A/N - not a nice chapter. Sorry not sorry. Warning for sexual assault.

Later, as it turned out, was two days later. Harry was on his best behaviour throughout, holding Ginny close, and talking to her family as if their union was already a foregone conclusion. Looking at him and his redhead love, Hermione thought that maybe it was. He treated her wonderfully and, if her face was anything to go by, Ginny would feel like the most precious woman in the world. She was alight with excitement and joy, giving off enough energy to fill the empty spaces in the Weasley home.

After the first night of the boy's stay had passed, Hermione had felt very afraid when she left her space to go down for breakfast. She'd walked slowly, almost silently, with a thudding heart and wide eyes flicking all around. She felt as though she were in a horror movie, with ominous silence preluding her being taken into a monster's cave. When she reached the bottom of the stairs, and entered the brightly lit kitchen, relief washed over and through her, leaving her confused about why she had been scared at all.

Molly was already outside the house, front door open, hanging out the laundry in the warm April air. Arthur Weasley had left for work early, as he had informed them that he would the night before. In fact, the only person in the kitchen at that moment was Ron, glorious Ron, looking much the same as he always had, and yet at the same time, so much more.

With the extra height and the lean frame, he looked like Fred and George, and it was a beautiful thing to finally be able to see him as a man - as she could perhaps have predicted he would someday look, without her image being clouded by being in proximity for so much of their lives. He was a little worse for wear, it was true, his clothes scuffed with stains and worn through from time on the run. Molly would patch them up, she was sure - the woman had managed to keep hand-me-downs going all the way from Bill down to Ron, so long as the twin's hadn't caused them to explode in a prank or 'experiment'.

He cocked a smile, the charming boyish smile that belonged to the eleven year old that Hermione had met on the train. She couldn't help but to rush over to him, to pull him into a tight hug before helping herself to some orange juice.

Food was already in pans on the oven, held under stasis, and the pair sat side by side as they waited for the rest of the family to join them for breakfast.

"So, how are you? How have you been doing out there?" Hermione asked, continuing their stunted conversation from the day before. "Have you been okay with, with that."

Ron nodded, his eyes sparkling as he handed her a pouch that was hidden underneath his shirt. She felt the weight as her hand closed around it, and frowned.

"Ron, did you-?"

"No, 'Mione. Trust me, you'll be the one to figure that out. But I thought, while we're here and at home, I could take it out of the pouch, to get a break from it, you know? It's hidden in my room upstairs."

"Then why are you wearing the pouch then?"

He looked quickly to the door frame before returning his focus to her. "I've been keeping it in the pouch whenever it's my turn to watch it - to try and protect myself from it, you know? Harry doesn't. He just wears it on his skin. So if I've got the pouch on, then he'll think I have hold of it. He… he got pretty shirty with me one time when I took it off to have a wash."

Hermione lost herself in her juice glass, body tensed. "He is very...protective of it."

Ron nodded eagerly, leaning towards her, and placing his hand on her arm. "He is! It isn't just me? He seems really attached to it. I know that sounds stupid. But what if it's like the diary? The diary completely took over Ginny. What if the necklace is doing that too?"

One look at him showed Hermione the hope in his eyes, and it caused an ache inside of her to squash it. "But Ron, if it were the locket, why didn't it affect you and me the same way? We were watching it in equal shifts."

Ron shrugged. "I was away from it for a while, wasn't I? And since I've been back I haven't had it against my bare skin. You're probably the strongest of the three of us anyway…"

He flushed and smiled at her, in a shy and loopy way that she'd only ever seen him look at Fleur and Lavender while at Hogwarts. His hand was still on her arm, and she awkwardly pulled it away in the pretense of straightening out her hair.

"I don't know about that, Ron," she said. "But it's definitely something I'll try and find out about - there must be a reason why it has more impact on some people than others."

At that moment Molly Weasley came in, empty laundry basket in hand and with far more energy than most people could muster in the morning. "Ron, dear, wake up Harry will you? And then go check in on Ginny - we can't have everyone sleeping the day away!"

