A/N: This first story could be triggering. It mentions rape. It will not go into graphic detail depicting a rape, but will go into her state after she awakens.

I stopped posting this because this felt VERY unrealistic, but it was one of my very first stories. It's always held a special place in my heart and sat there so I could potentially rewrite it one day, but at this point, it is not likely.

None of these are beta'ed. We die like men.

Harmonia Nectere Passus will be the first 11 chapters here, then a new story will start. Chapter titles will list the story title and chapter number. So make sure to check the titles before proceeding because some of these stories will only be a drabble long. I'm just going to keep posting until everything I have is up.

It would mean a lot if you reviewed each chapter, or even each story if you are able. Though they may not be finished, they were all still written from a place of love.

Harmonia Nectere Passus Chapter 1

Hermione Granger awoke in a dark alcove of a drafty corridor, her face pressed against the stone floor. Every inch of her body was aching painfully, her bruised face and ribs crying out in pain with a simple breath. There was a sharp, stabbing sting between her thighs.

She opened her eyes, the blood from her split eyebrow pooling dangerously against her cornea. She blinked rapidly, hoping her tears would wash away the blood. Hermione brought a hand up, slowly as her elbow protested the act, and wiped her sleeve against her eye, her cheek, her mouth. She could taste the coppery metallic signature of blood in her mouth and it made her want to vomit.

She attempted to sit up, earning her a spinning, swimming dimly lit corridor. She saw the statue of Boris the Bewildered and knew she was on the fifth floor, the Prefect's bathroom just beyond. If she could only force her legs to carry her the twenty feet or so, she would be safe. No one could enter the bathroom without the password and all of the other Prefects were currently in attendance at the inter-House party in the Room of Requirement.

Hermione had been there, last she remembered. Try as she might, she couldn't remember how she'd ended up in an empty corridor two stories below. Last she knew, she was sipping her drink and laughing with Ginny and Harry…her drink. Someone slipped something into my drink! But who? She couldn't recall anything after her talk with the couple.

Hermione sat on the stone floor, trying to get her head to stop spinning so badly, wondering if she was concussed. She couldn't get her body to cooperate with what her brain was attempting to convey, not firing on all synapses. Large, warm tears slid down her cheeks, making pink rivulets in the deep crimson bloodstains.

She could hear her sobs break into the stillness of the castle and it briefly crossed her mind that if she could not make herself rise, she could be found by a teacher, or worse, Argus Filch. She sucked the mucus back in her throat as she rose to her hands and knees. Every inch if her body protested that simple act and she cried out, alone and afraid.

Before she could draw back into the shadows, she heard the quiet footsteps of an individual rounding the corner. "Granger?! What in the fuck—"

She was wrong. This was worse than Argus Filch. Draco Malfoy quickened his steps as he neared her and she thought she'd burst into flames right then and there, die of shame. He knelt beside her, his face bewildered in her peripheral. "Granger, what the hell happened to you?" he asked, panic evident in his voice.

Hermione couldn't bring her face to meet his. "We need to get you to Madam Pomfrey…she'll know what to do…" he said, his tone high pitched as the uncertain fear seeped into it.

She waited for the derogatory comments to come. The slur he used more commonly than her name. "Look at the little Mudblood, soiled just like her dirty blood!" she could hear his voice saying in her head, rolling over like a mantra as she tried to inhale and exhale evenly.

But those comments never came. She began to retch as he knelt alongside her and he hopped back to avoid the sick, but went around behind her and knelt once more. "Granger, are you listening? We need to get you to the hospital wing!" he tried again, his tone now hushed as to not attract attention.

Hermione wiped her mouth and shook her head as she sat back on her hip and thigh, holding herself up feebly on one arm. "No. I just need to get into the bathroom."

"Granger. Someone beat the hell out of you. You need to been seen, you might have broken ribs!" he replied, moving forward to catch her when she began to wobble dangerously.

She finally looked up at him and his face was hard, yes, but concerned and confounded at her state. "Aren't you going to insult me? Tell me a Mudblood got what she deserves?" she asked, her voice weak as her vision darkened before refocusing on him.

Malfoy had the courtesy to look guilty. "Don't be ridiculous, Granger. I am trying to help you here."

Hermione laughed, though it sounded hollow and distant to her own ringing ears. "The Death Eater helping the Mudblood. I'm sure your father won't hear about this!"

