to go to. Every time I ask her about it, beyond just chat about what she studied, she just shuts off and changes the subject."
"That's not the worst of it, Harry. She has these terrible nightmares, at least once a week. It sounds like someone's getting killed in our dormitory. She wakes up practically in shock, crying, bloody palms, just like the first night. And she won't talk to anyone." Hermione searched his face. "And I think she throws up every time." She shook her head, bewildered.
"I wish she would talk to me," Harry smacked the table in frustration. His friends stared at him. "I just...I really like her, and I hate watching her hurt like this."
"I know what you mean," Hermione agreed. "It's certainly not healthy- she's going to make herself really sick one of--"
She stopped abruptly as Ann entered the Hall. "Harry, look at her. She had another nightmare last night. I swear she looks worse now than when she got here. She looks...hunted."
Ann slid into her customary spot across from Harry. She was paler than normal, with huge purple bruises under her eyes. He could tell she'd lost weight, and her hair seemed dull. As she set her bag on the table, Harry noticed bright, crescent-shaped scars on her palms and forearms. She was shaking and seemed to be close to tears. He wanted more than anything to reach across the table and hold her, to make everything better for her. He was terribly afraid that she would run from him.
She sat in silence while the others chatted about homework for Potions class and the next project in Herbology. Harry watched her carefully, counting the number of bites of toast she ate, how many glasses of water she drank, how many times she pushed her hair nervously away from her face. She finished eating, still in silence, smiled briefly at him, and fled the table.
"Not good," Ron intoned. "Not good at all."