A/N: Special thanks goes out to the ladies at PTB, who graciously put up with me and help make this story even better.

Also, to those who reviewed. I tried to get back to all of you, but if I missed yours, I'm truly sorry. Everyone had such kind things to say about the last chapter. I love you all. Thanks to all those who added this story and I to your alerts lists. I love you all for that. You don't know how much it means to see my name and story on so many alerts and so many reviews.

Now, let's find out how Hermione is dealing with what happened to her. Will she run to Ron? Will she crumble?

It had been two months since my world crumbled. I continued to be amazed and horrified by what had happened to me that day. When I thought about it, I still choked on the air that used to keep me alive, still became sick to my stomach, and tears still poured from the same eyes that used to see the joy in the world, but now only saw grief and horror.

No longer did I find enjoyment in running a book store. Now my heart clenched at the thought of leaving my home every day and being a part of the world for those hours. Where I used to find solace in being surrounded by the words of such knowledgeable people, now I felt like I was in jail. I felt trapped. There was no happiness to be found there anymore.

I had taken a few days off from work claiming to be sick, but at some point, that excuse didn't work any longer. I had to go into the store mere days after the worst experience of my life. Dread would flood me every time the bell would ring about the door. Is that him? Has he come back to finish me off? I would think.

I used to love being home, too, but even that didn't bring me any enjoyment anymore. Being completely alone should have brought me a peace that I used to love feeling, but it didn't anymore. I felt so scared. Every time the dark would fall upon my flat like an avalanche, my nerves would spike. I checked the Muggle locks on the doors and windows at least five times before I could even close my eyes to sleep. Checking and re-checking my locking spells became a habit as well. I had even changed them so no one at all but myself could come in.

Feeling minutely better that he couldn't enter my home, I spent all my time sitting by the fire. For some reason that I could never grasp, I felt better staring into the flames. Fire was the one thing man could never control. He could start it, but he could never fully control it, though he may have the illusion of domination over it.

I guess in some ways I could identify with it. For years, I had been cute little Hermione that everyone understood. I would do the same predictable things day after day, but after what had happened I knew I was spiraling. It felt as if I had no control over myself any longer. I chuckled thinking how if anyone from school saw me now, they would never recognize me. Not in a million years.

Everything about me had changed in such a short amount of time. I never wore skirts, especially bright colored ones. They were always dark in color. I didn't wear buttoned shirts. Only pull-over shirts suited me. The day after Harry violated me, I took my kitchen scissors and chopped my hair off. It was my belief that the next time someone wanted to pull my hair in an attempt to control me, there would be nothing there to hold onto. I had also used a potion to color it. It, too, was black now.

There was nothing about me anymore that people could recognize. I never wanted to be the same push-over Hermione again, but what did it really matter. In the grand scheme of things, what did it matter what I looked like on the outside? Truth was it didn't matter at all. Harry had taught me a very important lesson that day in the alley. I wasn't worth anything. I wasn't worthy of someone's attention. I wasn't worthy of someone to take care of me. I was nothing. At least that was how I felt.

I cried more since that night than I had in my lifetime. Nothing seemed to matter to me anymore. I hadn't seen Ron, let alone any of the Weasleys, in months. There had been no owls, no floo conversations. Nothing. It was as if I didn't matter to them anymore. Why would they care? They think I'm a cold-hearted bitch, who's ashamed of their son/brother. So, why should they care about me? Why should they care Harry betrayed me?

Who was I kidding? How could it matter to them when they had no clue? I had told no one about what happened that night. Not even the Healers at St. Mungo's.

That night, right before I passed out, I had thought I saw someone's shoes at the end of the alley. Turns out I had. It had been a stranger, who had heard my screams and had come running. Thankfully, he had been right on time. He had taken me directly to St. Mungo's.

I had been unconscious for days afterward. During which time I had been haunted by flashbacks. Time after time I had seen Harry hit me with Sectumsempra. I had felt his hands all over my body. I could smell that alley. When I woke up, I had thought it was all just a horrible nightmare, but, then, I saw where I was, saw the bandages all over my body, and I realized, horrified, that it was all real. He really had done all those things to me.

