Disclaimer: I own nothing.

Author Note: Sorry about the wait, but this chapter was extremely difficult for me to write. Once you read it, the reason becomes quite apparent. Here is the only warning I am going to post for this chapter, if anyone complains about it I will be displeased. This chapter contains, more like is, rape. I tried to keep it from being extremely graphic, but it is what it is. I promise an update within the next day or two, especially because this one is so short and unsettling. Please don't let this chapter put you off this story, I promise that this will be the only one entirely like this.

Breaking the Habit

Chapter Three – Violence

Hermione smiled to herself as she rubbed a sponge in a circular motion on a plate, letting her mind drift in the monotonous gesture. She could clean up dinner by use of magic, but it, apart from cooking if she had the time, was one of the few things that helped her stay in touch with her muggle roots. For a brief half hour, all thoughts about Ron and the horrors of their relationship trickled out of her consciousness. She lost herself in the conversation and felt surprisingly peaceful while Viktor looked at her with such deep affection shining unhidden on his face.

A slight flush rose to her as the image of his face sprung to her mind's eye and she quickly brushed it away. It would not bode well for her if she lingered on such a picture. Viktor could not return to her home, the chance that Ron could have arrived while he was there was not one she was willing to take. Her life might not have been worth much, but she clung to the torn fabric in an attempt to stay alive. She put the last dish away and dried her hands, absently rubbing against the smooth skin that was all that remained of her burn.

A soft purring noise brought her attention out of her imagination and she looked down at her ancient cat, kneeling down to be closer to it. She scratched his head and cooed softly; clutching the last vestiges of the phantasmagoric state Viktor's presence had lent her. Crookshanks butted his nose against her palm before stalking out of the kitchen, most likely to litter her favourite armchair with more of his ginger hair. She stayed kneeling on the cheap butter coloured linoleum, her fingers tangling loosely in her lap.

Thick curls of chocolate fell across her cheeks as she sighed quietly, her vision clouding. A door slammed open somewhere near the front of her apartment and her entire body tensed. A tall shape moved closer to her and she looked up at him, face entirely blank. Orange hair and cyan hues was a recipe for the complete shutdown of her mental functions. She swallowed thickly past her rising gorge and forced a weak smile onto her lips.

"Hello Ron." She whispered quietly.

He watched her, his gaze flitting around the room. She was infinitely glad that she had had the foresight to clean the dishes as soon as Viktor left instead of forgetting about them for a while. When he could not find anything instantly suspicious at first glance, one of those heart melting grins spread across his face. If she did not know what he was capable, she would have been won over by that look.

He crouched down before her and gently tucked his fingers beneath her chin, gently forcing her face up. "Hey Mione."

It was in the moments like that one where she could almost disregard his abusive tendencies. It felt like their relationship in the first few months when her pulse would begin to beat faster whenever he came near her and she felt on top of the world. Of course, she rapidly fell from that joyous peak when she caught the glimmer of hardly repressed violence lingering in his gaze. She cleared her throat nervously and began to rise, uncomfortable with how close he had come to her.

That mildly affectionate gleam on his face snapped away and a cry died stillborn in her mouth as she saw the darkness in him warp his sweet cornflower hued orbs into a mockery of their lost purity. She pressed her had against her lips and darted around him. She barely got two steps into the living room before he grabbed her by the hair and ceased her movement. She yelped at the sharp pain, but it did not stop her from trying to twist out of his grasp. He jerked her hard, causing her neck to snap and her knees to buckle.

The moment she was unable to support her weight, he promptly dropped her and chuckled at the soft noise of discomfort she made. Her hands flew out to support her, but they did little when his heavily booted foot connected with her side. She collapsed entirely upon the ground and within seconds he was before her. The abrupt sound of ripping cloth jarred her and she let out a soft sob as her bare flesh suddenly became exposed to the cool air.

He roughly pinned her down with his weight, his garments rubbing coarsely against her. His fingers roughly grasped her breasts and she choked on her breath, his short nails ripping shallow furrows across the once milky hued flesh. Upon hearing her cry, he slammed his fist into her cheek in an effort to make her create more of those pained noises. He had no trouble getting it up if the woman beneath him shook in fear and sobbed, yet once those sounds stopped he went limp and nothing would bring him back to full mast. No matter how hard she tried to be silent, when the hurt came she could not help but let her soreness be known.

She turned her face to the side, her bruised cheek throbbing uncomfortably against the bristles of the mat. If she tried enough, she could distance herself enough from his lecherous hands and the gleam in his eyes. He momentarily pulled away and she fought the instinct to curl her legs up against her, blocking him from ever entering her. She knew what he was doing and it turned her brain into a quivering mess of terror. She clenched her eyes shut, moisture swelling behind her lids.

Crying was a weakness, she had learnt since her 'romantic' relationship with Ron started, and she detested herself with a fierce passion whenever those much loathed droplets began to form. His hated presence suddenly reappeared, choking her with its nearness. She lay there passively as his hands gripped her hips with a bruising quality and her legs forced wide open. The only signs that she had not died were the rapid rising and falling of her chest and the occasional whimper that escaped from her mouth.

The searing agony came without warning, a great ripping sensation that felt like it tore her in half. She had been a virgin the first time he took her and that experience bore no resemblance to the heated exchanges she read about in those novels written, for the most part, with little talent yet still seemed to fly of the shelves of bookstores. The pain began to take on a rhythmic quality, fading briefly as much of his length left her and then blossoming into full strength as he reentered.

She wished that it was the only agony he submitted her to was that of his violation, but his teeth ravaged her breasts and a full fledged scream erupted from her throat as the sharp edges of the enamel ripped through the overly sensitized, delicate flesh of her nipple. Her hands flew up from their position at her sides and her naturally pointed fingernails parted the skin of his back easily. He roared in discomfort and once more punched her solidly on the unblemished side of her face, the one that was unintentionally presented.

Her flailing limbs stilled and treacherous salty tears began to stream down her visible, purpling cheek. To her greatest relief, his body grew briefly still. He plunged deeply into her unwilling depths, releasing his putrescence into her cervix. He withdrew and hastily wiped the mixture of blood and semen off of himself with a portion of her ruined shirt. He threw the stained material onto her abdomen, a sneer evident in his voice.

"Clean yourself up and, remember, nobody will ever want used good likes you. I am the only person who will ever take a second glance at you."

As he dressed, she rolled slowly onto her side and curled into a small ball. Her arms slipped around her stomach and her torso shook with the force of her sobs. His callous laughter echoed above her and she tried to ignore the feel of that sticky rag pressing against her. She absently heard the front door to her home slam shut as her boyfriend left her and she slowly pushed herself into a sitting position. She ached all over and gingerly touched the sluggish bleeding bite marks marring her breasts and neck.

They stung at the contact and peeled the scrap of cloth off of her, throwing it across the room. He could sate himself in one of the many bordellos down Knockturn Alley, she was sure he did, but it he would always come back to her and hurt her. Despite herself, she believed his mordant words. A soft sigh slipped from her and she started to rummage through her discarded, torn clothing in search of her wand. Each time he brutalized her she would heal the damage and be fresh, unblemished for his return.

Thanks to everyone who reviewed. Again, the more reviews I get, the faster I will update.

Blessed be

Ame