DISCLAIMER: I do not own Harry Potter and I am making no profit from this story.

A/N: This is a rough fic and it is a different look at our usually heroic wizard. If you like sensitive stories then this is not it. Also, this is a Harry/Hermoine pairing. This fic takes place after HBP, and does not follow the events of DH.

A Hero's suffering

Chapter One:

Number Four Privet Drive was engulfed in the rainy darkness that was not uncommon in England. From behind the thin prefabricated walls of the house, Vernon Dursley's voice could be heard above the din of the storm.

Harry found himself being flung forcibly from the sitting room. He was barely aware of the fact that he had been thrown so hard his feet were no longer touching the floor. Harry's impromptu flight was abruptly ended as he slammed into the side of the stairs. The impact had knocked Harry's glasses from his face, and the only image he could make out was a big blurry man stomping towards him. There was no time to think or move as Vernon's fist made contact with Harry's stomach. The force of the blow had been so hard that Harry could not fight back his body's involuntary urges and he began to throw up. Pain shot horribly up Harry's body and his knees buckled underneath him. Vernon, however, was not done. He grabbed his nephew by the back of his incredibly ragged sweater and picked him back up to his feet.

"As much as I hate you boy, I will not kick a man when he is down!" growled Vernon as he perched Harry on his precariously wobbly feet. Vernon's chivalry was short lived as Harry's face was forced inward by the impact of one of Vernon's ham-sized fists.

Harry crumpled on the floor. Barely conscious, the young man began to spit a mixture of blood, vomit, and teeth. He had been lucky that his glasses had not been on or else he may have lost an eye from the broken glass. Darkness soon took over Harry's consciousness.

Petunia and Dudley had finally been able to hold Vernon back, and while Dudley pulled his dad into the kitchen Petunia had been given the task of picking up what was left of the shattered little teenager. She had never been concerned about the fact that Harry was verbally and emotionally abused, but as she carried the broken body of her sister's son upstairs, she almost felt sorry for the pitiful being. Petunia placed Harry on his bed as gently as possible. This was not the first time she had seen Vernon lash out at Harry, but this was the first time that she was truly afraid that he would kill the boy. Before she left the room, Petunia's eyes fell upon the Hedwig the owl. She leaned in close and opened the bedroom window as well as the owl's cage. "Go. Tell someone to get him out of here." whispered Petunia as the large bird took flight.

Many miles away from Privet drive, Hermoine Granger lied restless in her bed. She had not slept well since the day that school had let out for the summer break. She sat up quickly in bed when a quiet tap emitted from behind the window blinds. She let out a tiny gasp when she saw Hedwig perched by her window. The snow owl would not be at her house this late at night if something wasn't wrong with Harry. Opening the window, Hermoine placed Hedwig on her desk. She checked Hedwig's leg for any scrap of parchment, but was dismayed to find no note. She could not fight the rising sense of dread that was causing her to panic. What could she do? Where was Harry? Did Voldemort or the Death Eaters finally find a way to get at him? She had to do something. Finally, after what had felt like hours of deliberation, Hermoine closed her eyes and took a deep breath. She took a step forward with a slight twist and folded out of existence.

Petunia let out a muffled shriek when a young girl twirled into existence two feet in front of her. Hermoine was afraid that she had gotten the wrong destination until her eyes fell upon her fallen friend. She exchanged glances with the older woman, and despite the bile rising in her throat, Hermoine said nothing. She quickly began to load Harry's belongings into his trunk. Petunia had decided to stand in the hall outside of the bedroom to give the mystery girl her space. After having packed the trunk, Hermoine turned her focus to Harry. She could hardly look at her best friend. The blood had dried around his mouth and matted his typically unruly hair. She tried to be strong but soon the warm tears began to obscure her sight. She placed her hand inside her pajama pocket and pulled out her wand. She carefully placed the wand's tip against Harry's chest and whispered through silent sobs "Mobilicorpus." Harry's broken, unconscious body stiffened and rose into the air. Hermoine grabbed Harry's hand and twisted into nothingness. Petunia was left with a gaping mouth and a larger hatred for magic.

