A/N: What Ron and Harry say in Hermione's dream is NOT right. Keep in mind that Hermione is dreaming, and I'm just showing her agitated state of mind.
Short, short, short. I know. The upcoming chapters should be a bit longer. I start my summer job again tomorrow, so it may be some time before the story is finished, but I swear to you that it will be done before POA hits theatres in June.
She sat on her bed, staring at the two boys in front of her. Such a contrast, those two. One dark haired, the other flaming red. One with a large family, the other none at all. One a hero, a legend, the other insignificant to everyone but her and his family. Despite their obvious differences, the two boys had bonded instantly. They now shared a House, a love of dungbombs and butterbeer, and the love and admiration of the girl seated in front of them.
It's our differences that brought us together, she thought, but our similarities that keep us alive. Dumbledore was right – as long as we have each other, nothing can hurt us.
"Tell us, my sweet. Tell us what happened." The hero gazed accusingly at her.
Hermione looked into the eyes of her two best friends. "I was raped."
Ron chuckled. "I bet you deserved it. Anyone who's raped had it coming. Your robe inching just a little higher, revealing just a bit more, when the boys are looking. Licking your lips at dinner, inviting us all for a taste." He leaned in close. "If you'd give it up so gladly to a stranger, why won't you give it to us?" His hand snaked out and grabbed her arm roughly.
"Harry!" Hermione turned to her emerald-eyed friend, pleading, "Help me, Harry!"
He looked away, his eyes oozing disappointment. "I don't touch damaged goods."
Hermione felt a pressure on her leg as Ron lay his hand on her thigh. "I deserve you. For too long, you've been begging me for it. For too long, you've tempted me . . ."
"NO!!" Hermione jumped up as if shot. She bolted from her room and out Gryffindor tower. Racing down the Hogwarts halls, she was stunned to see students lining the corridor, shouting insults at her.
"Tramp!"
"Whore!"
"Slut!"
She spotted Dumbledore standing serenely at the end of the hall, regarding the spectacle with an air of disgust. Hermione ran toward him, sobbing.
"Help me, Professor! I didn't do anything wrong!" Tears streamed down her cheeks as she grasped his hand. Wordlessly, Dumbledore drew his arm into his sleeve, a look of pure hatred marring his grandfatherly demeanor.
"You deserved it, Ms. Granger. Walking alone and looking so tempting, inviting any man to come and sample your goods -"
"NOO!" howled Hermione. She spun around, looking for an exit. Students surrounded her, taunting her, calling her names, their hands tearing at her robe. Hermione searched frantically for a way out. All the doors were blocked by the mob of students and professors. Looking back, Hermione spotted a window behind Dumbledore. Shoving him aside, she bolted for the glass. She could hear the mob thundering at her heels. As she jumped though the window, the shattered glass rained around her, cutting her bare skin, and she could hear a voice calling her name.
"Hermione? Hermione! HERMIONE!!"
Hermione hit the floor hard, the breath knocked out of her. Struggling in her sheets, she finally managed to push her head out. With her bushy hair, she resembled a disgruntled lion.
"Hermione Granger!" Again, the voice. As her blurred vision began clearing, she made out the concerned face of Professor McGonagall. Still upset over her dream, Hermione felt her heart rate begin to slow, her breath no longer coming in ragged gasps.
"Ms. Granger, are you all right?"
"I'm . . . fine, Professor. Just a bad dream." McGonagall's presence suddenly disturbed Hermione. "Professor, why are you here?"
"The Headmaster wishes to speak with you. Meet me in the common room in five minutes." With that, McGonagall whirled from the room, leaving Hermione with a growing sense of dread. She had barely enough time to slip into a clean robe and run a brush through her hair before bolting down the staircase. What she saw caused her to start.
McGonagall stood in conversation with Harry. Hermione saw Harry slip a black notebook into the professor's hand. He glanced up quickly when he heard a small noice escape Hermione's lips.
"My journal," she whispered. Harry blanched and hurridly escaped to the boys' dormitory.
"Follow me, Ms. Granger." McGonagall was already striding through the door. Hermione scampered behind the transfiguration professor, winding her way through the castle. Thoughts danced wildly through her head. Dumbledore? See me? Oh, no. I haven't been doing so well in my classes since my attack. Maybe he's going to expel me! I can see it now . . . 'Your grades are horrendous, Ms. Granger. I think we were wrong in believing you to be a witch. You are, we now realize, a Muggle.' Or maybe it's not my grades at all. What if it's about what happened with Snape? I didn't do anything wrong! I'm going to be expelled, I just know it. 'Ms. Granger, you are inviting trouble into my school. I do not tolerate troublemakers. Be gone!'
"Am I . . . in trouble, Professor?" she squeaked.
"No, Ms, Granger." Hermione breathed a sigh of relief. "The headmaster just wants a word. Lemon drop!"
Hermione hadn't realized they'd reached the Headmaster's office and nearly bumped into McGonagall. Slowly the two climbed the stairs to Dumbledore's office. Minerva knocked loudly and, after receiving a curt "Enter", strode inside, Hermione at her heels.
"Sit," commanded McGonagall and indicated a chair before handing the journal to the headmaster. Then, casting Hermione a supportive glance, she left. Hermione heard footsteps and looked up to see Dumbledore seat himself beside her.
"Care to lighten your load, Ms. Granger?"