Hermione's Vacations

Hermione felt the crack of the belt on her back, and felt it spread fire, a red heat that manifested itself as the blow snapped down along her back like a snake. She screamed, then bit her lip, arching her back ever so slightly to soften the blow, wincing as it lit the other flames of pain.

Her skin felt strangely warm where she had been hit, and stung horribly. She hated this. This punishment.

The raw skin sweated with heat as fluid, a tiny bit of blood and sweat combined, swept down her back over the cuts and stung, burning and causing her to focus on them. Another blow fell, laid down with anger and power, causing Hermione to grit her teeth to keep from screaming. No! she shouted silently, focusing on the floor instead, refusing to think of how much the blows stung

No one ever understood how much it hurt, stung. They always said wrote it that "blows rained down". The books lied. That was how you could tell if someone was speaking from experience or not. Hermione wanted to laugh bitterly. Rain fell much faster, didn't allow a person's arm to wait for the most powerful moment, till the pain from the last hit was just subsiding. No, "rained" was certainly the wrong word. If it had rained blows, she would have been out cold before long, and counting herself lucky to be. No.

This was a much more real, crueller way to beat a person, the way everyone else did in real life.

Hah. Like life ever felt real anymore. Real was Hogwarts, at school and with her friends, not here, just outside her only place in the house, her room, being beaten slowly to death. Father, Hermione gritted her teeth and resisted the urge to spit at the title, had taken her wand and caged cat as punishment, (her owl being at Harry's) and it was lucky for him that he had remembered to, or Hermione might have tried to defend himself.

A tenth blow fell: the last for tonight. She collapsed and fell to the floor, staring at it dazedly. She was completely detached, watching her father unlock the bedroom door, giving her a supremely satisfied glance at his suffering daughter. He left the room quickly then, instantly locking it behind him.

The sound of the lock registered somewhere deep in her brain and she moaned, drawing her knees up to her chest.

Why?

Easy question to answer really, the fact that she had made a mistake in her homework that her mother had found. Hermione shuddered as she remembered the gloating look on her mother's face as she saw the mistake.

"Dear," she said, her voice filled with disappointment, "Come in here. Your daughter has made a mistake." Hermione had frozen in horror as her father swept in, glanced at the mistake, and gave her a chilling look.

"Then she'll just have to be punished."

Hermione had cringed at that word, swearing to herself to never make a mistake again. The Punishment was supposed to end tonight, the last time of a hundred lashings spread out over nearly three weeks. Her mother had healed her with Hermione's potion, the one she had made with the leftover ingredients of Potions class, after the last beating. She had simply spread the balm on her torn back and left her to heal overnight.

It was a temporary measure, but it helped. It would have to be enough until she was back on the train with her wand to do some magic.

The Punishment was for breaking into the Ministry of Magic last year. The Ministry had automatically sent an owl to her parents, explaining that she was in the Ministry without authorization the second they entered. She had explained the situation to her parents, and they only sentenced her to one hundred lashings, instead of two.

Poor Sirius. Hermione thought as she sifted through her memories of that fateful fight at the Ministry. Of course, she had nearly died, and Harry had gotten through with barely a scratch, but he had lost the closest thing he had to a family. Hermione had lost the same good friend and most of her health to that battle.

Madam Pomfrey had found out about the beatings, but didn't say anything, after Hermione had begged Dumbledore to talk to her and convince her that Harry and Ron, and certainly Ginny, Neville, and Luna did not need to know.

It wasn't their business. It wasn't their problem, she didn't want them worrying about her, didn't need their pity.

Besides, it was completely unfair to burden Harry with this, he had enough on his mind. Like Sirius. Hermione wanted to comfort him, and hoped he wouldn't do anything stupid this summer. It's probably too late for that, she thought wryly, Harry had probably gone and blown up his cousin or something stupid like that. He knew nothing of control. He wore his heart on his sleeve, she knew, but kept many secrets, and very slowly she was peeling the layers off to find him, a lost, angry kid that couldn't understand why everything happened to him.

Hermione's stomach lurched as she realized that her last letter had said she was coming back today from...

She racked her brain trying to remember the place she had "gone" this time in her letters. Her eyes fell on the magazine she had been reading and she read the title above the missing picture, which she had used in the last letter. Too tired and in pain to move, she read the title from where she lay and sighed inwardly with relief, shutting her eyes. Paris. Again.

No one actually noticed that she had never actually gone away to any of these places. She researched and posted smiling family photos on top of photos of exotic vacation resorts she found in her magazine. She threw in a few comments about the place when they were together, wore a little fake tanning lotion, and no one would know.

No one would know. She almost wished someone would find out, and the pain would stop or go away and she wouldn't have to live with this. Ginny never found out, Hermione always wore sweaters or long-sleeved blouses to hide her back, and her cloak helped.

She was always so cold, she told anyone who wondered why she always wore such warm, uncomfortable clothing, even in the summer. And they believed her, because she looked so skinny. Any bruises that they noticed on her arms or legs she attributed to bumping into things like desks, or dropping a book.

Her wrists and ankles were sometimes the punishment when she refused the beating, but people noticed more often, especially after the summer holiday, and she couldn't really explain those away so easily. She chose the beatings until she felt she couldn't survive another day of them, to protect her friends from finding out the truth.

Her parents knew she wouldn't confide in anyone about this, and they were correct, as usual. Hermione had strived to cover up any bruises or scars left from the beatings, as she had come to call them now.

At first it was just if she had done something wrong, but lately the punishments had been getting worse. If she so much as spoke at the wrong time, she was punished. She had been "on vacation" most of the summer so far.

Hermione still loved her parents dearly. They were both Muggles, but extraordinarily intelligent and perceptive. They knew her well, and loved her, but she had to be disciplined for her mistakes, and that was all there was to it. She had only recently begun to hate them for the beatings, which in turn sparked more punishments.

She felt her back prickle, wet with sweat where her newest cuts cut across her flesh, bleeding where they had punctured older scabs from earlier nights. The sweat trickled down her back, dampening the floor where she lay, head pressed against the floorboards. She was too sore to sleep or move, and too tired to even think about moving.

Hermione waited and stared off at the magazine, her eyes unfocused as she began to sink into a dreamless sleep, waiting for the dawn to come.