Living next door to Hermione Granger
HG/DM, Rated MA for language, sex, assault and rape.
Post Hogwarts
Living next door to Hermione Granger wasn't as bad as you would think.

Standard Disclaimer. It all belongs to JK Rowling.


Living next door to her wasn't as bad as one would think. True, she had a tendency to be bossy and yes, she could be a know-it-all. But she was a good neighbor. She didn't mind if you borrowed an egg once in a while. She would bring in the post if she knew that you would be away. She never had loud parties to disturb the peaceful tranquility that was so sought after since the war. In fact, she never had guests at all. Well, except for me.

She would have said that I was a good neighbor too. From time to time I would help her catch her cat when he crawled under the bed and wouldn't come out. Twice, I brought her some of my home-made chicken noodle soup when she was sick and refused to seek medical treatment. There had been a few times when she would knock on my door, and ask for help moving some heavy furniture. I never understood why she didn't just use her wand and rearrange it herself, but I didn't mind the interruption at all.

At times, we were only neighbors. Many times I considered her my friend.

A few times in my dreams, we were something more.


We had both led pretty boring lives after the war. We both worked odd hours in the Ministry, in whatever department needed the help. We were both absolute nobodies in the pecking order, and neither one of us really cared. It was nice to be able to lead some kind of normal life. The first two years after graduation were spent in absolute chaos, and we both watched as many of our friends and family were helplessly murdered. In the end, the Dark Lord was defeated. The wizarding world was a shambles. Early estimates were that Hogwarts wouldn't be taking students for another five years. Diagon Alley was nothing but a distant memory. Even Knockturn Alley had been obliterated.
Slowly, piece by piece and brick by brick, our world was being rebuilt. Neither one of us minded being out of the limelight, having been present at all of the key battles in the war.

We had both changed. Just being alive was a big deal. The way we looked at life and each other was nothing like it had been. The war had left all kinds of casualties, in its own way. The nightmares from the war were so intense that at times you would wake up screaming, in a cold sweat and you would wish that you could tear out your own eyeballs. And when the images became too real, or the dreams became too painful, we were there to pick the other up. A comforting ear went such a long way. And we both listened to each other, and cried when we needed it too.

One night, she had a visitor. I honestly hadn't even known that he was still alive. At first, I wasn't even sure who it was. I could hear her leaving with him, and I could hear him bringing her home. And after a few days I could hear him closing the door behind himself.

Mind you, I was never eavesdropping. I do not eavesdrop. The walls are paper-thin. However, after living next door to a witch for so long, you got used to certain things. I knew that she didn't snore. Ever.

I also knew that in three years of living next to her, I had never heard her make those sounds. Cries of ecstasy, moans of passion. She would scream out his name over and over again. And it wasn't like his name was a common one.

I didn't care that she was having sex. I was more worried that she would get hurt. They both seemed to be moving a little quick. Maybe it was because of the war. Maybe it was because they had both lost everything they had. Maybe it was because everyone deserves to be with someone. But hey, they're adults. Adults can do whatever they want with whoever they want.

I believed all of that, in the beginning of their relationship, if you could call it that. As their relationship progressed, it became something else.

The first night I heard it, I almost wondered if the telly was turned up too loudly. Then I heard it again. Skin slapping skin, and not in a sexual way. It was followed by sobbing. Something told me to leave it alone, to never mind. And I did.

I heard her moaning and crying out later that night and knew that it must have been the telly.

A few nights later, I started to wonder. I heard breaking glass. Then I heard a thump against the wall. I could plainly hear her sobbing, and an angry voice asking what the hell was going on. Another slap, another cry. The sobbing continued, then quieted, then stopped.

It's not my concern. Mind your own business. There's two sides to every story.

I wasn't sure I wanted to know the other side to this story.

For a few weeks, this continued. The slapping, the shouting, the sobbing. I turned the music up louder, or cast a silencing charm.

Then one day, we met each other as we walked to the door to our building. We had both reached for the handle at the same time. She pulled her hand back, as if it burned her to touch it and hung her head as she mumbled an apology. I smiled at her, and she hung her head lower. I reached out to touch her arm, to ask her if she was ok, and she cowered. I gently placed my fingers against her chin and lifted her face to mine.

