First Dramonie everyone :) Please be kind! Please note that this fiction has incorporated different events from different years.

Jan. 29, 2012 Note: I have hit a bit of a block, so I am going back through my story, and editing and writing as I go.

Chapter 1: Dirty

The crisp white knit cardigan she wore only emphasized her drastic change in color, making her experience an unfamiliar feeling of unease as she pushed through the crowds of students accumulating on the platform. The eyes of the students, each of whom prepared to board the Hogwarts Express seemed to gravitate toward her. Or it felt that way to Hermione at least. Her trip to Punta Cana over the summer had left her with a dark tan that would fade eventually, but also with scars that would last forever.

She pulled the white wool sleeves further over her hands, allowing for the exposure of less skin. They knew. They all knew. Every pair of eyes that Hermione caught looking at her screamed the same thing. It was an impossibility that they would come across such knowledge, however the thought did not reassure her as she made her way to the train.

They saw her as the dirty, used, filthy, worthless person that she felt she was. The flagrant stares she received only made her feel more unclean. The reality was, the students around her were merely surprised that the pasty bookworm who, they assumed had never seen the sun in her life, had somehow managed to stumble her way out of her room piled to the ceiling with books and ventured to the outdoors.

The brunette side-stepped a first year giving a final kiss to her parents before departing. She sighed, recognizing that this would be the first year that she would not also do the same. Each year her mum and dad would accompany her to the platform to say their goodbyes, but not this year. They had both accepted a 'generous' anniversary gift from her cousin Derrick that they could not turn down.

Derrick, a cousin she had never met before was, a relative she had stayed with during her 'vacation' in Punta Cana. Before venturing to the Dominican Republic, her parents had informed her of his great passion for reading, and she was sold. She only later learned, after her parents had accepted his gift, that he was also a wizard.

Despite being told by her parents to 'pack light' Hermione had chosen to pack her heaviest possessions, the coming year's textbooks, rather than the frilly pink bikini her mother had bought her specifically for the occasion.

Evidently even her own parents thought that she was a hermit-bookworm in need of a little social interaction. It wasn't that she was socially inept, it was just that she much preferred the sense of comfort that overcame her as she sat down with a book in hand. Telling her that the holiday was a great chance to leave behind her books for a break did not sit well with Hermione; it was as if by doing so, she would be leaving a little part of her back in England.

Hermione boarded the train alone, keeping her head down, as though convinced everyone was searching for the truth in her eyes, a truth that she would not so easily give up. Stumbling along the corridor of the train, she avoided peering into the various compartments along the way, for fear that more students would be staring out at her.

It was not long before the brunette was comfortably seated alone in the last compartment on the Hogwarts express, book in hand. The rattling of owls in their cages, cheerful conversations on the platform and the excited squeals of the first years awestruck by the size of the train, were muffled by the closed doors of the secluded train car. It was not as though she could hear the sounds anyway; she was engrossed in her signed copy of 'The Standard Book of Spells'.

Expecting to stand in a seemingly endless line of students, waiting for the honor to engage in a conversation with the textbooks' well known author, Miranda Goshawk, she was pleasantly surprised to find herself to be the only student in Flourish and Blots at the scheduled signing time. After Miranda had signed her copy, the two talked for several minutes during which Hermione was more than pleased, as it provided her with a unique opportunity to absorb more information into her mind.

Hermione sighed turning the page. She focused on the words before her a little harder. As of late, she found that as easily as she would be pulled into the depths of her book, she could just as easily be drawn out by the whisper of a thought.

The beginning of the summer was lovely, as her family had decided to travel to various parts of the world to visit relatives she had never met before and admire the vast, dense forests, tranquil villages and bustling market towns with her parents. The experience was wonderful, though she had not been allotted a great deal of time to read.

It was not the beginning of the summer that would make it memorable, however. It was the life changing event that happened several weeks into it that would shape her for the rest of her life.

Returning to Hogwarts was a perk that she would never again under-appreciate. Escaping the life she had been forced to live for just under two months was much more appealing than the prospect of sitting down to read a thousand books, more appealing that the mountainous workload she expected for this year.

She pressed the palms of her hands roughly against her eyes trying to rid herself of the image of him.

He bit violently into her neck, sucking the soft skin painfully, alternating between savage bitting and licking until he reached her collarbone. She felt the warm saliva run down her neck and begin to pool on the linen bedsheets. The liquid seemed to quell the pain from bite marks that she was sure would be all too present the following morning. The man pressed his nose in between her breasts and inhaled deeply and wrapped his arms around her naked torso to pull her closer to him. Feeling throughly violated at the moment, she knew it would only get worse. It always got worse...

