The Rape of the Lock

Chapter 3: You Know What Happens to Little Girls

Just a reminder-- This story is rated 'R'.

Please do me a favor and review me after you read!

THERAPEOFTHELOCK

Days went by, and Hermione didn't say anything about the letter from her parents. Who was she to speak to? Harry thought she had gone bug-shagging crazy, and Ron was obviously out of the question. Ginny . . . Well, she just didn't quite trust Ginny with this sort of thing.

Students were being called out of classes one at a time, to go to Snape's office and be tested for entrance to the Cogito. When Hermione's name was called, she got up and went determinedly. This contest seemed like the only chance to prove to Harry that she wasn't crazy, to make Ron stop worrying, to prove to everyone that she was still Hermione . . . at least for the time being.

THERAPEOFTHELOCK

Draco was pleased to see the Slytherin common room empty. He had hoped to go into his meeting in Professor Snape's office armed with the fruits of the clue. But, he reminded himself, there may be none. It could all be in his head.

Professor Snape had said something about a counterweight in his own house. Salazar Slytherin, the founder of Snape's house, had been notoriously reclusive and did not enjoy associating with his colleagues, especially in the later years of his life. Slytherin isolated himself in the tower, and took his meals through a dumbwaiter he had installed. So, the Slytherin tower was the only one with a dumbwaiter. A dumbwaiter that worked via a system of counterweights.

Draco, checking a second time for anyone loitering about the common room, went over to the door of the dumbwaiter and opened it, pulling the compartment up to his level. He carefully inspected the box with his eyes, then his fingers. He pulled it up and inspected the bottom. Aha! There was the mark of a snake, the signature of Slytherin. Nearby was a latch, that opened to reveal a small, flat compartment that Draco opened carefully, so that the contents did not fall down the dumbwaiter shaft to the kitchen.

In it was a scrap of parchment, with a poem written in a sharp hand. Draco read it curiously:

A chance will arise to prove he is wise

To be defeated will earn him no prize

However, to triumph is also defeat

If there be no desire to hold the seat

Lay down one head forever from the pride

A lock from the mane you must divide

Proof of your wisdom, of your daring

Last, that of loyalty must be swearing

The coat of scales will rest upon you

And true success in the tasks you choose

A prophecy? A promise? Who was he to swear to? He shook his head. He'd figure it out. Meanwhile, he needed to get to the meeting with Professor Snape. He shoved the parchment into his robe pocket and hurried off.

THERAPEOFTHELOCK

Hermione gathered up her books; she had been trying to make the best of her time in Advanced Arithmancy by making a list of the things she needed to be doing to fulfill her duties as a prefect. Having to make the list alarmed her-- she had never needed reminders like that before. She told herself, though, that she had never been this busy before, at least not without the aid of a time turner.

Walking into Snape's office, she almost felt like the old Hermione. The rush of adrenaline that flooded her at the thought of a test, the thought of her triumph at the end. She started to smile, but stopped when she saw who she was taking the test with.

"I thought it would be, erm, interesting, Miss Granger, if my two top students were to test together," Snape told her as she sat. "Mr. Malfoy has agreed, do you?"

Hermione didn't see any other option available to her. "Of course." She set her books on the floor next to her chair.

"We'll be conducting this test orally. First person to give me the correct answer will be marked for points."

Hermione looked over at Malfoy. He was glaring back at her, a superior glint in his eye. She looked back at Snape, who was preparing to ask the first question."

"We'll start with the section on Magical Creatures. How might one tell a Crup from a muggle Jack Russel Terrier?"

"A Crup has two tails," Malfoy blurted immediately.

Hermione blinked, shocked as the words on the tip of her tongue were said by another. He was lucky, she told herself, and he had more time to compose himself before Snape attacked-- or, rather, tested them.

"Very good, Mr. Malfoy. Next question: Name a non-humanoid creature who uses human language."

"A Jarvey, Sir." Malfoy was beaming-- well, smirking, actually, at Hermione.

Hermione forgot even to shut her mouth. This couldn't possibly be happening. What was going on? She was getting stupid, that was it. Malfoy was never smarter than her before. She scolded herself. You're worrying so much about your identity apart from academics that you don't even have a life in academics anymore. Hermione was in the process of attempting to refuse to believe herself when Snape addressed her.

