Correspondence:

Dear Draco,

You say this girl was brutally attacked and yet has not told anyone? She continues to hide her injuries and the extent to which she was hurt? If this is truly the case there are only a few possibilities as to the truth of her situation. Only one thing would make a girl hide and hurt in secret like that: shame. I fear that she was hurt, in a way that no one deserves to be hurt, and worse, by the way she is hiding it, by someone she knows. I trust that you understand my meaning, as I abhor the word too much to write it here, but I must insist that you treat this girl with the utmost sensitivity Draco. If I am right about what happened to her, she does not need any insult to add to her injuries, and I know how much you like to tease. Unfortunately, she may not trust you to help her. She may fear you, or scorn your help, but please, for my sake keep an eye on this girl and secretly see that she comes to no more harm. Offer your help to her, and be patient if she refuses it.

Please write me again soon and tell me how she is doing, for I am invested now, and will hope the best for her safety and healing. You should do your best; do anything, to help her Draco. She will need a trusted friend.

I love you my son, and I am proud that you would show such concern; it truly separates you from your late father.

Narcissa

Rape. The word bit into Draco's mind as he reread his mother's letter, trying to glean all the information out of it that she had described and yet never said outright. Someone raped Hermione "Gryffindor Princess" Granger. Someone she knows. Draco felt his hands crumpling the letter in rage, but he couldn't immediately understand why. He hated Granger, the Mudblood bitch irritated the hell out of him, but at the same time, someone had done something abhorrent to her, something that was despicable, and whoever had done it had betrayed her in doing it. It made his blood boil, the idea that a human being was capable of so maliciously hurting another. It was like his father, with no regard for human life or pain. He had never really been of this school of thought. Sure, he teased, he insulted, he hurt feelings, he lied, cheated, and manipulated, but he could never be so evil as to overpower, shame, and harm another person like that. A girl least of all; his mother had taught him better. His "father," Lucius, had a penchant for attacking and beating his mother, preferably in front of their young son, as if it was a lesson to be instilled. Draco hated it. There was many a time when he had wished he could have killed his father, if only to save his mother. This train of thought brought back to him his own strong self-loathing, because his own conception was speculated to have been rape. Narcissa had always taught him that these things were evil, malicious, criminal displays of power that would kill his soul. He was a mischievous boy, bitter and sharp-tongued, but he had always been thus. His bitterness arose from being the son of such a man, and expected by the entire world to follow in his footsteps. Thank Merlin he's dead now; rotted away in Azkaban.

Hermione wasn't sleeping. The Draught had stopped working a three nights before, the nightmares broke through. She had started writing it all down in a book she'd charmed to make the words invisible, much like Tom Riddle's. She wrote down every nightmare, every impact, every bruise, the sensation of her broken ankle. She'd found the charm to heal bones the day before and tried her best to fix it, but ankles and other joints were tricky. The bones still ground together, both excruciating, and loud. Hermione imagined everyone could hear the scraping from inside her ankle, and yet no one was willing to say out loud what had happened to her, no one was going to accuse their Savior of his crime. She was sure now that she feared him, and hated him, in a way she had never before hated any living thing. She was desperate for some way to shut her mind off, for some way to stop her nightmares and the repetitive, unwanted memories from interrupting her sleep, her denial, and her time in hiding.

She had heard rumors of some Slytherins having potions equivalent of Muggle drugs. She knew where to go. She needed something strong to make her sleep.