"Yes, Mum." Ron stood from his chair slowly, clicking his back as he stretched.

"Would you like me to help with anything, Mrs Weasley?" Hermione asked politely.

"Oh, no problem, my dear. You should call me Molly, love. You've been a part of this family long enough!"

Hermione blushed, and smiled widely, accepting this indication of her perceived adulthood. "Thank you, Molly."

Yet… Molly's gaze flicked between her and Ron when her son came back into the kitchen, Harry in tow. The association was very… unwelcome, and Hermione was happy with the distraction that came from The Boy Who Lived entering for the first meal of the day.

"Good morning, Mrs Weasley!" he sang, putting an arm around her as she pulled him in for a hug.

"Molly, please dear!" She ruffled his hair, and looked back to the doorway.

"Ginny said she'd be a few minutes," Ron supplied. "Thought she was going to hex me…"

Molly chuckled and placed a pot of coffee on the table beside a pot of tea, a stack of plates and a pile of cutlery. "I'm glad to hear it, dear. Ginny always has been very headstrong…"

"Glad to hear it?!" Ron shrieked at his mother. "You'd be happy if she hexed me, would you?"

Mrs Weasley huffed. "Of course not. I'm very happy that she is asleep in her own bed. We all know what young women can be like, and with Ginny being so confident…"

"Nothing would happen, Mrs Weasley." Harry interjected firmly. "I would never put Ginny in that sort of position."

"Oh, I know you wouldn't, love. You're such a good boy. I simply wouldn't put it past my daughter to allow her hormones to get the best of her, growing up with six brothers…"

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"... and it really is awful the way girls these days get into all sorts of shenanigans, removing everything sacred from the act of bonding…"

"Mum! What're you saying about me and my brothers? You know, the rest of your children?"

"... and it isn't the same for boys, of course. It's so much more precious for women. A virgin's blood can only be given once…"

"No one uses that these days anyway!" Ron yelped.

Hermione piped up hurriedly before the discussion could move on. "Use it for what?"

Mrs Weasley clucked, and placed some toast and a banana on a plate in front of her. "You see, you aren't even taught anymore how useful it can be. I know your parents are muggles, Hermione dear, but someone at Hogwarts should have told you. The loss of a girl's virginity is a serious matter. It has healing capabilities on the man to whom it is bestowed, and creates a magical bond for life. It is one of the rarest, most beautiful forms of magic, so sacred that it should be guarded until you accept a soul bond with someone. Why, so many witches these days are running around with a bond to someone they don't even have contact with! They won't even know why, but they'll feel that something is missing."

Tears welled up in the woman's eyes, and she dabbed them away delicately. "It's awful, really. How very awful. I can't understand why the school doesn't tell you such things..."

"What exactly does this have to do with blood?" Hermione asked flatly.

"Magic flows through your blood!" Molly told her, reaching forward and grabbing her hand. "You are very lucky, my dear, to be such a pure young lady. Your magic can only fuse with one other person. I remember when my mother told me, as soon as I had experienced my first menses. She told me and my cousins the stories when we were young - her sister wasn't the sort to talk of such things, you see. But mother wanted us all to be prepared before we went started to develop romantic interests. It is of such importance."

Ginny yawned loudly as she rolled into the kitchen glad in her pink fluffy dressing gown. "Again, mum? C'mon we've all had the talk three thousand times now…"

Molly huffed and stood to put some bacon and eggs onto a plate for Ginny. "Don't be so flippant, Ginny. I've told you because it's important, and I won't have you degrading yourself in any way. Your brothers have had the talk to, because they will treat their future wives with respect. Look at your brother. Happily married, to that veela girl mind, but happy all the same. Their children will be blessed by the fusing of their magic. It bodes well for them and the family that they're starting."

Ginny snorted. "That veela girl? I thought you liked Phlegm now, mum?"

Molly whipped the back of her head with a teatowel. "Do not call her that name, Ginny Weasley! She is a wonderful match for your brother - clever and beautiful, the pair of them. You, on the other hand, need to work on your manners."

