Is This Real?

She walks down the dungeon corridor, books clutched in her arms, which is the norm for her. Anyone who saw her would simply walk by and think, There she goes, books with her as usual. Does she ever NOT study? And they wouldn't dwell on her any more than usual. They'd pass her by, their thoughts moving swiftly to what was going on in their lives. Next time they saw her it would be the same thing, if they gave her a thought at all.

And that was fine. Hermione liked it that way. Books were her friends, they understood her better than any person had, even Ron or Harry, whom she loved dearly. But they never quite understood her passions. They thought she took studying too seriously- took life too seriously. Which she probably did. But she'd always prided herself on her studying, believing it to be one of the most important things to get ahead in life. Finding out she was a witch hadn't changed any of that in the slightest- she'd simply read her spell books cover to cover and learned as much as she could. She wanted to be prepared for this world she had known nothing of until her eleventh birthday. To her shock, she had been- had been over prepared, if she was honest with herself. And she had never gotten rid of her know it all status.

Which suited her just fine. She wasn't here to impress anyone but her professors. It was their opinions she valued, not her peers'. She would be the one with the high profile job, while they pushed papers all day long at a boring desk job. Even Harry and Ron, whom she tried to help regularly, probably wouldn't be as far along as she was in the next ten years. Served them right.

Muttering under her breath, she turns the corridor, completely lost in her own thoughts. So absorbed is she that she doesn't see the hidden corridor, or the pale hand that waits for her. Before she can register what's happening, she's yanked by her hair behind a solid oak door. Her books go flying out of her hands and she hits the floor on all fours, and dimly she thinks, I had those in perfect order and now I'll have to redo them. She hears a thud as the door shuts, and then a click as a voice utters a locking spell. Looking through a tangled curtain of bushy hair, she sees Malfoy twirling his wand.

"Malfoy! Have you gone completely mad?!" she yells.

She gets up, spitting hair out of her eyes, rage blossoming on her face. She makes to draw her wand, but before she can get a word out, Malfoy beats her to it.

"Accio wand!" he shouts, and before Hermione can blink or even think to act, her wand is flying out of her hand and she can't stop it. She wonders what on earth is going on, and what is Malfoy thinking, doing something so ridiculously daft?

Before she can ask, Malfoy is talking.

"You know, Mudblood, I go through this every year. I work my arse off at my studies, but no matter how much I try, you always beat me...and in every subject too. And when I get home, Father lectures me on my studies, wanting to know how it is a Mudblood can beat me.

"'Draco,' he'll say. 'This girl is not even worthy of being a witch, and she outscores you in every exam. What is the point of gloating about being a Pureblood if you cannot even beat her in one class? I raised you to be better than that! Does the Malfoy name mean so little to you?'"

Malfoy had begun pacing during his diatribe, and now he stopped and faced her.

"Well, Granger, I'm tired of being second best to you. I should be top of every class. I should be every professor's wet dream, not you. You're only a common, filthy Mudblood! And I'm tired of feeling like I do. Tired of letting Father down. So I came up with this little plan here. I'm going to beat you at something, dammit, even if it kills me!"

Hermione continues standing, shell shocked. She can think of nothing to say to this- to any of it, actually. And so she gets defensive and angry. After all, she is the one who was pulled- yanked by the hair, actually- into this bloody room. And anyway, how is it her fault that he didn't top her scores? It's not, plain and simple!

"Look, Malfoy. Maybe if you paid attention more and asked for help...or, you know, a tutor works

wonders-"

"I don't need a bloody tutor!!! What I need is to best you in some way, dammit, and I intend to. Right NOW!"

And before she can blink, Hermione is shoved backwards, Malfoy's pale hands shooting out faster than she imagines possible. Her mouth opens in a wide O of surprise, but she can't even breathe, let alone scream. So she falls to the floor and lands with a painful thud. Her elbows smack against the floor, hard, and she cries out, feeling the skin tear. Before she can get up, however, Malfoy is on top of her, yelling "Silencio!" and her voice is gone.

She scrabbles her hands uselessly against her throat, panic beginning to set in. She doesn't know what Malfoy has planned, but she also isn't dumb enough to want to wait around and find out. She tries to scramble to her feet, screaming soundlessly, but Malfoy is prepared for that too.

"Immobulus!" he says, and she is frozen, unable to move of her own free will.

