A/N - This first chapter has graphic depictions of rape. It is also quite slow to start, as it is a scene setting chapter. I shall also be posting the second chapter/second half of this chapter for those that would like to skip the first half. The second chapter will of course begin with a summary of the first.

If you aren't a grown up/are triggered by sexual assault or depression/ are a troll, just don't bother reading. Thanks!

Everything you recognise belongs to JK. This is set in 7th year, but Dumbledore lives.

The cold crisp morning air filled Hermione's lungs and fluttered her hair gently around her face as a warm hand shook her shoulder to wake her. Immediately, the girl's eyes opened, deep purple circles beneath the only expression of her exhaustive state. Not that Harry looked any better. As she rose to stand beside him, she looked him up and down, eyes taking in the gaunt, haunted appearance of the boy who looked fit to drop at any second.

Without words, she stretched out her hand for the locket. No words were needed anymore. No smiles or laughter as they took turns resting and researching to try and find an end to their predicament. Time that they spent awake together was used for eating, travelling and quiet contemplation. They had no need for words anymore. The matching expressions in their eyes said enough.

She walked out a few feet, and checked each focal point of the wards they had cast around them. They had agreed that they wouldn't remove and recast them unless absolutely necessary. It wasn't worth even the few seconds risk to their safety. So instead, they checked each one at the start of their shift. When she finished, she moved to the large fallen log in front of their tent and lifted a worn silver kettle from the ground beside the fire pit they had built on their first night.

Aguamenti she thought, watching at the kettle filled at her silent command. Then, turning to the pit she pointed her wand and set a small fire burning. She set the kettle above it, and dropped a tea bag into one of the two mugs that sat beside the makeshift seat. Sighing, she pulled an already battered copy of 'The Life and Lies of Albus Dumbledore' from her small bag, alongside 'Tales of Beedle the Bard' and 'Hogwarts, a History'. For the next four hours she read, the only sound the whistling of the kettle before she removed it from the heat, and the rustling as she turned pages. Her internal timer sounded and she pulled the locket from her neck, immediately feeling two stone lighter, a huge weight lifted from her soul. As she rested once more into the thin blankets of her bed, she allowed one single lone tear to drop onto her pillow.

Two days later, over a meal of roasted squirrel and dried nuts, Harry croaked out a single sentence, his voice hoarse from lack of use.

"I think we should go to Godric's Hollow."

Hermione sighed, placing her skewer of unusual meat onto her plate, and wiped her hands on the cloth napkins she'd hoped would provide a sense of civilisation.

"Lately I've been thinking the same thing. I can't shake the feeling that Dumbledore would hide something there for you to find. It's and important place for you, and it was for him as well."

"What do you think is there?"

She met his eyes as she whispered, "The sword."

They packed up their tent and belongings efficiently, throwing anything of Ron's into the bag with a burst of anger. After one particularly brutal hiss from Hermione as she smashed as small snow globe onto the ground, Harry reached over her shoulder and removed the horcrux, giving her a small twitch of his lips as he placed it around himself instead. The rest of the packing was completed without incident, and a murmured Reparo from Harry, who never had completely grasped wordless magic. He placed the globe carefully into the bag and grasped Hermione's hand. One 'pop!' and they vanished into the night, knowing that now they were truly leaving Ron behind.

It's snowing. The realisation came to both of them as they popped into existence in the middle of the magical village, hearing the jingling of bells, and the singing of carols. The cold air whipped over their worn bodies, sending shivers through them that wasn't entirely due to the snow. For one beautifully pure moment, they simply allowed the innocent joy of the holiday to pass through them along with the memories of a happier time.

Hermione cleared her throat quietly, and Harry's eyes immediately hardened. His glare focused on something behind her, and Hermione slowly turned to face a graveyard, a beautiful monstrosity of huge erected statues, large snow covered trees, and too many graves to comfortably house.

"Do you think they're in there?" she asked. "Your parents?"

"It doesn't matter." He snapped at her, pulling away from the comforting hand that had reached for his own. "They're dead. Visiting their rotting corpses isn't going to change that."

She nodded, slightly afraid of the look in his eyes. It sent icy cold shivers down her spine, and a spark of familiarity that she couldn't explain. Before she could argue her point, a shadow moved to their side, and she whipped round into a defensive stance, Harry following her lead. The figure came forward, moving slightly into the light, and Hermione lowered her wand gently.

"I think she's Bathilda Bagshot," she whispered. "It could be a trap."

