Unlikely Connections

Chapter Twenty - Lambada: "The Forbidden Dance"

Hermione thought her arm might pull out of its socket as Ron sped back towards Hogwarts. She begged him to stop, to slow down, to allow her a minute to catch her breath, but he seemed deaf to her pleas. He didn't even look back at her as he charged on over the road back. The high speed at which they were moving even caused her to trip over her high-heeled boots and fall a few times, but Ron dragged her at least four or five feet each time - the gravel scraping traces along her stomach and thighs - before he realized it and stopped to haul her to her feet.

"Ron," she called to him, wincing as he yanked her free of a pothole. "Ouch! Ron! Will you slow down please, I can barely keep up!"

They burst through one of the side doors of the castle and Ron slammed Hermione up against the wall, her back to the cold, shadowy stones. Still only feet from the door, the granite behind her was icy and damp. She shivered and sniffled, having braved the cold and rainy walk home without her cloak. Ron slammed the heels of his hands into Hermione's shoulders, pinning her to the wall.

"Ron, what--" she began.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing?" Ron shouted furiously over top her words. "What is bloody wrong with you? After you promised ... and in PUBLIC!"

Ron was roaring now, inches from her face, his features purpling nastily in anger and frustration. Hermione sucked in a gasp as she realized what had happened: Ron must have seen her kissing Snape. And if Ron had seen, there was no telling who else could have done.

Hermione's stomach took a sick lurch. She had never seen him this angry and Hermione was practically whimpering in fright when she spoke. "Ron, wait, please ... you don't understand ..."

"You're damn right I don't! Why him, Hermione? Why? He's greasy and evil and obnoxious and a bloody great bully and--"

"He is not," Hermione retorted, her pride and anger overpowering her fear. "He's better when it's just him. He's ... well, he's ... That is to say--"

"You can't even say it, can you? Because, if that's what you're thinking, he's not nice and he's not different! He's Snape! He's vindictive, he's malicious, he's dangerous, and he's hideous! And look at you. Look at what being near him has done to you." Ron gestured vaguely towards her clothing with a sneer of disgust. "Become his little Mudblood whore right quick now, haven't we?"

Ron's face was glazed in shock; it had all happened so quickly. He barely even noticed her cocking back her hand, but stood in stunned silence for a moment as the wide red welt of her print rose across his cheek. And his anger flared again. He brought up one of his hands from her shoulders and curled it around her throat. "You have the nerve to hit me? I'm not screwing around with a man who could kill everyone I love!"

Hermione sputtered as she gasped for air. Ron's hand was brutally tight around her neck, pinching her windpipe, and she could barely draw breath. She spoke back in a hoarse whisper, mustering every centimeter of calm she possessed. "Ron, stop please, and we'll talk about this civilly."

"Civilly, ha!" he bit back. "Look at you and you want to talk like adults? From this outfit and the display I witnessed tonight, the last thing on your mind is talking. Even poor, daft Ron can see that."

Panic rose in Hermione's throat as a strange and new look crept into Ron's eyes. His gaze stroked down to her chest and back up again. She craned her neck around his restraining arm to where his gaze had lingered. In the struggle against his force, she noticed that her top had slipped down significantly and one of her nipples was now showing slightly. She moved an arm against him to try to readjust the top of her corset. He grabbed both wrists surprisingly quickly and pinned them above her head. A sick swooping lurch hit her stomach as she realized what an unhappy parallel of the original situation with Snape was now occurring here with Ron.

"Oh, want to cover up now, do you? Don't bother, love, I'm probably the only one who hasn't seen your ... charms this evening. You have to want to do anything but talk if you dress like this." Ron's hand drew down from her wrists and he ran a finger over her breast. She moved to slap him away but his hand tightened over her throat, causing her to choke slightly and focus her attention away from struggle. Struggle required breath, which she was decidedly short on at the moment.

Her hands fell limp at her sides and, as he rebraced his feet against the wall, pinning her there with just his hips, she merely listened to him talk. His voice softened to a surprising gentleness. "If you wanted to be touched by someone, Hermione, why didn't you come to me? Don't you know I've always wanted you?"

Her eyes teared up as they met his. Oh, no Ron, please not this ... anything but this ... I can't take it, she pleaded silently with her mind. Not another man whose feelings I don't know how to deal with, please ...

