Author's Note: Now wasn't that fast! Thank you to all of my lovely reviewers.

Time crawled. Days seemed to be impersonating weeks, seconds seemed to lag considerably. Hermione longed for a giant vat of dreamless sleep because it was truly the only way to pass the time. When she wasn't sleeping, she was thinking, and that never ended well, so she did her very best to occupy her mind. Gradually, movement became easier as the soreness eased, and Hermione was able to stand and move about. She reorganized her hospital room several times; she was fairly certain this wasn't allowed, but nobody said a word about it. She got the feeling they would've let her do anything, they felt that badly for her.

It wasn't endearing; she didn't want their pity.

There was one Healer, though, who superbly impressed her. Delia Meyers was young, maybe only a few years older than Hermione, and was most definitely in the middle of an apprenticeship. Hermione wasn't on the girl's floor, but they'd met by chance one afternoon when the former took an unauthorized turn about the hospital. Delia now visited everyday after her shift ended.

Hermione liked her for several reasons. Delia was probably the sweetest woman she'd met in a long time. She talked about her patients (anonymously, of course) like they were her children. She automatically thought the best in everyone she met. She had a mop of pure white-blonde curls which made her look like a cupcake with a swirl of frosting topping it.

But what Hermione liked most was that Delia was warm towards her without any clue as to her ailment. She knew, surely, that something bad had happened but not specifics and she never once pressed Hermione. And she was the only one.

So it was with genuine happiness that she welcomed Delia's present visit. She bustled in, bubbling about a child she'd been able to cheer that morning. Hermione listened, allowing her mind to drown within other people's problems until a squeal startled her back to reality.

"Oh," Delia exclaimed, nearly bouncing in her chair, "I almost forgot! You'll be released tomorrow!"

Hermione froze. "I…what?"

Delia nodded eagerly, clearly under the assumption that she'd delivered to Hermione the greatest of news. "I heard your Head Healer talking over lunch! Promise you'll be surprised, though. Promise?"

She sounded so desperate that Hermione felt herself nodding even as her ears shut off. "I can't go back," she breathed, and now she was talking solely to herself. "Not now, not…yet."

Delia's sank back in her chair, crestfallen. "I'm sorry," she groaned, mentally kicking herself. "I thought that'd be good news. You looked like you could use a little cheering."

Hermione sat up straight, trying to put her thoughts in order. She brushed her hair back and noted that it could use a wash.

Delia coughed lightly, to break the silence. "Hermione," she said warily, "if you don't mind me asking…why is it you don't want to go back to school?"

Hermione glanced up and saw the genuine concern etched into the green eyes of the intern before her, and marveled at the intensity with which she cared for people. She was quite sure she'd never met a more sincere person.

And she couldn't bring herself to lie. "I…what happened to me has gotten around school. By now, I'm sure they've all heard it. Probably even the professors know. And…I don't know, I thought I'd have a little more time to prepare myself. To think of what to say to people. What do I say to people?"

She wasn't sure if she wanted an answer or not, but Delia supplied her with one. She clasped Hermione's hand and applied a comforting pressure. "If you hold your head up high, nothing they say can get to you. I know that's probably easier said than done, but it's a motto that's gotten me through a lot."

Hermione furrowed her brow. "You have trouble with people? But…you're so sweet, I can't imagine anyone could have a problem with you." She realized how intrusive her comment might've been when Delia's eyes filled with tears, and she back-tracked. "Oh, no…I'm sorry Delia, that must've sounded incredibly invasive; you don't have to talk about it."

Delia waved her apology away and swiped at her eyes in frustration. "Don't be silly, you're not invasive." She laughed lightly. "Mum always said I cried too easily. I guess I could use a little more of a filter, but I've always had a lot of emotions." She shrugged unapologetically. "Anyways, I'm not embarrassed about to talk about it anymore.

"When I was younger, and even in University, I was always teased about my weight. I knew I was bigger, obviously. I could see the differences between myself and other girls my age. It just hurt when people used it to hurt me." She wiped at a stray tear. "But eventually it stopped bothering me, because if those people had the ability to be that cruel, they were never going to be people I was interested in spending any amount of time with. And once I got that through my head, I got so much happier."

She considered Hermione for a moment. "I don't know what happened to you, so I can't give you any sort of first-hand advice. What I can do is tell you that people can't hurt you if you don't let them. Mentally, at least. You're a sweet girl, so I'm sure you've got your fair share of close friends back at school. You stick with them and ignore the rest, and when they can't get a rise out of you, they'll get amused by the next best thing. And they'll leave you alone."

Hermione felt her own eyes filling with tears, and she was never much of a crier. She studied Delia, who was bearing the very depths of her soul to Hermione, and couldn't help but wonder how in the world anybody could be cruel to someone so kind. Hermione glanced down. She didn't make the conclusive decision to tell Delia but before she knew it, her mouth was open and words were pouring out.

"I was raped." Saying it very nearly took all her breath away from her; she'd spent so much time blocking even the word from her mind. She was very grateful that Delia remained perfectly silent. "I got…caught up in a Death Eater meeting, and they took turns. And the son of one of the men, the worst of the men…he went around bragging that his dad had bedded a 'Mudblood'." She glanced up and was wholly unsurprised by the tears that were pouring down Delia's cheeks, but it still hurt to see. "I'm incredibly sorry about what happened to you, Delia, because you don't deserve it. Nobody does, but especially not you. And I just hope I can be as strong as you."

