I would have put these up earlier but the server was being a cowbag! Still, here we are, eventually. Continued thanks to all the reviews. :)

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Hermione Returns

Still sore from her Healing treatment, Hermione slept fitfully, in her iron-wrought bed in the Injuries ward of St. Mungo's. Tossing and turning, the bedclothes damp with her sweat. She would keep waking up, falling asleep, and dreaming the same dream...

As she walked down a dark, chilly corridor, a sudden, cold breeze would somehow extinguish the light from her wand, as if it were a candle. Suddenly, she would feel an invisible weight bear down on her, and feel unable to breathe. Finally, the darkness would engulf her, and she would wake up gasping and sweating in the darkness of the day ward.

Disoriented, Hermione sat up and briefly wondered where she was, for her surroundings did not resemble the comforting familiarity of her four-poster bed in the Gryffindor dormitories. She looked to her left. Instead of Lavender Brown under goose-feather quilts, lightly snoring, she saw a fragile old witch, a tube up her nose helping her breathe. Suddenly scared, she dove under the rough cotton sheets and closed her eyes tight.

Within minutes her dream began again. This time, however, when the terrifying suffocation began, she wouldn't wake up. She couldn't make herself, either, no matter how hard she tried.

The walls of the dream corridor appeared to close in on her and... the figure in front of her, bearing down on her with extraordinary force. A pale shape began to come into focus as Hermione fought to breathe, to survive. As she gradually lost her breath, the face of Draco Malfoy came into focus. Only his steely grey eyes had turned a violent shade of scarlet, and sharp fangs sprouted suddenly from his blood red mouth, emphasised by his pallor. The apparition bit into Hermione's struggling throat, and tore at her flesh...

Mercifully, Hermione's eyes sprang open and she sat bolt upright. A terrible scream had awoken her. It was a few moments before she realised that she was the one who was screaming. A fair number of people had been awoken by Hermione's scream, most of whom were groaning in pain and discomfort, mainly irritated at being roused from their precious sleep so early. "For goodness sake," came the croaky yet sure voice of an elderly witch across the ward, "that's the fourth time tonight. Keep it down, will you?"

Hermione saw a wand light hurrying towards her. The light finally revealed a concerned looking Healer, brandishing a bottle of potion.

"It's okay," she said soothingly. "Relax. It's over now." She twitched her wand, and Hermione felt the pillows behind her back fluff up.

The Healer uncorked the vial of clear potion. "It seems that you've been having trouble sleeping, dearie," she said quietly. "Some of this potion should help right away." She tipped a small amount into a silver spoon she had withdrawn from her pinafore pocket. She held the spoon to Hermione's lips. "Come on, dear," she soothed, gently pouring the bitter contents of the spoon down Hermione's willing throat.

The Draught of Peace, Hermione thought vaguely before the light of the Healer's wand faded, and the world clouded into darkness once more.

Within minutes, Hermione fell into a deep, and thankfully for her, dreamless sleep.

Harry waited anxiously at Hogwarts' front gates, yellow and red scarf pulled up near his face, against the cruel biting November wind. He glanced into the distance for any sign of the Knight Bus, which would bring Hermione back to Hogwarts. He couldn't stop thinking about the hell that Malfoy and his damn followers had put Hermione through. It bought tears to his eyes. Or maybe it was the cold stinging his eyes. He blinked to clear his vision, so he could see the blue triple-decker bus approach.

Sure enough, a big blue bus came into view, weaving down the muddy path, towards the front gate.

Harry was a little shocked to see Hermione who was walking awkwardly, still wincing in pain. Her clothes, the very same ones Lavender and Parvati had picked up for Hermione before taking her to the hospital wing, were scruffy and unwashed. Her hair was more out of control than usual, and she was still dozy from the sleeping potion she had been given earlier.

Her puffy red eyes looked into Harry's green ones. She ran towards him, and embraced him.

"Oh, Harry," Hermione sobbed, burying her face in the wool of his school scarf. "It was... it was horrible..."

Harry returned his friend's hug. "Do you want to talk about it?" he asked her softly.

Hermione pulled away gently to look at Harry. She shook her head, her eyes downcast.

"It's okay," Harry whispered, beginning to lead Hermione towards the castle. "You tell me when you're ready."

Hermione said nothing. Never would she tell anyone about the horrible dreams she'd been having, the demonic, vampire Malfoy, sucking the life out of her, feeding off her pain.

Harry watched his friend's face, the twisted expression the only give-away to her deep-seated emotions. What could she be thinking? Harry thought. If only Hermione would let me exact revenge upon Malfoy, I could solve her problem, and make sure he never hurts anyone again...

