Chapter Two

Author's note:
Hello darlings. So I've had a positive response to this story so far and for that i thank you. Now, just to clear up any confusion, for the purpose of this story, voldemort was defeated at the end of sixth year. Harry and Dumbledore found and destroyed all of the horcrux throughout the year. And instead of Dumbledore dying at the top of the astronomy tower, it was voldemort that perished and fell over the side. I can't think of any other notes, so then, enjoy the next installment! -MamaPunxxx

Chapter Two.

Hermione woke up in her closet. Her body was sore all over, a pronounced ache between her legs. Alone in her closet, she cried. She cried for her parents. She cried for her friends that she had not talked to in months. She cried for herself. She cried, painful heart wrenching sobs of pain, humiliation, and loneliness. Eventually she cried her eyes dry and forced herself to think back to the beginning of her downfall.

:Flashback:

Hermione sat on her bed, all of her important things, packed and ready to go, sitting in the room around her. Her parents were dead. Her father's estranged brother, her only relative, would be arriving shortly to take her away from her home. He had agreed, graciously, according to Detective Gamble, to be her guardian until she was of age. She had never met the man. She had only heard stories from her father, and only stories from the brothers' very early childhood. Hermione assumed there was a reason he had not been close to her family, but she had no facts to support that. Maybe the brothers just, drifted apart. Things like that happened to families, she supposed.

A knock at the door downstairs, roused Hermione from her musings. She stood on shaky legs and staggered down to answer it. The man at the door looked friendly enough. He looked to be about 40 years old, slightly overweight, wearing faded jeans, and a comfy looking sweatshirt. He stood there awkwardly, his hands shoved deep into his pockets.

"Hi, I'm George Granger. I guess ya must be Hermione, then," he said reaching out his hand for her to shake.

Hermione grasped his rough hand in her small one and shook it once, gingerly, before inviting him inside. "My things are upstairs,"she said softly, leading him towards the stairs. "I may need help bringing everything down." When they got to her room, she saw him glance around once before grabbing the nearest box and heading back out.

She stayed silent for the entire journey. George filled the silence with his low, droning voice. She learned that he didn't have any children, he had, in fact, never even been married, he made his living by "entertaining" businessmen, and he had high hopes of someday owning his own business. Hermione sat in the passenger seat, wishing that he would just stop talking, and let her mourn in silence.

Dead. She still just couldn't believe it. Dead. Never had any word sounded as harsh as that one. Dead. After Detective Gamble gave her the terrible news, and told her of her estranged uncle, her parents' lawyer had been called to come by and read off their will. They had left everything to Hermione, of course. The house and everything in it and the entire content of their bank accounts would be hers upon her eighteenth birthday. There was also a trust fund, that would be revised to include the profits made with the selling of their dental practice, which she would receive on her twenty first birthday. The lawyer was quick to inform her, that the bank accounts alone were enough for her to live comfortably well into her thirties, and the trust fund would see her well into the late years of her life. There was also another trust find, set up by both sets of grandparents, so in the words of her lawyer, she was more than set for life. But Hermione would much rather have lived in poverty with both of her parents, then live in riches without them.

:End Flashback:

The padlock clicked, and the door was thrown open, letting in the harsh light from the room beyond. "Git yerself in the lounge and clean up your mess," George barked at her, wearing a disgusted look, yanking her up to stand in front of him.

'My mess!' Hermione thought, resisting an insane urge to laugh in his face, her wand hand itching. 'If I had my wand, I'd blast away that look, and maybe the face to go with it.'

Only she didn't have her wand. It was locked in her "bedroom" along with the rest of her things.

For the first week or so, life with George had been... tolerable. It was awkward, of course, but that was to be expected. She was grieving for her parents, and he was unaccustomed to caring for anyone other than himself. Sure she had caught him giving her strange, and in her eyes, inappropriate, looks. Sure she found his acquaintances to be less than desirable. But it was tolerable. It wasn't until Hermione informed him of her previous plans to go stay with friends the following week that he blew a gasket. Her wand had been in her room, so she had been utterly defenseless when he had suddenly grabbed her up by her hair, drug her into his room, and thrown her in the closet, placing a chair under the handle so she could not get out. The next day, he had installed the padlock.