Chapter Two:

Hermoine laid Harry upon her bed after returning from Privet Drive. She checked Harry's pulse which seemed steady, if not a little weak. She had never seen someone as beaten and bruised as the young man before him, and she was disgusted at herself when she had troubles looking at her friend's battered and bloodied features. She hurried to her bathroom to get a glass of water and a rag, and on the way back she stopped by her bookcase to retrieve a book of healing spells. She gingerly sat on the edge of the bed and began to gently wipe the dried blood off of Harry's face and neck. She felt horrible when the smell of blood and vomit made her gag slightly. After a short while she had cleaned the majority of the blood off and began to search her book for an incantation that would allow Harry to regain his missing teeth. Having found a viable spell, Hermoine mumbled a few words and noticed a slight swelling of Harry's mouth which indicated that the spell had taken effect. Hermoine sighed and pulled the chair from her desk next to the bed. She plopped rather hard into the chair and took Harry's hand with her own. Her worry was soon replaced by anger and then by exhaustion, and after a short while Hermoine was asleep.

Harry's left eye fluttered slightly open. He could not open it fully due to swelling, and as far as he could tell he could not open his right eye at all. He tried to look around the room, but could not make out anything without his glasses. He felt something warm in his hand, and after a few seconds of running his fingers over the object, he realized that it was someone else's hand. Harry closed his swollen eye and slipped into a comfortable sleep as he let the warmth in his hand radiate through his whole body.

The morning sun peeked too early through the disheveled blinds into Hermoine Granger's bedroom. She awoke with a sore neck and an even sorer bum. She made a mental note that a desk chair does not make a good resting place. She wiped the sleep out of her eyes with her free hand and looked down at the visitor in her bed. There was Harry, his eye was slightly open and he smirked at her and then flinched when his busted lips reopened and began to bleed.

"Oh," said Hermoine handing him a rag "Good Morning, Harry. How long have you been awake?" she asked tiredly. "A little while. I did not want to wake you." said Harry. His mouth hurt but as he ran his tongue over his teeth he felt no gaps. His intuition said that he had Hermoine to thank for his new teeth. Hermoine realized that Harry had not yet let go of her hand, and was glad he did not have his glasses on because that meant he couldn't see her blush. Harry must have sensed something going on because he quickly let go of her hand and began to apologize profusely. He heard a rustling sound and felt Hermoine place his glasses on his face. This improved his vision, but did nothing against the swelling. Hermoine sat on the edge of the bed and looked at Harry. "You should get a shower. You go and do that and I will let my parents know that we have company." said Hermoine.

Harry grabbed a pair of ripped jeans and a ratty t-shirt. He almost asked Hermoine to repair the clothes for him, but he honestly didn't care. He was shown the bathroom and began to get undressed to get in the shower. His ribs were blue and swollen; he suspected they were either cracked or broken. Harry stepped into the shower and let the water pelt his sore body. Harry slowly turned the cold water off allowing the almost scalding hot water to help make his muscles relax. His pale skin was beginning to turn pink under the burning flow of water. He had to scrub his hair vigorously in order to get all the blood out, and he felt like a new person as he climbed out of the shower. The bathroom had turned into a sauna and Harry decided to get dressed in Hermoine's room instead. Harry made a quick dash with a towel around his waist across the hall into the bedroom. He pulled the door closed and quickly pulled on a pair of boxers and his jeans. As he was buttoning his jeans he heard the door open. He swung around to see Hermoine standing in the doorway. She quickly looked done and started to apologize.

"It's okay. You can come in." said Harry. Hermoine's eyes quickly darted from the floor to Harry and back as he slid on a shirt that was too small for him. She could not help but think of a homeless person when she looked at Harry. Now 16 years old, Harry had grown to be close to six feet tall. His shirt fit tight and barely covered the edge of his jeans, which were too large for him and torn to shreds in many places. If Hermoine had to venture a guess, Harry's shirt had to have been from their fourth year at Hogwarts, and his pants must have once belonged to his cousin who had destroyed the pants before they were passed on. There was a slight muscular look to Harry, but from how the tiny t-shirt clung to his ribs, one could tell that he went too often without eating.