They began to walk, in silence, towards the looming, grey castle. To Hermione, it no longer looked bright and inviting, making her feel eager to learn and improve her already vast knowledge of the world of magic that had been so new to her six years ago. Now, it just reminded her of that horrible incident two nights ago, when her innocence was brutally stolen from her. She was beginning to seriously consider turning back and walking away, perhaps going back to her Muggle life. Or, better still, she thought sadly, jumping off a cliff.

"Hermione?" Harry's question broke the eerie silence.

"Yes?" Hermione shrilled suddenly, as if Harry had startled her.

Harry smiled. "I think you're really brave," he said softly. "After what... what happened to you... coming back to face it... I... I don't think I could do it..." He removed his glasses, and swiftly wiped his eyes with his robe sleeve. "Sorry," he explained to Hermione, popping his glasses back on. "This icy wind... making my eyes water." He didn't really want Hermione to know that he was crying because he was so proud of her decision to continue at Hogwarts, even if it meant facing up to her assailants.

Harry's words touched Hermione. They gave her strength and hope. Hope she would not have to tell anyone else about what had happened to her. For one, she was ashamed. She thought of the Muggle phrase; It takes two to tango, and thought, perhaps she was partly to blame. Did she somehow, mistakenly give Malfoy the come-on. No... he had approached her from behind. Still, she had let it happen, even if she was badly hurt, unable to run, or escape anyhow. Hermione had never let onto anyone, other than Harry, who was sworn to secrecy, as to what had really occurred. Secondly, she was too embarrassed that everyone would treat her with kid gloves, give her preferential treatment (even Snape would have been commanded not to be so hard on the poor girl; that would be strange enough), and she would eternally be known to all students, present and future as 'that girl who got raped in the Forbidden Corridor'. Lastly, and worst of all, if she did tell, Malfoy may come back and do something even worse. She couldn't help thinking about Frank and Alice Longbottom, tortured to insanity by the Cruciatus Curse. Malfoy was certainly the type to do that to someone he abhorred. Naturally, as a gifted Muggleborn, or 'Mudblood' as he liked to so rudely call her, Hermione was probably on top of Malfoy's Crucio list.

Bad thought finally passing her by for now, Hermione grabbed Harry's hand and squeezed gently. "Thank you," she whispered.

When they reached the castle doors, the pair found Professor McGonagall waiting for them. "Welcome back, Miss Granger," she said, not unkindly. "Do you wish to return to class now, or would you prefer to rest up in the infirmary for another day or so?"

Hermione's resolute expression hardened. She took a breath. "I wish to return to class now, Professor," she uttered in a monotone.

Professor McGonagall looked astonished. "Very well, Granger," she said, trying to keep the tone of surprise out of her voice. "Your Arithmancy lesson just started five minutes ago. Professor Vector will be pleased to see you."

"Okay," Hermione said. She turned to Harry. "See you at supper," she said, briefly hugging him before she headed off to class.

"Goodbye, Hermione," Harry whispered, as he watched his vulnerable friend trudge up the steps to her lesson.

"So," Ron said as he and Harry made their way to the Great Hall from the Gryffindor common room, where they had wasted a study period trying to do a Potions essay for Slughorn, and pondering over how Hermione was coping. "She really went straight to Arithmancy?" He was shocked, but not surprised, that Hermione had gone straight back into the swing of things after being beaten up so badly.

"Yes," Harry replied. He was quiet for a while then said, "I don't think she should have gone back straight away. It's not right." He shook his head. Why won't she tell Dumbledore, McGonagall, hell, even Filch what has happened to her? Harry pondered to himself. Maybe she was afraid of retribution. Especially with a specimen such as Malfoy. Harry was beginning to think the very worst about him... perhaps since his father has been sent in shame to Azkaban, after being discovered as a supporter of Voldemort, the Dark Lord had charged Malfoy to take his father's place, and that Malfoy had been brainwashed to commit acts of treachery and violence, beginning with attacks on Muggle-borns. It was well known that Malfoy disliked Hermione because of her heritage, and perhaps this was Voldemort's way of making an example of half-bloods, and maybe, just maybe, Malfoy and his associates weren't completely at fault... Wait, thought Harry suddenly. Malfoy not to blame? What am I thinking?...

"Harry!" hissed Ron, as if he had trying to get Harry's attention for a while. A girl Harry did not recognise was sitting next to him.

"Aren't you going to eat anything?" Ron asked the girl, who shook her head slowly, and turned her bloodshot eyes downwards.