She trembled as her eyes caught his gaze. He had lost the hungriness now, the wild and crazed anger; his face melted into a pained covetousness. He raised his hand again to caress her face and eased the hand at her throat. Out of sheer instinct, when his hand touched her face she winced slightly and turned away. The moment of tenderness Ron had been experiencing snapped and dissolved and the anger returned. His hand tightened again around her throat to bruising strength.

"Do I disgust you? You can kiss Snape and I disgust you? Why, Hermione?" His voice softened to a whining plea. "Why not me? I've always wanted you. I've always wanted to be near you." He pressed his pelvis deep into her stomach and she felt a searing heat against her abdomen. "Don't you know how much I want you? Can't you feel how much I want you? Dressed like this, looking like this, how could I not want you?"

She turned to avoid his eyes, his fingers digging deep in her throat as she did; she couldn't stand the hysteria and lust in those normally humorous and easy hazel eyes. She couldn't stand to look him in the eye as the hot hardness of his want pressed against her hip. She flushed red in embarrassment.

"Ron, please," her voice was more panicked than she wanted when she tried to reason with him. "Please let's just .... Let me go and we can talk about this. You don't want to do this. Not here, not now. Please, please, just let go."

"Didn't want him to let go though, did you? And you promised me, you promised that if he ever touched you again, I could tear you to pieces."

As he finished speaking, she looked back up into his eyes and prickles ran all across her skin. He was practically burning holes in her with his eyes. And for the first time, she was genuinely afraid for her safety.

"Ron ..."

"But I won't," he finished as if she had never spoke. "I don't want you in pieces. I want you around me. I want me around you. I want me in you." The hand that had been at her breast trailed down to her stomach and up under skirt. She whimpered and struggled against him.

"Ron, no ... Ron please, don't," she implored.

"Oh come on, Hermione, you can't tell me you didn't want this type of attention," he returned, his fingers pushing aside her underpants and tentatively exploring her body.

Her face flushed in embarrassment and she felt tears wet her cheeks. She was whimpering a weak, "No!" but no longer had the strength to fight him off. Her head was reeling from lack of oxygen and she felt her body going limp against him. Against her will, she felt her pulse begin to race as his fingers became more curious. In a last ditch effort to get him to stop before anything else happened, she weakly pushed away his hand and sobbed, "Ron, this is crazy ..."

"Crazy?" Ron snapped. He brought his hand out of her body and used it again to pin her wrists over her head. His hand at her throat dug deeper, her head lolling. "You climb all over Snape and you're calling attention from me crazy? I'll show you crazy ..."

Hermione squealed and struggled as he released her hands. She heard the swishing of robes and rustle of clothes for a moment and then felt the warm press of his hot skin against her naked inner thigh. She was little prepared when she felt his hand come and rip her knickers down her legs.

Hermione cried out thinly as she felt Ron thrust himself into her body. She squeezed her eyes shut, tears pouring down her face. His breath came hot and quick next to her ear as his hands closed around wrists and throat again.

"This is not crazy. The idea of you and Snape together is crazy. Feel this, Hermione. Feel me, Hermione. That's not crazy."

She could barely hear the movements of his body and the breath at her cheek as she sobbed against his thrusts.

****

Harry shivered. He clutched his robes a bit closer to him as he stood along the side of the bar in the Three Broomsticks, closely watched by a stern-faced McGonagall. She spoke to him out of the corner of her mouth, her eyes never leaving the scene of teenagers dancing wildly in time to the loud music.

"We have to put up a good front for a bit, Potter. In case anyone's ... watching."

Harry nodded distractedly, but couldn't shake the feeling that something was going very wrong right under their collective noses.

****

Hermione jerked up and down with the force of Ron's thrusts, her back chaffing against the stones, her head lolling; her body registered none of this, however. Hermione had curled up inside her head, talking herself through the agaonizing seconds that could be hours.

It'll be all right, she kept repeating, he doesn't know what he's doing. This isn't Ron. This isn't the real Ron. The real Ron is in there somewhere, buried ... if I could just reach him, he'd stop.

Hermione sniffled loudly and used every spare inch of strength she had to drop her arms from his slipping grip around her wrists. Once freed, she laced her heavy arms around his shoulders and clung precariously to the Ron she knew must be in there somewhere ...