Hermione shook her head, squirming at the memory of his hands roam across her body. She shifted her grip on the textbook so that, rather than balancing it on her hands, it rested on her recently forearms.

She closed her eyes tightly, fighting the tears that came every time he touched her; beat her. His mouth traveled over to take her nipple in his mouth, biting down on the sensitive flesh painfully. Bitting back a scream that threatened to escape her lips, she tasted blood, but kept her mouth closed all the same, knowing that such a sound would only encourage him further. She had learned better than to struggle. The more she did, the more he would abuse her.

The Gryffindor forced herself to re-read the paragraph she had just skimmed, rotating her wooden bookmark around in her palm. Doing so had become quite a habit since her parents had bought it for her in the airport the moment that they had gotten of the plane in the Dominican Republic. The piece was hand-painted and beautiful; something that she felt that she would keep with her forever, not because of the vacation destination, scrawled in black ink on the surface of the beach-front picture, but because her parents had given it to her.

Hermione quickly flipped the page, willing herself to become a slave to the words. She needed to escape the world around her; needed to compose herself before her friends joined her. A part of her wanted to see Harry, Ron and Ginny burst through the door, brining along with them their high spirits, strength and optimism, but another part of her wanted nothing more than to travel to Hogwarts alone. She didn't plan on telling them what had occurred over the summer, after all there was nothing they could do anyway. There was nothing anyone could do. Her silence of the event would protect Harry. Besides, comforting words and embrace only did so much to quell the perpetual emotional and physical ache she felt in her heart and mind every second of her existence.

If her parents had known that Derrick was such a sadistic person, would that have even changed anything? He was a fully developed wizard, while they were muggles with a somewhat sugar-coated vision of the Wizarding World, and those who lived in it. She had not lied to them, but nor had she told them to what extent that the Wizarding World had its flaws, so as not to frighten them. Derrick seemed to have the capability of doing much the same; the false portrait that he had painted of himself was easy to fall for. She had the moment she had met him. He also held something over her head that caused her to keep her mouth closed, that caused her to refrain from shouting for help the moment his fingers traveled to place that she would even hesitate to touch herself.

He changed his pace suddenly, switching his attention to her other breast. The abrupt jerk on her nipples made her jump. It was sad to think that Hermione was beyond feeling violated. He had done so much worse that she counted her blessings, knowing that next time he brought her down to the basement, that it would more than likely be a great deal worse.

He pressed her back farther into the comforter and straddled her right leg. He moaned as he ground his hard erection into her thigh, breathing hard. He nuzzled her breast, taking the the tip into his mouth and biting down.

Through the numbness in her brain, she couldn't believe that she was just lying here taking the abuse that he dished out. It was usually twice a day, once in the morning, and once before he went to sleep. There was nothing else that she could do, she was too ashamed to go to anyone, and it was not as though she had the option anyway, Derrick understood her well. It was not simply her pride that would prevent her from outing him, but her protective nature of her friends. He knew that she would never risk putting another in danger on her own accord. The hope of a slip-up had also vanished; Derrick was skilled at magic and was just as skilled at covering his tracks. On the very rare occasion that she was given permission to leave his apartment he had skillfully vanished all of his markings from her neck, arms, legs breasts, and virtually every piece of skin he touched.

She flipped another page aggressively, wishing that she could simply erase the occurrence from her brain entirely. The movement of pages stirred the oaky scent of the parchment that clung to every page, and Hermione allowed it to engulf her completely. She had read the book several times already, and though the scent was fading, she could still smell the reminisce clinging to the pages as they brushed air towards her face. How she loved the smell. She looked cautiously out of the window of her empty compartment into the hall of the train to see if she spotted any students walking by. Upon seeing none, she brought the book to her nose and inhaling deeply, closing her eyes.

The compartment door slid open and from the corner of her eye, she saw three figures enter, closing the door roughly behind them. Assuming it was Harry and Ron with Neville or Seamus, Hermione remained behind her book, her face turning slightly pink.

Though accustomed to several of her weird quirks, this was certainly one of them that she did not wish for them to see. She lowered the book sheepishly so that it was once again resting on her thighs. She knew that if the boys realized that she had been smelling the pages of this year's spell book, she would never hear the end of it. They didn't understand. Hermione had such a strong connection with her books and, though, it was a peculiar habit, it provided her with a sense of comfort. Comfort that she searched for before she had met friends at Hogwarts. Her books were her reassurance; her confidence.

