Okay, I promise I'll have this whole story posted by the new year, but, anyway, this chapter is a bit longer then the last two, but I feel it's not that well written. I know it's not the best I've ever done, at any rate (the next chapter is like that as well), but let's just get on with it. Remember, I own nothing.

Chapter 8: Call 911

Neither of them knew exactly how long they stood there. All they knew was the sun was setting by the time Hermione pulled herself out of Harry's chest. She looked an awful mess. Her eyes were blotched and red. Her hair was all messed up from running and the humidity in the July air made it even more frizzy.

Harry hadn't said anything since they heard the gunshot, and he didn't know if he could now, but he knew he had to.

"Come on," he said, looking back at the house, which had been unusually silent since the shot, "we need to go get help."

"How?" Hermione said, her voice cracked from crying, "It's at least five miles to the next town."

"Yes, but remember, we're of age. We can use magic, but we might not even need to," Harry said, getting a confused look from Hermione, "Do you have any change?"

Hermione dug in the pockets of her jeans and pulled out a few nickels and dimes (A/N: I don't know British change) mixed with knuts and sickles, and counted it.

"I have 34 cents, 6 knuts, and 4 sickles, which isn't enough for the payphone, anyway," she said, following Harry's gaze to a payphone by the road, about 100 feet away from them, "but I do have a cell-phone."

"Brilliant, Mione," Harry said, kissing her forehead, which made a light pink blush work its way up her neck and onto her face. Harry took his wand out and pointed it at the house. After making sure there were no Muggles around, he said clearly, "Accio cell-phone!"

After a minute, Hermione's flip-phone flew out her open window and into his hand. He handed it to Hermione, who pushed it away.

"I can't do it, Harry. You have to," she said, looking away from him and away from the house, which killed her every time she looked at it.

"Why me? I don't even know how to work it," Harry said, making Hermione grab it out of his hand, turn it on, and dial 911.

"There," she said, tears threatening to spill out of her eyes again. This made everything seem so final.

"Hello? Umm," Harry didn't know what to say. Hermione gave an exasperated sigh, and grabbed her phone from Harry.

"Hello? My dad has been abusing me and my mum for about the last ten years, and he just murdered her with a pistol," Hermione really didn't want to do this, but what choice did she have? Tears were poring down her cheeks, but her voice was surprisingly steady, "I'm at 405 285th Street, just west of Oxford. Okay. Thank you," and she hung up.

She looked away from Harry and tried to hide her tears, but was unsuccessful. He walked over to her and once again wrapped his arms around her, nuzzling her gently.

"Shhhh," he whispered soothing words to her, his breath tickling her skin. He wiped her tears away with his soft fingers.

A few minutes later they heard sirens and looked up to see three police cars and an ambulance coming toward them. They screeched to a halt and about half a dozen policemen and women came out. One of them walked over to Hermione, who was still wrapped in Harry's arms.

"Are you all right?" she asked Hermione, who nodded. The policewomen nodded, too, and said, "All right. Why don't you go over to the paramedics so they can check you over. Are you her brother?" she asked Harry.

"He's my boyfriend," Hermione said, and Harry was slightly surprised she actually said boyfriend, "He's been here for about two weeks, now, helping me."

"All right. You can go with her. I have to go question your father. What's his name?"
"Harley Granger."

"Okay. Now, you two can head over to the paramedics."

She walked over to about three other policemen, all of whom were holding Hermione's dad, who was fighting them with all his strength and screaming inappropriate words at the top of his lungs.

"Come on, Mione," Harry said, and guided her over to the ambulance where a young paramedic was waiting for them. She had a friendly smile, but at this point the only person Hermione trusted was Harry.

"Hi, are you the young lady who called?" the paramedic asked Hermione.

"Yes," Hermione said, trying to sound as polite as she could through a new wave of tears threatening to emerge.

"It's all right," the paramedic said, consolingly, "Nobody's going to hurt you, anymore. Now, come on. Let's get you cleaned up. Would you mind waiting outside for a moment?" she asked Harry, which made Hermione's grip on his arm even tighter.

Hermione looked at Harry, who nodded, and pried Hermione's hands off his arms. The last thing she wanted to do right now was leave Harry.

"It's all right," he said, and kissed her gently on the forehead again, "I'll be right here, waiting for you."

She let a lone tear roll down her cheek while she turned and walked into the ambulance, only to have the paramedic shut the door behind her.

"Have a seat," the paramedic said, gesturing to the hospital bed in the middle of the ambulance. Hermione sat down and watched as the paramedic slip rubber gloves on, breaking the right one in her frustration, causing Hermione to giggle, despite the tears building up in her eyes.

"I hate these things," the paramedic said, getting another one out and succeeding in getting this one on, then she turned to Hermione, "Now, I'm not going to examine you right away. I just want to ask you a few questions first. Is that all right with you?"
Hermione nodded, and just thought of Harry, standing outside waiting for her.

"Okay. First if all, what's your name?"

"Hermione Granger."

"Okay. How do you spell it?" The paramedic had gotten a sheet of paper out and was preparing to write down everything Hermione said.

"H-e-r-m-i-o-n-e."

"Okay. How old are you?"

"I'll be eighteen in September."

"When's your birthday? September what?"

"September 19th."

"How long has your dad been abusing you?"

Hermione faltered a little bit on this question, but she calmed herself down by thinking of Harry, and the faster she got these questions answered, the faster she'll be back in his arms.

"About ten years."

"What's the worst thing he's ever done to you?"

"Umm. I'm not really sure. Probably when he broke my leg."

The paramedic looked shocked at this.

"How'd he break your leg?"

"He pushed me down the stairs. When I was twelve."

"Okay. Last question. Where do you go to school?"
"Oh, umm," Hermione wasn't sure what to say. She couldn't say she went to Hogwarts. That would be breaking the Statue of Secrecy and would get her expelled for sure, so she just made something up, "I go to a boarding school in Scotland. I'm gone for most of the year."

"And what is the name of this boarding school?"

"Umm..."

A/N:

Ha Ha Ha! Evil Cliffie! Sorry, I know you guys don't like cliff hangers, but I just had to do it! TTFN