Thanks to everyone who reviewed. Just a little warning before we get to the story. This chapter in my opinion isn't as good as the first three, so just tell me what to think. Maybe it's just me who thinks it's worse. Thnx! (Just a reminder: I own nothing  )

Chapter 4: Don't tell anyone!

"I'll be right back," Harry said, struck with an idea.

Hermione looked curiously after him as he left, but realized she laying on something hard. Wincing as she moved, she extracted her sketchbook out from underneath her. She was about to open it, but she heard footsteps, so she painfully reached over and placed it in her drawer, but she couldn't close it because it was too far away. After a few seconds, the pain was just too much and she had to give up. She fell back down on her pillow. She whimpered as she pushed her bangs back and felt the throbbing cut.

"Mione?"

Harry was back. With a small bowl?

"Hey, Harry," she said absentmindedly, looking at the sticky, red blood on the tips of her fingers.

"Everything all right?"

"I'm just tired of this. I'm just going to end up like the Concrete Angel, anyway. Why prolong it?"
Harry knew she was referring to the song her mom played in the car, but he couldn't remember how it went. He knew it wasn't good, though.

"How did that go again?"

Hermione sighed and repeated the last verse:

A statue stands in a shaded place.

An angel girl with an upturned face.

A name is written on a polished rock.

A broken heart that the world forgot.

"Mione!" Harry was shocked that that was what she thought. "You're

not going to end up like that. I'm not going to let you. And if you just tell someone --"

"NO!" Hermione, forgetting her pain (momentarily), tried to sit up, but Harry pushed her back down, so she just propped herself on her elbows, "Harry, you can't tell anyone. I mean it!"
"But, Herm--"

"No buts! You have to swear to me you won't tell anyone! SWEAR TO ME!"

Harry considered this for a moment. Hermione didn't seem to know what this looked like from an outsider's point of view. Harry looked at her. A almost-eighteen-year-old girl laying on her bed, bleeding from her right temple, cuts and bruises covering her body. It scared him to have her yell at him like that. Normally, Hermione was the sensible one, and Harry knew that if this was happening to him, she would want him to tell someone.

"Fine. I won't tell anyone," he said, but added strictly, "unless this gets out of hand. Then I'll have no choice."

"Fine," Hermione said in a defeated voice as her pain returned full-measure. She fell back onto her pillow, suddenly slightly dizzy.

Harry pushed her bangs out of the way and took a dishrag out of the bowl he had brought up. Hermione winced a little when he pressed it against her forehead, but the warm water felt good against her searing cut.

Good as it felt, the water running down the side of her head made her self-conscious. Her shorts felt ten times wetter than they had five minutes ago. She wondered if Harry had noticed them, yet. She opened her mouth to ask him if she could get up and change, but he put the dishrag over her mouth so she couldn't talk.

"Looking for these?" he said, holding up another pair of her shorts. She looked away from him in embarrassment.

She felt him take the rag off her mouth, but she didn't say anything. He helped her sit up, and she took her shorts from him, still not looking at him.

As she reached the door, he grabbed her shoulder. She finally looked him in the eye and Harry wasn't surprised to see that her face was more than a little pink.

"It's okay," he said consolingly, and did something that made her blush even more. He kissed her forehead, just to the left of her cut. "Now, go change," he said, giving her a little push to get her going.

Hermione, once again, stepped out into the hallway, but this time she heard snoring from the next room. Her father was asleep. So, as not to wake him, she slipped her shoes off and left them right outside her door.

Harry could hear her padding down the hall in her socks. A minute later she heard the bathroom door shut and the soft click of the lock.

He was just about to sit back down on Hermione's bed, when something caught his eye. One of the drawers in her desk was open. He looked inside and saw a stack of sketchbooks. He grabbed the top one and gasped as he opened it.

The first picture was of a little girl, around eight, with dirty, lanky curls framing her fearful, tearstained face. She was sitting in a corner while a shadowed figure stood over her menacingly.

Harry flipped through the sketchbook, and was shocked to see these pictures, all of the same little girl (who looked very similar to Hermione) in various positions of abuse and neglect.

A few minutes later, Harry heard Hermione coming back, but before he could put it away, a particular picture on the very last page caught his eye. It was of an adolescent boy, not the little girl. His face was in shadow, but he had dark hair that stuck up at the back. It looked vaguely familiar.

Before Harry could place it, the door opened. Out of reflexes, he hid the sketchbook behind his back, but Hermione could see the look of guilt which was written all over his face.

"What are you doing?" she asked suspiciously, then she spotted the sketchbook, "You looked at that? How could you! That's private! Give me that!"
She made a grab for the sketchbook, but Harry held it out of her reach.

"No, Mione..." he said as he flipped to one of the pictures, "What's this all about?"

"I-it's just a picture."

"Okay," he didn't believe her, but he didn't want to get her yelling again, so he flipped to the last page. "What's this about?"

Hermione just looked at him nervously.

So what do you think? I don't really care if you flame, but I do care if you're honest. Please and thank you.