Breakfast continued in the same vein until everyone was finally full, and Hermione could escape in the form of showering and readying herself for the day.

She took her shower hot, hotter than she had in awhile. The redness had cooled, and her skin was less dry than it had been in the height of her nightmares. Now, the heat felt pleasantly soothing, rubbing her body that felt to her like ice.

She had never considered that virginity would be different in the muggle world to the magical one. She'd never considered that there may be some truth to the general archaic and misogynistic beliefs that had floated around her - why would she have? Her parents were educated, and her knowledge of bodily anatomy was sound.

So why was it called virgin's blood? A large number of women didn't bleed when they first had sex… Hermione frowned.

She had bled. She had bled a lot. Was it different for witches than muggles? How could she know? Had the blood come from the act itself, or from violence? She knew her hymen had the usual form of hole in it - she had menstruated with no problems. She knew that it should wear away with time, and there was no reason to really cause bleeding while stretching for a partner. But still - she didn't know enough.

Her mother had given her a basic form of talk when she returned home after becoming enamoured with Viktor Krum. But, it was basic. They covered birth control, and being emotionally ready. Her mother had offered to write to her any time she needed if she wanted to talk. She told her that she would arrange to come up to Scotland at any time should her little girl need to see her mother.

Hermione's eyes stung. She'd never been told anything about a magical bond formed through sex. Her mother wouldn't have know - who would she have been able to trust to tell her? How could she have known that her body was now broken - that she'd never be able to form that lifelong connection that kept the Weasley's happy and their children blessed, and would be right that moment doing the same for Bill and Fleur?

She couldn't know. And no one had told her. Here she was, after all that had happened, realising that she still felt truly alone.

Ron had been particularly gentlemanly towards her after that, rising from his seat when she entered the living room, scrubbed raw and dressed in clothes to cover as much skin as possible. He didn't sit again until Hermione took a place on the sofa, book in hand.

From the corner of her eye, Hermione could see Molly Weasley nod at her son over her knitting. She brought her book up to her eyes, and forced herself to focus.

Ron was overbearing for the rest of the day, pouring her tea and passing her dishes without her asking to during dinner. In any other situation, she would appreciate the change that had come over her childhood friend, but for that moment it felt constricting. She felt as though she, under the watchful eye of the Weasley family, had found herself in the plot of some historical drama, forced along a path that she had not chosen, simply for the fault of being a woman. It was a relief when the day came to a close and she could return to her bed with a forced smile and a quiet 'goodnight' to the family that had so readily taken her in.

She pulled a pillow over her head, and morosely wished for a vial of dreamless sleep as she shut out the noises coming from the rest of the house.

"You're worth nothing," the voices hissed as the hands scrabbled over her naked flash, nails running over her nipples and rough fingers grasping at her hips. Hands pulled at her hair, and stroked at her cheek, and Hermione whimpered with a mixture of fear and delight. She didn't understand what was happening, but she knew that she didn't hate it. It felt good to be the centre of this attention, to be wanted by these voices and hands that melted together in her mind, failing to create a coherent form.

"This is all that you're good for, mudblood."

A hand squeezed her breast roughly, while another one grabbed her jaw and pulled her mouth open. She shook her head, whimpering at the treatment.

"Please…" she whimpered. "Please…"

"Please what?" the voices asked.

Please use me

Please want me

Please hurt me

Please. Just want to have me. Broken as I am.

The voices laughed, and Hermione felt tears prick her eyes before soft hands pulled her close, soft lips hovered above her flushed skin…

A creak of the floorboards and a hand on her doorknob roused Hermione from her stimulating dream. Her thighs felt damp, and her body was flushed all over. Sweat plastered her hair to her head, her pulse racing with confusion, and desire and fear.

The doorknob began to twist, and Hermione quickly sit upright, pulling her duvet with her and lighting the dark room with a flick of her wand.

