Storm Chapter 2: Bully Blues, a harry potter fanfic

It took three days before Harry returned to her, and in those three days, though she expected the alone time to be boring, she was most definitely proved wrong. Neville visited her, sweet Neville, and brought her a few books from the library that he thought she would like, centering around medicinal wizarding herbs and runes, both of which she had read before the night was out. She also managed to be good for classworks, as she had completed it ahead of schedule, long before she had gone to the DoM. She was making a steady recovery and Madame Pomfrey alerted her that she would likely been up and walking around by the next week. She also managed to write a letter to her mum and dad, explaining all that happened and how she had finally confessed to Harry. They had yet to write back, but she was more than certain that she would be receivia letter rather soon, as her eccentric mother always had a list of holistic methods of self-healing at hand, as well as paragraph upon paragraph of worry.

On the second day, she received the most unsuspecting visitor to her small, closed off section f the hospital, and that person was none other than local Slytherin gossip queen, Pansy Parkinson. She was a bit loopy on the medications that she was taking, having accidentally ingested too much when a particularly nasty pain ripped through her side and she was as high as a kite, but she didn't want the other girl knowing that.

When she entered, the smirk she once bore fell from her face as she looked the former bushy haired bookworm in the face. She opened her mouth to speak, likely to make a scathing comment, but she couldn't simply standing there and glaring, Hermione resisting the urge to laugh in her face. "Please, sit down, make yourself at home." Draped over her legs was a thick blanket that had been sent from Mrs. Weasley and it simply smelled like home. Not her home, per se, but it made her feel loved. It was decorated in warm, earthy tones, and some special household charm kept the heat out. Running her hands over it, she forced herself to focus on her visitor. "Pardon me for being a bad host, but I'm not particularly feeling myself right now," she said, her voice sounding foreign even to her, a result of too much pain potion. The voice sounded like it belonged more to Luna Lovegood than herself, but she continued on, lifting her gaze to what was once considered her exact opposite as the Gryffindor Princess, a name that seemed to be a step up from the Gryffindor Mudblood. Pansy was the Slytherin Princess, Pureblood Princess, Pug Face.

"H-how?" She smiled slightly, letting her head fall back against the wall that the iron framed hospital bed was pushed up against. "How did I look like this? Well, I've always looked like this. Not much has really changed," she said, though she herself didn't know, as she hadn't looked at herself. She didn't feel any different, and other than a change of hair and paler skin due to the sheer amount of sunlight she was deprived of as a child, as well as a few more… assets, nothing felt different. Her bone structure felt the same, save for her nose, her cute button nose was gone and replace with the straight, aristocratic nose. The Parkinson heir straightened her chin, putting her nose in the air as she looked down at her. "You're still a filthy Mudblood," she spat, though the venom did none more than make the young Dimitriou heir smile, and she knew that had she not been under the influence of the potion that kept her from spending her nights in sheer agony, she would have stupidly leaped from her bed and hexed the female Slytherin until she begged for mercy.

"Honestly, I think you should come up with more creative insults than calling me a Mudblood, Parkinson." She let her eyes travel down to the slytherin's wand arm, where she clutched the conduit tightly. "You came in here to insult me when you assumed me to be at my worst and then hex me when I could not defend myself." It wasn't a question, simply a statement. "How Slytherin of you, coming into a fight that you are guaranteed to win because no odds are stacked against you and they're all against me. Here I am, poor, unarmed Muggleborn Hermione Granger, laying in a hospital bed, helpless bird that I am," she said, a laugh in her voice as she moved to adjust herself, the room spinning slightly.

"You are absolutely pathetic," she managed out once she finished her small laughing fit. "You are one of the most beautiful students in the entire school, quite grown into your features. You hail from a rich pureblood legacy with all the respect that comes with it, but you are so incompetent that instead of dueling me, earning your respect and the admiration of your peers, you would attack me when I cannot attack you." She watched the girl raise her wand, her hand trembling slightly as she made eye contact with her. She held it shortly before turning her head and looking out the window.