Hermione is in full panic mode now, but fighting desperately to stay calm. She tries to draw on her famous Gryffindor courage, and fixes Malfoy with a glare, struggling hard not to cry, to understand what is happening to her. She thinks frantically, wondering if anyone knew where she had been going, or had she bothered to tell anyone? Her heart sinks, however, when she realizes that no, no one does know. She had told Harry and Ron after Potions she was off to the library, and she knows no one will check on her or come to find her until dinner time or perhaps even later, depending on who thinks of her first. And for the very first time she can remember, Hermione wishes desperately that someone, anyone, had given her a second glance just this one time.

Malfoy makes a point to place both wands as far from Hermione as possible. Smirking, he says, "Just a precaution. You may be only a Mudblood, but you are a smart one, I'll give you that."

For the first time, she takes a good look around the room, her heart sinking even further as she sees how utterly empty it is. One scarred cedar table in the far corner, with a single chair. This was where Malfoy had placed the wands. Other than that, the room was completely bare of furniture or anything else that might help her.

And now Malfoy was coming towards her, the smirk on his face turning into a sneer.

"You know Granger, maybe if you're extra good, I'll go a bit easier on you. I think once you see exactly what I have in store for you, you'll be begging me to let you go that much sooner."

So saying, Malfoy starts removing his robes, then unbuttoning his school shirt. After that comes his shoes and pants, until he is standing in only his navy blue silk boxers and a white undershirt. The entire time, he never stops sneering at her.

Hermione can't help herself now. Tears begin falling down her face and her courage flickers. She understands what Malfoy has planned, but she is thinking to herself, No, he can't possibly be thinking of THAT. He's Draco Malfoy, I'm Hermione Granger, and it's just not possible he would do THAT. Not as a Pureblood and not as someone who thinks he's above me. And certainly not in school...he'll be caught for sure.

Yet she realizes that yes, that's exactly what he has in mind, as he pulls her robes off. She tries frantically to get her hand, her foot, anything to move so she can get herself out of this situation. As Malfoy is finally taking her skirt down and throwing it over his shoulder, she realizes how hopeless the situation is. And when he slides inside her, taking her virginity and her will, she can't help herself. The dam breaks, and tears pour silently down her cheeks, never stopping. They continue throughout the entire ordeal- when he first enters her, when he realizes she is a virgin and laughs out loud, when he is moving in a place no one has dared explore before, and when he is finishing inside her, pulling out, panting. The whole thing lasts maybe five minutes, and yet to Hermione it feels as if it lasts a lifetime. Two lifetimes.

Malfoy, meanwhile, is hitching his pants back up. He pulls on his clothes, humming all the while, and then makes his way to the cedar table in the corner. He grabs both wands and throws hers over to her. With a muttered "Finite Incantatum," she finds herself able to move and to speak. The first thing she does is begin grabbing her clothes and dressing quickly, trying to hide her body as fast as she can, though she knows it's in vain. Malfoy has already seen her body, has been inside it, and there is nothing she can do to change that fact.

He watches her dress, an indescribable expression on his pale, pointed face. When he sees she has managed to get her clothes on in the proper order, he nods, as if satisfied. Without a second glance, he turns on his heel to leave the room.

At this completely casual, indifferent response, Hermione finds herself enraged. Her anger boils over and explodes, and she finds there is nothing she can do to stop it- not that she wants to. She wants Malfoy to hurt as she has, bleed as she has, feel the pain and humiliation she has. And so without thinking, without even remembering her wand next to her, she jumps to her feet and storms over to Malfoy. Just as he reaches a hand out to open the door, she swings her foot and connects with his ankle.

Malfoy feels the kick, and pain shoots through his left ankle where Granger kicks him. Howling in rage and pain, he turns and, without thinking, backhands the girl across the face.

Hermione yelps with pain and anger. She charges Malfoy again, this time with her fist, and clocks him directly on the nose. She watches as a fountain of blood gushes from Malfoy's obviously broken nose. She feels triumphant for a second, but only for a second as Malfoy, nose pouring blood, swings. The last thing she sees is a pale fist, covered in blood, headed straight for her face.

**********

Pain. That's the first thing she knows. An indescribable pain that doesn't feel centred, but rather engulfing, as if her entire body is one huge sore.

Grogginess. That's the second thing that registers. Things are slowly coming into focus, and the more focussed things get, the more the pain grows. Finally she can see clearly, and she dully takes in the familiar walls of the Hospital Wing. She can hear someone several beds over, complaining of boils, and Madam Pomfrey scolding said person for agreeing to duel in the first place. She hears water being poured into a glass for someone else.

Her eyes flutter weakly and for the first time she takes in two familiar faces, one bespectacled and one freckly. Both are looking at the boil covered patient and sniggering to themselves, but when she makes a weak coughing sound, they are immediately drawn back to her.

