Chapter 4
The blade cut into her arm, her high pitched screams falling on deaf ears as her captor continued to carve the slur into her arm.
Her head fell to the side, the light catching on his long, greasy white-blond hair as he sneered at her. His son watched from the corner, utterly horrified as her deadened eyes locked on him.
Hermione didn't plead with Draco, only stared at him. The word he had so often called her, appearing on her arm in bloody letters; a ruin of her porcelain skin.
Mudblood.
Hermione shot up in bed, clothing plastered to her with sweat, tears running down her cheeks. For a moment, she panicked in the dark room. Her hand scrambled for her wand, stored under her pillow, holding it before her mouth with shaky hands.
"Lumos," Hermione whispered, turning the lamp on her bedside with a flick of her wrist.
Panting, Hermione allowed herself to relax as it became clear that she was safe at home, in bed.
Only a dream.
Only a memory.
/page break/
Molly Weasley, despite her disappointment that Hermione would not be her daughter in law, was firmly convinced that the best way for the Healer to get over her attack was to date. Hermione had been on several first dates in the past two years, all ending without further notice of a second date.
The men were nice enough, for the most part, it was something about the way their eyes would glance over her that made her skin crawl. It was a perfectly ordinary action, it was only reminiscent of a certain leer.
When they would pass behind her or touch her from behind, where she couldn't see them, Hermione would often startle violently; earning her odd looks from her dates. The young witch detested having her arm seen or touched, preferring to keep the scar well hidden.
Despite the many failures of her first dates, Molly remained resilient in the idea of Hermione recovering through meeting a nice wizard to date. Hermione often attempted to steer their conversations to other directions, often in vain.
It was with dread, not at seeing the Weasleys but at Molly no doubt attempting to wrangle her into another relationship, that Hermione gathered Mia into her arms and travelled by Floo powder to the Burrow. It had become tradition to come over for dinner every Sunday, all of them gathering to eat together.
The Burrow was as lively as ever, Hermione unnoticed as Molly chased George out of the kitchen with a wooden spoon. Arthur was in the living room, fiddling with a muggle television much to the chagrin of Percy. Ginny could be heard outside, shouting at Ron to bring Arnold the pygmy puff back down to the ground; apparently he had taken the puff up on a broomstick. Teddy, whom had just hit his terrible twos, was running away from Harry with a childish cackle; Harry's glasses clutched in a fist.
Hermione beamed, brushing the dirt from both her clothes and Mia's; feeling at home in the crowded, bustling Burrow.
"'Min!" Teddy shouted suddenly, dropping the glasses in favor of attempting to break Hermione's shins with a bear hug.
"Teddy," she greeted cheerfully, swinging the two year old up into her arms, Mia abandoning her for a hug from 'Uncle Harry'. "You're so strong, let me see your muscles," Hermione teased, laughing as the toddler struck his most macho flex.
When the two children noticed each other, they fought to be free of the adults before scampering out to play with 'Gin.' Hermione turned to Harry, noting his awkward expression. He still felt misplaced guilt about what had happened, Hermione could feel it, and she just wanted things to be back to the way they were before the war.
"Hello Harry," she smiled at him, receiving a nod in return. "Are you always going to be this way?" Hermione's smile faded, a lump forming in her throat.
Just look at me. I'm not broken.
"Excuse me," Harry mumbled, brushing past her and out of the room, leaving Hermione alone in the suddenly cold kitchen.
/page break/
"Come now, dear, isn't there anyone who's caught your eye?" Hermione had not been able to miss Molly's inevitable chat about men.
The two were in the kitchen, Hermione hand washing dishes as Molly dried them. With a sigh of exasperation, Hermione turned to the middle aged witch.
Her lips parted, the words about being busy with her new job freezing on her tongue. "There is someone," Hermione murmured, scrubbing a pot a bit more vigorously than necessarily.
"Oh! Is it a fellow from that new hospital of yours?" Molly turned a bright smile on the Healer, barely containing her arsenal of questions.
"No. I've actually known him for a few years, we just haven't been in touch. Mrs. Weasley?" Hermione handed her the last pot, turning to face her but not meeting her eyes.
"Do you think it's possible to love? If you're like me?" Hermione glanced up, meeting Molly's eyes unsurely.
There was so much about rape no one ever mentioned to her. The way it was only a four letter word, disconnected from her because no such thing would ever happen. It was horrible and it happened in the world, but never to her, right?
When it did, the word didn't seem to express all of the aftermath. It didn't tell her about the gut wrenching self-hatred, the disgust, the fear, the anger, the shame.
One person couldn't feel all that. They'd explode.
Molly didn't answer, only pulled Hermione into a hug.
"It's always possible to heal," Molly whispered to her.
Hermione allowed herself to believe it was true.
An: to clear up confusion, Hermione has been to work after seeing Viktor, I just didn't think it was important enough to put into a chapter. I would have put their next interaction into this chapter but I felt it important to see Hermione interact with the Weasleys. Harry's not an asshole, I swear. I have plans for him ;)
Also: DRACO IS NOT THE ONE WHO RAPED HER!