Her face held a look of pure fear, and I quickly became angry. A huge red welt covered one cheek, and her lip was split. She stepped back and hung her head again, trying to walk past me. I blocked her path. I asked her what was wrong. She told me that she had fallen out of bed and it was actually really silly of her. I could hear in her voice that she was lying.
I asked her again, what the real reason was. I reached out my hand to touch her forearm, and she winced in obvious pain.

Slowly and gently, I pulled up the sleeve of her robe, and saw the huge mark there. I could see the bump where the bone was trying to push through.

"You know it's broken. You need to have this looked at," I told her.

"No, really it's ok. It only hurts a little." She whispered. Gone was the girl that I went to school with, the one who stood up to anyone. The one who ran to help Neville Longbottom more times than I could count. The one who defended house-elves and Moaning Myrtle.

"Will you at least come to my place and let me try to fix it?" I asked her.

She looked around, afraid of being seen. She nodded slowly and followed me. I opened the door to my flat and she stood just inside, refusing to come in any farther. I pulled out an old medical book that I had picked up before the war, and found a spell for mending broken bones without a potion. She winced as it mended, crying out in pain.

"Let me help you." I told her. "He can't treat you like this, it's not right."

"No, it was an accident. He didn't mean to hurt me. See, we were wrestling, and…"

"It wasn't an accident. Let me help you. Stay here with me, I'll protect you." I begged her.

"It's fine really. He doesn't mean to hurt me." She muttered. She hung her head, as if I had yelled at her. I didn't say anything at all. It was an awkward moment, having no idea what I should say or do. She left after only a few moments, and somehow I felt worse than I had in a long time.

I didn't hear anything for a few days. I almost wondered if it had been an accident, if he hadn't meant to hit her.

The pattern continued for a few more weeks. Each time I grew more and more angry. I knew he was the one who was hurting her. A black eye here, a split lip there. One time he knocked out two of her teeth. A different time he cracked two ribs. Sometimes she would let me mend it, sometimes she wouldn't. She always gave me the same tired excuses. It was an accident; she fell down the stairs, wrestling that had gotten out of hand.

Each time I asked her to leave him. I pleaded with her to let me help. She asked me to leave it alone. She begged me to just ignore it. She explained that it would just make him angrier, and that she deserved what she was getting.

One night, they had a loud fight. Louder than any I had heard. I heard thumping and screaming and more than just glass breaking. I picked up my wand and ran towards her door, pounding loudly.

She opened the door a crack, and looked out. Her face was covered in wet tears, which did nothing to hide the blood streaming from her nose. One eye was practically swollen shut and I wondered how her tear ducts were even working. I saw the vicious red marks on her neck, and my anger surged.

"Please, let me help you." I whispered.

The door was ripped violently open, and he glared at me. "Fuck off. This is none of your business. It's between the two of us."
He slammed the door in my face. I didn't hear anything else coming through the walls that night. Either he had stopped beating her, or he had cast a silencing charm. I guessed it was the latter.

Almost a week later, I heard something thumping against the wall. With a sickening thought, I guessed it was a head being slammed against the wall repeatedly. Should I go back over there? Give him something else to turn his anger on? No, she had begged me not to. She had asked me to leave it alone. I had to respect her wishes.

Instead, I picked up the floo, calling the ministry. Fuck him. Let them think that someone else complained.

Two hours later, I was on my hands and knees, vomiting all over my living room rug. Looking out the window of my flat, I had watched as two Aurors led away the restrained form of Harry Potter.

He had been charged with the murder of Hermione Granger.


A few hours later that there was a knock on my door. It was one of the arresting Aurors. They needed to know of a family member or close friend to identify the body; did I know of anyone? I knew that her entire family had been killed. Harry was in jail. Ron was dead. Dumbledore and McGonagall were long gone as well. I knew that a few of the Weasleys were still alive, but I had no idea how to contact any of them. I knew that I was the only person she had left.
I volunteered to go. It was the least I could do.