"Ron ... Ron please ..." she murmured, all but drained of energy. "Ron, come back to me ..."

The effort of speaking proved to be too much in her oxygen-deprived state and her head lolled forward onto his shoulder. Tears oozed slowly from her red and bloodshot eyes. Her head hit Ron's shoulder with a soft thunk, the mass of curls starting to lose their temporary blackening charm. Ron jumped, pausing in his actions as her warm, heavy tears slid down his neck.

Ron leapt back away from Hermione as if he'd been burnt and stared down at her. She was now nearly unconscious, gasping for air and sliding down to the cold stone floor. Ron looked down at himself and saw - with heart-plummeting shock - blood coating his fingertips and penis. He looked around wildly, his mind racing. He had done this to her ... how could he have done this to her? His heart wrenched as he saw the smeared streak of red on her right inner thigh.

Hermione had collapsed into a heap and passed out, her breathing now regular and even, some of the color returning to her face. Ron, who (in a moment of complete and abject panic) could think of no other way to help her, adjusted his clothes and ran as fast as his feet would carry him towards Gryffindor Tower.

Hermione made no stir against the cold, damp and muddy stone floor.

****

Harry bolted upright from his slumped position against the bar. With the sudden clarity of a bolt of lightning, he had realized what was wrong. Just before Snape had pulled him away towards Lucius Malfoy ...

"Hermione," Harry mumbled, making his way through the crowds and towards the door. Forgetting himself and his situation briefly, he gasped, sputtered and swore when a stiff hand caught him at the collar and stopped his progress.

"And just where do you think you're going, Potter?" McGonagall questioned as he struggled to extricate himself from her grasp.

Harry did some very quick thinking. Certainly, it would not do to arouse McGonagall's suspicion or interference in a potentially explosive situation between Hermione and Ron if they were both in typical towering temper. They would neither of them thank him for that. "I'm not feeling well, Professor; too much butterbeer and snacks, I think. And nervousness." Harry was rewarded for his amazingly well-thought remark by a knowing smile from the older witch. "I'd really like to head back to Gryffindor Tower."

McGonagall nodded. "I'll come with you, Potter," she said briskly, grabbing her cloak.

"No!" Harry responded, much too vehemently for politeness. He backtracked quickly at the sight of her shocked expression. "I mean, no, thank you Professor. That's not necessary; I'll be fine."

"Be that as it may, I still need to accompany you. I was engaged as a guardian due to your misbehavior today in Potions." McGonagall flashed what (on her) must have been a conspiratorial grin, and Harry had all he could do to return at least a ghost of a smile.

****

Hermione awoke with a start, aching all over. For a long, painful moment, she felt her whole body panic, wondering why she was aching and splayed out on the cold stones near the South Lawn exit to the castle. Then the night came back to her in a rush. She curled up, knees drawn to her chest, as the last half hour played in her head. Had anyone been near, they might have been scared witless at the horrible keening issuing from her body. As the events stopped playing over in her mind, she hauled herself to her hands and knees, grunting and groaning as she did so.

Her head was hammering so tenaciously within her skull that she could have sworn her brain was trying to leap out. She had a vague, fleeting thought of making her way to the hospital wing for a relief potion, but just as the thought occurred to her, she caught a glimpse of a smear of dried blood on her legs.

No, she thought vehemently, too many people could see and ask questions. And I certainly don't want to tell Madam Pomfrey ... to tell her that I ...

Hermione flopped into a sitting position again after having crawled a few feet. Her sobs began afresh, thinking of this evening. For a few hysterical moments, Hermione cried out all the tears she had left. And when she had done so, she felt like a ghost - empty and strangely vacant. She began to crawl towards the main entranceway to make her way back to Gryffindor Tower, but before she made it there she realized how filthy she would be, dragging herself along the floor.

Filthy. It beat inside her brain, over and over again. Once the word occurred to her, she felt nothing but. Filthy. Filthy. Filthy. Filthy. Filthy ...

Just as Hermione began to repeat the word outloud, she crawled underneath a window. She raised her head just high enough to peer out at the cold rain pelting down against the ground.

The word pelted her brain again, and then she looked back out at the rain. She hauled herself, with the aid of the windowsill, to her feet. Hermione Granger does not crawl, and Hermione Granger doesn't stay filthy, she said to herself. She knew what to do. And with several jerky steps, she turned an abrupt about-face and wandered out into the beating rain.