"Hermione! Thank Merlin! What the bloody hell happened to you? Snape said he found you in some room in the dungeons, all broken and bloody. Said it looked like you'd been attacked. What happened?" Harry says all this with the most concerned expression on his face, it makes her want to cry. And before she can think about it, she realizes tears are trickling down her face.

Ron sees this and rage comes across his face. He takes her hand and says, with murder in his eyes, "What happened Hermione? Did someone attack you? Was it Snape?"

She shakes her head, biting her lip as more tears spill over her cheeks. She can't bring herself to speak, let alone answer any of their questions. It's all still too fresh in her mind, and she is trying desperately not to remember any of it if she can help it.

Harry and Ron open their mouths to ask another question, but Madam Pomfrey sees she is awake and rushes over. A half smile breaks over her face and she exclaims, "Miss Granger! Glad to see you have woken up, my dear. I'd like you to take this potion for the pain, please, and I think a bit of Dreamless Sleep would be good for you. A nice nap, and when you wake up, a bit of food would be good, I think. Rest now."

Hermione says nothing during this speech, doesn't even nod. She simply drinks the potions and settles down in her pillow. She keeps her eyes on Ron and Harry the whole time, and right before she drifts off, she manages to mumble, "Stay with me. Please. Just....just in case he comes back..." And before they can ask who 'he' is, she is asleep.

**************

Hermione dreams now. She dreams about her life before Malfoy got her alone in that room in the dungeon. She thinks about how dramatically her life has changed since then, though it's been only two weeks. She wishes it could all be how it was.

Harry and Ron see the changes in her and worry. They try to engage her in talk, joke with her, laugh with her, all to no avail. She is silent and still, always reading. She never raises her hand in class now, preferring not to draw attention to herself. She keeps her head down and her eyes firmly on her notes.

Occasionally she will glance up and see Malfoy. He'll be sitting at the Slytherin table, smug and haughty as always. Once in a rare while his eye will catch hers, and that insufferable smirk will cross his features. When that happens she will blush in humiliation and drop her eyes back to whatever is in front of her.

She doesn't know if Malfoy has told anyone about what happened. She thinks he must have, however, because occasionally she will see Pansy Parkinson and Blaise Zabini glance at her and laugh to themselves. She wonders absently what Malfoy has told them, and then realizes she doesn't care.

The days pass so quickly now; she finds herself mildly surprised when it's Monday, and it seems as if she only blinks and it's Friday. It all blurs into one long, seemingly endless day for her now as she roams around the castle.

She pauses at a window and sees the Ravenclaw Quidditch team practicing on the pitch. She watches them fly in circles on the pitch, and vaguely she remembers attending games and cheering Harry on. In the back of her mind she wonders if she will ever be that happy, carefree person she once was.

************

Hermione wakes in the dead of night, sweating, shaking, gasping, her chest heaving. She can still feel those pale, aristocratic hands tugging at her skirt. It's as though it just happened, though in reality a month has gone by. Every time she sleeps, she dreams about what happened that day. It's as though she is there again each time, going through the same motions, the same feelings.

She cries now, silent tears running down her cheeks. She muffles her sobs in her pillow, not wanting to wake her housemates. She knows they worry about her- after all, who doesn't? But they can't help her until she shares her problem, and she hasn't shared it with anyone, not even Dumbledore. She is too afraid of what people will say about her.

As her tears dry, she thinks dully that if this is what she has to look forward to anymore she'd rather be dead.

*************

She isn't sure when the idea springs up, but Hermione decides she is ready to die. Wants to die, as a matter of fact.

Often she thinks, Am I real? Do I really exist? She feels as if reality isn't there anymore, because she can't feel it. She can't feel anything anymore. Even when she nicks her hand on a flagstone, she doesn't feel the slight sting or the scrape left on the back of it.

Watching the drop of blood fall to the floor, she dimly wonders if she can feel at all. Death, for example. Would she feel that? Would she feel anything as her heart slowed and then stopped? As the blissful release of life left her, would she feel a pang of regret?

She finds she is obsessed with this idea now. Death. It follows her everywhere- in class, at meals, at night in her bed. She thinks about how she wants it to happen- a sudden, quick thing, or a somehow quiet, slow death? Did she want pain, or none at all?

She has several ideas, and for the first time in what feels like forever she finds she has some life in her. She studies death, and thinks up ways to die. A potion? A mistake with a spell? Hexing? Maybe Avada Kedavra?

But no, she reasons. As a Mudblood, it would be more fitting for her to die in a Muggle way. Then she wonders on choking, falling, maybe being stabbed. And then it comes to her. Drowning. Drowning would be the perfect death. It would be slow and quiet, with no pain. Just darkness and cold and then nothing. Peaceful, almost.