Malfoy narrowed his eyes at her. "Who said I was a Death Eater?" he questioned and she raised a swollen eyebrow at him.

"Well, you are, aren't you?" she questioned, spitting a mouthful of blood on the ground.

He looked in disgust at her vomit and waved his hand to rid the floor of it. "Don't ask questions you know the answers to, Granger. You're smarter than that."

She scoffed once more and he leaned down to help lift her. "I'm going to put your arm around my shoulders to help lift you…we'll get you into the bathroom before Filch and his bloody beast come round."

The deep rumblings of his voice sent shivers down her spine, the masculinity of it too familiar. Was it he who had poisoned her drink? She thought hard—no she hadn't seen him with the other Slytherins, drinking in the corner broodingly. Curious—where had he been? All of the other sixth years and a few choice fifth years in the school had been in attendance.

Malfoy looked down at her, expecting an answer of consent to him touching her. She sighed—there was no way she was standing up by herself. Hermione lifted one arm toward him, indicating she was agreeing to his offer. His face turned stony once more and he knelt down, putting her arm around his shoulders. Hermione thought briefly that her blood would probably stain his white uniform shirt and she nearly laughed at the irony.

He raised his own body, pulling hers up with it and at his height had to lean down to keep her arm around him. The pain in her legs, the stinging between her thighs sang as she took small limping step after small limping step. "Just a few more steps," he murmured and Hermione thought for a moment that it was meant to sound soothing.

Soothing? Ha! Not from Malfoy. She just knew that this would make it all over the school before tomorrow morning—Draco Malfoy finally had something real to hold over her head. Again, she wished she would just die and save herself further humiliation.

"Giddy giddy gumdrops," he whispered to the door of the Prefects' bathroom and it swung open.

He glanced around them down the corridor and seeing no one, stepped into the bathroom. He helped her to a chaise that rested along one wall. "Granger, wait here…I'm going to go get Madam Pomfrey," he said.

Hermione grabbed his hand as he turned to go, which he withdrew as though she'd burned him. She dropped her hands into her lap and looked down at the blood smears across her knees. "Please don't. I just want to be left alone."

He looked torn. She could tell he could appreciate her precarious situation and why she would want to be alone, but he really wanted to get her some adult, professional help. "You could be concussed," he argued, mirroring her earlier thoughts. "You can't be alone until after you've taken the proper potions."

She shook her head once more and could have sworn she felt her brain rattle in its skull casing. "No."

Malfoy's lip curled into his teeth and he looked anxiously torn as Hermione looked up at him from under wet eyelashes. "I at least need to go steal some items from Pomfrey's stores. I need bandages and healing potions. I'll run quickly and be back in five minutes. Sit up as best you can and do not close your eyes. You can't fall asleep until you take the potion."

Hermione leaned forward on her knees, placing her face into her hands and she heard his hesitant footsteps retreat. She began to cry once more, feeling more dirty and ashamed than she ever had in her life.

o-o-o

Draco didn't know what the hell he was doing. The entirety of the sixth year students were in the Room of Requirement, so he couldn't very well work on the Vanishing Cabinet. He had no desire to fraternize with the others—he hated all but two of them anyway. The weight of his task, now a very real possibility, was choking the life out of him and he just wanted to soak in a bath.

But he'd stumbled upon Granger, sprawled on all fours, looking like she'd been beaten by the Whomping Willow. Draco had harbored a tender crush on the Gryffindor Princess since third year, unknown to all others around them. But he had a responsibility to uphold, a position to fulfill. He couldn't very well go traipsing around with a Mudblood on his arm.

He made it to the Hospital Wing in record time, his long legs bounding down the five slights of stairs in record time. He knew he should just leave her be, let her figure her own shit out. But there was something in the broken way she looked, ashamed and saddened, her usual fire and confidence all but gone. Draco knew he could never leave her like that, Mudblood or not. He contemplated wiping her memory when he was done, but shook the thought from his head.

He watched from around the wall as Filch and his mangy feline rounded the corner and out of sight. Draco unlocked the doors to the empty Hospital Wing, concentrating every ounce of magic he had on breaking through the protective wards to make it in undetected.

Once inside, he dimly lit his wand and made his way to the supply cabinets. He opened it and began stuffing bandages into his robe pockets. He retrieved a Pepper-Up Potion, a Potion for Head Injuries, a Pain Potion and a Dreamless Sleeping Draught. He could have brewed much better than her meager supply cabinet held, he knew, but there was no time. He stuffed the vials into his pockets and took off, back up the stairs and into the bathroom.