Delia shook her head to compose herself. "I think people should be taking lessons from you, Hermione. Look at you! It hasn't been more than a week since you were attacked. If it were me, I'd be a basket-case. But you're…calm."

Hermione wanted to say she was getting too much credit. She wanted to say that yes, she was all right now, but what was to happen when she returned to school? She wanted to say a lot of things.

What she actually said was, "Thank you, Delia."

Delia sat back. She could sense Hermione had a lot more to say, but she would never be the one to push her. "You're welcome, sweetheart."

-BREAK-

The knock on his office door grated his already tense nerves. He pulled the door open as he shrugged into his traveling cloak and was greeted with the utterly grim face of Minerva McGonagall.

At least his misery had company.

"Good morning, Severus," she murmured as he stepped past her and out to the hall.

"Is it?" he remarked.

The corner of her mouth twitched, but she said nothing. Together, they walked in silence until the reached the front gates. Then she spoke once more. "Any idea what you'll tell her?"

Snape ran a hand along his cleanly shaven jaw and faced her. "I was thinking something along the lines of, 'Yes, the whole school is buzzing about the incident of your rape'. Just really laying it out for her. What do you think?"

McGonagall pursed her lips tightly. "Yes, real cute, Severus. This is a perfect time for jokes."

Severus opened his mouth to spit a retort, but steeled himself. "You're right. I'm sorry. In all honesty, I've no idea what to say."

She softened, and reached for his shoulder. And for a moment, he stopped trying to be so strong, and let himself take comfort in her offered human contact.

And before long, it was over. Without another word between them, they clasped hands and were gone.

Snape felt slightly more nauseous than usual when they landed in front of St. Mungo's. He didn't think it had to do with Apparating.

The pair of them approached Hermione's door with a shared apprehension. It was McGonagall who bit the bullet and knocked. It was also she who opened the door with Hermione's permission.

She sat on the foot of her bed, awaiting their arrival. She was fiddling nervously with her wand—she sent a red spark fizzling to the floor every now and then and Snape had the sneaking suspicion that she didn't even notice. A small bag sat beside her containing, Snape was sure, the clothes she wore the day of the attack. She wore a gray sweat suit that was several sizes too large for her. She glanced up as they entered, and gave them each a welcoming smile in turn.

"Professors," she murmured.

McGonagall softened considerably at the sight of the girl. "How are you, Miss Granger?"

Hermione seemed to bristle at the question, which didn't surprise Snape. It must get old. "I'm fine." Her tone was light enough.

McGonagall nodded and patted her arm. Snape gripped the bag beside her and said, "If you're ready, Miss Granger."

She nodded and followed them back out the door. The professors flanked the girl like an odd pair of bodyguards. After a few moments, he felt a light tug at his sleeve and glanced down. Her toffee eyes were wide with an anxiety she was trying to suppress.

"Professor," she said softly, unsure of how to begin. "Does, erm…does everyone know?"

It was blunt and to the point and it sent McGonagall sputtering. Snape ignored his coworker, and made the decision not to ever lie to Hermione, not even to spare her pain. She had been right the other day. She was stronger than anyone thought.

"Yes," he said simply. "I'm sorry, Miss Granger, but word got out. Professor Dumbledore is prepared to dole out a hearty detention and point-reduction to anyone caught talking about you, however, so if you ever feel uncomfortable, you need only say the word."

Hermione nodded. "Tell him thank you, if you see him."

McGonagall interrupted then. "Miss Granger, you were cleared from the hospital, but that doesn't mean you have to return to classes immediately. If you'd prefer to take another few days, by all means, take them."

She shook her head fervently. "Thank you Professor, but I won't run. To tell you the truth, I've been bored to tears. It'll be good to get going again."

The professors exchanged a look. Each of them saw a determination within the girl that was inspiring, to say the least. In truth, the last person Severus Snape knew with that uncanny ability to heal was Lily Evans.

When they reached the front of the hospital, they grasped hands. Hermione's breathing was a little heavier than normal and he momentarily wondered if that lung was still giving her trouble, until he remembered her last experience with Apparating.

He didn't give her another second to dwell on it.

When they landed at Hogwarts, Snape felt that her grip on his hand had tightened. His eyes snapped open, and he saw a very green complexion staring back at him.

"Miss Granger, do you feel all right?"

She opened an eye cautiously and heaved a sigh of relief when she saw the school. "Just fine."

They entered the castle and were immediately swallowed in bustle of students running to class. Hermione was cheered considerably when no one gave her even a second glance. The three climbed their way to the Fat Lady, with whom McGonagall shared the password.

Snape turned to Hermione then. "If you should ever need me—or, you know, a teacher—please come and knock on my door. Day or night."

Hermione rolled her eyes at the assumption that she couldn't take care of herself, but nodded. After promising for the umpteenth time to her Head of House that she'd only attend classes if she felt up to it, she was allowed to climb into the solitude of the portrait hole.

For a moment, she reveled in the silence. She breathed in the fire. It felt like home. It felt peaceful. That is, until a book thudded to the floor by one of the large armchairs. Hermione whipped around to face a boy whose hair seemed to be on fire and one whose glasses were slipping down the bridge of his nose.

"Hermione?"

And so it began.

AN: Please review! Who knows, if I get enough feedback, maybe I'll be tempted to get another chapter out before I have to take another short break...oh that's evil, I know.