A/N: This chapter is a little harder going. I'm gonna remind you all now, that this isn't a nice fic. Also, Hermione's thoughts are not my own thoughts, I'm simply showing things from her traumatised perspective.
I don't own the characters. Anything you recognise belongs to JK.
She was finished with her short assignment for Snape by lunch time the next day. Her first period of the day was charms, with a free session afterwards that Neville had used to speak to Professor Sprout. She declined his invitation to join, not wanting to ride on his success in the subject. Instead, she finished her work, double checked it for errors, and smiled grimly as she placed it into her bag. Tomorrow, she would hand it in to Snape, and hopefully find out why exactly he had asked her to do it.
The other three sessions were filled with Transfiguration, Arithmancy, and finally, Defence against the Dark Arts. Neville appeared to become more and more hesitant as they reached the classroom, his eyes darting around nervously. When they entered, he picked a desk at the back of the room, despite the class being still too small to fill the room. NEWT classes were generally small, and while it seemed that almost all seventh years were present, the room was still only half full.
His skin was as pallid as Snape's, and he also commanded the room as he entered, though in a very different manner to the Potions Master. Where Snape commanded a room with his mere presence, knowledge, and strictness, Carrow made Hermione's teeth clench before he had even said a word. He had his wand at the ready, and a cruel smile on his face as he locked the door.
He advanced towards them, smile widening.
"I shan't ask about your holidays, since I don't care. As said at the beginning of the last term, my methods are ministry approved, so if anyone else wants to whine at their parents to send a letter of complaint, go ahead."
His eyes fixed on Neville, and the girl next to him.
"Aren't you going to come and join the class, Longbottom? And who is this? Find yourself a girlfriend?"
The Slytherins laughed, but Neville's eyes narrowed. He had the same fear as he had always shown in front of Professor Snape, but he had now a determination and anger that resonated forwards. Hermione elbowed him in the side, and obediently moved to a desk closer to the front. Neville followed her in bad grace.
"Speedy speedy, Longbottom. Or do you want to be my demonstration buddy for today?"
Neville said nothing, and Carrow turned his attention to Hermione.
"And what's your name, darling?"
She ignored him, following Neville's actions in simply drawing her required materials from her bag.
His large, scarred fist slammed into the wood in front of her. She immediately flinched, and rose her eyes to meet his.
"I said. What's. Your. Name."
She took in a deep breath. "Hermione Granger, Professor."
"Granger, eh?" he leered at her before standing to his full height. "I thought we'd gotten rid of all your lot."
Surprise. The thought came to mind immediately, twisting into an urge to punch the man and run out of his class never to return. Her willpower was stronger, however, and Hermione remained silent.
"Hey, weren't you with Potter? Did you have a lovers' spat and resort to this lump of shit?"
A lovers' spat. Lovers? Was that what it was? Had they been headed that way all along? Should she have offered herself earlier and saved herself the pain? If she'd offered, maybe he would have been gentle…
Tears filled her eyes, and Carrow laughed. "What's wrong, girl? Run out of the famous type? Maybe you should have gone to Bulgaria to spend some time with Krum?"
She clenched her teeth. "Do you spend much time reading the Prophet, Professor?"
"It's good to keep up with recent affairs, don't you think?" He grinned sadistically. "Without the news, how do we know what's going on, and which… threats… to stay away from? For some of us, these are very, very unsafe times."
Hermione swallowed thickly, relief washing over her as Carrow made his way to stand behind his desk and tapped a large chalkboard with his wand. Large, childish letters appeared in blue chalk, messily putting the term's syllabus onto the board.
"This term, we shall begin by learning about unforgivable curses. I understand that you have been taught about this in other classes but, under my teaching, you shall take a much more hands-on approach. You shall, by the end of this term, be familiar with the curses, and also how to integrate these with the curses and hexes that you studied last term. Some of you will lack the power required for this level of study," his eyes landed on Hermione. "And you will find this to be a very uncomfortable experience."
The Slytherins stifled giggles as they glanced hungrily at her. Her fear rose, as she naively hoped that this subject would not be as hands-on as it seemed. She was wrong.
"Professor Dumbledore!" She cried out, hammering her fists on the door to his office, the gargoyles complaining loudly about her lack of password or appointment. "Headmaster! Please!"
"What is happening here, Miss Granger?" A smooth voice called out behind her. "Surely you have studying to be doing?"
"Professor Snape!" She startled. "Do you know the password to Professor Dumbledore's office?"
He inclined his head. "I do not have the authority to provide you with entry to a teacher's private areas. I suggest you send the Headmaster an owl, requesting an audience. Or, as you should know, you could take this to your head of house."
