We Don't Know Anything

Well How Was I To Know?

Hermione had always thought of herself as a strong, confident girl, but she had overestimated herself. She knew classes would be letting out shortly, but she couldn't bring herself to leave the corner she was currently tucked into. Today was her breaking point. After the months of abuse, she couldn't take it anymore. She didn't want to be frightened anymore, but that seemed inevitable every time she stepped out into the halls. She could feel his eyes on her, weather he was actually looking at her or not. She could always feel him think about her. And why? Why was he such an angry person? Why did he have to take it out on her?

But maybe she had asked for it- maybe it was her fault. She had been the one to stay after class, the reason she couldn't tell now. And he had flipped, he had become so agitated, and it frightened her. So she comforted him, placing a small adolescent hand on his arm. He looked up at her and smiled. She smiled back because he looked so young and boyish. He placed a hand over hers and thanked her. That was the last time she saw him as a caring, nice person.

He grasped her wrist and pulled her down to his level, so far that she was almost lying on the desk. She had lost all ability to speak, sputtering and trying to wriggle out of his grasp. Excusing her to a class that didn't exist, just lunch waited for her. She remembered being surprised at how strong he was, for someone so malnourished and tired looking. Looks can be deceiving.

He had probably thought she would let him do whatever he wanted without fighting. She fought so damn hard that he could barely put a solid locking and silencing charm on the classroom. He stood over her while she laid on the desk screaming and kicking. He had to use both hands to hold her down and rip her clothing off. She spat in his face and tried to claw his eyes out, but he didn't stop. All she could think of was he groomed me. All of those compliments and smiles during class, making her feel valued and smart. He was trying to soften her for his bidding. I am not a dolt, she thought as she fought. I will not let you rape me.

Unfortunately, nothing ever goes according to plan. And he had finally broken her. Over, and over again.

The bell sounded and Hermione cried out in despair. She didn't want to leave her safe place, so she hunkered down to keep the passing students from noticing her.

The halls began to clear, and Hermione found herself able to breathe, then able to cry and sob. It wasn't fair! Why her, and why now? As she was fully growing into the beginning of adolescence and looking at boys, really looking at them. Now everything had been ruined and she couldn't fathom telling anyone.

What if they thought it was her fault? What if they sneered and laughed and told her if she wasn't such a know-it-all Mudblood then she wouldn't have it coming to her? Oh, the fear she felt almost rivaled her fear of her abuser. Then she wondered if she was his first.

That sent her into fresh sobs and shakes. He was too clam and cruel for her to be his first. He wasn't that much older than she, so how many young girls had he forced onto a hard surface and made do vile, disgusting things to him? Was she the only one at the present, or were there more?

Hermione closed her eyes, and could almost feel his breath on her neck as he thrust into her, grunting and panting. She wouldn't look at him, but rather the walls and ceilings behind him. She remembered the first time he forced himself onto her, after he had beaten her into submission she had thought back a few nights ago. She recalled with shame how she had touched herself in the dark of her room, fantasying that he was touching her, kissing her, wanting her. That she was older and more womanly as he guided his member into her. That they had both wanted it. And now here she was, thirteen and frightened. Careful what you wish for, she chided herself, grimacing as his hot, sticky flesh touched her bare child-like breasts.

You're my only he would whisper to her as he thrust into her. He would run his hand through her tangled mess of hair, damp from sweat and shame. You're my only one, Hermione. And at that she would cry out. Because he usually got tender near the end… near his release. And she would be so sore from the whole ordeal, and it was so uncomfortable for her when he spilled his seed into her. She felt dirty. And so she would cry out as he released into her, which would make him smile. I know you're in pain, he once said, his mouth very close to her ear. But I can't help pretending that you're coming when you cry out. Next time, after you cry out add on 'I'm coming.' Can you do that for me, Hermione dear?

Yes, Professor. She hated him for all he made her do. She hated that he couldn't look her in the eyes during class, that he was ashamed, but not enough to stop. Not enough to apologize.