Once at the Ministry they led me down a narrow corridor into a dimly lit room. Lying on a table in the middle of the room was Hermione. She was obviously naked, but covered by a thin sheet. The bruises were so dark in places that you could see them through the sheet. Both of her eyes were swollen shut, and her nose was definitely broken. There were angry red welts that covered her neck. I fought back tears as I touched her cheek, trying to be as gentle as I could, lest I bruise her too. I swallowed the lump in my throat, and I was surprised that her skin wasn't as cold as I thought it would be.

"I'm so sorry, Hermione. I'm sorry I couldn't save you."

I had almost forgotten that I wasn't alone in the room, until he cleared his throat.

"You're making a positive identification then? It is Hermione Granger?"

"Yeah, it's her."

"And you're positive?"

"Yes."

I tried to pull myself away from her lifeless body, but I was having problems leaving her. I didn't want to leave her again. It was silly though. She was dead. The damage was already done.

Then the tears did start to flow. I wish that I would have tried harder to stop him. I should have ignored her wishes. I should have done more. However I hadn't. Now she was dead, and I would have to live with that decision for the rest of my life.

I fought to gain control of my emotions, forcing myself to turn away. The other man in the room was ignoring my response, busying himself with something on a table.

"What will you do with her now?" I asked.

He turned to face me. "An autopsy, even though it's really just a formality when someone has obviously been murdered. I'll take some pictures and perform some spells to confirm that her injuries were caused by assault. There have been cases where people were able to plea to a lesser sentence because of technicalities where broken bones and bruising were caused by prior injuries. The pictures will be able to prove that she was beaten, and it will be the most discreet way." He told me.

I held her hand in mine, unable to let go.

"I really need to get started. They want him to go to trial today, and they need this evidence." He picked up a magical camera and glanced at my hand. "Did you want to stay to watch?"

I nodded, and he began taking pictures.

When he began to pull the sheet away, I saw that the bruises covered most of her flesh. My sorrow was quickly replaced with hatred towards Harry.

The Auror must have had the same thoughts, because he too was shaking his head. "That young man needs to stay in Azkaban for a long time." A pause. "I wonder if Azkaban is even good enough for someone who could do this."

I had to agree with him. There were bruises in places that I didn't even know could bruise. There was dried blood on the inside of her thighs, and bite marks there as well. One of her collarbones was protruding at an unusual angle. There were a few places along her rib cage that made me think that a few of them might have been broken, or at least fractured.

The man put the camera down, and pulled out his wand. Waving it over her body, he mumbled a few words that I couldn't hear. A strange glow covered her in the spots just above the bruises. The glow became patches of fog, and then the fog began to come together over her body. The fog began to take shape, then it separated into the image of two separate beings. The details were not clear, but it was obviously Hermione and Harry in her apartment. I watched in horror as the form of Harry began to strike Hermione over and over again. He kicked at her ribs, and her head. He punched her all over. He choked her while he smashed her head against the floor. He threw her against a wall and ripped her clothes off, forcing himself into her. I turned and looked away, unable to watch any longer.

The Auror must have agreed. He grabbed an empty bottle and removed the stopper, and then we watched as the fog drifted into the bottle. He quickly put the stopper back.

"I think we've seen enough." He said after a few moments.

"Please tell me this will be enough to convict him." I asked.

"Yes. He will be locked away for a long time. Although I don't know how long he'll last in Azkaban. The guards stationed there have never been especially kind to those who assault helpless women."


It's amazing how much you have to do when someone dies. Arrangements need to be made as far as where the body will rest. Then you have to determine how they will rest. A memorial is the proper thing to do, and a small gathering afterwards with friends.

I was all she had left, and what a friend I was. I had let her be killed.

I had chosen a spot on Hogwarts grounds. There was a small valley where the flowers grew rampant. Colorful flowers with soft scents. I had seen her studying there on more than one occasion, and I thought that she would enjoy being there. I selected a small gravestone knowing that she wouldn't want anything extravagant. She would prefer plain and simple.

There were only three people at her service, other than me. I recognized two of them from the ministry, but I didn't recognize the third one. She was an older woman, and she stayed in the back, not coming forward to pay her last respects.

The service was quick, and the people in attendance slowly began to walk away. I made my way towards the headstone and placed two roses on the top, one white and one yellow. The white was for purity, the yellow was for friendship, even though both were a little too late now. I ran my hand over the cold stone as the tears came to my eyes.