****

After a brisk walk back to school in the now driving rain, Harry bid goodbye to McGonagall at the corridor to Dumbledore's office and made his way to Gryffindor Tower as quickly as he could manage without arousing the undue suspicion of the younger students not allowed to attend the party this evening.

"She'll be there," Harry muttered as he passed the sixth floor staircase and had to double back. "She and Ron are probably having a blazing row right now. I'll have to break it up and we'll all go to bed angry. She'll be there, it'll be all right."

Harry had gone into such a lengthy repetition of this that the Fat Lady had to clear her throat several times before he muttered the password. Harry dashed through the portrait hole and came to a screeching halt as the small clusters of young Gryffindors stared at him wildly.

It took Harry several moments before he realized why they were gaping at him. The first years sitting closest to him looked as if they would wet their pants, and it finally hit him why they were so nervous.

"Oh for--" Harry muttered, coming to his senses, "Finite Incantatem." He watched as the contingency of first years relaxed noticeably when the fake Snape melted back into Harry.

"Have you seen Hermione? Granger?" he added hastily.

"You mean that awfully smart girl with the big hair who bosses everyone about?" a blonde-haired boy near him asked.

Harry nodded, noting absently that had he not been so worried, he would have found that description quite humorously accurate.

"Nope," a second boy replied shortly.

"She hasn't been here since she left for the masquerade hours ago," said another.

"What about Ron?" Harry directed to the nearest first year girl to him.

She trembled when she realized that Harry was speaking to her, her straight brown locks wavering as she shook her head ridiculously hard. "He came in about 30 minutes ago and ran straight to his dormitory. He hasn't made a peep since."

Harry climbed the stairs to the boys' dormitory in only a few steps. Upon entering the room, Harry called out to Ron, who was soundless behind the curtains of his four-poster. Harry briefly entertained the idea of pulling back the curtains and questioning him forcibly, but discarded the idea, as he was well aware of the havoc created by arguments with Hermione. Instead, he resigned himself to returning to the common room and waiting to see if Hermione showed up.

After nearly an hour of waiting, the fifth sixth and seventh years began to trickle back into Gryffindor Tower. Harry watched and smiled distractedly as many of them filed past, jabbering excitedly, but there was no sign of Hermione.

Nearly an hour and a half after he had left the Three Broomsticks, Harry could take no more anxious waiting and bolted up out of his armchair and out into the hall. He would find Hermione if he had to search ever damn corner of the grounds himself.

****

Severus Snape slumped into the armchair in front of his office fire. He had searched every possible place within the castle that he could imagine that they could be and he had found nothing. Not even a misplaced lock of hair. And if they had fled to Gryffindor Tower, there was no way he could check for their presence, short of employing a student (which his pride would certainly not allow) or charging up there himself (which Minerva McGonagall would certainly not allow). He sighed heavily. There was no way he could find out what had happened to Granger.

He grumbled out loud at himself for being so damn turned around that he even cared what that little chit had gotten herself into with Weasley. Perhaps he would give her what for, she'd get it through her abominably thick skull and Severus would finally be given some peace.

Severus sighed deeply, happily anticipating the silence and tranquility his days would have now if he wasn't to be plagued by irritating collisions with Granger. Severus felt so close to being back on kilter after his bouts with Granger over the last few weeks that he even saw fit to pour himself a large tumbler of Firewhiskey, something he hadn't done in quite a long time indeed.

Don't get sloppy, he reminded himself, you have to be on guard at all times.

Just as Severus had settled back into the armchair and taken up a book to read, a loud crackling of flames issued from his fireplace. He looked up to see Dumbledore's head floating just above the grate.

"Severus," he began unsteadily, "I've just been informed by Mr. Potter that Miss Granger had not returned to Gryffindor Tower this evening. I happened to venture down by the South Lawn door and found something rather disturbing.... Minerva and Poppy Pomfrey have just come and I wondered if you might join us."

The old man's face was composed, but after years of training, Severus could hear the slight panic contained within. And Severus could not lie to himself that he wasn't suddenly inexplicably uneasy.

"I'll be right down," he mumbled before depositing his glass on a nearby table and grabbing his cloak as the door clicked shut behind him.

