A/N: Alright, well... This isn't a nice one. What's written in italics is Hermione's memories, and most of them are far from pleasant. You may want to skip over them if you think they might make you uncomfortable.
Disclaimer: I don't own anything; I'm just playing on J.K. Rowling's playground!
Other than that, happy reading!
On Wednesday morning, Severus was true to his word in meeting Miss Granger outside the gate at exactly eight o'clock. She appeared to have been crying, but that was understandable given the circumstances. Knowing that she was emotional, Severus offered his arm for side-along apparition; he certainly didn't want her splinching herself. As she took his arm, he realized that he didn't know where they were going.
"Miss Granger, as I don't trust you to apparate us safely, I really must ask that you show me where we're going."
She shook her head.
"I understand that you don't want me inside your head, but I really must ins-"
Before Severus could finish his argument, they were apparating away.
Upon their arrival in a quaint town he was unfamiliar with, Severus found himself amazed that they had both arrived in one piece. He was impressed- not that he'd ever tell her, of course- that she'd been successful in such a state.
Miss Granger let go of his arm before leading the way to a florist. She picked up a bouquet of daisies tied with a lavender ribbon. As they left, Severus noticed that her face was very pale, and silent tears were streaming down her face. He offered her a handkerchief as they made their way to another shop, this one selling candles. She purchased six pillar candles: two tall white, two short lavender, and two medium light yellow. The girl steadied herself before their departure, and the walk to the cemetery was quiet.
Severus looked around at his surroundings. The buildings were older, but just new enough to keep them from looking dingy. Several people were already out and about, and it was quite noisy. The small size of the town made it feel more crowded as they weaved through the throng, and by the time they reached their destination, Severus had had to restrain himself from hexing at least seven people.
The cemetery was quiet, as nobody but the gatekeeper was there. The man had one look at Hermione and went to her immediately.
"Hey, my girl, long time, no see. Have you been alright?" He placed his hand on the witch's arm, and genuine concern was etched on his face.
"As well as can be expected, thank you. And yourself?"
"I do a decent job, but now that Liz has gone to University, things aren't the same. We miss her terribly. She's coming for Christmas, though, so we'll see her soon."
"She's in University already? That means Jack has graduated by now, doesn't it?"
The older man nodded. "He's in France until the end of the year, when he comes home to search for a job."
"That's good. Give them my love, and your wife, as well."
"Of course, Hermione. It was good to see you; I just wish it wasn't like this."
"As do I, Mr. Ross, as do I. Take care."
Miss Granger pulled away and walked back to Severus, eyes full of tears. "That was Mr. Ross, the groundskeeper. I see him every year, and he looks out for me when I'm in town. He doesn't know what exactly happened but, with all the rumors, I'm sure he has some idea," she explained as they made their way to the back corner.
They stopped at a small stone under a tall oak, which read: Emily Michelle Granger, 17/11/1982-17/11/1987. Beloved sister and daughter.
"Oh, Emmie," the girl sighed before sinking to her knees. She set the flowers against the stone, and arranged the candles. The tallest ones were next to the daisies, and they were arranged by height. It really was a beautiful display.
"They were her favorite colors; she never could pick just one. If you asked her, she'd pout and insist that you ask what her favorite colors were."
Turning to light the candles, Miss Granger sniffed and cleared her throat.
"Hi, love. I know it's been a while, but you know I've been busy, and I almost never come this way. You'd be proud, though; I fought in a war, and we won, like in one of your stories. I can't help but wonder if you would have been a witch, too, but to be honest, I hope not. I couldn't have lived on the run knowing you were there. But, Emmie, I wish you were here. I'll always wish you were here. You were taken far, far too soon. It should have been me. He loved you. Despite everything that happened with me, I hope you know that we all loved you, and I still do. Emmie, you were the only light in that house for me, and I'll never forget the smiles you put on my face just by walking into a room. I miss you so much, but I hope you're happy wherever you are. I hope you're with Mum. I love you, Em. I'll be back next year."
As she rose, Severus offered her his arm, ready to disapparate, before Miss Granger stopped him.
"Wait… There's one more place I want to go. You can go back if you need to; please don't feel like you have to stay. I'm sure I'll be fine."
"Lead the way, Miss Granger."
The walk was short, and led them to a row of houses on a dirty street. They stopped at the one on the far end, and the girl gasped before a sudden snapping noise began ringing out around them on the quiet street. Severus reached out and caught her wrist, desperate for her to calm down. Of course he didn't like seeing her in so much distress, but it was also horribly annoying.
As her breathing calmed, Miss Granger looked up at him with wide brown eyes that seemed terrified. Severus knew where they were: this was her home.