At first, Hermione had fought back. She pleaded, and begged, trying to figure out what exactly was happening. Banging on the door and screaming herself hoarse. Any time he would let her out to relieve herself, she tried to run. But she was rather tiny and he was much larger than her. And stronger. Soon she lost track of time, and that was when she stopped hoping. That was when she gave up.

The first time she was raped, had been by her uncle himself. She had asked what the date was. When he asked cruelly why she needed to know, she said that she would be starting school again soon, and he went crazy. He attacked her right there on the floor of her closet. Viciously ripping her clothes off, holding her down aggressively with a hand to her throat, bruising her skin. She fought him as best she could considering their differences in size. When he entered her, roughly ripping through her hymen, she screamed out in agony, and he only laughed in her face. After he finished, he brought out a knife, and traced a lone tear as it fell down her cheek, slicing the skin. Marking her for life. He threw her her ripped and tattered clothing and informed her that she was his now. That she was never leaving. That was the last time she ever fought back.

Since that day, she had done as she was told. No longer praying for it to end. Only praying that she survived. And somewhere along the line, hoping that she wouldn't. Who could ever live again after something like this? Who could ever be happy again? Be normal? No. It would be much easier to just die in this hell, than to have to remember it for the rest of her life.

"Whatchu doin jus standin there? Them couches ain't guna scrub 'emselves, you lazy, ungrateful swine," George yelled, kicking her in the rump. "I'm guna have a rest, and when i get up, your mess had better be gone."

Hermione jumped and moved swiftly into the lounge, hearing him lock her in the disgusting room.

About an hour into her cleaning, she heard an oddly familiar tapping sound. She paused, and then shrugged it off. 'It's probably rats,' she thought, rolling her eyes. But a few minutes later, she heard it again. This time louder, more insistent. Her heart stopped as she recognized the sound. It was the sound of a beak tapping on glass. With her heart hammering in her throat, Hermione flew to the window, ripping back the curtain. There on the windowsill, was a lovely Sooty Owl, with a letter clasped firmly in it's beak.

Choking back a strangled sob, Hermione struggled madly to open the window, her stomach dropping when she found it locked. She looked around the room wildly, her eyes landing on the small bar in the corner. She ran over and snatched a bottle of whiskey. Returning to the window, Hermione shooed the bird back with an erratic gesture, waiting for it to comply and then hurled the bottle at the glass. Both shattered and the bird flew in dropping it's missive into her waiting hands and landing on a nearby couch, waiting to take her reply. Hermione tore the envelope open with trembling fingers and quickly read through the letter.

Dear Miss Granger,
Your absence was noted at the start of term Welcoming Feast. We regret to inform you that your position of Head Girl is in jeopardy, if you fail to report to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry before the start of lessons on Monday. Please send your return letter with Inky. We are awaiting your response.
Sincerely,
Professor Dumbledore, Headmaster, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry

Hermione grasped the letter in a trembling hand and ran back to the bar searching for a pen. No such luck. In fact, there were no writing utensils of any kind. Shooting back to the window, Hermione dropped to her knees and grabbed a shard of glass.

Just then, she heard the sound of footsteps outside of the lounge and the fumbling of keys. Without hesitation, she slid the glass down her forearm, slicing it open. She dipped her trembling fingers in the blood and used it as ink to spell out the words 'help me' on the back of the letter. She handed it to the owl, and it flew back out the window just as the door was violently thrown open.

"What was that sound?" George bellowed at her. "what have ya done, ya simple bitch?" he roared when he saw the broken window.

"I tr-tripped," she stuttered lamely, clutching her bloody arm against herself.

George marched across the room, his face ugly and distorted with anger, and Hermione silently prayed that Inky was a fast flyer. And that she would be alive to see help arrive.