****

Harry was pacing back and forth nervously as the teachers hovered over the few feet of hallway before the South Lawn door. The sight of the small crimson smear on the floor near the door and trail of drips leading to and from the window kept splaying themselves across his eyelids.

Hermione is bleeding, he thought frantically, she's out there bleeding and they're debating over what to do next.

Harry couldn't stop the small noises of irritability escaping his lips as the teachers stood in front of the door. Over his shoulder he caught snatches of conversation.

"Well, I'd say that it's obvious that she was here and that something hideous happened to her. It's clear that she's bleeding. Or she was, at any rate," Madam Pomfrey said, her voice tight with fear.

"Ginny Weasley said that she disappeared into a corner for a few minutes with someone in a dark cloak and then disappeared. Miss Weasley brought me back her cloak which had her wand in it." Harry could hear the tension in McGonagall's voice.

Harry looked over to see Dumbledore's profile frown heavily. "Miss Granger is far too sensible to leave her wand behind unless it couldn't be avoided. She must have been lured away from it."

"You don't think that--" McGonagall began, looking uneasily between Dumbledore and Snape.

"No," Severus answerd shortly. "She left with ... with someone else."

Severus was unsure as to why he covered Weasley's tracks, but got a swooping, sick sensation in his mind that he must hide what happened to her after she left the party ... even though he had no idea what that was. He had been scouring his mind for the connection they had forged the previous week, but she was intentionally blocking him; the only thing that came through clearly to him was a feeling of fear and the word filthy. He shook his head as he realized the rest of the party was staring at him.

"Do you know who she left with, Severus?" Dumbledore asked slowly.

"No," he replied, not meeting the man's eyes. "I couldn't see from a distance, I was otherwise occupied." The stress Severus put on the last two words was miniscule, but dawning understanding glinted in the faces of both Dumbledore and McGonagall. Madam Pomfrey seemed to have taken no notice of the inflection.

"Well," Dumbledore started again, "the important thing now is to find her. Minerva, Poppy," he directed towards the two women, "I want you to conduct a thorough investigation of the castle. Poppy, start in the dungeons and work your way upward. Minerva, start in Gryffindor Tower and descend. Leave no stone unturned. If she is bleeding, she needs to be found soon."

Severus sighed heavily, knowing their search was fruitless, as he had conducted it himself not two hours ago. He simply waited for instructions from Dumbledore as the women rushed away in a swish of robes.

"Severus, you and I will search for her on the grounds."

Severus looked disagreeably out into the rain, but nodded shortly. As the teachers made to follow their own paths, Harry spoke up, the frustration in his voice quite keen.

"What about me?" he asked loudly. "I need to help."

"Potter--" Severus began, but Dumbledore interrupted.

"Mr. Potter, I shall Apparate to the Three Broomsticks and backtrack towards the castle from there. You may aid Severus in his search of the immediate grounds. Severus, if you would take the areas surrounding the lake and the Forbidden Forest; Harry, if you would, please search the North Lawns out to the Quidditch pitch?"

Both men threw each other a look of intense dislike, nodded sharply, and buttoned their cloaks around them. Dumbledore heaved a great sigh and led the party outdoors. Harry shook himself slightly, adjusting to the cold rain, then lit his wand and headed off in the direction of the Quidditch pitch. Dumbledore wished Severus luck, called for Fawkes and, taking firm hold of the bird's tail, Apparated away with him. Severus pulled up the hood of the thick woolen cloak he was wearing, lit his wand as well and marched off in the direction of the Forbidden Forest.

****

Harry sighed deeply and sunk further into the soft chintz armchair positioned in front of the fireplace in Dumbledore's office. He shivered slightly, his robes still damp even after nearly a half hour of sitting in front of the crackling flames. Madam Pomfrey was now pacing the office rapidly; Harry was certain that, given another ten minutes or so, she'd start wearing patterns in the carpet. McGonagall handed him a cup of tea and returned to her position staring out the window onto the grounds. Dumbledore merely sat at his desk, looking forward into space, his hands steepled and his eyes troubled.

Harry checked his watch. Midnight had long since come and gone now; if his calculations were correct, Hermione had left the castle sometime in the vicinity of 10:00 pm. His mind kept repeating all the possible things that could have happened to her by now. At the very least, if they didn't find her soon, she'd be likely to die of pneumonia.