Draco was lounging in his usual position in the Slytherin Common Room, stretched out on a couch with a book in one hand and his other hand dangling over the edge, holding his tumbler of Firewhiskey. One of his companions, Blaise Zabini, a notoriously dark and wild young man was similarly strewn across the opposite couch, with a cigarette instead of Firewhiskey in his hand. Blaise was well known within Hogwarts as the peddler of all sorts of wizard potions, remedies, and products that were perfectly fine if used in tiny doses, but otherwise basically hack drugs. Draco knew enough about the Muggle world to known about their drugs, and to know that some of the things Blaise sold were the same products, only slightly magically enhanced. Blaise disgusted Draco to an extent, but mostly for his attitude, not what he sold to students. They came to the Slytherin door and would give a special knock, and Blaise would answer, exchange product for cash, and send them packing. It was convenient and quiet enough that it never interrupted Draco's studying or leisure time, so he really didn't care. He knew that Blaise's "clientele" came from all four houses, although mostly from the upper grade levels, and Blaise never discriminated against the money that they handed him. Draco was only thinking lightly about this, puzzling more over something he'd read, when the familiar knock came at the door: seven sharp raps. Blaise stood and answered it, and Draco could see past him enough to see someone with their robe hood pulled all the way up, unwilling to be seen even by Blaise. A newcomer, He thought, obviously nervous. The light, tiny sound of a soft, deep female voice floated into the room, but he thought little of it at first. Then he heard Blaise's short hard laugh as he slammed the door hard in her face. He spoke as if not really interested,

"A new one. Nervous. Who was it?" Blaise laughed again, and flopped back down before speaking, his voice grating and abrasive in the air,

"Bloody Mudblood Head Girl thinks I'm stupid and wants to catch me in the act, that's who! Fucking tart thinks she can come here and ask for something as if I won't recognize her voice if she covers her filthy face…"

"She wanted to buy something?!" Draco was amazed, and it showed in his voice. Then he bit back, laughing hard to cover his interest, and continued, "You're right mate, she probably would have gone running to bloody McGonagall and ratted you out or something."

But the knock came again. Blaise opened the door again, and seeing it was still her, threw it wide open. He dragged her inside by her robes and slammed the door again. She stood in the middle of the room, staring at Draco from under her hood, and turned to Blaise, she spoke with what sounded like strength, but Draco could hear the tiny tremor in her tone and he could see fresh terror in her eyes,

"Zabini, I'm serious, I need something to make me sleep. I don't care what it is." Blaise was smiling, warming up for what he was about to say, Draco could practically see his mind clicking and rehearsing every insult before he opened his mouth,

"You think I'm going to just give you it, you little Mudblood bitch?! Oh no, you came here trying to catch me at something for your beloved fucking administration and I'm not telling you spunk's worth!" He pause, and spoke quieter, but with a thousand times the malice, "…You're not worth selling anything to, you're money's just as dirty as your blood." She winced, took a deep breath, and started again. This time she punctuated her point by taking out a bag full of money, and tossing it to Blaise.

"Give me something that will knock me out, or I will run to the Headmaster like the little prissy bitch you think I am." Draco was impressed at her tone, but not with what she was doing. Blaise seemed sold on the point, and went to his room to get her stuff. She stood there, silent, Draco and her staring at each other. He noticed that her fingertips were shaking. The masking charm was still cast over her face, and now that she was fidgeting and pushing up her sleeves, he could tell she'd cast it over her arms as well. What is she hiding there? And why is she here buying shit from him? Why didn't she tell-

His reverie was interrupted by Blaise coming back into the room, two bags of some capsules and two bottles in his hands. He laid them on the table, and addressed Granger as if teaching a child,

"These small purple pills here will put you to sleep. The white ones will do the same job. The two combined should be enough for two weeks. This bottle is labeled as a contraceptive potion, but it's really something akin to Muggle LSD, so you'll hallucinate and see fun colors and things. I tossed that one in as a sample something you might like. This last bottle is just a potion to pep you up in the morning and cover up the hangover type effects of everything else. You shouldn't mix any of these. Please enjoy, and now, if you please, get your filthy hide out of my Common Room."

She left in silence, shoving everything into her bag, slung low at her hip. Draco watched, amazed. He needed to write his mother again, How the bloody hell am I supposed to know how to help her if she becomes one of Blaise's junkies?!

Hermione went back to her room, took a purple pill, unsure of this whole thing, but desperate for some uninterrupted, unhaunted sleep, and got into bed. She didn't even feel it when she drifted off to sleep…