I'm going to start out apologizing. I'm sorry this chapter is so short! I got so much of a response i really wanted to get something up! So please keep reviewing! It'll mean more chapters. I wanted to write more in this chapter, but after i wrote this, i needed a break from the depressing-ness. You'll see what i mean. WARNING: GRAPHIC VIOLENCE.

Chapter 2

When Hermione began climbing the staircase into her room it finally hit her just how much she had – quite literally – been beaten up that day. She nearly stumbled as her foot hit the first step as a wave of pain slammed into her stomach. She attempted to ignore it and trekked the rest of the way to her room. Her room was located right at the top of the Gryffindor girls' side of the dormitory. It was part of her privileges of being named Head Girl for that year. Although today it seemed to be less of a privilege and more of a cruel joke.

After a very slow, very painful ascent, she finally arrived at her door. She quickly ran her finger over the wood in an intricate pattern and the lock clicked open. Without pausing to change clothes, she fell into bed. Hermione barely shut her eyes when a rap at her window had her shooting straight up in panic. She tiptoed over to the window and looked out, seeing nothing. Scanning around all she could see in the darkness outside was the even darker silhouette of the Forbidden forest in the distance and the moon reflecting off of the lake below.

"Hermione Granger, you need to stop imagining things," she murmured to herself as she turned back to go to bed. This time she decided to get changed to go to bed. She pulled off her shirt and her pants and moved to grab a nightgown. Again there was a rap at her window. She shrieked and covered her nearly naked body, spinning around toward the window. Again there was nothing. Carefully she undid the lock and before she could even open the window, it slammed open. A few moments later Draco Malfoy appeared out of thin air holding his broomstick and what appeared to be a larger version of Harry's invisibility cloak. Mortified and in shock, she grabbed for the closest thing to cover herself.

Of course what she grabbed was a book.

Unfortunately for her, the little novel didn't cover her nearly enough, so she was forced to grab her sheets off of her bed and wrapped them around herself. All of this happened in the span of a few seconds.

"What the hell are you doing here?" she screamed once she was covered.

"Now now Hermione, is that any way to talk to your master?"

"My master? Oh you're right. I didn't show you nearly enough courtesy," Hermione snarled. She spit right at his feet. To her surprise, he smirked at her. A little bit of fear started to snake its way into her stomach.

"You should know better than that. I'm going to have to teach you better manners aren't I?" He started to roll back one of his sleeves and then paused. "On second thought, perhaps I should have you teach yourself. I wouldn't want to dirty my hands on you."

Hermione looked at him confused. "Teach myself a le-"

"Slam your face into the bedpost as hard as you can," he interrupted.

She could not disobey him. She slammed her face into the bedpost. There was a crunch and blood began pouring from her nose and she staggered backwards, falling to the floor. She cried out as her fall shook her newly broken nose. She made the mistake of grabbing her nose and tears began streaming down her face as the pain grew to an excruciating level.

"Well it seems you followed that order well enough."

Hermione spat at him again, this time a fair amount of blood as well as spit landed at his feet.

"It seems like you really are a glutton for punishment Granger. Are you a masochist? Let's see if it suits you. Beg me to hurt you."

Hermione's pride was deflating further and further as the words spilled from her lips. "Hurt me. Please, hurt me," she whispered.

"Louder. Say my name."

"Draco please hurt me!" she begged. "I want you to hurt me!"

"Why didn't you just say that in the first place Granger? Crucio."

Hermione writhed on the floor screaming. She couldn't make herself stop. She couldn't make the pain go away. His smirking face never left her vision. Even when she closed her eyes it was still there, floating in the darkness. When the pain finally stopped, she cracked open her eyes hoping against hope that he would have left. But he hadn't. He had moved to sit on the edge of her bed, but he was still there.

"Come kneel before me."

She stood up on legs that could barely support her weight and hobbled over to kneel in front of him. Her head hung low and out the corner of her eye she could see the puddle of smeared blood across her floor where she had lain writhing in pain moments before.

"Look into this mirror. Look at the filth you really are."

Hermione looked up into the mirror Draco had conjured into his hand. She looked into the face of a monster. She knew her face hid there somewhere beneath all of the bruises and swollen skin. Her nose was a large purple mass of skin at an odd angle she knew it hadn't been at that morning. Dried blood ran down from her nose and down her chin. The area underneath her eyes was swollen from all of the crying and there was a huge bedpost sized bruise and bump running up her forehead. Splinters and smears of blood from the floor covered her cheeks. Her hair was matted with blood. 'I am filthy,' she thought.