"Are you all right, Miss Granger?" To his credit, Snape looked like he was really trying not to laugh at Hermione, who was still sitting with her mouth agape. Malfoy, strangely, wasn't laughing either. He was staring at her with what looked like fascination.

THERAPEOFTHELOCK

Draco never thought he could inflict this on someone! It was fabulous. Granger was going to have a nervous breakdown right in front of him. The only thing better would be if Potter was here to see him do it. He sighed. Things couldn't always be perfect. Granger shut her mouth dazedly.

"Continuing on, then: What is the smallest known breed of Dragon?"

Malfoy almost let Hermione speak, but she was moving so slowly. "Peruvian Vipertooth, Sir."

He and Professor Snape shared a glance, and when Draco looked back over at Hermione, or, rather, at her chair, all he saw was a flash of black robes quickly leaving the office. He looked back at Snape, who shrugged.

"You know Miss Granger will be admitted into the contest anyway, at the very least to make things, ahem, easier for you."

Malfoy nodded.

"With her erratic behavior, and with her inevitable, at least preliminary, domination at the Cogito, she will take attention away from you. To do, ahem, whatever you must."

Malfoy nodded again, his hand going to his pocket for the parchment.

"No!" Snape snapped. "No, no, need to thank me for my help, Mr. Malfoy. Why don't you go and . . . study."

"Yes, Sir."

THERAPEOFTHELOCK

Harry and Ron were sitting in Charms, when something caught Harry's eye out the window.

"Who's that?" he nudged Ron, who looked over.

"Dunno. But they run like a girl."

"Ron, that's Hermione." Sure enough, it was Miss Granger flying across the castle grounds toward . . . Hagrid's cabin?

"Can't be. She has Arithmancy now."

Harry gave him a look that meant 'don't you remember Hermione's gone bonkers?'

Ron's brow furrowed, and he looked out the window again. "It is her."

After class, they followed the same path she had, running full-out. When they got to Hagrid's cabin, he opened the door to them.

"Well, now, gettin' all kinds o' visitors today!" the giant greeted them.

Ron nodded worriedly. "Is Hermione here?"

"Ah, no, she wen' back to the castle a little while ago. Why don' you two come in an' have tea, though?"

Harry shook his head. "Sorry, Hagrid, we'll have to do that later. I think it's important we find Hermione."

"All righ', Harry. You know wha's best. Le' me know if I can 'elp."

"Sure thing, Hagrid."

The boys, still panting from their first sprint, raced back to the castle.

THERAPEOFTHELOCK

Hermione sat on the roof of Gryffindor tower, a special privilege of the head girl, as her room was the highest. She was letting the tears fall in her lap without stopping them. No one would see her up here, though Harry and Ron were sure to look.

Hagrid had been nice. Infuriatingly nice. 'Upset abou' Ron agin, 'ermione?' Right. 'Aw, parents can be tough, though. I shou' know.'

She just wanted someone to really understand, not just be understanding. Not patronize her, like she was some madwoman.

Hermione didn't want to move, but she needed to feel something. She formed an image in her mind, so sharp she could taste it, and withdrew her wand from her robes. "Accio!"

THERAPEOFTHELOCK

Harry and Ron sat in the Gryffindor common room, again worried about Hermine. She had barely spoken to them, even at meals, since Harry had walked in on her crying. When they returned from Hagrid's, Hermione's door was locked, presumably with Hermione behind it.

Harry sighed. "What are we supposed to do? She's being impossible."

"She's just really upset. I'm not sure about what, but she's really upset." Ron leaned back against the couch uncomfortably.

"I don't care how upset she is! It's not like sometimes before, when we would ignore her and she'd run to Hagrid or your brothers or Ginny or whoever. We're here to talk to, but we don't push her. We let her have her privacy, but give her our support. What the hell else are we supposed to do?"

Ron agreed. "It's not like Hermione. But she'd do it for us, you know that."

"I don't know if either of us could be this . . . weird. I just want her to talk to us. Why'd she lock herself in her room?"

Ron paled. "Harry, you don't think she would . . ." the sentence was too scary to finish.