Just when Harry had been ready to get up out of his chair and start pacing behind Madam Pomfrey, he heard McGonagall softly speak from the windowsill. "Albus?"

Dumbledore moved to the sill faster than Harry would have thought possible. "That's them," he said strongly, "it's got to be."

As Dumbledore and McGonagall rushed from the office, Harry hurried to the window and stared out, squinting into the darkness. A large, lumpy figure with something slung across its arms emerged from the shadows and moved jerkily across the lawn towards the front doors.

Harry bolted out of the office and down the stairs as fast as his legs would carry him.

****

The huge, sturdy doors that had first ushered Harry into the huge castle swung open with an enormous creak that Harry thought might just have woken the dead. For a moment, it seemed as if time had stopped. Snape stood for what seemed like eons, his hood down away from his face, his hair, features and clothes sodden through. He was silhouetted against the lashing rain in sharp relief from the light in the entranceway. Dumbledore and McGonagall hurried to him, blocking Harry's view, but Snape's voice came clear and strong to him.

"I found her wandering around inside the Forbidden Forest. Looked like she'd been there for hours. Ridiculous little fool is damn lucky I found her before something else did."

Angry comments rose up in Harry's throat like bile, but they died on his lips as Snape brushed past him and Harry got a glimpse of Hermione. She was lying splayed and limp across Snape's arms, her arms flying out and her head lolling unpleasantly; her arms and legs bore a myriad tiny scratch marks, leaves and twigs clinging here and there to her clothes and body. Her clothes were soaked through and torn in several places, the heel on her left boot broken off and a great tear in her top showed a streak of pale skin. Hermione's face was bone white, her makeup smeared and running across her cheeks. Her endless curls were mangled and escaping, bouncing as Snape took each jerking step.

"Is she--" Harry barely managed as they passed by.

Dumbledore turned to him and place a hand on his shoulder. "No, Harry, she is most definitely alive. But she is also most definitely in a very serious condition."

Dumbledore turned and head up the stairs, following Snape, McGonagall and Madam Pomfrey as they headed towards the hospital wing. Harry followed without a word.

****

Harry stood at the foot of Hermione's bed, no longer able to sit patiently as he had for the last hour, listening to the teachers talk over her. He had only left her side when Madam Pomfrey had shooed all the men away from the area curtained off so that she could put the girl in clean, dry pajamas. Harry watched from the corner as the shadows on the shade moved. It pained him to watch McGonagall have to hold her limp form as Madam Pomfrey dressed her. Once they had been allowed back in, Harry was reminded painfully of their second year, when he had sat by the bedside of Hermione's petrified body.

As soon as she was dressed, he placed himself in a chair near her bedside and stayed for over an hour as the nurse tended to Hermione with delicate hands. The remaining professors conversed in low tones as they looked on, discussing what was to be done and what could have happened to her.

"Well, there's no sure way to find out," the usually-stern Head of Gryffindor whispered, "not until she wakes up and tells us on her own."

Dumbledore looked for an instant as if he believed differently, but merely nodded and remained silent. Harry had left his chair and begun to fidget with the quilt at her feet, all the while aware of Snape pacing impatiently a few feet behind him. Madam Pomfrey was still grumbling that neither Harry nor Professor Snape had allowed her to tend to them.

Eventually, after much whispered discussion between the nurse and Head of Gryffindor, Madam Pomfrey spoke to the entire group. "Well, no matter what we believe happened to the girl, we need to allow her uninterrupted rest for however long she needs it. I'm going to give her a sleeping draught and an anti-fever potion and then we should all leave her be."

The assembled party answered only in nods, with the exception of Snape, who paused in his pacing, sighed heavily, mumbled something under his breath and then strode out of the ward without a backward glance.

****

Despite the annoyed "harrumph" of Madam Pomfrey and the slightly anxious looks from Professor McGonagall, Harry insisted on sitting at Hermione's bedside throughout the night. Into the wee hours of the morning, Harry watched as she neither moved nor gave any indication that she was anything but catatonic. Somewhere just before sunrise, Harry awoke abruptly, finding that he had slipped into sleep with his head and hands resting on the mattress near her chest. He stretched with a groan, his muscles protesting after several hours of sleep in a very strange position, and rose from the chair with the intention of going back to Gryffindor Tower to change and head down to breakfast and Quidditch practice. He bent slightly before leaving Hermione's bed to clasp her hand in his.