They walked up to the porch, and they both blanched at the blood stain that was still there after all these years. The girl turned the key in the lock, took a deep, fortifying breath, and opened the door.
Miss Granger's house wasn't very big, but it was in excellent condition. Walking through the sitting room, there weren't many photos. The few that were there were clearly of the girl's parents; Severus assumed they were taken during the short time her father wasn't drinking. Her mother was a beautiful woman, with curly blond hair that was cut up to her shoulders and grey eyes. She didn't appear to be very tall, and Miss Granger's facial features were there. Her father, on the other hand, was tall, with dark hair and eyes that resembled those of his daughter. The similarities ended there.
The kitchen was plain, and the counters were empty except for a lone frame siting near the sink. There were two little girls in the picture. One of them was clearly a much-younger Miss Granger, probably about six or seven. She was smiling, but anybody looking hard enough could see that it wasn't real. She'd been strong even then; there weren't many children of that age who would have been able to hide what they were really feeling. The other girl looked to be about three, and she couldn't have looked much different than her sister. Her hair was similar to her mother's, as were her eyes. Miss Granger's sister appeared to be as happy-go-lucky as they came, which Severus figured was just as well. From what he understood, their father hadn't laid a hand on his youngest, until the night he killed her.
The two continued moving through the house. The dining room and master bedroom were downstairs, and they were both as impersonal as they came. Moving upstairs, Miss Granger slowed her pace. The first room on the right was a small bathroom, followed by a bedroom, which had clearly been her sister's.
The room was small, with light purple walls, a yellow bedspread, and wispy white curtains. The light colors made the room feel bigger, as did the fact that there was little in the room. There was a big window on the wall across from the door, and the bed on the left wall. The wardrobe was on the same wall as the door, leaving the fourth wall empty. A few stuffed animals were scattered around the room, and there was a book of fairy tales at the foot of the bed.
He saw Miss Granger follow his gaze out of the corner of his eye.
"I used to read one to her every night when she went to bed."
Severus didn't know what to say to this, so he merely nodded his understanding before they walked out of the room.
Across the hall was another room, which appeared to be Miss Granger's. Her room was nothing like the light that was her sister's room. No, it was much darker; it was painted beige, and the quilt was varying shades of brown. It was tattered and stained, and Severus shuddered at the thought of just what was on the quilt. This room was smaller than the other, and it felt much more cramped. There wasn't anything personal in the room; she probably hadn't had anything.
As they walked in, the girl began to cry before sinking down next to the bed. Severus, feeling awkward, sat next to her. She leaned into him as she wiped away her tears, and he hesitantly put his arm around her. He felt odd as he did it, like he enjoyed being able to comfort her, but he told himself that he just didn't want to witness another panic attack.
Severus wasn't sure how long they sat there before Miss Granger pulled away and rose, turning to look at him.
"The only room left is the library."
He nodded, not sure what else there was he could do, and followed her out of the room and into the next.
The library was unimpressive in what it held; it was mostly Muggle fiction that appeared to be untouched. There was blood on the floor and, near the fireplace, shards of glass littered the floor. There was a lone armchair that was worn with overuse. Severus knew that this was where her father sat before he was swept up in his fits of rage towards his oldest daughter.
He looked back towards her. He knew this was extremely difficult for her; today was emotionally taxing. For now, though, she was quiet. The girl ran her fingers along the shelves before she stopped at one about halfway in.
"His glass was here. That first night, when I was too small to reach his drink, it was here."
Severus looked at where her torment had started. The girl was taking deep breaths, trying to hold herself together, and he felt overwhelming senses of pain and anger. He hurt for this girl, and everything she'd been through in her short life, and he was beyond angry at the man who had done this to her. Before he even thought about it, he approached her and put a (what he hoped was consoling) hand on her shoulder.
She looked up at him, eyes full of unshed tears, and moved to wrap her arms around him before falling apart against his chest. Severus was taken aback, but he held her for the second time that day. He rubbed small circles on her back and spoke softly to her, doing his best to calm her. Eventually her tears subsided, and she pulled away slowly.
"Sorry about that, Professor."
"No need, Miss Granger. I understand that this hasn't been an easy day for you. Are you ready to return to Hogwarts?"
"Yes, sir."
And with that, they disapparated back to the school that had become home to both of them. By the time they had walked from the gates to the entrance, the girl had managed to calm herself considerably.
"Thank you for accompanying me today, sir. I really appreciate it."
"It was no trouble at all, Miss Granger."
They parted then, and Severus was surprised to find that, although the day had certainly been emotionally trying, he had enjoyed her company. While she had gone through abhorrent things in her life, she had grown to become one of the most extraordinary people he knew.