"I . . . don't know." Harry shook his head. Ron just stared at his hands. There was nothing they could do.

THERAPEOFTHELOCK

It took all of Draco's energy to keep from laughing evilly at the look on Weasley's face. The line kept repeating in his head, making him grin so hard it hurt. 'Harry, you don't think she would . . .' Poor Weasel.

He snuck out of the Gryffindor common room. Luckily, both Potter and Weasley had their backs to the portrait-hole. Draco hugged the folder that Hermione, in her haste to leave Snape's office, had left behind. It had her list of Prefect duties written in tiny, even script. 'Have a talk with the first-year boys about teasing. Console Francine (mother is terribly ill). Change portrait password to 'fizzing whizbees.' So simple. All laid out for him. Fate.

Finally reaching the door to the Slytherin common room, he concealed the folder in his robes and went through. He was satisfied to find Crabbe and Goyle waiting for him on a couch.

"Don't ask me any questions. Just pull me up on this thing until it won't pull anymore, and then don't tell anyone you did it. I can get back down on my own." Draco opened the door to the dumbwaiter and climbed in. It was a little bit of a tight fit, but it was a big dumbwaiter. He shut the door and felt himself being pulled jerkily up, up, up.

THERAPEOFTHELOCK

Hermione stared at the knife she had in her hand. Again, she was disconnected from the world. She couldn't feel anything. It was all . . . Foggy. Except for the thin red line welling up from her arm. It felt so good to feel something! Anything! She was crying even harder as she brought the knife across her skin again, and began to laugh.

A world was coming back to her. Not her world, not the bright happy one with the nice feelings and the good report cards. But a world nonetheless, one where she could belong, and the knife wasn't patronizing her like Harry and Ron. She traced the cuts on her arm with a finger, and felt the sting. Wonderful! She was good at this!

Suddenly, she heard footsteps on the roof of the castle behind her. Before she could turn around, a pale hand flicked the knife out of her own. Someone was standing behind her. He wrapped an arm around her waist, grabbing her roughly, and held the knife to her throat.

She could feel his breath on her shoulder. Well, this was certainly feeling something. Hermione wasn't sure she cared if he put pressure on the knife or not.

THERAPEOFTHELOCK

Draco felt, well, he didn't quite know how. Bloody amazing was all he could think of. He could kill this girl, right here and now, and nobody would ever know it was him. He could literally get away with murder. With this death-chick vibe Granger was giving off, everyone would assume she had offed herself.

He couldn't believe it. He was actually getting physically aroused at the sight of the bleeding cuts on her arms, the sound of the little gasps of her breathing, and the smell of imminent death on her throat, where his nose was pressed. Draco was amused at his body's reaction to the thought of the blood from her throat running over the cobbles at the top of the tower, over his hands. He wondered if Granger could feel him, pressed against her was he was.

"Granger. Fancy meeting you here."

She sniffed and to Draco's amusement, he realized she had been crying. "What a surprise. Should have baked a cake."

Oh, this was less fun, her being all composed about this. Even sarcastic. "Shut up, mudblood! I'm talking."

Granger was silent. He continued. "Right now, from now on, you know I can kill you. Anytime I want. I will find you. And no-one will ever know."

"You'll tell them I cut myself, that I told you not to tell anyone, that you're so sorry, that it's all your fault, everything except that you made the final cut."

Draco had to give the girl credit. She really was a genius. "Exactly, Pet." He lifted his head a bit to whisper in her ear. "So you don't tell that we had this little meeting, and I won't tell about your little secret. After all, they certainly won't let a lunatic be prefect. You wouldn't want to be sent home before the contest. What's there for you at home?"

"No." Granger whispered.

He pulled her roughly towards him again, holding the knife against her neck as close as he could without breaking her skin. This was so wonderful it was killing him. He was going to have wet dreams for weeks about this! "You know what happens to little girls who break their promises," he whispered, taking a sharp nip at her earlobe that drew blood.

THERAPEOFTHELOCK

Malfoy shoved her away roughly, and she stood stunned as he threw the knife down at her feet and spat, then disappeared down the trapdoor into her room. She sat down on the roof, crying anew. Crying because Malfoy had almost killed her. Crying because she had wanted him to.

--------------------------