They had all asked me what happened, but I'd ignored them, choosing instead to stare out the windows and not speak to anyone. I'd feared that if I did speak and I had told the truth about what had happened to me, no one would have believed me. Who would believe the Savior of the Wizarding World would do something so despicable? Besides, if I'd talked about it, that would have meant I wasn't crazy and it had all been real. I'd preferred to stay under the delusion that it had all been some mistake my mind had created. Instead, I'd proceeded to implode and cut myself off from everything. I hadn't paid attention to anything the Healers were doing to me.

As I sat in front of the fire, staring without truly seeing, I lifted the bottle to my lips and took a drink. I had lost count already of how many bottles of fire whiskey I had drunk that night. It was my only escape anymore. The only way to get away from that night was to drink all day – from the time I woke up until I passed out. My only hope every day was that I would pass out in my bed and not standing up. So long as I was drunk, that was one of my few concerns.

The flames began to take shape. I began seeing the wall that had broken my nose. In my head, I could hear his breathing, hear him whispering in my ear, feel his arm around my throat and his wand against my head.

Suddenly, I was thrown into the wall to my right. My face smashed into it. Shock filled my body through my every pore. What the hell is happening? Blood spurted from my nose. Whatever hit me must have pushed me so hard that I broke my nose.

He yanked my robes from my body. His hands found my breasts through my bra. They squeezed and pulled at my nipples through the fabric. His movements were so forceful they were painful.

The flames began to change into the boxes and I could hear and feel it all over again. The tearing of my knickers. The punches into my back. My back began to ache again where they had landed. I could hear his harsh words, feel his pounding movements within my aching virgin walls.

He reached under my skirt with his other hand, and I cringed, almost losing my supper all over the ground of the littered, dirty, mice-inhabited alleyway. I began screaming at the top of my lungs, hoping that someone somewhere might hear me and come to my rescue. I screamed for help, but no one was there to hear me. So, no one came. I screamed for Merlin to save me, but he didn't. I wasn't worth anyone's time – not even his.

Harry grabbed my knickers and yanked them, ripping them down the sides. Letting them fall, I felt his hands come back to my arse.

Tears began pouring down my face, yet again, as the memories flooded me. The doubts and self-hate began rooting in my mind again. I would never amount to anything. Who would want someone so dirty and broken? I would never find myself a man, let alone a good one.

Sometimes, particularly in times like these, I hated my decision to keep all this to myself. I hated not having any friends anymore. Times like this, when I was lonely, when I needed a shoulder to cry on, I wished I had a friend to talk to. Where were all these awesome friends when you needed them? Why was there no one around to make me feel better? I could definitely use a good strong hug right about now.

I curled up further in my chair, pulling my feet up under me. It brought me a small bit of comfort that I couldn't explain.

Something caught my eye. A book that I had been reading before everything went downhill sat on the table in front of me. I thought for a moment about just throwing it in the fire as I wiped my face. There was too much of the old Hermione left in me, though. I just couldn't bring myself to throw it away. I just couldn't do that to any literature. I had too much respect for the work itself and the author.

I picked it up slowly, staring at it as if I had never seen a book before. It struck me like lightening how much this one incident changed me. I had completely changed who I was. Can I be alright with that? Can I accept the new Hermione? If I can't what do I do?

Taking yet another drink from the bottle in my hand, I set the book back down. I couldn't bring myself to open it anymore. If I can't even open it, will I ever be able to read another word? I finished off the bottle and threw it into the fire.

Stumbling into my bedroom, I didn't care about anything. I didn't care about eating. I didn't care about turning off lights. Nothing mattered to me anymore. I couldn't remember the last time I took a shower, brushed my teeth, or even my hair. I never went anywhere but work and the liquor store. I certainly wasn't there to impress anyone.

Tomorrow I'll think about eating. Tomorrow.

A/N: Remember, reviews are as sweet as chocolate spilled over a naked Draco.