Just as he made his way out the door, he caught a glimpse of billowing black robes swishing their way into Madam Pomfrey's office.

****

Harry left Hermione's bedside only for classes, occasional meals and sleep. He was allowed access - grudgingly - into Hermione's room briefly by McGonagall and he brought down several items that he knew would comfort her if ...when she awoke. He surrounded her with her favorite books, a jug of dried flowers, and even brought down Crookshanks for a visit. In one very embarrassing moment of rummaging through a drawer that happened to contain her knickers, he found what he knew to be her favorite nightgown and brought it down for Madam Pomfrey to change her into when she bathed Hermione that night. He ignored the circumspect look that the nurse had given him when he handed over the garment.

Harry stopped into the hospital wing during each class change ad at the end of every meal. Every day for a week and a half, he held a vigil behind the curtain that constantly surrounded her bed as she remained completely unmoved and unwaking.

Fifteen days after Hermione had fallen ill on Halloween, Harry awoke on a Saturday morning to find that he had once again fallen asleep at her bedside. Harry sat up straight once again, rubbing at a spot on his forehead that now held an indentation from where he had slept on top of the face of his watch.

Harry looked up briefly to see Severus Snape standing on the opposite side of Hermione's bed, gazing down at her with an unreadable expression. So intensely were his eyes fixed on her face that Harry was quite certain he had not even noticed Harry's stirring. Snape reached out a hand toward Hermione's cheek, at which time Harry decided that it was best to end this charade. He set up straight, making slightly exaggerated gestures of stretching. Snape looked decidedly startled, naturally, and withdrew a hand. He threw a sneering glance to Harry and swept from the wing without a word.

As Harry settled back into gazing at the space beside Hermione's bedside, a small groaning came from somewhere in front of him. Harry sat up straight as a ramrod, searching for the source of the sound. His eyes narrowed as he looked down at Hermione. His heart was in his throat. Is she finally awake?

He watched her intently, his eyes tearing and burning with concentration. But she had not moved a millimeter, and she wasn't stirring. He sighed. Must have been another one of the patients in the wing. He settled back into his chair, certain that he had imagined it.

"Unnnnnnnnnnnnhhhhhhh."

Harry sat up again. Hermione's eyelids were fluttering, though her body was still unmoving. With his heart pounding so loud he was sure the whole ward would hear it, Harry watched as Hermione slowly opened first one eye, then the other. She grimaced and squinted against the bright light of day, but turned her head to find him sitting there.

"Harry," she whispered hoarsely and smiled just a bit.

Harry's heart felt like it had leapt into his nasal cavity. He sat forward quickly, clasping her hand firmly but gently. "I'm here. I'm with you."

"Where am I?" she said softly, her voice still raspy.

"You're in the hospital wing. You've been here for just over two weeks. They thought you ... that you'd ... but I knew you'd be all right. I stayed here because I knew ... Gave everyone quite a scare though. You had quite a fever from walking around in the rain."

Hermione had begun to smile as she listened to Harry's excited babbling. But her smile quickly withered as she remembered why she was there. A shiver rain the length of her body, and it took all of her scant strength to keep from sobbing with it. She tried to push herself into a sitting position to talk to Harry, but ended up groaning with strain.

"Be careful," Harry warned, leaping up to help ease her upright. "Madam Pomfrey said that once you woke up you'd be very weak from sickness and stress."

"I'm hot," she whimpered fitfully, struggling with her blankets.

Harry placed the back of his hand on her forehead and noticed that she still had a bit of a fever and supposed that it couldn't hurt too much to take her blankets down a bit. Once he had them folded nicely at her feet, she primly arranged her nightgown to cover her thighs properly, her legs welcoming the cool air.

Hermione looked around again briefly. "My books," she said, smiling at the familiarity. "My nightgown ..." she finished, fingering the delicate lace along the scooped neck of the garment.

Harry cleared his throat uncomfortably. "I brought them down for you. I thought ... I thought it would help you get better."

Hermione nodded as best she could and looked away from Harry as he blushed pink. She couldn't stand the intensity of his eyes as he gazed at her. She knew quite well what he was thinking, she was simply willing him with all her might not to put it in to words.