"Who cares?" Harry replied harshly, striding forward to stop a couple of feet away from the old woman bundled up in worn black ropes. She smiled slightly and beckoned him to follow. "See. She's going to lead us."

"Yes Harry, but where?"

"It doesn't matter. She'll lead us onward."

His face and voice were hard, but the words he spoke were better suited to a certain elderly wizard whose eyes twinkled with knowledge and kindness. It was this similarity only that pushed her to follow close behind, eyes flitting from right to left out of paranoia before they came to stop outside one of the old houses, the only one of the stone buildings in the street that had no wreath on the door or snowman outside.

When they entered, Hermione found herself more intrigued and less afraid. It was through this that she found herself slipping a couple of books and photographs into her bag as the eerie older witch led her only companion up the stairs. Within moments, there was a loud shout, and the young brunette responded in the only way she knew how. She threw herself into the room, throwing a flurry of hexes towards the large green familiar.

"Bombarda!" She screamed, pulling Harry close and removing them from Godric's Hollow in the same manner in which they had came.

They appeared in another stretch of woodland, the boy who lived collapsing almost immediately onto the ground before them. Hermione, ever his ally, reached out to check him for damage. He slapped her hand away, and curled himself into a ball, head resting on the bed of orange and brown leaves.

"You take first watch."

He shoved the locket towards her, and she took it from him without question, their fingers refusing to touch. She erected the usual wards around their area before pulling the tent from her small bag and pulling it into shape. She built a fire, fashioned a couple of large wood stumps nearby into rough wooden seats. The effect was rustic and shabby, as if a woodsman had used a chisel to mould them by hand. She didn't care. They would suit the purpose of the two teenagers occupying the area until they once again needed to run. These days, they didn't return to the same place twice. Any risk that they might have been followed, or their magical signatures recognised in the area prevented that. They were truly hidden from all others. Truly alone.

Only then, with all of the immediate concerns out of the way and maudlin thoughts to occupy her, Hermione turned her attention to a snapped piece of wood lying beside the oblivious boy. With a low sigh, she summoned it to her, eyes tearing up at the severed wand.

Reparo.

Nothing.

She hadn't expected it to work, but she had hoped, briefly, that as the two sides had hung together by a thread, that the magic would still be channeled through it. As soon as she attempted to move a leaf towards her however, the wand reverted to its previous state. And with the snapping of the wood, Hermione's heart broke for the little boy she remembered, holding his wand reverently as he cast a charm for the first time.

As he used it to cast his patronus.

As he used it to summon his broom over an exceptionally large distance.

As he taught them to protect themselves.

As he glared at it with repulsion after cursing Draco Malfoy.

"Fuck." She hissed, shoving the broken instrument roughly into the pocket of her jeans. Immediately, she pulled a book from her bag and settled back against the worn wood of her unconventional seat. She would let Harry sleep until he woke naturally; he deserved that much at least.

When Harry finally awoke it was almost midday. The sun was at a high point above them, a yawning Hermione still seated in her wooden throne with a mug of steaming tea in one gloved hand and a book in the other. She couldn't bring herself to look at him yet. The guilt was too fresh in her mind.

"Why didn't my alarm go off?" He snapped. "Did you dismantle my charm to fucking prove you could?"

His brunette companion sighed sadly, and placed her book down beside her, staring for a moment into the still crackling flames of the fire.

"No, Harry. I didn't."

Immediately Potter glared, the hairs rising on his arms at her soft tone. "Where is my wand?"

She turned to face him properly. "Harry…."

"Where is my wand, Hermione?"

She slowly reached her hand onto the seat, pulling the broken wood from its spot beside her thigh. "I am so sorry, Harry. When I cursed the snake it rebounded. And your wand…"

"Well fix it!"

"I tried Harry. I really have. But- but wands don't work the same way. They can't be fixed like ordinary objects. I don't think there is anything we can do…"

"No!" He snapped. "This is something for you to do. Brightest witch of her age? Then you'll work out how to fucking fix it. Give me your wand."

"Harry?"

"I'll need it to take watch. And give me the locket, too."

She did so warily, remaining an arms length away from him as he took possession of the two most precious things that they carried with them. With more trepidation then fatigue, she edged her way into the tent to try and think her way into sleep.

Outside of her momentary refuge, Harry threw her half-read book into the flames, his eyes glinting darkly as he watched it burn.

The next few days followed a vicious pattern. They handed over in silence, avoiding each other except for the occasional wounded look from Hermione and furious glare from Harry. These days it didn't matter if he wore the horcrux or not - in his mind he had lost everything dear to him. And when Hermione found yet another of her books scorched into tiny pieces, she could bring herself to fight. He was taking away those things that were precious to her, and she couldn't blame him for that.

