Hermione Granger was in a state of shock right now. She had sworn that she would do everything in her power to avoid him. It was his fault that things had ended up the way they did, she told herself. And yet, she knew that it wasn't his fault. It was hers. Everything that had happened was her fault. If she hadn't done what she had, maybe things would have turned out differently…maybe Fred Weasley would still be alive…maybe Teddy Lupin would still have parents…maybe she wouldn't be so royally and utterly fucked, both metaphorically and literally. As she arrived at the apartment that she shared with her boyfriend, Marc, she couldn't hear anything. She hoped that meant that he was asleep. That would mean no fights, no beatings, and most importantly, no having sex with someone that she didn't love.

As she entered and crept into the main room, she was feeling slightly less pessimistic. Maybe, just maybe…

"Where have you been, Hermione?"

The light flickered on and Marcus Flint came into view. Hermione hated this. She hated having to make up explanations for her whereabouts; if he knew the real reason that she snuck away each night, she would be as good as dead.

"I…I'm sorry, Marc. I lost track of time when I went to go get groceries," Hermione stammered. Marcus smiled at her.

"It's quite alright, babe," he told her. Hermione blinked. That was the last thing she had expected to hear from him. She didn't want to question him, but couldn't help herself.

"Are…are you sure?" she asked hesitantly. He nodded.

"Positive," he told her firmly. Then, grinning again, he added, "By the way, there's some coffee for you on the cupboard. I'm afraid it's gone cold, though."

"That's quite alright," Hermione said. She picked up the mug and sipped the liquid gratefully. The bitter taste in her mouth always seemed appropriate, but especially today. She yawned.

"Forgive me, Marc, but I'm tired. I think I need to turn in."

Marc smiled at her again, but this time, there was a cold undertone.

"Locomotor mortis!"

Hermione, too stunned to react, fell to the floor. Marcus dragged her up and shoved her into a chair. He bound her arms and stood in front of her.

"I'm going to ask you some questions, and you're going to answer them," he snarled. "Do you understand?"

Hermione nodded, cowering before his imposing figure.

"Now, mudblood, where were you tonight?"

"I was out getting groceries," Hermione whispered. Marcus slapped her.

"Where else were you? And don't bother trying to lie. If you even think of hiding the truth, this, shall we say, unique type of Veritaserum will cause some unwanted consequences. How does burning alive from the inside out sound?" Marcus chuckled. Hermione's eyes widened in horror.

"I was…I was at the bar," she mumbled. Marcus' hand caught Hermione across the cheek again.

"You whore!" he shouted. "You were looking for someone else, weren't you?"

Hermione shook her head. A tear trickled down her cheek, and then another, and pretty soon, she was sobbing hysterically.

"I…I wasn't." she whimpered. Marcus seemed satisfied. But then, a strange look came across his face. She immediately felt her memories being sorted through. And at that moment, she knew that she was no longer safe.

"You saw Malfoy," Marcus growled. He grew angrier with every passing second. "You saw Malfoy!"

"No, please!" Hermione cried. "I…I slapped him! I ran away from him."

"LIAR!"

Marcus knocked over the chair that Hermione was bound to. He grabbed her by the hair and dragged her to the bedroom, laughing nastily.

"Do you want The-Boy-Who-Lived to come and save you?" he asked her. "Oh, right, he can't…he thinks you're dead! Everyone thinks that you're dead! That was the deal, remember?" He flung her onto the bed, ripping off clothing as he went.

"Tell me," he sneered. "Who do you think of whenever I fuck you? Do you think of 'Ronald'? Do you think of 'Harry'?"

All Hermione could do was sob. She put up barriers around her memories. As Marcus plunged into Hermione, painfully, mercilessly, Hermione thought of the one person who knew she still existed, hoping that he had finally found happiness.