In the Silence of the Night

Eight-year-old Hermione Granger lay in bed, so frightened that her small body was shaking uncontrollably. Hermione was not 'afraid of the dark', as many children were, but of the inescapable terrors the darkness brought with it. She heard the clock in the hall strike twelve with its low, mournful strokes. It won't be long now; Hermione thought as she screwed her eyes shut with dread. She's always on time.

The soft patter of footsteps sounded outside Hermione's door, and her small flicker of hope was crushed. She had had a child's idealistic hope; the hope that maybe it wouldn't happen tonight, maybe it would be different, maybe...

But, no. Of course not. Hermione suddenly realized how stupid she had been, how naïve, how young. At that exact moment her last shred of innocence was torn into pieces that could never be put back together.

She watched her doorknob turn with a new weary perspective on life. Seconds later, the door creaked open, and a female figure came through it. Her shadow glided on the wall as she silently crossed the distance between the door and the bed. She hovered above Hermione for a few tantalizing moments before deciding to end the silence and speak.

"Hello, Hermione, were you looking forward to our nightly visit? I was," the older girl said as a twisted smile played on her lips. The only response Hermione gave was a small whimper as she tried to hide underneath the covers, much like she once had done when her greatest fear was the Boogieman. The small girl laughed bitterly to herself as she recalled that childish fear; it didn't even begin to compare to this.

A cruel voice broke through her thoughts. "I really don't feel like playing games tonight Hermione, so just come out from under there. If you don't, I'll force you, and we wouldn't want that, now, would we?" The taunting was not subtle. The owner of the voice actually wanted to force Hermione to come out; she wanted anything that would cause more pain. However, Hermione slowly resurfaced from her blankets with watery eyes. She timidly glanced at her sister and could see a very obvious disappointment painted on her face.

The other girl approached Hermione with what could have been perceived as a friendly gesture. It nearly appeared that she would embrace her; but as Hermione knew all too well, appearances can be deceiving. A fist slammed forcefully into Hermione's stomach, and all thoughts were driven from her mind. The blow on Hermione's small body was so brutal that she began to vomit, and a ghastly bruise was already beginning to form. It took all Hermione's will power to keep from screaming; reaction would bring greater punishment. With her pain evident, she looked searchingly up into the girl's eyes; the expressions held there were the same ones that were always present during the night: hatred, pleasure, and sadistic delight.

"Are you ready for some more fun?" Hermione's tormentor asked, nearly bursting with glee. She excitedly watched Hermione's reaction as she approached her again. This time with pocketknife in hand.

She lifted the trembling Hermione's shirt and turned the small girl around so she could access her back. She then lifted her knife and, as Hermione flinched in obviously painful anticipation, she began to cut. Not messy, disorganized slashing, but art - at least, art in her perspective. She was carving her name, going just deep enough to provoke blood and inflict hellish pain, but she could not cut any deeper than that. If she did go deeper, it would cause Hermione to scar, and her treatment of her younger sister would be revealed. Then, she would no longer be able to continue amusing herself. Still, the carving was still immensely painful; and, unfortunately for Hermione, she had a comparatively long name.

"Jessica Claire"

Jessica Claire stepped back to admire her work. She could just make out her name, with blood oozing slowly from it and then down Hermione's back. Jessica Claire found it beautiful. She loved to see blood, and others in pain. For her, it was the world's greatest pleasure to be had. If she had taken a look at Hermione's face, she could have seen another sign of the girl's suffering: a flood of tears that ran silently down her cheeks. Hermione knew the rule all too well - 'Make noise and be hurt worse.'

*

Hermione's back had already finished scabbing by the time Jessica Claire sat back down. No normal person's back scabbed this fast, but Jessica Claire was far too into her sadistic pleasures to notice the healing properties' magical aspects. Still, the fact that Hermione was already healing infuriated Jessica Claire to no end. She lived for pain, and with the pain lessening so quickly she felt as if she had accomplished nothing. To solve this problem, she simply would have to create more pain.

Thinking of this brought the same twisted smile that it always did, the smile that appeared when she imagined pain that could make Hermione feel as if her very soul would be torn from her body.

And with these thoughts in her mind and that smile on her face, Jessica Claire laughed.

She focused on Hermione's back, thinking of what would be most painful at the moment. Rather than creating a new wound, she decided to work with what had already been created. It was beautiful, and perfectly scabbed. Her signature was still intact, but without the blood; and Jessica Claire liked blood better. The plan was simple. It was the perfect opportunity to see blood and cause unbearable pain.