They grew more fatigued and weak as the days rolled on. Harry hunted furiously for meat, using the traps that Hermione had taught him at the beginning of their journey, back when they were full of joy and excitement. Now, he hunted with a sadistic burst, focused intently on the prey he brought in and gutted in front of her sleeping form. When she woke and placed it over the fire, turning slowly, he would smirk slightly, laughing at her taking her place. He didn't give her the wand when they were both awake. The only refuge she had was when he slept. She would gather berries and nuts, looking for any edible plants that were still alive. There wasn't much, and most fruitless trips would end with him looking scornfully at her half empty basket.

The sleep shifts he took grew shorter and shorter by the day. Hermione woke herself earlier one afternoon, only for his grim snarl to send her back into the tent immediately. She kept to her usual lengths after that, but couldn't shake the concern for the boy who was becoming more frightening and cruel everytime she looked at him.

Two weeks later, and Harry was looking worse. His skin was sallow and the circles under his eyes a deep purple. His hair was a continuous greasy mess, and his body grew thinner and yet more muscled at he forced energy into hunting and chopping wood. Sometimes she would wake and see him punching and kicking at a large oak tree until his knuckles were covered in blood and his feet blistered.

He was worn to the ground, battered and bruised from his own self neglect and anger. His lean frame coiled tightly and he looked up at as she approached, allowing her to take the wand and locket from him. His body and his mind protested, yearning for the return of his power. He was nothing, nothing without it.

His rest was fitful, and when his alarm rang out he bolted upright immediately. The beast inside him snarled happily, ready to take back what was His. She was a thief, taking what was rightfully his.

She went into the tent, and within 20 minutes Harry fell asleep too, soothed by the feeling that everything was finally right in the world. And if his scar hurt? His masochism rejoiced.

Flames from wall sconces lit a dark, cold room. It was completely bare other then its occupants and a few conveniently placed chairs and drinks tables. The threatening stone of the hard floor was scraping the knees of a bruised and crying brunette who shivered before him, held up by his hands in her hair and his cock forced down her throat.

"You should feel honoured…" a snakelike voice hissed. "For me to allow such filth around my person, in my home… You should be grateful for the boon I am bestowing upon you despite your unworthy blood. Tell me how grateful you are."

The finally sentence was an order, accompanied by a wordless flick of one skeletal finger against her chin. Her face immediately smoothed out, her eyes still glassy with tears but devoid of all emotion.

"I am so very grateful, Master," she purred with her roughened throat. "Thank you so much for offering your cock to this worthless mudblood filth. I shall endeavour to please you my Lord."

"Good whore."

And Harry watched in pleasure as he/they defiled the filth in every hole with every object. They laughed as they slammed her face down into Bellatrix's wet cunt, and as they took turns fucking her tight arsehole…

They gasped, grasping their hard prick faster and faster, shuddering with pleasure at the debauchery before them, finally releasing in a burst of pleasure.

He awoke with a start, his own lust lit and erection unspent. He needed one for himself, needed to be a part of the lustful encounters he had just witnessed. He needed to feel the power of a stupid little mudblood in her rightful place, taking it just as her worthless body was made for. Before he consciously made the decision, he rose from the tree he was leant against and prowled towards the flapping entrance of the tent.

"Lumos," he hissed.

A dimmed light cast a glow on the pale sleeping face of Hermione Granger, the only muggleborn at his disposal; a girl who had sickeningly wormed her way into his company for all these years. The dark haired man sneered, and with a flick of his wrist bound Hermione's hands above her head. She shook her head slightly, a frown creasing her brow as she tugged fruitlessly with her arms. Harry pried her legs apart and knelt over her, teeth bared. He growled quietly, and placed the wand onto their small table where she would not be able to reach it, even if she could free herself from his powerful grasp.

She stirred, but did not wake. He watched her for a moment, his cock becoming painfully hard with anticipation. Lightning fast, he slapped her left cheek hard enough to send her head reeling to the side and darkening with his handprint. He hoped with a smug fascination that it would bruise and remind her of his superiority.

"Wha-" Hermione was immediately awake, eyes wide, and body contorting in an attempt to jump to her defensive stance. She kicked out, slamming the heel of one foot into Harry's chest and the other into his chin. With cool concentration he grasped one foot into both hands and twisted hard. Her ankle gave way with a sickening crunch and a pained yell.

"Keep that up and I'll break the other one too," he hissed, and Hermione's eyes grew even wider as she concentrated on the shadowed face above her.