Expecting that her friends would take their seats across from her, she kept her head down to hide the redness on her cheeks, pretending to read. The figures, however, remained motionless, hovering over her. Her eyes flickered to the floor, where three sets of shoes pointed toward her. Two of the three were large in size. Ron had large shoes, but she did not recognize the monstrous pair before her. Besides, the redhead could usually be found wearing a worn pair of trainers, more than likely passed down from either Fred or George.

The remaining pair of shoes were of a more normal size, or normal in comparison to the pair on either side, and were of make that she was unfamiliar with. They appeared to be wizard-made, and extremely expensive at that. Which of her male friends would splurge on shoes?

Confused by their lack of conversation that usually filled their compartment as soon as they entered, Hermione finally lifted her gaze from their shoes, preparing to place her bookmark between the pages of her Potions textbook.

The thin wooden bookmark slipped through her fingers and fell to the floor emitting a dull thud as she regarded the three figures looming over her. The faces of Crabbe, Goyle and Malfoy sneered down at her. She scowled back, clutching her book tightly for support.

"Hello Granger," Malfoy spat. Hermione continued to scowl as Crabbe plunked himself on her right side and Goyle lumbered over to the window, where he sat on her left. Trapped between the two hunk of lards, she felt as though she could be placed in no worse a position. That was until Malfoy took a seat directly across from her. He crossed one leg over the other, continuing to sneer.

"No need to be impolite, we just stopped for a chat." If possible, Malfoy's sneer became even more malicious. "Crabbe and Goyle were just debating what was more disgusting, the fact that Dumbledore is continuing to allow an goblin to teach History of Magic, or allowing a foul squib to roam the halls as caretaker of Hogwarts. Oh and of course, we couldn't forget that oaf Hagrid!" Malfoy licked his lips in anticipation, clearly waiting for her usually prompt rebuttal. "What do you think Granger?" His eyes narrowed as he continued to stare at her, leaning in slightly. She could see that he was growing steadily more impatient.

Hermione pressed her lips together, determined not to respond to any of his unavailing mind games that he had consistently forced her to put up with for her past five years at Hogwarts. The book in her hands were beginning to suffer as her nails embedded deeper into the back cover as she struggled with herself not to run, or physical harm Malfoy for talking with such distaste about Hagrid and Dumbledore in such distain.

"Not going to answer me then are you, Mudblood?" He said calmly, pretending to look amused. She internally winced at his searing comment and set her jaw. Malfoy saw this subtle movement of defiance and silvery eyes gleamed.

"You see," he continued, "Crabbe thought that the goblin teaching History of Magic was worse, where as Goyle thought that Flitch was ten times worse. And Blaise thought Hagrid was the clear winner. I agreed with Blaise. At first." The blond smirked, knowing that his comment would hit a nerve. He was rewarded with the sound of her teeth grinding. He was getting deeper under her skin.

Hermione could take no more of his talk and attempted to stand abruptly. It was the hands of Crabbe and Goyle on both of her shoulders that kept her firmly rooted in her seat. They had not but said a word, but their brute strength made all the difference in recognizing his presence.

Malfoy once again took the opportunity to drive his verbal knife deeper into her flesh. "That was until we walked by your compartment Granger," he whispered vindictively. "You changed my mind. Upon mentioning you, Mudblood Granger, to Crabbe and Goyle, they immediately agreed."

Malfoy was so close now that she could feel his warm breath on her skin, causing it to crawl. She recoiled as far as she could, given the limited space. The corner of his lip twitched and blond merely repositioned himself such that he was now perched on the end of his seat, regaining the distance that he had lost from her leaning away.

"I told them that I thought that Dumbledore allowing a filthy Mudblood like yourself into the castle was a million times worse than any professor that dumb oaf could possibly hire!"

The three Slytherins waited silently, eager for a reaction of any kind. She merely looked at him for a few moments, looking rather bored before nonchalantly placing her spell book in her bag at her feet, and pulled out yet another textbook and resumed reading. Malfoy scoffed as a blue cover with gold lettering reading, 'The Guild to Advanced Transfiguration', covered her face.

Trying to regain what dignity he had from being shot down further before his friends, he stood, purposely knocking the book from her hands. She glared up at him, hatred glinting so strongly in her eyes that Malfoy thought that fire would leap from them, catching the compartment on fire. And hopefully burn off that bushy hair, he thought.

On his way out the door, Draco managed to kick her kick her bag, causing a stack of textbooks and numerous quills to spill out the opening and knocking her bookmark into the hallway. Crabbe and Goyle moved stupidly around the Gryffindor, stepping on quills smirked at the crisp snapping noise that came from their demolition. It was his only hope that they would be her fingers.

