TRIGGER ALERT This chapter contains descriptions of sexual abuse that may prove overwhelming.

Chapter 4

Hermione's Sunday passed with little fanfare. She didn't even pick up a single textbook. Instead, she filled her time by just hanging out with Ginny, taking a few cat naps, and making a decision about Ron. His owl had arrived at the lunch hour with his epistle of self-righteous excuses and affected apology. Hermione spent mere moments in consideration of her reply:

Dear Ron

I have finally come to understand, in light of your reaction yesterday and your letter this morning, that you and I have nothing in common. It is with a reconciled heart that I now grasp my freedom. We were never good together, and after you have some time to consider everything, I am sure you will agree. I would like for us to remain friends, but I feel we will need some time apart to get back to that.

I wish you well in all you do.

Fondly,

Hermione.

Knowing Ron, she expected to be hearing from Harry in the near future to plead the man's case. In the meantime, she was happy to submerge herself in her usual study habits. By the time she headed up to bed, she had almost forgotten all her anxiety.

"Ow! Stop! Get off!" Hermione struggled to get out of the bed and away from the violent handling from the body straddling her hips. Teeth bit sharply and fingers dug cruelly into her. Despite the pain and rage engulfing her, she could feel the betrayal of her body responding in arousal. Dream Minerva was not one for speaking in the throes of passion, but tonight she was verbally castigating Hermione.

"You filthy little whore. Who were you with last night? Who dares to try to take you from me? Was it that imbecilic ginger tosser? Or was it her?"

"Uhnnn…" Hermione couldn't speak as the waves of her first orgasm choked her breath.

Hermione did not show up for her morning classes again. One missed day was unusual, but a second in as many days was unheard of. Ginny could forgive Hermione skipping Potions, but her nonappearance for Transfiguration was ominous. Like a fish swimming upstream, Ginny headed back to the Gryffindor tower while everyone else headed to lunch.

"Hermione? 'Mione are you here?" she pushed the bedroom door open. The room was darkened by the curtains blocking all the light. Ginny flicked the wand she held at the ready in her hand and the curtains flew apart, bathing the room in sunlight.

"Holy shit!"

The bed was trashed. The bed sheets were strewn across the room, the mattress was hanging half off the bed frame, and there was broken glass and splintered wood scattered about. Ginny was just about to bolt to get help when she heard a groan from the far side of the bed. Walking cautiously around the four-poster frame, she stopped short with a cry. Hermione was lying prone on the floor, her nightshirt bunched up around her neck and, what Ginny imagined, bite marks all over her back.

"Hermione!" the young Gryffindor fell to her knees by her friend's side. Rolling her over, she cradled Hermione's body against her breast, tears streaming down her cheeks as she tried to get a response from the woman she called sister. "Hermione…come on…please…talk to me. Open your eyes. Please!"

With no reaction to her pleas, Ginny pointed her wand towards the tower and shot off a patronus.

Minerva was standing at her window, gazing blindly out over the school, her mind drifting with the clouds. A flash of light behind her caught her attention. Turning, she spied a silver white horse in her sitting room before the words that shattered her heart were spoken; "Help me! Hermione is injured. She won't respond. Come to her room quickly!"

The barely controlled panic in the voice from the horse spurred Minerva on more than the words, without hesitation, she disapparated.

"Where… Oh, gods… Hermione!" Minerva was on her knees across from Ginny. "What happened?"

"I don't know. I found her like this."

"Hermione? Dear, can you hear me?"

Hermione lay unresponsive between the two women. Ginny had thoughtfully tugged the nightshirt down, covering the damage and allowing for some semblance of dignity.

"We need to get her to the infirmary. Give her to me." Minerva pulled Hermione into her lap. Glancing at Ginny she hastily directed, "Leave here and lock it behind you so no one can get in. We need it untouched for an investigation. Then join us in the hospital wing."

Ginny nodded and Minerva disapparated. The youngest Weasley stood on shaky legs and followed orders. After closing the door, she threw every protective ward, charm, spell, and hex she could think of. Satisfied that Merlin himself would not be able to get in, she ran through the halls to the hospital wing.

"Poppy! Quickly!" Minerva shouted on arrival.

"What in Merlin's name…" Poppy fumed as she emerged from her supply room. Her eyes flashed in surprise at the sight of Minerva carrying the limp body of Hermione Granger across the room. "What happened?" she demanded, rushing to assist.

"I have no idea. She was found in her room, unconscious and unresponsive." Minerva grunted, depositing Hermione on the nearest bed.

"Let's have a look." Poppy immediately began casting diagnostics. "This is not good…" she muttered to herself.

"What? What's wrong?"

Poppy started, so caught up in her work, she forgot Minerva was standing at her shoulder. "Her vitals… her pulse is thready and fast, respirations are shallow…she is in shock and her vital force is diminished." Poppy stood back and faced off with Minerva. "She is dying."

"What?! No!"

"I need to work. Please wait outside." Poppy dragged Minerva away and shoved her towards the door as she rushed to her potion supplies.