His mind was swirling with more questions than he had answers to. Who had attacked her? Why? What if it was it Weasley?—the thought made him nauseous. What about Potter? He was known to be a hothead. Why was she at a party anyway? She had better taste and sense than to attend a stupid, juvenile party after hours. He thought she was a stickler for the rules? But she didn't deserve the treatment she'd received regardless. The memory of her shattered body made his stomach roil and he thought for a brief moment he'd be ill, too.

Draco entered the bathroom, and she was still sitting with her face buried in her forearms, leaning down on her knees. Her hair, which he realized wasn't as bushy as it was voluminous, his her from his view. The sight made his heart clench and he knew he should drop the supplies he'd retrieved and bolt out of the door. But there was something in the way her shoulders shook that kept him grounded. He sighed and leaned on one knee in front of her. "Granger," he whispered.

Her exhausted sobs wracked her shoulders, the noise muffled by her blood-soiled flesh. Draco didn't want to touch her, afraid that she would react to a male's touch negatively after her attack. "Granger, you need to take a bath and get all of that blood and mess off of you so we can properly treat the wounds."

She looked up at him incredulously. He leaned back, his hands up in front of him. "I won't look, I swear."

"How will I get into the water by myself? I couldn't get off this bench by myself if I tried," she told him, leaning back against the wall.

Draco bit his lip again as he looked at the large pool-sized, in-ground bathtub. There were stairs to walk down, leading into the shallow side of the tub. If she could wear her clothing into the water, he could conjure enough bubbles to surround her and mask her nakedness. "Let me draw you a bath and I'll help you get in—clothed. We'll conjure up some bubbles. While you wash up, I'll repair your clothing."

"Why are you being nice to me?" she asked him.

Draco felt a wave of guilt, threatening again to make him vomit. "No woman deserves to be take advantage of and beaten, Granger. Especially not someone as good hearted as you."

He couldn't bear the look she was giving him—a mix of shyness, sadness, and fascination. He turned and went to the pool, the water coming out warm. He looked at the various faucets of bath potions. He knew that anything soapy would burn any lacerations and injuries she had. There was a single tap that held a mix of crushed confrey leaves, tea tree and lavender—thank Merlin for Quidditch Captains having access to the Prefects bathroom. He ran some of the healing potion into the water and when the water approached the surface, he cut it off.

Draco braced himself as he turned around—the sight of her bloodied flesh startled him every time he saw it. He made his way to her and held out both hands for her to take and brace herself on as she stood. She did and he helped her hobble to the bath's edge. He waved his hand over the water and an absurd amount of scentless bubbles rose across the surface.

How many nights had Draco wished to have this particular witch in his arms? And now she was and he wished nothing more than to use a time-turner and make her pain go away. He had a job to do and associating with her was dangerous, for them both. What would he do if the Dark Lord killed her? How could he live with himself? He tried to stifle that thought down as he toed off his shoes and then socks at the tub's edge. He waded down two stairs and reached up to assist her down into the water.

Draco watched as Granger winced when the water touched her wounds. She lowered herself down and nearly collapsed as she sat on the lowest stair that allowed her head to remain above the bubbles. He stepped out of the water, his pant legs dripping and turned his back as she undressed. He could hear the water rippling around her as she struggled to slowly remove her clothing—a basic gray skirt and red sweater. He heard a muted groan as she raised her arms above her head to remove her sweater. "Okay," she muttered and he stepped back once and bent to retrieve her pile of clothing.

He went to the counter that ran the length of one wall of the bathroom and laid each piece out delicately, blushing slightly at the sight of her cotton bra and torn panties. He quickly muttered a stitching charm and repaired the underwear so he could avert his eyes from the garments. It felt wrong to see them this way. Draco repaired the zipper of her skirt and tacked the hemline back up. The sleeve of her sweater was torn off and he stitched it closed and then dried everything.

He folded the clothing and put it all in a neat pile on the chaise where she'd been sitting a few minutes before. "How are you faring?" he called out.

He heard Granger's sharp intake of breath. "I got most of it…but my face hurts," she moaned.

Draco clenched his jaw and balled his fists at his side, trying to control the anger welling up in him at her attacker. "Are the bubbles…working?" he asked.

