Chapter 1: Unravelling

Hermione pulled herself into a seated position, feeling it to be less vulnerable the lying one in which she had awoken. But she could move no further, her whole body seemingly frozen in shock and horror. Even with her blouse mended - by magic, she assumed - she could still the feel the coating of blood and semen on the inside of her thighs, a constant reminder of what.he.had done.

Thoughts of Harry sent a sudden jolt through her body. To this point she'd only dealt with the physical sensations; the bruises on her back where his weight had crushed her into the stone; the mauled flesh of her breasts and lips; the horrific ache between her legs, the stinging of torn flesh. However all of this was suddenly overwhelmed by the feelings of humiliation, violation and most acutely, the betrayal that coursed through her body at thoughts of .him. She found that she couldn't even say his name in her mind without being thrown into the centre of an emotional whirlwind that eclipsed all other thoughts.

Simply overwhelmed, Hermione hugged her knees to her chest and dropped her head allowing her hair to form a protective shield around her as the sobs she had so far contained forced their way out of her

* * *

Harry awoke sitting in an armchair in one of the mini-libraries that could be found tucked into the corners and alcoves of the less well used areas of Hogwarts.

He felt relaxed. This in itself was unusual as his scar was aching dully, and snatches of the dreams he walked all night to avoid having were coming back in disordered and vivid fragments. Considering what tonight's dream had been.yes, all in all, very strange that he felt relaxed.

"Merlin, give me strength," he breathed quietly. Or any other deity feeling inclined to watch over me today, for that matter. He left unsaid what he needed the strength for - but it ran through his mind anyway before he could totally suppress it. Strength to make sure the world was safe from him.

The thrill of taking what he wanted was the most clear of all the memories.

No - not memories - dreams that would never be acted upon.

Thrill enough to exorcise the demons of eleven years under the stairs, neglected and hated. The thrill of pure power coursing through his veins, undiluted enough to cancel out the constant pain of hopes crushed.hopes of escaping the Durselys for good.of winning the TriWizard Tournament, and with it Cho.

And all the while his mind ran over the possibilities that the dream presented to him, the rational part of his screamed that it wasn't just a her, to be dehumanised and used, she was Hermione, his friend. His friend. That the whole plan had swung on the fact that she trusted him enough to meet her in a deserted part of the castle in the middle of the night, without a wand.

Harry closed his eyes in a vain attempt to block out the torrent of conflicting thoughts and feelings of the morning. He could never attack Hermione, abuse her in such a way. He badly needed that strength - because he was honest enough to admit that the dreams hold some appeal. And revulsion. Not that he would ever admit either out loud.

And not that Hermione would be stupid enough to go anywhere without her wand, to meet him. Surely listening to his dreams that time had been enough to warn her away from him. Finally convinced that such a series of events could never come to pass, that he could never rape anyone, let alone Hermione, Harry disentangled himself from the knot his cloak and robes had formed in the chair, noticing for the first time that he wore nothing beneath his robes.

Just like in his dream

A cold chill went through him at this thought as he realised what it meant, and he looked down at his hands.

There was blood on his fingers.

Dazed and suddenly nauseous, he flicked his wand ('speculum') to conjure a patch of mirror in the wall by the chair. It showed fingernail marks in the skin of his face.

Pointing the wand at his face he muttered 'coalesco' a healing charm that removed the scratches from his face, if not from his soul, before performing a cleansing charm on his hands. Then and only then he headed back to the Gryffindor Tower in search of Hermione.

He was clinging to a last thread of hope that the dream was only that, not memories, and that when he found her, she'd be fine.

Eyes glazed and breathing shallow, he walked on, wondering why his first reaction had been to remove the evidence of an attack, not to fear for the victim of the attack

The victim. His friend. Hermione.

* * *

Severus Snape watched Harry Potter wander past, looking troubled and unfocused, heading towards the Gryffindor enclave, from the shadowy alcove he had ducked into on the sound of footsteps. The telltale tuft of silvery material coming from under his robes suggested he had been out all night.

Typical, thought Snape, the whole castle is geared up to ensure his security, and he goes out for a night-time stroll, damn the consequences. The urge to confront him, put him in detention rose in Snape's mind.but no it was too much trouble.

So Potter looked troubled.well let him join the rest of the world. The Golden Boy has to take of his rose-tinted glasses. battling with the after effects of another night of the Cruciatus curse, and the welling feelings of guilt for another innocent brutally debauched and killed, Snape had little enough energy left to stay alive. He still had to report to Dumbledore, not that he had learnt anything new, or of real value. But as he had long ago learnt, very little was worth the value of a human life, and nothing was worth inflicting the terror and suffering he saw every time he attended a Dark Revel.

In fact, scarcely anything held value for Severus Snape any more. Not his life, not his body or any of the people he interacted with any more. About the only thing of value to him was his sarcasm - it ensured that people stayed away from him - that no-one was tainted by him or his ways any further.

Not that he'd need it if he were dead.

But Dumbledore, under the guise of compassion, and with reminders of his duty, saw fit to deny him even the most fundamental of choices.

Not that the Promissum Charm could not be broken, if he had help.

It was ironic, he mused idly, that countless numbers of his students must fantasise about causing him harm after one of his caustic comments. But if he were to ask any one of them to help him die, the would run screaming.

Proof that the Gods have a sense of humour, really.

* * *

Voldemort reclined idly in his throne. It had been a gift from Lucius Malfoy - inspired really - although the man could be relied upon to show the garish taste of the nouveax riches in every aspect. Wormtail cowered by the door awaiting instruction.

So much for Gryffindor courage.

Snape had finally returned to consciousness and staggered away, probably to report another failure to Dumbledore and be absolved of his sins. Perhaps that was where Pettigrew's courage had gone to. Snape was proving unexpectedly resilient.

Any other man would have got on with it and killed himself by now.

Voldemort was loosing patience - having Snape admit defeat and take his own life would be sweet, but the waiting was growing tiresome, and the killing curse was nothing if not quick and efficient. Perhaps next time.

.But the games with Potter were going much better. For the first time he had been able to control Potter in his dream state - make him act as a noble Gryffindor never should. Potter was showing less resilience than Snape.quite a paradox.

Time to take a back seat, no use in allowing Potter to think anyone else was controlling his actions, telepathically or otherwise, or he would be able to shift the blame away from himself and duck the consequences. Anyway he had done enough to gather the clouds for the coming storm. Perhaps the girl would find herself pregnant.that would put pay to all the inevitable denials.and be most amusing.

Plans laid, there was nothing to do but wait and watch, and revel in his own evil genius. Getting comfortable in a suitable indolent position, he began to laugh, the high cold sound chilling the hearts of even the most fervent acolytes.

A/N:

Right, the magic: the words are Latin speculum means mirror - coalesco is the verb to heal and Promissum charm is designed to bind someone to a promise. However it does not prevent them from persuading another person to break the promise for them.

Hope you like this chapter - but anyway I'd just like to know what you think.if the response is positive, I'll post again soon.

If anyone was wondering about the name Photis was an Greek who founded the seaport of Massilia c.600 BC. When he arrived in Massilia, then a tiny harbour, the local chieftain was in the process of betrothing his daughter to a local warrior. The girl chose instead to hand her betrothal cup to the hansom Greek, so laying the foundation for 2,500 year of culture, trading and wealth. As so much of my story is borrowed, I liked the theme.!

Thank you for reading.Photis.