"You are insecure. Pug faced Pansy Parkinson, nothing special to look at, sos he depends on her vaults and her family's influence to get what she wants. You don't even hear the things that people say about you. They call you a slag, loose, throwing yourself from one man to the next because in their eyes, that is all you're good for, being nothing but a purebred whore. You will never marry and your bastard children will hate you. You're stupid, you're a pathetic excuse for a witch, and the world would be a better place without you." She heard the sound of the Parkinson heir's wand clattering to the floor as she fled the hospital wing, Hermione turning to look at the door when she slammed it behind her, taking a deep breath as she scratched the edges of the itching scar on her chest. She knew those words would have a severe impact on the Parkinson heir because they were not hers. She didn't fear her doing something drastic, for if there was one thing she did know and grudgingly respect about Pansy Parkinson, it was that she is made up of tough stuff, as her father would say, and she would bounce back. Closing her eyes, she let her head fall back onto one of the pillows, and her mind to drift off to Dreamland.

How did she know?! As she fled through the halls of Hogwarts, she heard many whispers that wondered just who had made Pansy Parkinson so upset that she would cry, and how they could thank that person. She never expected anyone to hear that, and of all people, Hermione bloody fucking Granger. She could remember the ay as if it were just yesterday, and not an entire year before.

They say that sex was bliss, but the post coital haze that came with sex was much better in her opinion. I was in that moment, that she truly achieved peace. No matter who she was with, she never loved sex like she did when it was over and she was recovering from the bliss of an orgasm. There was heavy breathing, intimate touching, just comfortable silence, but when it was over, she hated it.

The first time she gave herself to a man, it was Marcus Flint. He was a right bastard. He was too rough, he hurt her, and there was blood, but she had been conditioned to think that that was normal, that men were selfish creatures and they took what they wanted if you did not give it to them. He'd told her everything that she'd wanted to hear, called her beautiful. In her young, thirteen-year-old mind, he was wooing her in the best of ways.

After they had slept together, she assumed that they were dating, that he loved her, but the hideous bastard had used her. She was furious when she heard from an older prefect that a Gryffindor prefect caught him in a broom closet with some halfblood from ravenclaw. She demanded to know just what the bloody hell he thought he was doing, when he laughed in her face. He laughed, and told her that she shouldn't be so stupid. That hideous BASTARD had the audacity to laugh at her when he had STOLEN her virtue away from her. And to make matters worse, he had said it in front of everyone, called her a quick lay, a way to pass the time. Their jeers, their whispered insults had her world crashing down, and it was then that she realized that she was in a pit of vipers, who would do any and everything to rid themselves of competition in the future. with that knowledge, she fled to the only place she knew that she would have privacy, which was Moaning Myrtle's bathroom.

That night, she got a Howler so fierce from her father, she thought that it would shake the entire castle. He told her she was ruined, called her a harlot, and a plethora of names that she'd hoped to forget. He said that no one would marry her, that she may as well get used to lying on her back because it was all she would be good for. The rumour mill had carried the stories to his ears, and in Moaning Myrtle's bathroom, she broke down and cried herself out. When she rose to her feet, that was when she looked at her reflection. Pug nose, childhood baby fat not yet completely gone, mascara running down her cheeks in wet, black trails. Glaring at her mirror, she bared her teeth at herself.

She was there again, in Moaning Myrtle's bathroom, crying her eyes out. She hated Hermione Granger, the stupid fucking Mudblood. She always thought she was better than anyone, with her giant teeth and untamable hair, but the woman that she saw was the epitome of beautiful, with her long, auburn hair, pale skin, heart shaped face, and perfect teeth. she looked more like a pureblood princess that Pansy and she couldn't help but stare. When she went to the hospital wing, she expected Granger to be there, ready to fight. he'd intentionally picked a fight with her, but she was not prepared for what the Gryffindor Princess dealt to her. It was a blow to not only her pride, but her heart. That moment was private, and Granger had seen her at her lowest, yet until that moment, she never brought it up, never used it against her when she and her friends were throwing insults t her. Patting her side for her wand, she gasped when she realized that she didn't have it. A million thoughts went through her mind before she came to the realization that she had left her wand. Steeling her nerves, she made her way back to the hospital wing, her head held high as she went to face Granger, sure not to let the Mudblood know that she had gotten to her. she was Pansy Parkinson. solid as a rock.