Quickly, Hermione dropped to the floor, collecting as many of her items as she could before they were trampled. Hermione, not wanting Malfoy of all people to see her cry, stared ahead, her eyes brimming with tears that threatened to spill over at ay moment. The thought that he was able to obtain such a reaction from her instantly boosted his ego.

"Get a move on! You're blocking the door. The stench of the Mudblood is going to cause me to pass out from oxygen deprivation!" He shouted at Crabbe and Goyle, who hesitated at the door of the compartment, unused to leading the way. The pair lumbered out of the way quickly, and peered back through the side windows of the compartment, obtusely.

Draco huffed impatiently behind them. Where it not for their blind loyalty, he would have scrapped those two long before, the dunderheaded nitwits. He took several steps down the hallway, walking further away from Hermione's compartment. That had gone well, though not as well as he had hoped. He experienced a sick sort of pride reflecting on the tears that glistened in her eyes as she looked at him before turning her face so as to hide them. He vowed that at the next opportunity, he would crush the remaining Gryffindor courage and make them spill out of her eyes.

He took another step forward and felt she shoe come down on something hard. God Damn it! The pair of shoes he was wearing were one of a kind, and made of the hide of an expensive breed of dragon that had long gone extinct.

Quickly, he lifted his shoe, peering at the soul, expecting to see a piece of candy clinging to the bottom. He was going to curse the student stupid enough to drop it to oblivion! Upon seeing nothing on the base of his shoe, he looked down at the floor. Draco quickly stooped and retrieved a small shard of stained wood, an intricate design painted on the glistening surface. Normally he would have overstepped something so below him, a shard of wood. For some reason, however, he felt compelled to pick it up and put it quickly inside his robes.

As he returned to full height, he was met with one that he hated with all his being.

"Out of my way Potter!" Draco pushed roughly past Harry as he attempted tried to catch up with his two minions, who seemed to be moving oddly fast, given their size.

"Git," Harry muttered under his breath. It was evident that Malfoy had not heard the comment for he would have been more than happy to return the insult.

Harry adjusted his glasses, which now sat ascu on the bridge of his nose. He and Ron had been in search of Hermione and doubted that she would be in the compartment that Malfoy had just vacated. That was until he heard a faint, dry sob.

Curious as to the identity of the victim of Malfoy's first tyranny, Harry continued in the direction of the final compartment on the train. Upon first glance through the window of the closed door, it appeared unoccupied, however upon opening the door, his heart dropped as his eyes met a familiar mass of bushy hair.

Harry knelt down beside his friend. "Hermione?" The girl remained seated on the floor of the compartment, expressionless. Immediately, he aided her in collecting the rest of the items that she had not yet picked up, and placing them into her bag.

Ron, seeing Hermione on the verge of tears, hit the glass beside the door violently, shattering it all over the green and white patterned seat covering. Harry looked over his shoulder at his friend, who was now stomping down the hall in the direction that Malfoy had been heading.

"Ron, don't. Ron! It's not worth it!" Ron did not hear him as he barreled down the hallway, rolling up his sleeves as he went.

Minutes later, the red-head returned looking as frustrated as ever, not having found his desired punching bag. Harry now sat with his arm around Hermione's shoulders, attempting desperately to console her. She only sat holding her wrist, looking as though she was on the verge of tears.

"Hermione, I am sure he has done worse. Just forget about him. He is a git anyway..."Harry trailed off, rubbing the side of her arm in a gesture of support.

Hermione nodded, not hearing the words that Harry was saying; her mind was elsewhere.

Hermione screamed as the sharp blade cut slowly across her skin following her rib. The cool blade in combination with her warm blood created a pain that was far from bearable. "You will know now not to tell anyone! You will tell no one!" he screamed, bringing his knife back to cut a parallel line down her rib cage again. "You bloody slut! You went against my trust! You will be punished!" Blood and tears stained the white linens beneath her as she half-heartedly struggled against her. "You are mine!" he spat at her "MINE! And to prove it...". Derrick brought the knife to her wrist, where he slowly began to carve his initials, beginning first with the letter 'D'.

Ron sat awkwardly down on the seat opposite Hermione, avoiding the glass. He tried to ignore the jealousy that began to pool in his stomach at the fact that the arm around Hermione's shoulders was not his own, tried to ignore the anger that he still harbored for hurting Hermione.

Harry looked at him, his brow furrowing behind his glasses. He knew as well as Ron that Hermione's perfectly composed mask was very difficult, if not impossible to shatter, but it seemed that, just as Ron had managed to smash the glass of the compartment window, Hermione had also been pushed to shatter into just as many pieces.