"Harry…" she whimpered. "Harry, what's wrong? This isn't you!" Her eyes fell onto the chain that lay against his collar bones. "Take it off! Take it off, Harry!"

"How dare you order me around, mudblood," the possessed boy sneered. "You will lie there and take it. If you're lucky, you might even enjoy it."

She fought harder now, ignoring the pain that shot through her left leg. She writhed ferociously and screamed, "Harry! No! This isn't you!"

"Oh, but it is, you useless slut. How long did you think you could pretend to be one of us?" He laughed bitterly and slapped her again, pressing himself against her writhing body. "Anyone would think you want this. Do you want it, slut?"

"No! Harry!" She choked. "Please listen to me!"

"Like I would listen to one of your kind."

Her fighting stilled as she took in a deep breath. "Please…" she whispered. "Please don't hurt me."

"It won't hurt unless you fight," he lied.

Animalistic urges roared inside his chest as he ripped her shirt open and squeezed her breasts roughly. He laughed at her pained shriek and renewed fight.

"I thought you were going to behave."

With another swift rip, he tore her trousers and then her panties apart and immediately probed her vagina with his brutal fingers. When she tried to clamp her knees shut, he targeted a forceful punch to her delicate area. "For once your goody-two-shoes is going to pay off, you tight cunt."

With a quick flick, his fly was open and his boxers pushed down. His erection sprung free and slid over her dry and swollen vagina.

"Help!" she yelled. "Please, someone!"

"Muffliato, you stupid bitch. Didn't think that one through, did you?"

With one quick, torturous thrust he seated himself into her virgin hole, moaning at the pleasure that shot through him. "Besides," he added. "Who would come? Snatchers? I bet they would like to try this too."

"Harry! Please stop! Please! I'll fix your wand, I promise!"

"You think this is about my wand?" he snarled. "You're stupider than I thought."

Another sharp jerk of his hips sent a torrent of tears dripping onto her nose and cheeks. She flopped and wriggled beneath him, trying to find anyway out from beneath him. "Oh, keep fighting! You've no idea how good that feels around my prick." As if to illustrate this, he hammered into her faster, cruelly smirking as her cries and pleads increased in pitch and volume. "I think I might even be able to come inside you. That's more than you could've hoped to be worth, isn't it? Whore!"

Her face fell to the side as she looked away from as friend that she had trusted with her life.

Accio wand! She tried to command, but only managed a slight twitch. Her mind couldn't do it. She would need to use words. She would need to hope that her attacker wouldn't notice until it was too late.

"Accio wand," she whispered, victorious as the familiar length of wood shot towards her bound hands. Escape was finally, finally so close. Her ordeal could be over-

"Mudblood cunt!" His voice screamed, and he ripped her salvation away after a mere brush against her fingertips. "Imperio!"

He withdrew from her, eyes blazing with fury. She no longer cried, locked inside a newly pliant exterior.

"Now", he breathed, face flushed and body shaking. "Tell me how much you want my cock. Tell me how undeserving you are of any part of me touching you."

She shook her head, unable to clear it with the force of trauma. Her voice betrayed her mind and released the words he was searching for. " Please, please, Harry. Please give me your cock."

He laughed loudly, but his fist connected with her jaw. "Good effort, slut. Unfortunately, you addressed me incorrectly. You shall call me 'my Lord'. Understand me?"

"Yes, my Lord."

As his eyes made contact with her own, a gentle serenity passed over her features to leave her quiet and subservient, awaiting her next command.

"Good, mudblood. And to think I've been using you for your memory all these years? If only I'd known how fucking tight you would feel," he shook his head. "But no matter. I suppose even worthless mudbloods have to be useful for something. And you're useful for two! A miracle really…"

Hermione nodded eagerly, smiling up at her master. "A miracle, my Lord! How may I please you?"

"Suck."

She obeyed enthusiastically, quickly bringing him to a pulsing release. He cried out as he came in her throat and lost control of his magic, and his hold over his victim. With no thought of anything else, Hermione willed herself to be somewhere safe. Somewhere familiar and warm.

With a thud, she landed on the dusty carpet of Grimmauld place, tears dripping from her chin as she thought of Harry. The friend, the boy, who had grown into the man that used an unforgivable curse to commit an unforgivable act.

She jolted to the side, and vomited all over the dusty carpet that had been placed by Walburga Black, while the woman's portrait berated her for her bloodline, state of dress, and vandalism of property in a high paced shriek that failed to penetrate Hermione's internal hell.