When she entered the hospital wing and walked to granger's area, she was surprised to see the bookworm fast asleep, her chest rising and falling slightly as she sat there. On her bedside table was Pansy's wand, with a small note tied to it. Picking it up, she recognized Granger's loopy script, and the note simply said, Sleep well. Shaking off her strange feeling, she turned on her heel, making her abrupt leave.

"So I've heard some rather interesting things through the ever so reliable Hogwarts gossip mill." She looked up from her potions' book, a small coming to her face as her messy haired friend entered the room.

"Oh? Since when do you follow the talk of the school?" He smirked, falling heavily in the chair next to her, dropping his school books on the floor. He looked like he had taken her words to heart, got himself a bit of rest and rethought the conversation that they'd had.

"Since I heard from Lavender Brown of all people that you and Pansy Parkinson got in a duel last night, and you hexed the Parkinson so extensively, that, and I do quote, 'the Snake Queen slithered out of the hospital wing crying cold tears of shame.'" She searched his face to see if there was any sign that he'd just made that up before bursting out in laughter at the very idea.

When she calmed herself, she took a deep breath, pleasantly pleased that she didn't hurt as much as she'd anticipated, a sign that her potions regiment and attempt at walking with the help of the iron framing of the beds in the hospital wing were working wonders. She was nowhere near being fully healed, but this was progress. Taking a deep breath, she looked over at Harry, not wanting to be the one to address the missing redhead elephant in the room. Instead, she chose to address an issue closer to home. "How is Sirius?" She didn't expect the wave of sadness that seemed to have falling over him, a frown coming to her face as his shoulders drooped and his head hung.

"He hasn't woken up." Shaking her head, she runs her hands over the blanket draped over her legs. Sirius had been hit with some unknown curse that rendered him in what was essentially a magical coma and everyone was scrambling to do everything that they could to save the Head of the Most Ancient and Nobile House of Black. From what Neville had told her when he'd brought her things, instead of Ginny, wh he said was going to bring her things, but she had to study, Harry was taking it hard, especially after he thought that Bellatrix killed Sirius in a rage when he was taunting her. She knew it was a blatant lie, what he said about Ginny as Neville tended to blink rapidly when he was lying. With three quick blinks, she knew he was fibbing, but she didn't dwell on it, her thoughts drifting to Harry, who was likely suffering internally as he usually did.

Reaching out to grasp his hand, she opened her mouth to address the topic, but a tapping on the window distracted the both of them, Harry going to the window and pulling it open, a small boreal owl swooping in and dropping a thickly wrapped parcel into her lap. She groaned at the seal that held it closed, pinching the bridge of her nose with a frown. She felt Harry's eyes on her as she pulled the packaging open, revealing two small letters, accompanied by a black velvet bag that likely held the signet ring that her father once wore. Not wanting to put it on, she dropped it back into the parcel that it had come from. The owl landed by her head, cooing at her as she took a deep breath.

"This is Babo, she's the owl that belongs to my family solicitor, he sends me a letter once a year, when I go to school, but for some reason, he feels the need to send another." No one knew about his letters, as they were always accompanied by letters from her parents, so to not draw suspicion, but now, he wasn't. Picking up the first letter, she recognized the man's sharp and elegant script, pulling it out and sniffing the paper by habit. He always sent her letters on scented paper, her heart soaring when she realized that it was peach scented, one of her favorites, save for his bergamot scented ones. Putting it at a length from her face, she began to read silently.

Adad

I hope this letter reaches you in good health, as I have heard the most ridiculous tale imaginable. It has been whispered in many of the elite circles that Antonin Dolohov attacked one Hermione Granger a few days ago in the Department of Mysteries. I simply laughed it off until I read the newspapers this morning announcing the return of Lord Voldemort after he infiltrated the ministry.