Hermione was lying on her bed reflecting on her day. She had been surprised when her professor wanted to go with her but, unable to see a problem, she allowed it. It hadn't been as bad as she'd worried it would be. He had walked with her quietly to the shops before they visited Emmie, and he'd been a gentleman. She was mortified by how many times she'd burst into tears, but he'd just been so understanding. It wasn't really something she'd expected from him, but she was most certainly grateful for all he'd done for her.
While she was knelt down in front of the stone that marked her sister's resting place, memory after memory flashing before her.
The bed was warm when Hermione moved to sit next to Emily, story book in hand. Her sister was tucked into bed, and she was curled so she was facing Hermione. The pictures were her favorite part; at the age of three, she couldn't read quite yet, but she was learning. Hermione was eager to teach her sister how to lose herself in the words on the pages.
They were both small, so there was room for the both of them on the small bed.
"Which story do you want tonight, Em?"
Emmie looked as thoughtful as a child her age could. "The Three Little Pigs!"
With a warm smile, Hermione complied. This was her sister's favorite, and she had been expecting it. Emmie liked when Hermione read in different voices for all the characters; she giggled through the tale before settling down and going to sleep.
"Goodnight, Em. I love you," Hermione murmured with a kiss to the forehead as she left her sister.
This one came with the flowers; the next with the lighting of the first candle.
"'Mione! You're home!"
"Yes, Emmie, here I am. How was your day?"
"Bad. Daddy was angry, and he made Mummy cry. He made her bleed."
Hermione pulled her sister in for a tight hug, ignoring the pains from where her father had hit her the night before.
"Oh, Em. It's okay, you know Daddy loves you. He'll never hurt you. I'm sure Mum is just fine."
She heard her sister sniff and Hermione moved a hand to wipe the tears from her cheeks. "Let's go inside now, hmm?"
Emmie nodded and pulled away, preceding Hermione into the house. The sitting room smelled like blood, and Hermione cringed. While it didn't happen often, it wasn't unusual. He usually only beat their mother in their bedroom.
After sending her younger sister to her room, she heard him.
"Well, well, look who's home. Come to Daddy, 'Mione."
His outstretched hand looked gentle and kind, but Hermione knew better. As soon as she was within reaching distance, that open hand would meet her cheek before it became a fist that punched her torso until it hurt to breathe. She stepped forward slowly, trying to put off the inevitable. Her hesitance only served to irritate the piss-drunk man before her, and he didn't wait for her. With two long strides, he was there.
She didn't even have time to process his proximity before he hit her. It was a hard slap that made her neck jerk with its force. She gasped, but was immediately unable with a few quick punches to the gut. She could practically feel her bruises layering as he hit her in the same places he had yesterday and all the days before.
The rest of the memories were similar to this one. It always started out alright before it was tarnished by the monster that had been her father.
After visiting her sister's grave, she had a sudden urge to go back to the house. She wasn't sure why; she hadn't been back since she left. When her parents were discovered dead, she inherited the house; it was supposed to go to Emmie, but she was the only one left. She'd cast a Stasis charm and hadn't looked back. Hermione couldn't help but wonder if the prospect of not having to go alone had played a part in her decision, but she couldn't be sure.
When they had approached the house, Hermione instantly regretted the decision as they reached the porch.
She was humming as she went down the stairs. It was Emmie's fifth birthday, and Hermione had scrounged up enough money to buy her sister a gift on her way home from school. She was almost skipping through the house, but knew she had to be as quiet as she could so she didn't wake her father.
Hermione packed her lunch and quietly opened the door to leave. When she opened it, she saw a red pool on her front porch. Her heart was pounding in her chest; had somebody done something to her father?
Looking down next to the door was the body of her sister, throat slit and dried blood dried in a trail down her corpse.
Hermione screamed, and knelt down next to Emmie. She was still in her pajamas, her hair tousled with sleep.
She didn't have to wait long before she heard her parents coming down the stairs. Hermione could tell when her mother approached by the wracking sobs coming from the woman. When her father came, he gasped. Then he was cursing angrily.
Fingers wrapped in her hair, yanking her head back. She was being dragged back up the stairs, and he threw her down on her bed. Hermione fought to sit up, but he struck her hard, forcing her back down. His rough hands were tearing her clothes from her body and he was touching her everywhere. As bad as his beatings had been in the past, Hermione knew that nothing had been as terrible as what was to come.
His hands left her body to take off his pants before he reached down and spread her legs. She was crying and begging him to stop, but he only hovered over her and thrust into her, tearing through her in one move. Her cries became pained as he pounded into her and her body was violated roughly. It was pain that she had never felt before, and she felt as if she were being torn apart. Her father's movements sped and then a rush of moisture entered her.