He raised one eyebrow, and Hermione's gaze fell to the floor. "Professor, this is important."
"As… important… as you believe this to be, I can assure you that many children have also thought their schoolgirl woes to warrant a Professor's attention. But even first years know that their points of call are prefects, the head students, and their head of house. Now, unless you have exhausted all other avenues I suggest you head back to your common room or put your time to better use working on your assignment for tomorrow."
"I've already finished it," she snapped before she could stop herself. "Here."
She pulled the parchment from her bag and held it out in front of him. Glaring, he took it from her.
"I directed you to place it on my desk tomorrow morning. You are lucky I'm in a benevolent mood."
Without another word, she turned and stormed to Gryffindor tower, where the younger students scattered away from her and Neville and Ginny approached her with caution.
"Are you alright there 'Mione?"
"Professor Snape," she hissed at Neville. "Being an absolute arse."
Ginny laughed. "That's hardly news. What did he do now?"
She took a deep breath. "I went to the Headmaster's office to tell him about the Defence curriculum, but I couldn't get into his office. Professor Snape not only refused to give me the password, he also sent me back to my tower like an errant schoolchild."
Ginny only laughed harder. "Hermione, to Snape you are an errant schoolchild!"
"I'm a fucking adult, Ginny! I'm way over the age of seventeen, with my time turner use I'm 19! And on top of that I've just spent several months on the run, I've experience horrific things, I've done horrific things! All I want it to help win this war, and to be treated with some fucking respect!"
Ginny started at her. "Look, I'm sorry. I don't know what you've been through - no one does. Maybe if you were to tell us about it…" she trailed off.
"No! It's none of your business!" Hermione shouted, the whole common room staring at them by this point. "None of you even seem to care that this school has gone to shit."
She grabbed her bag and stormed up to her dorm, hearing Ginny mutter behind her, "Someone has been spending too much time around Ronald."
The door slammed behind her as she warded her bed and reached for a vial of dreamless sleep.
Two left. And then she would stop. She promised herself - two more and she would stop.
She woke around 3am, head pounding and still half immersed in her dream - the dream that she shouldn't have had. It replayed over and over in her head as she gasped and shook, sweat pouring from every pore. She felt cold, the damp pyjamas giving her goosebumps. She quickly headed for the bathroom and locked the door behind herself. She crawled into the shower, still fully clothed, and let the warm spray flood over her.
"What's wrong with you?" Harry asked, confusion rife across his face. "You're supposed to enjoy this."
Ron scowled at her. "Good thing I didn't bother, if you're that bloody frigid. At least someone else has now sampled the goods. I should have stayed with Lavender."
Hermione shook, naked in front of the two boys - the men that she considered to be family.
"Did you at least try every hole, Harry?"
"Nah, I only tried two of them. Still had to use the imperius to get her mouth. Wouldn't have been able to come with all of her useless whining."
Ron shrugged. "That's mudbloods for you. They can't take a proper wizard's cock. Might as well go back to their own kind. I hear they hardly ever do it - the don't have the magic to make it enjoyable, you see."
Harry snorted. "I think it'd take a lot more magic to make this one a proper witch. Cho and Parvati were both ecstatic. Multiple orgasms from both of them, and they begged me for more. Hell, even the muggle I fucked over the holidays was better than her."
Ron smirked. "Well, maybe we should try the other hole, just to make sure…"
She cried into her knees, curled up into a fetal position on the cold floor. She turned the heat up higher, trying to control the shivers and wash away the shame. She was different, she'd always been different. She always would be different. How could she not enjoy something that everyone else took so much pleasure in? What if she never would?
She knew about rape, but was this really rape? He was her friend after all, and he'd seen her in various states of undress on their journey. She'd tempted him, and then she'd ruined it when he came to her with a need to fulfill. That was her job wasn't it? The whole point of it all? She needed to make things easier for Harry. She needed to help him so that he could save the world. Surely, surely, she should have been able to offer her body for that? What if he was upset by her reaction? What if he turned to other witches to have his wishes fulfilled? Maybe one of them would hand him over to Voldemort… and then where would they be?
Skin scorched red, hair dripping, and still whimpering, Hermione wandered back to her bed in her wet pyjamas, ignoring Parvati's sleepy question. "Hermione, is that you?"
She lay on her bed and rolled into the duvet before reaching into her bedside drawer. It couldn't happen again, she couldn't let it. She couldn't cope with the vivid images that filled her hurt, fucked up head. She took both bottles, and downed them without a second's thought. Maybe tomorrow she could be stronger.