"Come on, Hermione," Ginny, who was sitting the other side of Ron, chipped in. "You have to eat something." She paused, and a small smirk covered her face. "Not going through the S.P.E.W thing again, are you?" She glanced knowingly at Ron, who rolled his eyes. He could remember, all too well, Hermione's one-woman pressure group to try and get the house elves of Hogwarts better conditions, and well-deserved pay. Part of her non-violent protest was refusing to eat the food prepared by 'slave labour.' She had given up after less than a week; her favourite dessert, treacle tart and hot custard, had been all too tempting.

Harry looked again at the scruffy girl. Her eyes was dull and bloodshot, and her straggly, bushy hair was hanging in her pale face. He was shocked. She looked even worse than she had this morning. "Hermione?" Harry gasped, trying his best not to sound so anxious. "You look terrible. Are you sure you're okay?"

Hermione sighed and pushed her empty plate away. "Will you shut up?" she hissed at Harry. "I had enough of this with bloody Vector. 'Are you okay, Hermione? 'Are you sure?' 'Are you sure?' Every five fucking minutes! If I wasn't fine I wouldn't have been in his shitty class!" There was a terrible scraping sound as Hermione's chair scratched the wooden floor. She stood up, and marched out of the Great Hall, having eaten barely a thing.

Harry, Ron and Ginny sat, speechless and open-mouthed. They had never heard Hermione swear, or berate a class like that before.

"Something's very wrong," Ginny said solemnly. "If only we knew what it was."

Harry frowned, feeling his heart beat angrily. "She was attacked," he informed Ron's sister. "That's all that happened, she got attacked. That is all you need to know. Okay?"

"Harry!" Ginny hissed. "I don't think that's all. And I think you know a damn sight more than you're letting on."

"Look," Harry said, a little more calmly. "If you want to know what happened, why don't you ask Hermione herself? Though I doubt you'll get any sense out of her."

"Fine," said Ginny, standing up and tucking her chair noisily under the table. "Maybe I will." She stalked out of the Great Hall.

Ron eyed Harry curiously. "I think Ginny's right," he said crossly, as he chewed up the last chunk of sausage.

Harry merely shrugged. "So what if I do?" he whispered.

"Look," Ron said irritably, "you want to help Hermione, right?"

Harry nodded, squashing his mashed potatoes so that it covered his plate. He wasn't hungry any more.

"Well?" Ron continued, taking a gulp of pumpkin juice. "Maybe if I knew what was going on, I could help her as well."

Harry's eyes filled up with tears, as his plate of potato disappeared, signalling the end of dinner and the beginning of desert. "I can't," he sniffed. "I just... can't."

"Why the hell not?" Ron said angrily. "You know, she's my friend, too!"

"I promised I wouldn't," he sighed. "Not even you, Ron... I'm sorry... I can't break this promise."

Ron sighed, exasperated. "Fine!" he snarled, ignoring the treacle tart that had appeared on the table. "Don't talk to your best friend, even though he's offering you help!" He stood up and stormed out, leaving Harry on his own. He cut a slice of treacle tart, and, after wrapping it carefully in a napkin, left the table himself.

He wasn't sure how long Hermione's secret would stay so.

Hermione lay upon her bed, staring up at the light pink satin curtains surrounding her four-poster. Now that she was alone, there was nothing to think about but that horrible night, when Malfoy had done such a disgusting and degrading thing to her. She was confused over her feelings; being by herself made her feel like someone was going to spring upon her. Being with others was worse: she felt like she couldn't breathe with the mass of bodies around her and again, the thought that one would attack her was always there, etched onto her memory like graven letters on a tombstone.

Thankfully, she hadn't seen the perpetrators yet. Could it possibly be, thought Hermione, that they have already been caught and expelled? This happy thought consoled her for as long and as suddenly as it has crossed her mind. If it were true, the whole school would have been abuzz about the fact that Malfoy, Goyle and Crabbe, had been removed from the school. Secrets didn't exist in Hogwarts. That is, apart from the reality of hers.

She'd heard the incessant and numerous rumours, whispered behind books and parchments where they thought she couldn't hear. That the Bloody Baron had nearly, literally, frightened the life out of her. That she had thought the wrong thing whilst practising non verbal spells, which had backfired badly. That she had tripped and fallen on a set of stairs, and mischievous Peeves had dragged her to... the corridor. Those were some of the nicer ones she had heard.

Hermione was tired, more tired than she had ever been, but she knew she mustn't fall asleep, lest that awful nightmare consume her once again. I must not sleep, she whispered to herself, as her burdensome eyelids drooped. I... must... not...