Hermione pulled at her hair and let out a strangled scream. He was killing her! She couldn't smile anymore, it hurt too much. Maybe she should just finish the job. He wouldn't actually end her life, she knew that. He would just continue on to the end of the year until he left, leaving her broken and sick to the stomach with how rotten she was.

She could go out into the lake and drown herself. It was cold enough that she wouldn't have to work very hard. The cold would shock her so much that she sank, and instead of clawing through the icy water she could stay put and breathe in as deeply as she could…

Suddenly, Hermione's stomach lurched. Her hand flew up to her mouth, and a moment of panic flash through her. She scrambled to her feet and ran from her corner, sprinting for the nearest bathroom. Which was Moaning Myrtle's, but at the present moment she couldn't care less if it was Snape's personal toilet. Hermione barely made it into a stall when she began to violently empty her stomach. She didn't eat very much at breakfast, and so she spent most of that time coughing and dry heaving. One thing that worked in her favor was the Myrtle was kind enough to leave her alone.

After Hermione was quite sure she was finished, she flushed the toilet and stepped out to the sinks. She ran the faucet, cupped her hands underneath the flow of water and brought it up to her mouth. She rinsed the rancid taste from her mouth before splashing the cool water onto her face and neck. She refused to look into the mirror and see how horrid she looked. She sighed and carefully made her way to the bathroom's entrance, maneuvering around the puddles on the floor.

She thought herself stealthy as she tip-toed from the bathroom and out into the hall.

"Miss Granger." The cold voice hit her like a freight train. She froze, not unlike the way she did whenever he called her name. She turned around to face Professor Snape. He was leaned against the stonewall, just down from the bathroom's entrance. "Aren't you supposed to be in class, young lady?" Hermione kept her eyes down and nodded.

"I've been feeling ill, sir," she said in a small voice.

"So I heard," he replied, his voice smooth as silk. "Why do you suppose you've been feeling sick, Miss Granger?"

"I- I don't know sir," she said, her voice smaller as she tried to shrink away from the intimidating man.

"Look at me Miss Granger." She looked up at him, and tried not to cry. He didn't seem to be menacing towards her, and fear struck deep in her heart. Does he want me too? Her eyes dropped to the floor, as she was unable to hold his gaze any longer." Do you need to seem Madam Pomfrey?" he asked, her voice devoid of all mocking or anger. Hermione didn't know how to reply, but she needn't as they were interrupted.

"Ah! Severus!" The voice. His voice, charming and light. Her eyes snapped up to Snape's and she could practically smell her own fear. "And… Miss Granger?" She felt him walk up behind her and place his hand on her small shoulders. She tried not to flinch, all the while keeping her eyes locked on Snape's. She couldn't read his expression, but he didn't cast her away by looking at the other man. "What are you doing out here?" he asked her, bending over her slightly.

"Miss Granger was feeling ill," Snape supplied, his eyes flickering up before returning to Hermione.

"Oh, that's too bad," her captive said, squeezing her shoulders. "Maybe I should take her to the Hospital Wing?" Hermione felt her eyes widen. She silently begged-no screamed at Snape not to let him take her. Sure, he would get her to the Hospital Wing, but only eventually. Still Hermione couldn't read her Potion's professor's face, but he did speak, keeping his eyes on her the whole time.

"No, that's quite alright. I was just about to escort her." He looked back at her captor and challenged him with his eyes. "But thank you, Professor Lupin." Lupin's finger's dug deeply into Hermione's shoulders, and it was all she could do to keep from crying out.

"Oh, okay then," he said trying to keep his voice even. "Then I'll be on my way." He gave Hermione one last squeeze before walking away from them. Snape watched him walk away for a long time. When his eyes finally returned to Hermione, he watched for an even longer time.

"Alright, Granger," he said slowly and deliberately. "Let's get on the Infirmary." She nodded weakly and let Snape lead the way, although she had been to the Infirmary many times before. She felt shaken and clammier than before. Never before had she been so happy for Professor Snape being there, and he had no idea.