Disclaimer: I don't own anything Harry Potterish for this chapter either. Should I just type 'see previous disclaimer'? Not a bad idea.

Author's Note: I can't even start reprimanding myself with my….late….chapter, and it would appear, my slackness to answer your requests of writing the next chapter QUICKLY. Sooooo sorry.

Sorry also to Annegurl: I promise I will make Ron a better man

To all reviewers: You are angels

Now be prepared…

Shadows of her mind

Hermione looked away as soon as she had said it. Harry heard Ron gasp behind him as his own mouth dropped open in horror.

            "You don't mean….I….Oh, Hermione," Harry stuttered, not quite able to get a full sentence across.

            Slowly, Hermione turned back to them and said, "I never told you. I didn't think you should worry about it."

            "Hermione, how can you say that?" Harry asked, a trace of hurt in his soft voice.

            "I never told anyone," she continued, as if it had to be said, and the slightest interruption would make her lose her nerves. "…but I went to visit Viktor over the summer. I didn't really spend the whole holidays in France, but now, I wish so much that I did." She shivered and huddled further into the couch as she recalled the disturbing memories.

            "Krum," Ron muttered angrily. "Never trusted him anyway."

            Harry shot him a look of irritation.

            Then Ron's features softened and he spoke to Hermione rather exasperatingly. "How far did he…I mean…he didn't really….you know," he ended hopelessly, looking a little uncomfortable.

            "Yes, I know what you mean, and no, he didn't get that far," Hermione replied. "But still, small things can make big impacts, don't you agree, Harry?" She gave Harry a weak smile.

            "Definitely," he replied, smiling back at her.

            "But what really hurts you," Hermione continued, staring into a space to the left of Harry, "is that you put so much of your trust into someone, and then they betray you, just like that, throwing it right back into your face."

            "But why would a world-famous Quidditch player, not to mention a slimy, stuck-up, big-nosed git," Ron added, "want to do that to you, of all people?"

            Hermione spoke up softly. "Well, apparently with all his involvement in National Quidditch, he's severely behind in academic work. I suppose he noticed me because I was the bookworm always in the library. All he wanted to do when I visited him was watch me finish his papers and…" her voice faultered and she buried her head in her hands.

            "Oh, how could I have been so stupid?" Hermione exclaimed through the slots between her fingers. "I actually believed somebody cared about me! Not my talents, not my…uses, but me!"

            "We care about you, Hermione," Harry said softly.

            Hermione slowly raised her head up from her hands, her palms having made red marks around her eyes. "Thanks Harry. That means a lot to me."

            By now, Gryffindor students were drifting out of the common-room to get on with the rest of the weekend. Ron must have noticed, even if the other two didn't, because he threw a glance at the brass clock on the mantelpiece (one of the few clocks in the school that actually told time) and exclaimed, "Oh no, we were supposed to meet Hagrid down in the grounds fifteen minutes ago! And I promised him we wouldn't be late!"

            "Ron," Harry scolded, "there are more important things at the moment." He motioned to Hermione, whom he had never seen look quite so fragile as now. He was worried she would burst out into tears at any moment.

            "No, Ron's right," Hermione said. "We did promise we'd help him with whatever horrible little creatures he's imported this year. You two go on ahead. I think I'll stay here for a little longer. Tell Hagrid I'm writing up a study table."

            "Are you sure you're all right?" asked Harry as he rose from his seat.

            "Yes, I'll be fine," she replied and slowly stood up to join him.

            "Remember, we're always here for you," he told her as he took a step towards her and wrapped her in a big, warm hug.

            Hermione cherished the moment of his strong arms around her, and for those few seconds, she felt more protected than she had in weeks. As they stood there silently, she could feel so much strength returning to her. Weeks of anguish and red-eyed nights seemed to drift away, intimidated by her protector. Where would she be without Harry?

Harry embraced her with all his strength, as if sheltering her from the horrible memories that were circling around her. Whatever would happen, he would be standing in the background, ready to pounce forward onto anything or anyone that dared approach her. After all, she was his close friend.

The clock on the mantelpiece had barely moved its second hand half-way round when the two parted. Harry moved away and with a friendly show of the hand, turned and headed off to the portrait hole. Hermione watched them go and listened to the grinding of the portrait moving across, then back into place. She turned to the window and looked out through its misted glass onto the grounds below. There was a couple setting up a picnic on a small grassy incline, but her eyes didn't see them. Instead, they were leading her mind through a dark tunnel, a tunnel through which she did not want to venture.