The door slowly crept open, a millimeter at a time until Hermione could see a tuft of untidy black hair, and one tired green eye poking in to look at her through the gap.

"Hermione?" the voice whispered. "Can I come in?"

She clenched the blankets tighter, remembering the last visit that she had received from him in the middle of the night.

"Harry," she started wearily. "Please, could this wait until the morning?"

"No." His voice was steel, and Hermione gasped loudly, whimpering slightly as the door opened fully and then closed again in the same quiet manner. "I need to talk to you now."

She tried her best to compose herself, clearing her mind and sitting straighter. She look at him with hard eyes, flat without the motion that she had pushed away from herself, to protect herself.

"What do you want to talk about, Harry?" She lit the candles around the room, finishing with the lantern on her bedside table. The part of her locked inside, hiding in a small box in her mind, breathed a sigh of relief at the warm glow that filled the room. Outwardly, she showed nothing.

"What exactly cannot wait until a reasonable time of day?"

Fire flickered through his gaze hauntingly, and a cruel grimace twisted his mouth. "This," he said, and was immediately upon her.

His lips hit her own forcefully as he grabbed her hands, pushing them above her head and bringing the small Hermione hiding away into a state of full force panic. Inside she was crying, screaming, begging to be left alone. Pleading, telling him that she would be better, she could do better, she had other uses than this. She could be good for something, anything. Anything but this…

Outwardly, she glared, and pulled her hands free with a force that she couldn't have expected herself to muster. She kicked him off of her, and silenced the door quickly.

"What?" he hissed at her, grasping at his kneecap. "What the fuck was that for?"

"For attacking me. For coming into my space, interrupting my rest, and trying to commit a crime in the home of your future family. You need to listen to me, Harry James Potter-"

"Or what?" He asked. "What? You're going to tell them what happened to us? After what Molly told you earlier today? What, you want everyone to know that you're no longer a virgin? Do you want to hurt Ginny? That's all that you would achieve, Hermione."

She laughed coldly. "You mean you don't want them to find out that you're a rapist? I may be ashamed, but I assure you that what you would experience is something far, far worse."

He raised his eyebrows and lurched towards her, spit hitting her cheek as he growled. "I'm not a rapist. It wasn't me, Hermione, you know that I'd never do that."

"Then what exactly did you come in here for, just now? What would have happened if I hadn't stopped you?"

He scowled. "If you can stop me now, then you could have stopped me before. I couldn't stop - I had no control over what I was doing. It wasn't me, it wasn't my fault. It was the horcrux."

"So that excuses you for raping me, does it? You hurt me, Harry. You haven't even fucking apologised. Get out of my room. Now!"

He shook his head, and grabbed her hair to force her to meet his gaze. "It's all about you, is it? I didn't choose to fuck you, Hermione! It was the horcrux - I was raped, too."

"And now?" she asked. "Why the fuck are you in my room now?"

"The urge, it's returned. Probably because I'm around you, it seeks to hurt you. It doesn't like you, Hermione.."

"It is a locket, Harry. A horcrux. I don't think it is particularly built to like anyone."

"It doesn't like you, though. You're a mudblood. I know that you're my friend, but you're a mudblood, you're different from the rest of us. I think the locket is trying to teach me, to show me what I can do, and how powerful I can become…"

"Can you hear yourself? You're an absolute lunatic! Let go of me RIGHT NOW!"

She pulled herself free, withdrawing to the other side of the room and leaving the man standing stock still, a fistful of her hair in his hand. "You're deluded. You've let it get inside your head. Harry, you need to listen to me, you need help."

"I do need help," he agreed. "But not in the way you want to. I need you to help me, Hermione. I need you to help me, to help me protect Ginny. I can't lose her, Hermione, she means everything to me."

"So what do you want me to do?"

She stayed statue still against the wall as Harry thought through his response. His pleas made no sense to her, his reaction to the horcrux made no sense. If the horcrux wanted to hurt her, why did he need her to help him protect Ginny?

"I need you to help me… to get rid of this urge?"

"What?"