**************

Hermione lies awake as her housemates slumber peacefully. Ever since she realized drowning would be a perfect way to die, she has thought of nothing else. She has researched it, even going so far as to have her parents send her books on the subject. When they question her, she lies and says it's for her Muggle Studies class. They don't know she dropped that course in third year and she doesn't tell them.

Suddenly she finds she's ready. She has done all her research and preparation, has examined it from every angle imaginable. She is certain drowning is what she wants. It's almost poetic, in a way.

She giggles a bit to herself, wondering is this real? as she slips her nightgown off and gets dressed. It's only springtime, and still a bit nippy out. She wears Muggle clothes; jeans, a thick cream coloured sweater that complements her hair, and the brown suede ankle boots she received from her parents on Christmas. She plaits her thick hair calmly, humming a tune as she does so, and ties the bottom with an elastic band. She smiles at her reflection, noting how her eyes seem to have a sparkle to them now, one she hadn't had since Malfoy attacked her. It's funny what makes a person happy, she thinks absently. Am I real?

The lake is right outside, and as long as she is quiet and careful, no one need know she is gone. She slowly descends the staircase and makes her way to the portrait hole. Slowly and carefully, she makes her way out, not wanting to wake the Fat Lady.

The Fat Lady snorts in her sleep but thankfully does not wake. Hermione smiles, then eases the Lady closed again. Turning, she makes her way quickly and quietly down the corridors, making sure to peek around each corner and listen hard before continuing. After what seems forever, she is outside and racing to the lake.

There it is. Gleaming in the light of the full moon, the water slaps gently on the shore, waves splashing in and retreating back out. The water is black at night, and a brilliant whitish grey where the moon strikes it.

A thrill races through her, and she wonders if everyone who does something like this feels happy before it happens. If, after waiting so long to die, people who did it were as happy and carefree as she felt right this minute.

She wants to race in the water, but stops herself. She has enough presence to take her boots off. They were awfully expensive, and her parents won't like her getting them dirty so soon after she got them.

She laughs out loud at this thought, surprised as the sound comes out of her mouth. How long has it been since she laughed? Ages, it seems. She does it again, liking how it sounds.

A smile on her lips, Hermione finally walks over and stands at the water's edge. She moves closer and feels the water lapping over her toes. It's surprisingly warm, and she giggles. Her giggles get louder as she moves into the water. It comes to her ankles, her knees, her waist, her chest, and finally her neck.

She is laughing freely now, tears running down her face. Her clothes do exactly what she meant for them to do- weigh her down. She takes three more steps, and the water closes over her head. She doesn't stop, however. She moves in until she begins to rise a little, then stops. She doesn't want to be close enough that she floats to the top. Not yet.

Her lungs are a little achy, thirsting for air already. Her face stretches into a smile as she takes in the absolute quiet. It was just as she thought it would be. Quiet, peaceful, and relaxing. This almost feels like reality. Faces flash in her mind- Ron, Harry, her parents. The people she loves the most. I love you, she thinks.

Now her lungs are crying out, desperate for air. She was never good at holding her breath underwater, and by now she is usually breaking the surface, gasping in a great lungful of air. Not this time, however. This time her mouth opens of its own accord, a purely instinctual move of her brain. She gasps, and water pours into her mouth, filling her lungs with its murky metallic taste.

And thinking this, a blissful smile on her face, Hermione Granger dies.

**************

Hagrid always takes Fang down to the edge of the lake first thing in the morning. It's something he's done ever since Fang was just a pup, and it's never changed.

Whistling, Hagrid calls to Fang.

With a happy bark, Fang races ahead of Hagrid and splashes into the lake. Chuckling, Hagrid follows him. He stops short when he sees the suede boots at the shore.

He moves to the edge of the water and rolls the legs on his trousers up. Taking great splashing steps, he moves forward, trying to get a better look at the thing.

Luck is on his side, however, as the current is running straight toward the shore. He watches as whatever it is moves closer and closer. Finally, the tide brings the object almost straight up to Hagrid's legs in the water.

After a split second of confusion, horror breaks out over Hagrid as he recognizes Hermione's bloated, smiling face. Seizing the girl, he drags her to shore and gathers her into his arms. He runs toward the castle, screaming as loudly as he can for Professor Dumbledore.

All the while, he can't stop from staring into Hermione's face, and he knows he will see the crazy, blissful smile etched on her face forever.

Somewhere, in the long ago, the present, the what will be, and even in the nonexistent, Hermione Granger smiles.