"Umm," mumbled Hermoine "my parents say once you are dressed you can come downstairs. They are making breakfast and will set another place at the table." She finished. Harry just gave a slight nod. He was nervous about meeting the Grangers, and given the way he looked right now, he was sure he did not look like the kind of guy they would want their daughter hanging around with. Nonetheless, Harry slid on a pair of dirt stained socks and slowly walked down the stairs. Harry's emergence into the kitchen was greeted with an air of shock. The smiles he saw on the faces of Hermoine's mother and father were hiding a certain amount of alarm about the boy they saw in front of them. Harry's eyes dropped sullenly to the floor. He was ashamed of himself. He was ashamed of how he looked, and wished that he could melt into the floor. Hermoine led Harry to the seat next to her at the table and her parents took their seats as well. "Mr. Potter," said Mrs. Granger "would you like to say grace?" Harry stared for a moment and then slowly shook his head. "I'm sorry, but I don't know how." Harry replied. Hermoine quickly said that she would, and after a short prayer they were all tucking into their breakfast. Conversation was lacking during the meal, and Harry tried to pay no attention to the less-than-subtle glances that the Grangers kept exchanging. It was Hermoine's father who would eventually break the silence.

"So, Harry. Tell us about yourself. We have heard a little about you from Hermoine but we rarely get to meet any of her friends." said Mr. Granger. Harry thought about his reply for a second before he responded. "Well, I am 16 and I am in the same year of school as Hermoine. We are in Gryffindor together and we both have a lot of the same friends." Harry said. Mr. Granger laughed and looked at Harry. "We know that much Harry. Tell us about YOU. Who is Harry Potter? We have heard that you are a pretty big deal in the wizarding world." said Mr. Granger. "I'm not as important as many people make me sound, sir." replied Harry, trying not to look at Hermoine when he said it. It was a good thing that he didn't because Hermoine had a look of disbelief on her face. "Honestly!" Hermoine protested, "Come on Harry, you know that isn't true." The Granger looked surprised at their daughter's outburst. Harry just stared at his eggs and toast. "There's no reason to be modest Harry. Obviously my daughter seems to think you are holding back." said Mrs. Granger. Harry took a deep breath and looked at the others at the table. "I am made to sound like some kind of hero, but trust me you don't want to hear about my life." Harry mumbled as a response.

After a few minutes of quiet, Harry picked up the dishes and silverware and began to instinctively wash and dry them. The Grangers were left sitting at the table watching the stranger as he washed their dirty dishes. Mrs. Granger walked behind Harry placing a hand on his shoulder. Harry shrank away quickly from her hand as if it had burned him like fire. He spun around and his eyes were wide with fright. The teacup he had been holding in his hand shattered leaving pieces of porcelain embedded in his flesh. Harry quickly walked from the room. He paid no attention to the trail of blood he was dripping from his hand. Hermoine quickly followed her friend as he headed up the stairs and into her room. Mrs. Granger stood in the kitchen and shared a shocked look. "You know Dan," said Emma Granger to her husband "That boy shows the signs of abuse." Dan Granger chuckled. "Which part gave you that idea? Was it the part where he showed up with two black eyes or the part where he shattered the cup when you caught him off guard?" Dan asked sarcastically.

Hermoine found Harry sitting in the corner of her room looking at his hand. Hermoine walked closer to her friend and noticed a large piece of teacup was sticking out of Harry's hand. Before she could plead with Harry to let her see it, he had grasped the shard of porcelain and pulled it free from his hand. Blood began to quickly pool in the palm of Harry's hand. Harry watched as the tip of Hermoine's wand touched his wound and it quickly scabbed over. "Harry, what was all that?" Hermoine said softly. Harry's eyes began to tear and his words were constricted with emotion. "I was just surprised, that's all." Harry lied. Hermoine watched as her friend's body was wracked with silent sobs. She hugged her suffering friend, and was shocked when he laid his head on her lap. Hermoine felt like she was meeting the real Harry Potter for the first time. She finally understood. He wasn't the bulletproof hero that everyone made him out to be, but rather he was an injured young man whose wounds were far deeper than his bruised skin.