I was still in denial about the attack, but then I got a letter from Harmoni telling me that your glamour had been lifted and it was too much to ignore, so I must ask that you confirm at least your safety.

You are the last of an ancient and well respected pureblood house. I know that you do not care for your familial history, but it is important and it will follow you until the day you die, whether you want it to or not. With that being said, you cannot afford to simply be reckless and putting your life in danger to protect your friends when you have the common sense to plan ahead for almost any and every possible outcome. Let this be a warning for the future. You cannot protect your friends if you are dead, trying to fight Death Eaters head on with hexes that can be thrown in the halls. These men and women are ruthless and they will not hesitate to kill you, but not before they break you, tear you down until you're nothing but a snivelling lump of pain and suffering, begging for death.

This summer, I ask that you meet with me whenever you are free to discuss your future. I have been trying to get you to talk about it for years and every time, you brush me off and change the subject. While I can understand your reluctance, you cannot escape the fact that you are a pureblood. You can claim to be a muggleborn, and for the most part, I understand, it's who you are now, but do not turn your back on your history, especially when it could open so many doors for you. You are not a heartless bastard like your father and you are not a spineless cow like your mother was, bless her heart. If you want to see change, start with the Dimitriou name. Make it something your children would be proud of, that your grandchildren and all who follow would never hesitate to admit to being a part of. Close this dark chapter and make it a lesson, never a reality.

She sighed, though she felt right and properly scolded, yet inspired as well. He was right, she was not as accepting as she could have been. She was technically head of a pureblood house, her year of emancipation was quickly arriving. She could have the purebloods of wizarding Britain eating out of the palm of her hand for one insignificant thing that constantly reared its ugly head in her life, which was her blood. Not only was she a pureblood from a well respected house, she was fresh pureblood. She had often read of the inbreeding in the pureblood lines of Britain, how they were dying out because they couldn't look past their prejudices. The very thought of her even considering accepting one of their many sons would spark a competitive streak in many of them, the likes of which she had probably never seen. They would want to impress her, make her see that they are worth her attention because without a father around and a marriage contract drafted, her choice in partner would be her own!

Clearing her throat, she passed the letter over to Harry, his eyes greedily skimming over the information she'd offered him, desperate to know any and everything he could about his best friend and her life. When he finished, he looked up at her. "Well, he does have a point. Seeing you in this hospital bed makes me feel guilty despite what you say, Hermione. We should have had some kind of plan and I should have listened when it was stated that it was a trap."

"This has opened my eyes to see just how many people would willingly follow me and die just because I asked. Sirius was put into a magical coma, you were cursed by Dolohov, and Neville had to look into the eyes of the madwoman who stole his childhood away from him. All because I wouldn't listen. I'm so sorry for this, Hermione. No, let me finish." He held up a hand when she opened her mouth to tell him that he had no reason to apologize to her. "I know you do what you do freely because we're the siblings the other never had, but please, let me finish." She nodded, sitting back, her hand reaching to grasp his.

"Hermione, you have stood by me through thick and thin, and when no one would stand with me, you were there. Because of my own foolish actions, I almost lost you, and despite what you may think, I can't live without you. You inspire me, you're so brave. I'm the Chosen One, The Boy Who Lived, the fame and the scorn often come with the title, but you could have just been Hermione. People in this world hate you, they are jealous of you, they'd likely burn the ground you bloody walk on, but through it all, you wear a brave face and stand tall, never allowing them to get you down. You continue to soldier through everything thrown at you, and even with these letters, even with everything that could make the life you're living so much easier, you choose not to. You've fully accepted a life of scorn and misery at the hands of those who feel that they are superior to you. I have no choice in this hell, but you chose to walk into the storm." He squeezed her hand tightly.

"To the end, Hermione. Me and you against the world." She didn't miss the sadness in his eyes that made her want to wonder what had been going on with the Gryffindors in her absence. They sat and talked until the dinner bell rang. She offered him a smile and watched as he went on his way, her eyes travelling to the velvet bag, suddenly heavy in her lap.