He was moaning over her, but it hardly registered. All she could focus on was the throbbing between her legs as he pulled out of her. She took in a sharp breath when she saw her blood on him, and he laughed.
That was when Professor Snape had pulled her from her memory. She took a deep breath and they entered the house.
Downstairs hadn't been bad; there weren't many bad memories she associated with that part of the house. It wasn't until they began climbing the stairs that Hermione started losing herself. They made their way past the bathroom and Emmie's bedroom, which didn't hurt as much as she thought it would. Her room was difficult, and he'd sat with her as she broke down yet again.
"When will you ever learn not to come in here when I'm drinking?! Can't you do anything right?"
Hermione cowered in the corner of the library. She had only come in to get a new book for Emmie, and she'd hoped that she could come and go without her father noticing. Unfortunately, he wasn't as drunk as he normally was by now, so he was still aware enough to catch her.
She tried to make a run for the door, but he leapt from his chair and lunged at her, knocking her to the floor. Her father lifted her and threw her over his shoulder, carrying her to her bed. He undressed her and hit her hard, surely leaving her flesh bruised wherever he touched her. She knew that he hardened more with every punch, and it frightened her to no end to know that he drew pleasure from his abuse.
The fight just left her as she laid back on her bed, waiting for him to have his way with her. It only hurt more when she fought, and she was trying to minimize the pain.
He pushed into her again and again before releasing, laughing at her attempts to hide her pain from him.
Then her Professor was next to her and his arm was around her waist, pulling her from the darkness of her memories. She was surprised that she was able to calm at all; there was only one room left.
The library was where it had all started and ended, and she'd had a hard time coming to terms with the blood stains of her and her parents.
She'd had enough. Her father had been beating her for six years and raping her for three. She was done. It was time to confront him.
Storming angrily into the library, Hermione marched over to where her father was sitting. He kept all of his alcohol near his seat so he didn't have to get up. Without even thinking about it, she smacked his drink away and hurled the bottle of scotch at the fireplace, quickly followed by all the others. She was heaving by the time she was finished, and only then did she look down at her father's face.
He was murderously angry. Suddenly, her anger left her and she was only left with a fear so strong she was trembling where she stood. Never before had he looked at her with that much anger and hatred.
Rising and swaying slightly, he towered over her. He roared at her and pulled a knife she hadn't known he had from a pocket in his shirt and dug the knife into her flesh, burying it deep in her flesh before pulling it out.
"You've really gone and fucking done it this time. I've had enough of your shit, you stupid little bitch. Mary, get your lazy arse out of bed and see what I've done with this failure of a daughter!" he bellowed, turning briefly towards the door before facing her again.
She whimpered in pain as she grasped at her side, gulping when she saw her blood on the knife. Her father bent down next to her and touched the blade to her arm, running it down from shoulder to halfway down her forearm. She heard her mother enter the room, and she looked around with a blank expression.
After Emmie had died, her mother had completely stopped caring about anything and everything. She almost never left her room, and no longer fought her husband in Hermione's defense.
The look of utter indifference on her face sent her father even deeper into his rage. Jumping away from his daughter, he rushed at his wife and slashed the knife across her throat. Next to the end of the cut, he carved a small flower. Upon further inspection, Hermione realized she'd seen that little daisy carved into somebody else's throat.
Hermione gasped in shock. The pieces all fell into place, and her heart broke even more. Her father was responsible for Emmie and her mother and, judging by the look on his face when he looked down at her, now it was her turn.
Her fears were confirmed as he neared her, knife held out to find its target. As the blade neared her throat, something surged within her and seemed to burst from her every pore. Her father fell back and the knife sank into his chest as he sank to the floor in a heap. Staring in horror at the scene before her, Hermione fled.
All she could really remember from being in that room with Professor Snape was him putting his hand on her shoulder before she flung herself at him. In hindsight, she was surprised he hadn't pried her off him, but he'd held her- again- and tried to calm her hysterics. His touch had been surprisingly warm and effective, and Hermione knew that she'd narrowly avoided numerous attacks that day.
It was not lost on Hermione that he was different. He had been since after the war, but now it was more. He was kind towards her, not just slightly less of a bastard.
She was desperate for a new beginning, but she had no idea how to go about getting what she needed. All Hermione knew was that there was only one person she could turn to, and it was the very person who, she realized, had worked his way in and stolen her heart.
A/N II: If you wouldn't mind, please let me know what you thought; all feedback is appreciated, and I would really like to grow as a writer! See you next Wednesday!