"What happened to you, Hermione?" he asked quietly after a moment of silence.

Hermione looked back to him, her face molded into a carefully calm expression. "What do you mean? I was out in the rain; I got sick ...." She trailed off at the sight of his incredulous stare.

"Come on, M'inee," he said, his voice hushed. He seemed to be struggling with what to say, deciding that several things weren't good enough. "Hermione Granger doesn't just go parading out into the rain in the freezing cold after a dance for a lark. You left with Ron. Ron was angry. Something happened, I know it. Why are you trying to hide it from me?"

Hermione gulped and swallowed. Hearing his name out loud instead of just in the feverous dreams that had plagued her made her heart leap and skip with fear and anxiety. "I don't know what you mean, I - "

"There was blood on the floor in the hallway."

"What?" she said, her voice leaping several octaves upwards.

"Blood. There was blood. In the hallway. Yours."

Hermione felt as physically shocked as if he had raised a hand and struck her. She should have realized there would be blood. She couldn't stop herself from looking him in the eye then; in fact, she felt as if he had somehow, without words, willed her to do so.

"Did he hurt you?" Harry asked quietly. He seemed to be nearly choking on the words.

Hermione squeaked minutely andleaned back against the pillow, avoiding his stare. As she did so, Harry was afforded an interesting view of her neck. In the two weeks he had sat by her bedside, he had often seen a galleon-sized bruise on the right side of her throat, facing his seat at her bed, just on the outside of her windpipe. For one reason or another, he had never seen the other side of her neck. However, when she titled her head just so to stare down at his shoes and avoid his gaze, he noticed something that had escaped his attention before. On the opposite side of her windpipe was a small semicircle of four bruises slightly smaller than the first he had noticed.

Harry stared at them deeply for several quiet minutes. Eventually Hermione noticed his gazed and began to shift uncomfortably, trying to determine the focus of his stare. She watched in horrified comprehension as understanding melted over Harry's face. He rose slowly from his chair. It seemed to take forever for him to bring up his hand and lay it at her throat, one by one placing his fingers over the bruises. Revulsion raced across his features. True enough, the bruises didn't quite line up with Harry's fingers, but there was no doubt now that they were finger-shaped ... and Ron had much bigger hands than Harry ...

"Did he," the words stuck just at his teeth before he forced them out. "Did he try to ... did he hurt you?"

The question was the same as it had been before, but with Harry's hands still at her throat, she knew he had an idea of what Ron had tried to do.

At Harry's questioning of 'hurt,' Hermione could not fight it anymore. Harry's hands at her throat reminded her too much of that night. Without thinking, she threw away his hand and clutched a protective arm across her breasts, the other hand moving to shield her abdomen. As she huddled up to do so, the nightgown slid up her thigh, and Harry was greeted with another view of a deep purple bruise, high on the inside of her right thigh. Harry reached out a single finger to brush the mark.

Hermione squealed in horror and curled up further. Harry jumped away from her at this, but watched sickly as she hunched up and began to sob.

"Did he ... touch you?"

Hermione straightened back out with a loud sigh, seemingly drained of the effort needed to hide her shame, but she began howling with sorrow and terror. Harry rushed to her and gathered her shaking body in his arms. She bawled against his chest, his shirt fast becoming soaked in the spot beneath her face. He held her as she shook and wept against him, forming indistinguishable sounds that could not truly have been called words.

"Did he try to ...?" Harry began, but he could not finish.

Hermione looked up into Harry's eyes. She had gathered fistfuls of his shirt clenched tightly in her grip and was desperately trying not to give anything away in her face. But when she looked into the sharp green of his eyes, she knew that he knew. Harry enveloped her in his arms once more.

She started once again muttering and weeping intermittently. Harry opened his mouth to tell her "it's all right," but closed it again. It most certainly wasn't all right. And it wasn't going to be all right for quiet some time.

"Shhh, I'm here," Harry said quietly. "Don't worry. No one's going to touch you from now on. I'll protect you."

Hermione resumed sobbing again, but this time, only one word was distinguishable.

"Filthy," she sobbed.

Hermione felt Harry's arms tighten around her. She looked up and found his face twisted and reddening with anger. He was looking down at the welt on her inner thigh. Suddenly, he rocketed out of her grasp and practically ran from the hospital wing, leaving Hermione alone and sniffling quietly.