Part 3
Hours went by as Hermione heard her father and his friends get progressively drunker – laughing and gambling the night away. When at last she heard the front door close for the last time, hearing quiet overcome the house – did she crawl up the stairs to try the doorknob. Nothing – locked tight. "Dad?" she called. She heard him moving around the kitchen – and heard him stop when he heard her voice. "You are not my daughter". She heard through the door, as he stomped up the stairs to his bedroom. Hermione let go of the doorknob and sank down on the landing at the top of the basement stairs. She felt pain everywhere, but knew she needed to keep her mind focused on a way to escape the basement, escape her "home", and flee to the always-welcoming environment of the Burrow.
Hermione looked around the basement – no windows, only walls – the basement door was the only potential exit. She went to the bottom of the stairs as the realization hit her that she may need to defend herself further. Without her wand, she was forced to look around for "muggle" means of defense. Her eyes scanned the clutter of the basement when her eyes landed on her father's toolbox. She opened it up and retrieved the hammer which was sitting on top. Hermione knew that if she tried to break through the door, her father would hear her – and being in the drunken state he was in, she decided it was in her best interest to wait until morning to make any attempts at escape. Maybe when he sobered up he would let her out, until then – she sat in the corner which faced the staircase, not wanting to leave herself vulnerable by having her back turned.
The night went by agonizingly slow – Hermione dared not fall asleep, not as though she could anyway. So many thoughts flew through her mind – anger, fear, and sadness. In one way, the actions of her father made severing the ties she had to her old life very easy, but at the same time she thought of her mother – and how if she didn't die, she would have had no desire to leave this world behind. She was conflicted with feelings of guilt vs. relief – that she could now leave and not have to look back. Soon those feelings gave way to fear – how the hell WAS she going to leave? Her father was a tall and extremely strong man – without her wand, she was no match for him if she had to fight her way out. Hermione sat in the corner, constructing different scenarios for their next confrontation, and potential ways in which she could react. Her mind kept going to her wand – if her father didn't move her jacket (or check it's pockets) she would get to it as quickly as possible, all she had to do was get by him.
After many hours of these thoughts, Hermione thought she would go mad if her father didn't do something soon. So many uncertainties plagued her thoughts – Hermione did not like having things out of her control. As she progressively became more tired, her body began demanding attention towards the pain that she was desperately trying to ignore. She reached a hand to feel the cut on her forehead and drew a sharp intake of air as pain shot through her head at her touch – causing her to see stars. She felt a moderate amount of dried blood down the left side of her face and sighed – realizing that no matter how many scenarios she concocted in her head, there was still the potential that she may not make it out alive – and for the first time in her life, she wondered if she even cared enough to try. This thought barely crossed her mind as she heard the sound of footsteps descending the main staircase to the first floor. Hermione's heart began beating so hard she thought it would burst through her chest. She attempted to calm herself – knowing that she would need a clear and logical head if she was to face her now unpredictable father.
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