"Hermione, I'm so sorry that I didn't try harder to stop him. I should have been a better friend than that. I don't even know if you ever considered me a friend or not. You probably didn't, and I don't blame you." I had to pause to swallow the lump in my throat. "Harry was sentenced to life in prison, even though he doesn't deserve it. He deserves to die for what he did to you. I thought you might like to know. I'm just happier that you're in a safe place now." Another swallow. "Take care." I slowly pulled my hand away from stone, not wanting to let go of the last piece that I had. I did nothing to hide the tears that flowed so freely now.

I turned around and nearly stepped on the old woman that had been sitting in the back the whole time. Her eyes were also filled with tears, and I suddenly felt bad for taking so long to say goodbye when I wasn't the only one who was in pain.

I stepped to the side, allowing the woman to pass when she reached out and took my arm.

I looked at her, and almost fell over when I actually looked into her eyes.

"Draco, it wasn't your fault. You tried to save me. I was the one who let me down." The woman said.

I looked at her, waiting for more of an explanation, and then realization slowly dawned.

"The night that you came over to help me? The night that you tried to stop him? It was that night that I told him that I didn't want to see him anymore. He was so upset with me and beat me so hard that I was too scared to do it again. I mentioned something a second time in a roundabout way, and I was unconscious for hours. It was after the last beating that I formulated a plan. I found a recipe for a potion that would make you appear dead to those around you. I hid the potion and waited until the next time that Harry was angry and then I took it. I wasn't planning on you calling the ministry, but it helped me in the end. It was the only way that I could get Harry out of my life. I knew that he would never let me go."

"So you faked your own death? Why didn't you tell me what you were doing? I could have helped you." I told her.

"All I can say is I'm sorry, Draco. I really wasn't thinking straight. The only thing I could concentrate on was how to get out of the relationship before he killed me." She told me.
"I guess you're not the only one who wasn't thinking straight. I wonder hat happened to Harry to make him do this?" I asked.

"I heard a few of the Aurors talking about that, when they thought I was dead. One of them thought he had just snapped. The war and traumatic stress and all. Some muggles claim that post traumatic stress disorder can be quite severe, that it can cause insanity. The other Auror thought that maybe he was under a spell. Maybe it was an aftereffect of something cast by Voldemort to make him slowly lose his mind. The only thing that matters to me is that Harry will be locked away for a very long time." She explained.

I looked at her, still unable to believe her story.

"Is this your permanent appearance now? Is this how you'll always look?" I questioned.

"I cast a few metamorphic spells and a few glamours. They should wear off later today. They're only supposed to last for twenty four hours. But I wanted to make sure that Harry was gone before I appeared in my normal form. I was worried that somehow he had sweet talked his way out of jail. I mean, he is the Harry Potter. I wanted to come to my own service because I knew that he would do anything to be here, if he was able to. And since he's not here, I can only assume that he's locked away."

I nodded. "He is. He's been sentenced to life in prison. I went to his sentencing. They showed all the evidence they had accumulated. There were dozens of pictures, and the moving death spell. The arresting Aurors described the scene that they found when they arrived at your flat. Harry had no remorse. He never said a word in his defense. The court agreed that life in prison would be the best option. But there are so many Death Eaters in Azkaban, I wonder how long it will take them to get their hands on the man responsible for starting and ending the entire war that took their lives from them."

"How did you trick the ministry? Didn't they notice that their wasn't a body?" I asked.

"You know I've always been great at Disillusionment Charms. They thought they were burning my body. There are ashes inside, but not with any human remains." She explained.

I looked at her and I could see the fear that was still in her eyes. I asked, "What will you do now?"

"I'm going to take a train to France. There's a group of wizarding towns right outside of Paris. I'm kind of hoping to start over. I'll probably cut my hair; I might change my name. Other than that I'm not really sure."

I nodded my head, swallowing the lump in my throat. It was so strange. For so many years, I hated her and her kind. We had become friends, and I had lost her. Now she was here in front of me and she would soon be leaving again. What was it that I was feeling now. Disappointment or maybe regret?

She looked around, and then looked at me. "Um, Draco? Would you like to come with me?" Her face was that of a stranger, but the gaze within was so familiar to me.

"I think I would." I told her.

~fin~