He reached into his pyjamas and pulled his cock free. "I need you to deal with this. I need to have you or the urge will grow, I'll go to Ginny…"

"And what?" Hermione asked snarkily. "Worried that your love would say no? That really isn't my problem, Harry."

He laughed at her, grasping his cock back and forth as he eyed her hungrily. "Oh, but it is. Would you risk Ginny losing her virgin's blood? I mean, you probably didn't have it anyway - it's only witches, not muggles. And you aren't a real witch - your parents are muggles. So it probably didn't hurt you anyway."

Oh, it did. So very, very much.

"So you think I should fuck you to protect your girlfriend's virginity?"

He smirked at her, and she recoiled internally as he stalking round the bed, fisting never ceasing. "Oh but it will also protect your friendship, Hermione. Would Ginny forgive you for having sex with me in the forest? And what about Ron, Hermione, what would he think? This only affects us. Why would you bring anyone else into this? And when all of this is over, when You-Know-Who is dead and the world is right again, things will be back as they were before. We can just accept this as an act of war, to protect those we love and care about. Only you can help me, Hermione. Only you."

She could feel her resolve wavering, her eyes fixed upon the vicious weapon that her green-eyed tormentor held. She remembered the pain, she remembered how much it hurt, and how much she fought it.

Maybe it wouldn't hurt if she didn't fight. Maybe if she just gave in, maybe then he would be kind to her. Maybe it would feel… okay. Maybe he was right - this would all become a thing of the past, and no one would ever have to hear of it.

Then, a fist connected with her jaw, slamming her head back against the wall. A hand covered her mouth as Hermione let out a muffled shriek.

"Drop the spell, Hermione." He ordered. "Drop the spell, and help me silently, mudblood."

Crying silently, she dropped the spell, and he pulled her down to her knees as she tried to keep quiet.

"You'll need to do this very well, slut," he whispered. "Can't have you waking up the whole house now, can we? Wouldn't want anyone to find you in this position."

He chucked her wand onto the bed and used his -hers- to bind her hands behind her back and stick her legs to the floor. "Open your mouth."

She did so obediently, keeping her ears open for any sign of movement, of being caught in such an incriminating position. He immediately placed his appendage inside, and Hermione closed her mouth around it, loose enough to allow him to thrust.

"Good whore," he crooned. "You're being very good, helping your friend like this. Ginny will never know what you've done for her. Keeping her pure. She'll enjoy our wedding night, she truly will."

He thrust back and forth, his rhythm continual and hurried. "I'm still not sure if rose petals on the bed is cliche or romantic, but I've got time to decide. You can help me when we're engaged - you'll probably be her bridesmaid…"

Hermione focused in her head, listing all of the potions ingredients and uses that she could draw from her neatly catalogued mental lists. He quickly ceased whispering to her, instead drawing in rapturous breaths, hands digging tight into her jaw and hair as his rhythm became erratic. He held her to him as he finished, spurting down her throat so that she choked.

"Swallow," he hissed, and when she did so, he tucked his cock back into his pyjamas and walked out of her room as if nothing had happened. A few minutes later, Hermione left, too.

She shut herself into the bathroom, barely pushing the door closed before she fell over the toilet bowl and vomited, the taste of his cum and the rising bile mixing to form a deadly solution in the back of her throat. She gagged and retched long after anything resembling food had been removed, resting her cheek against the blissfully cold toilet seat. She sobbed quietly into a clump of toilet roll held in one hand, a patch of her scalp throbbing as her walls came crashing down. She didn't know how long she was sat there, crying and retching as her walls broke in and her internal house formed a state of chaos.

She did know though, when a friendlier voice knocked on the door and asked if she was okay before entering. She also felt when the friend touched her face and gasped in shock. She heard the voice cry 'Hogwarts!' as he apparated her away. She saw the glimmer of a jack russell patronus heading towards the castle.

And she felt the comfort of a familiar smell and warmth as Ronald Weasley passed her, cradled like a child, from his arms into the arms of a man he'd never before trusted; Severus Snape.