**Hey guys! Sorry it took so long for me to update. I'm planning on going to the AWA Convention in Georgia in September and I've been working pretty hard on planning that with my friends and such. ANYWAYS. Here's the next chapter:) Hope y'all like it! Please review and tell your friends because I don't have a beta, so any help is appreciated. :D**

Two weeks later...

Ron woke up in his bed to the sound of his alarm clock. For some reason, he felt as though there were something important he needed to do, something he had forgotten, but then he quickly dismissed the thought and carried on getting ready for work.

The past two weeks had been hell for Hermione. The spell Michael had cast on Ron had worked perfectly. When he woke up in Michael's kitchen, he was told that he had passed out drunk and completely believed it. He hadn't even looked at Hermione when he got up to leave. And as soon as he was gone, it started again. The abuse. The alcohol. The yelling. He had grabbed her by her hair and dragged her to an upstairs bedroom, unfroze her body, but silenced her so that no one could hear her scream, and tied her to the bed. And then she would lay there, waiting for the occasional plate of stale food that would be brought to her twice a day, only when Michael wanted something from her. He would come in and force the food down her throat. Occasionally, when he was really drunk, he would simply yell for a minute or two before passing out. But usually, it was much worse. He would hit her, kick her, throw things at her. Anything that would cause her pain and make her life miserable. She tried to stay strong. Tried to remember that there were people out there who were friends with Ron, who would realize something was wrong with him and try to fix it. But then she realized that he rarely saw anyone anymore. And she lost all hope.

Her weight had considerably dropped. Barely even 100 pounds. Her eyes were swollen almost completely shut and they were surrounded in dark circles. Her entire body was bruised and sore. She didn't even care anymore. She would see Michael enter her room through her swollen eyes, and just let him do what he wanted. Sometimes he yelled. Sometimes he hit. Sometimes he did both. Sometimes he raped her. And then she would just lay there in misery, waiting for the next assult. She had lost all desire to live. She tried choking on her food, but that just ended in Michael yanking it from her throat and not eating for another day. She even tried cutting her wrists again, but the only thing around her that was sharp enough was a nail poking out of the bed frame, and even that wasn't enough. She prayed that if there was a god out there, that he would have mercy on her and just end the pain. She couldn't take it. She was going crazy.

Then, one day, Michael stumbled into the room once again. He was obviously almost too drunk to even stand. He crawled to Hermione's bed and began slurring the words of some song as he fumbled with her clothes. But she had cracked. Finally lost it. With all the strength left in her body she raised the lamp on her bedside table and threw it at his head. The impact made him fall to the ground instantly. His breathing stopped, his chest didn't move, his mouth was slightly open and had blood dripping out. He had drunk too much, and was already about to die from alcohol poisoning. Hermione had just helped speed up the process. She took the rope that held her to the bed and began scraping it against the nail that stuck out of her bed. It cut at her skin, rubbed it raw, but it eventually cut her loose. She jumped from the bed and ran out of the house, wandless and starving, without looking back.

That night she walked to London. It took her nearly twice as long as it should have. She reached the Leaky Couldron where the bartender just barely recognized her and continued to bring her food until she could finally eat no more. When she fell asleep at the table the man behind the counter picked her up and brought her to a room upstairs. She only woke up with nightmares once.

When she awoke the next morning she found a tray of food with a note telling her not to worry and that everything was already paid for. The sun had only just begun to rise when she finished the food and slipped through the gateway into Diagon Alley. She knew she had to find Ron, but she would be no use to him without a wand. So the first place she went was to Olivander's, who had reopened a few months after the war. She walked through the door and was automatically filled with the memory of her first, and only, time in the store. The memory actually brought a smile to her face, the first real smile in a long time.

"Miss Granger?" She turned and saw the familiar face and gray hair of Mr. Olivander.

"Goodmorning, ."

"Why are you here? Is the wand you recieved when you were eleven not working?"

"Well, that's the thing, sir. I seem to have lost it and I need another one." He obviously didn't believe her lie, but he began looking for another anyways.

"Ten and three quarters vine wood, with a dragon heartstring core was your original wand, if I'm not mistaken."

"That's right." He pulled out a wand from the huge piles of boxes.

"Very similar wand here, only it's eleven inches. Give it a whirl." She picked it up and immediately felt the same pull she'd felt when she was eleven. She paid for the wand, left the store, and started on her mission to free Ron from his erased memory. First stop: library.