"Yes," was her simple, breathless reply.

He turned and walked towards her, seeing the bubbles around her had turned a bright pink as her blood stained the water around her. He sat on the edge of the tub and took the sponge from her hands. "Granger…" he began as he dabbed at her eyebrow, "do you know who did this to you?"

She looked down at his chest as she shook her head. He tried a different approach. "Can you remember anything?" he asked.

Her eyes darted back and forth for a moment and her voice was tiny when she spoke. "I remember talking to Harry and Ginny and sipping a butterbeer. But that's it…until I woke up on the floor out there."

Draco nodded his understanding and ran the sponge over her cheeks, washing away the blood and tears. When her face was clean, he could properly see the results of her attack. She had thick purple bruising across her cheekbones and her left eyebrow and bottom lip were both split. One thing was for certain—even if she couldn't remember it, she had clearly put up one hell of a fight. He felt a surge of pride that he had to swallow down—he couldn't go showing pride in his enemies.

He stepped out of the water once more and went to retrieve the fluffy white bathrobe that hung on Granger's hook. He charmed it to be water resistant and he lowered it over her shoulders. It floated on the water's surface and she clutched it closed as she stood. He averted his eyes as she put her arms through the sleeves and tied it shut. When he didn't hear the rustling any longer, he turned back and she was standing on wobbly legs her hands extended. He took them and helped her step out of the tub.

He walked her to the chaise where her clothes lay and retrieved the items he'd nicked from Pomfrey. "We need to bind your ribs, Granger. I think they're broken."

She nodded and winced almost as if the mention of broken ribs alone made them ache. He retrieved the vials. "Here, drink these. I brought a Dreamless Draught to take when you get in your dorm, too."

He handed her the vials in turn and watched as the pain potion alleviated the thumping in her body some. He lifted his wand to her face and she backed up, unsure and scared all of a sudden. Draco bristled at her reaction, knowing it wasn't only in response to the night she'd had. Granger had no reason to trust him and he knew it. He placed a hand tenderly under her chin and ran the end of his wand over her bruises, muttering incantations under his breath. The bruises went from purple to faint pink discolorations and the cuts along her eyebrow and lip faded to white. "You'll need to cover these with some Glamour Charms and cosmetics," he muttered, frowning deeply.

"Your ribs," he mentioned, grabbing the wrapping-bandages.

Granger reached beside her and retrieved her clothing. Draco turned around as she slipped the clothes on, bracing herself with a hand on his back twice to keep herself from toppling forward. She sat on the couch once more and he knelt in front of her as she lifted the sweater enough to show her torso, a plethora of violets and maroons. He ran his wand over those as well, for once thankful for the training his Aunt Bellatrix had tried to drill into his head all summer. Healing work, for all the battered Death Eaters. He nearly snorted in bitter laughter as he replaced his wand in his back pocket.

He lifted the bandage and wrapped it tenderly around her thing frame, careful to turn his head away from her when he had to lean forward and wrap it around her back. He bound it as tightly as he could without cutting off her ability to breathe. "Does that hurt?" he asked.

She shook her head. "No more than it did," she told him, pulling her shirt down.

"I'll walk you up to Gryffindor Tower," he offered and she shook her head.

"People might see us…I just want to put this behind me. I would…" she began and stopped.

Draco raised an eyebrow. "What?"

"I would appreciate of you wouldn't tell anyone."

Draco furrowed his brow. "Why would I?" he felt affronted.

Granger sneered. "You've got the most potent ammunition against the Mudblood, now."

He clamped his mouth shut, wishing he could argue, tell her he didn't feel that way about her. That he thought all that Pureblood supremacy shit was just that—shit. But he didn't—he had a reputation to uphold. He couldn't let people see anything but the strong heir of Malfoy, rising up to avenge his father and serve the Dark Lord proudly. He tugged his left sleeve absently and Granger narrowed her eyes. "I won't tell anyone."

She stared a moment and turned to go. When she got to the door, she looked over her shoulder at him. "Thank you, Draco. For everything."

He nodded once and watched as she limped out of the portrait hole, her gait much more lively and easy after the pain potion had seeped into her bones. He closed his eyes. Fucking good going, Malfoy. You want to get on fucking bended knee and announce your undying love while you're at it? he mentally chided himself, turning to drain the water from the tub and refill it for his long overdue bath.

o-o-o