Draco tapped the top of the mirror with his wand. "Now this, this is what you will look like tomorrow morning for breakfast." The image in the mirror changed. It was still her, but her hair was silky and smooth and straight. Her face was perfectly clear with none of the normal freckles, and it was covered with makeup. The swelling was nowhere to be seen, the bruises were gone, her nose was in place. Then the image in the mirror moved down her body. She was wearing her school robes in the image, but beneath them, her skirt was several inches shorter than normal, not even reaching midway down her thigh, and her blouse was also a different size, much smaller. It barely covered her stomach and her breasts looked like they would pop the buttons off of the top.

"I can't wear that. There's nothing there!" Hermione croaked hoarsely.

"I order you to look like that for breakfast tomorrow, and make sure to walk in later than you normally do. Late enough so everyone will look up and see you for the dirty whore you are underneath." He twisted his hand and the mirror disappeared. Draco stood up.

"Stand and look at me."

Hermione stood and looked up into Draco's face. He raised his wand and touched her cheek. She flinched.

"Don't move away," he whispered. Hermione stood still. The wand against her cheek blazed white hot and he moved it along her cheek, cutting through it like a knife. Hermione cried out at the unexpected pain, but didn't move away. Slowly, almost lovingly Draco slid his thumb along the bottom edge of the cut. When he pulled it away, he stared at the blood on his thumb and then did the last thing Hermione would have anticipated. He licked it off. She gasped in total disgust.

After a moment of contemplation, Draco spoke. "It seems my father was correct. Blood spilled from a Mudblood by force is the sweetest thing I will ever taste." He grabbed his broom and his invisibility cloak. "Don't forget, come to breakfast looking as I said and tomorrow night you will volunteer yourself to spy on us again. You're going to meet me in the room we had you in tonight. Be there by 9."

Before Hermione could respond, he had disappeared underneath his cloak and the curtains fluttered as he flew out. She collapsed onto the floor in tears. Her entire life that had looked so bright that morning now looked like nothing but an endless tunnel of darkness and pain. After what was maybe an hour spent on the floor, she finally dragged herself to her feet.

She shuffled into the small bathroom attached to her room and grabbed her wand off of the counter. If only she had had it on her that night in the dungeons. Slowly her eyes lifted to the mirror. Before her was that monster that she had seen in the mirror. What she hadn't seen in that mirror was the rest of her body. It was covered in a mess of bruises and blood. Her bra was barely hanging on to her body after her time spent writhing on the floor, and her underwear was twisted to the point it barely covered anything. The bruising on her stomach from Pansy Parkinson was like a collage of purples, blues, and yellows. No part of her was unscathed.

She began the tedious work of healing herself. She started with her nose. The cartilage grated as it slid back into place and once again, tears were streaming down her face. The pain was almost unbearable to the point where she believed it was a curse that she couldn't just black out. She couldn't just escape from everything. From anything.

When the magic stopped working, she was able to breathe and the swelling was gone. Everything was in place. She moved on to her assortment of bruises. Finally she stopped at the cut along her cheek. With shaking hands, she lifted her own finger to caress the bottom of the cut. For some reason she couldn't make herself stop looking at this last reminder of the day's pain. She used her wand and closed up the cut, and then cast the spell to make the scar of the cut disappear.

Nothing happened.

She cast the spell again.

The scar remained securely in place.

This was the last straw. She pulled back the curtain of her shower and leapt into it, turning the water all the way up. She sat on the bottom and let the scalding hot water run over her skin as she cried, scratching at the ugly reminder of the hell she was going to endure every day for as long as she survived.

She must have been in there for hours because it was her morning alarm that woke her from her reverie. Groaning, she pulled her way to her feet and began to get ready for what could be the worst day of her entire life. She used a spell to straighten her hair and apply the copious amounts of makeup. Everything took her more time than usual this morning. By the time she was done with those things, a glance at the time had her rushing for her clothes. She was almost out the door when a thought flew into her mind.

Shakily, she raised her wand and raised the hem to the place on her thigh that the image had shown. Then with a gulp, she shrank her blouse. When she could barely breathe, she knew it was tight enough. Unfortunately she was forced to undo a few more buttons to prevent her boobs from breaking through the shirt. Hermione felt disgusting. She had never looked this disgraceful in her life. She did look like a whore. She felt like a whore. She pulled her robe as tightly as she could around herself and grabbed her bag and began her death march to the Great Hall.