Sorry it's taking me so long to update. I've been stuck observing in the local high school for my college class, which basically means I sit on my ass from 7:40 until 2:40 each day, watching someone teach the same lesson over and over again. I have more written, but it's taking forever to type it up and then post it. I swear to you, I will finish this story before POA hits theatres June 4th!! Thanks for reading and keep those reviews coming!!
The shock of his revelation jarred Harry from his dreams. He bolted up in bed, his heart pounding. His mind and gut were now simulateously telling him to find out what was wrong with Hermione. Harry reached under his pillow to pull out the journal.
Who cares about hexes? He thought defiantly as he carefully unwrapped the leather cord holding in Hermione's thoughts. He thumbed his way to the first page.
"August 23rd . . . too early," Harry mumbled. "She started acting weird after our trip to Hogsmeade three weeks ago."
He flipped the pages until he saw October 29h. "There's no entry for the 28th. The next time she wrote was the day after Hogsmeade," Harry muttered as he settled the leather diary on his lap.
"Sunday the 29th. My mind continues to dwell on yesterday. It even haunts my dreams. Last night, as I slept, I saw myself in the alleyway again, but this time Ron and Harry were with me. They laughed at me as I was shoved up against the wall, and when I turned to my attacker, I saw it was Professor Snape. He told me that I was getting my 'just rewards for failing so miserably in potions', but then I suddenly awoke. Though the others varied with the vividness of the attack, that one stands out most clearly in my mind.
Harry and Ron tried to talk to me yesterday. They thought I ditched them. But how could I tell them that I . . . well. And then when Harry touched my hand, it was like a bolt of complete and utter revulsion passed through my body. I couldn't stand his skin on mine. (At this point, the ink changed, as if Hermione had left and then resumed writing with a different ink pot.) I feel tired again. It's like I wake up and function for a few hours, but then my body sort of shuts down on me and I have to lie down. I don't understand what's going on with me."
Harry felt frustrated. She only hinted at what had happened that day in Hogsmeade. At least he was certain, however, that it actually occurred in Hogsmeade. ("Like I didn't know that before," he whispered ruefully.) Harry shook his head and returned to the diary. The next entry was dated 1st November.
"I can't concentrate in potions. Every time I see Snape's face, I think back to the dream and can feel his slimy hands on my body. I know he isn't the one who attacked me, but now I envision his face on my assailant's. I can't bear to be around the professor anymore. Each potions class becomes more and more torturous than the last. Last night I hid in Myrtle's bathroom and brewed a Healing Potion, but I doubt it will work. Hmm – and in class, I'm absolutely useless to Neville. Without my guidance, I can tell he's faring horribly. I can't help him, though. Every time Snape draws near, I relive that horrible afternoon."
As Harry continued to read, he noticed each entry was slightly shorter than the last. It were as if Hermione had holed herself up. She didn't write about the attack, just as she wouldn't talk to Harry or Ron about it. Suddenly, Harry came upon today's entry. Several pages long, this entry looked to be the one where Hermione could hole herself up no longer.
"Friday 17th November. I've been sitting by the lake most of the day. Snow fell in the wee hours of the night and now the grounds resemble a frosty wonderland. When I breathe, clouds of crystals float from my lips. I realize I must look dead, a frozen ice queen, with my blue lips and frostnipped cheeks. Though now I look it on the outside, no one can tell dead I feel inside. Ever since my rape-"
Harry let out an audible gasp that reverberated throughout the dormitory. Raped?! She was raped!? Why didn't she tell us!? A though dawned on Harry just then. The small nagging voice in the back of his mind suddenly spoke again. What if she's pregnant?
Quickly, he continued reading.
". . . I can't get the man's face out of my mind. His eyes, cloudy blue as the sky before a storm, boring into mine. I can't get the odor of firewhisky out of my nostrils or the taste of his tongue on mine. I can still feel his hands, rough on my body, searching, searching . . . Even now I cannot stand the touch of a man. I feel dirty."
Here the writing became unintelligible, blurred by tear marks. Anger surged through Harry's body. His hands gripped the journal so hard, he could hear the binding crackle. One train of thought collided with another, creating a jumble in his mind. How dare that son of a . . . I'll kill him. Ron and I will . . . Ron doesn't know. I have to tell him - I can't NOT tell Ron. How will he react? We have to be here for Hermione, provide as much support as possible. Should we tell Dumbledore?He'd want to know if a student were attacked. Maybe Hermione already told Dumbledore . . .
Harry pressed on, searching for the answers to his questions.
"The teachers have begun questioning me, pulling me aside in class or in the hallway. I think Snape talked to McGonagall after what happened on Monday because two days ago, she cornered me in the hallway. She said professors have been noticing a 'decline in my academic performance' and wanted her to speak with me. Even my transfiguration grades haven't been up to par. I couldn't bear to tell her what happened to me. What if she blamed me for it? So I just told her I was stressed. Anyone could understand that. But I couldn't help but notice the skeptical looks on her and Madame Pomfrey's faces. And then yesterday in potions, Snape would not stop staring at me. It was as if he were trying to read my mind. Every time I bent to add an ingredient in my cauldron, I could feel his eyes one me, but when I looked up, he had his face buried in a book. I've even felt Dumbledore's gaze rest on me a few times this week. Not enough to make me scared that he knows, but enough times that I know he suspects something.
The people I'm worried most about, however, are Harry and Ron. They've tried to talk to me several times, but I can't bear to tell them what happened. Even though they wouldn't blame me for my rape, there will always be that wall between us. I think they may feel that they'd failed to protect me in Hogsmeade and would never leave me alone again. But how can I tell them it's not their fault, it's mine. Maybe I shouldn't have worn such a short skirt and robe. I shouldn't have fought back – he would've just taken my money instead of . . . my body. If I hadn't insisted on shopping at Honeydukes, then I'd be okay now. I wouldn't feel this great void inside of me. It's as if my heart shut down. I really don't feel . . . anything. Books don't please me, classes are meaningless, I can't eat, nightmares are all that await my dreams. I just want to end it all. To stop the pain and nothingness I feel.
I actually walked to Hagrid's tonight. I knew he would listen to me, but I stopped before I could knock on the door. Doubts flooded my mind. What if he, Hagrid, my lovable oaf of a friend, blamed me for my rape? What if he tried to find that man and hurt him? What if he told Dumbledore? Or McGonagall? Or worse, Harry and Ron? Would they still remain friends with me? A slut? A charlatan? A stained woman? So I just turned around and walked to the lake, where now I sit. My ink well is running dry and my quill needs sharpened, but I have made up my mind.
I can no longer continue carrying such a burden as this. All I have to look forward to is loneliness - Ron and Harry will refuse to associate with a common whore, the professors will shun me, Malfoy the rat bastard will delight in my pain. I'm damaged goods. The anguish filling my soul is unbearable. Tomorrow night, I'm going to end my suffering. I should have enough time to send my parents an owl and say goodbye to Ron and Harry. I've heard that cold is a peaceful way to go. Everything just numbs over and then you fall asleep. But how could that feel any different than I feel right now?"
There was no more. Ron and Harry must have come upon Hermione moments later. Harry finished reading as the first rays of the dawning sun danced across the pages. He stared in horror at Hermione's last entry.
Suicide?! he thought.