The wind was howling like an abandoned wolfhound outside. The trees were recklessly thumping themselves against the gutter. Hermione turned her tired eyes from the window and flicked through a couple more pages. She was sitting on the floor in front of a feeble fire with a huge Ancient Runes textbook in her lap. Viktor stirred in his armchair, his glass of butterbeer swaying dangerously in his limp hand. Even with her limited sporting knowledge, Hermione didn't think he could be classified as an 'overly –fatigued sportsman', especially when it was her doing all the work.   So why did she put up with this? She had asked herself the same question every day this week. She supposed it was her weakness saying he could improve, and this phase wasn't the Viktor she knew. Besides, she had learnt quite a few interesting facts about the evidence that Atlantis was first inhabited by wizards.

The fire cracked, and Viktor woke with a start. He swigged down the remaining butterbeer, then thrust the empty glass out to Hermione.

"Hermininne, can I please have another taste? My fatigue is diminishing –how you sayz it?- rapidly," he said lazily. "Soon it vill be al gone."

"Viktor, can't you see I'm busy doing your schoolwork." She replied impatiently.

"Ah Hermininnee, you're so beautiful sitting there in front of the fire. Leave all zat toil and come sit with me." He shifted over in his chair. Hermione stood up, but instead of sitting by him, she took the glass from his hand and said, "I knew you couldn't keep away from this stuff without your parents' supervision. You've had enough."

She turned to walk to the kitchen, but Viktor grabbed her wrist with amazing swiftness. The glass in her hand glinted like the snitch. Now all he had to do was retain it and he'd won the game.

Hermione gazed into his eyes. There was no life in them, only the reflection of the fire crackling away behind her. And a hunger, a hunger brewing that could only be brought about with the effects of alcohol and a desperate mind. She felt herself retreating in confusing and suspicion. He could feel it too. He pulled her towards him with a sudden force, and she stumbled into the couch, dropping down into it. Before she could regain herself, he had advanced upon her, and drenched in the scent of Butterbeer, had pressed his lips to hers. This was the first time Viktor had kissed her since his parents had left for the weekend, but it wasn't at all like those they had shared on a clear, sky-blue day. It had no tenderness in it. Instead he was forceful and ravenous for her touch. She felt herself sinking into the couch under his weight and tried desperately to fight it. Her brain was going haywire with panic. What was he doing? She had to stop this!

She moved her knee in between her stomach and his chest in an attempt to push him away. But she let out a muffled cry as he moved even closer. His groping hands shifted and Hermione felt tears of anger and desperation stinging her eyes. Viktor was becoming more aggressive by the minute and all tenderness was soon gone. Her body sank lower into the couch. He had her pinned. Terrified voices were screaming  inside her head. She closed her eyes, trying to make sense of what they were saying.

 And an image flashed through her mind like a lightning strike. Two deep green eyes urging her never to give up.

With all her newly-sought strength, she drove her knee hard into the muscles right above it. Krum gave an almighty roar and rolled over her and fell heavily onto the floor. He winced in pain and yowled about in a heap on the floor. Hermione scrambled up in a fluster and streaked off down the corridor. Viktor called after her menacingly as he watched the snitch disappear from sight.

Hermione slammed the bathroom door behind her, still able to hear his drunken voice through the house. She sank down to the floor, embraced her knees, and let the emotional tide wash over her, drowning herself in its tears.

 The window was foggy from her heavy breath up against it. She turned her back to it, wiping the moisture from her eyes. Then in a hesitant moment when she believed herself fully composed, she collapsed onto the floor in a sobbing heap.

*          *          *          *          *          *          *

Somewhere in the castle, in a large framed tapestry, a black cat stirred from sleep. It had sensed a rush of fear and melancholy again. It twitched its tail, rose from the tasselled cushion on which it was lying, and disappeared out of sight from the artwork by a small hole in the stone walls. It was minutes before another figure returned, but when it did, the whole corridor darkened as a black hooded figure stepped into the tapestry through a stitched door, followed by the black cat. The cat jumped back up to its cushion, purring,  and the figure stroked it delicately.

"Very soon, my pretty, very soon," it whispered, red eyes gleaming with treacherous joy.

AN: I think I've actually figured out a plot for this story!!! Stick with me – it WILL happen.