Jessica Claire's hands went to work on Hermione's small, wounded back. She tore viciously at the scabs, using the perfect speed - not too quickly, so as to end the pain sooner, and not too slowly, so as to make the pain less. She robotically ripped at the magically-scabbed wounds, enjoying beyond belief the way the blood dripped and oozed beneath her own fingers and by her own doing. She loved the feel of the blood on her hands, the uncontrolled gasps of fear and pain she could feel and hear.

*

Hermione had thought she had felt the worst before, but nothing could have prepared her for how wrong she was. She felt her mind swimming, and her body reeling; the only thing keeping her conscious was the unbelievable pain. If it weren't for that, she would have lost consciousness from loss of blood. Hermione had not known that a person's hands could cause so much suffering. She felt the jolts of pain go through her entire body like waves, starting with her back then flowing to her extremities, affecting each area in a renewed pain as it made its way.

She had always known that pain in one area was worse than spread out pain. Apparently, Jessica Claire was now discovering this fact, too. Hermione could feel her cruel fingers tearing more and more quickly at her defaced back. Jessica Claire was growing restless with this form of torture and soon they would be moving on to another method of pain.

*

Jessica Claire paused to think about what seemed to be happening with her experiment on Hermione. As she had played with her back for the second time, Hermione had shuddered more, reacted more, and shown more signs of obvious pain. Her intake of breath was quicker and sharper. Her hands clenched tighter and her knuckles turned whiter. The method of staying in one place she was trying seemed to be working so much more effectively than the way she used to spread out her fun.

Yes, Jessica Claire thought, this is the way pain should be created.

Her eyes scanned the room as she tried to decide what she would do next, keeping in mind that the tool would have to be able to further beautify her "art".

Her eyes rested on the stapler sitting on Hermione's small, organized desk.

An insanely pleasurable giggle escaped from Jessica Claire's lips as she thought of the possibilities unfolding before her. She ran over to the desk, snatched up the stapler, and rushed back. She had decided that the most horrific way of inflicting pain would be to send staples directly into Hermione's wounds.

A shudder of joy ran through Jessica Claire's body as she anticipated the pain it would cause. A shudder also ran through her sister's body - but this one of sheer terror.

Jessica Claire pressed the stapler into Hermione's wound, ecstatic with this new torture. The bright silver staple imbedded in the bloody flesh was absolutely gorgeous. Jessica Claire couldn't resist the urge, and let out a sickeningly evil, demented laugh.

To Jessica Claire, there was nothing more beautiful than the sight of torture.

*

Hermione knew what was coming the moment she saw how Jessica Claire was looking at the stapler, so she tried to brace herself. However, nothing could brace her for this.

Hermione felt the staple's sharp points drive into her half re-scabbed, half-bleeding flesh with a fiery pain she had never before experienced. She felt the metal being forcefully pushed deeper and deeper into her body. The pain was consuming, it shredded her very thoughts and Hermione wanted nothing more than to die immediately, so as to escape. Her tiny, fragile body objected involuntarily with all its might to the foreign object, causing Hermione to flail her arms - a hopeless and futile reaction.

The pain was so extreme that all functioning stopped. It was just Hermione and Her Pain left in the world. All of Hermione's other senses were dulled, and then fully consumed.

The cold staples pierced not only the shuddering girl's body, but also her emotions. The metal staples kept coming into her back faster and faster, hitting nerve after nerve, her body twitching slowly at first and then quicker and more violently.

For a single moment, Hermione remembered all the torturing... every night, every instance. She remembered all the struggles, all the fear, and all the hate. Hermione felt all the pain of years gone in that one moment.

Hermione's mind snapped. No more, she thought, no more! And she screamed.

A blood-curdling scream pierced through the night. The girls' parents came running into Hermione's room, their father carrying a gun. Hermione had had enough - she made up her mind once and for all. She looked at the gun and it came flying into her hands. Hermione's hands came in contact with the gunmetal, its sleek coldness bearing kinship to the metal in her back. She turned around as quickly as is humanly possible giving her parents a clear view of the "art". Giving no second thought, she pulled the trigger as fast as the laws of motion allowed.

A gunshot rang through the house. Everything seemed to move in slow motion as the bullet connected with Jessica Claire's stomach and went right through it, becoming lodged in the wall. Jessica Claire's body was thrust backwards into the formerly white wall, covering it with blood.

Hermione said one last thing to her living sister in a half-whisper. "You're not that tough now, are you, Jessica Claire? How does it feel to be on my end? I hope that I hurt you as much as you hurt me. But I don't think a bullet can even come close to what you have done to me. I hope your soul burns in hell." Hermione said the last part loudly and clearly as if talking to a very small child. Her parents heard every single word.

Hermione watched as Jessica Claire's life was extinguished. When the last spark was gone, she took one look at her parents, and left the house at a near run. She couldn't bear their shock as the truth began to overwhelm them.

The truth was that their oldest daughter had horribly abused their younger daughter. And the truth was that their eldest child was dead, murdered by their other child's hands.

*

Once outside, Hermione ran. There was nothing else to do. She didn't know where she was going, but Hermione continued to run until she could not go any further. The pain and exhaustion overpowered her, and she collapsed in a heap.

Albus Dumbledore had been expecting something of this sort to happen. He had been alerted by the Ministry of Magic of a magical occurrence at 2:30 a.m. at the Grangers' residence and was, therefore, present to scoop Hermione up into his arms and carry her home.

On the way to the Granger's house, Professor Dumbledore performed a powerful healing spell on the limp girl's back, leaving no trace of Jessica Claire's destruction. He also pondered what would be best for the situation at hand.

When the wise wizard arrived at Hermione's home, he was greeted by a hysterical mother and a silent, ashen-faced father. He knew there was no way in the Underworld that this family would survive through this ordeal. Dumbledore had a terrible premonition that was flashing in his mind like lightning; he knew it was a warning that tragedy would strike again at this home if something was not done quickly.

He was also very aware that therapy and Muggle solutions would do absolutely no good. The murder of Jessica Claire would damage the minds of not only her parents, but also all the young people who knew her, some permanently. Jessica Claire had been horribly sick, but she, like every person, made a huge impact on her surroundings. Albus Dumbledore then made a decision.

He was going to attempt to erase Jessica Claire.

Dumbledore knew this spell was very powerful, even borderline dark magic. But his mind was made, so there was no use looking back and reconsidering.

The wizard concentrated his magical abilities and began muttering word after word under his breath in a ritual-like chant. His eyes moved to the older Grangers; they were parents whose child would no longer have ever existed. He watched as a cloud passed over their faces - they were forgetting. Forgetting everything about Jessica Claire: every memory, every thought, every joy and frustration. Dumbledore watched as pictures of Jessica Claire disappeared and saw the house shrink in size as Jessica Claire's room was removed. He observed Jessica Claire's body become nothing. He watched as the entire world forgot the girl and would never know again that she had ever existed. He watched, and the world turned into what it would have been without her existence. While watching all this, Dumbledore had continued muttering the incantation in his strange singsong hymn.

The chant finally ended. Albus scanned the room and was pleased with his work. The spell was completely successful, yet, with everything there is a loophole; and one reminder of Jessica Claire was to remain. It is a minor detail, thought Albus, insignificant...

Too magically exhausted to do anything about the sole remaining sign, the wizard looked over at Hermione's parents and saw the look of great confusion upon their faces. Why were they in their only daughter's bedroom at 4:30 in the morning? Albus walked toward the dazed adults and led them back to their bedroom, as one would take a small child.

When the three reached the bedroom, the wisest one among them urged the Grangers to get into bed and go to sleep with the promise that everything would be right in the morning. The sleepy, disoriented parents readily agreed, climbed into bed, and were immediately taken over by sleep. Dumbledore stepped quietly back to the door and watched the couple sleep for a few moments, then hurried back to Hermione's room.

Arriving at the door he saw that the bushy-haired young girl had already dismissed the strange appearance of the old man and the oddness of her parents being in her room at 4:30 for no reason. Exhaustion had overtaken her, as was to be expected, and she, too, was in bed and in the grasp of the Sandman.

The old wizard gave a half-smile and chuckled to himself as he saw how the 8-year-old usually kept her room - neat as a pin with everything in its proper place. No possessions or clothing were ever out of order in this room. The old one checked his watch and mentally corrected his previous thought as to the age of the child sleeping peacefully before him.

Dumbledore's presence was no longer needed, and he decided that he should not stay longer than need be. But just before he left he took one last quick glance at the child he would not glimpse for another two years.

He walked down the stairs and had his hand on the doorknob when he made one last decision that morning before he also lay down to rest. Albus wanted to take another precaution. The man with the long white beard muttered the memory charm and pointed his wand at both of the bedrooms in the house, ensuring all of the occupants a blank memory of the night.

With that, Dumbledore sighed and apparated back to Hogwarts with a small *pop*.

*

Hermione woke up and sleepily rubbed the sleep from her eyes. Then realization dawned on her. It was September 19^th... her 9^th birthday! She sat up and surveyed the room, perhaps expecting a large gift to be placed somewhere. Her eyes fell upon one newly colored wall with wonder as she examined what appeared to be a sort of birthday gift.

Hermione thought to herself, amused, "Mum and Dad know I like blue... but what a lovely shade of red."