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What it comes down to	By : melinda1293 Category: Harry Potter > Threesomes/Moresomes Views: 115219 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 7
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

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Chapter 2. Hermione

Hermione watched them dragging Harry back into the cell the three of them shared. Or she and Ron shared; Harry was only a part-time resident. She began to weep as soon as she saw his battered body. She had taken to cataloging every wound, bruise or cut that she could see after he’d spent the day in the company of the Death Eaters. Today, though, she could hardly bring herself to look upon him. He was nude, but covered in dirt. What she did see was a terrible red mark around his neck.

Had they strangled him? Oh, God! Was he dead? Harry was completely lifeless while they chained him to the wall. His body hung limp, suspended only by his wrists.

Once secured, Rudolphus stepped away from Harry. Bellatrix ran her hand through Harry’s hair and down his cheek almost lovingly. Then she slowly turned and smiled at Hermione. It looked as if her lip was bleeding. Hermione hoped like hell it was. Hoped Harry was still fighting them with everything he had. Bellatrix laughed once, her eyes crackling with madness, and then she and her husband left. Only then did Hermione get a clear look at Harry, and it broke her heart.

She studied her friend’s face. Even unconscious, he looked haggard. Dark circles had formed under his eyes. Three days’ growth of beard darkened his chin. One cheek had been bruised so badly that his right eye had been almost swollen shut. That was the first day. It looked worse now. The swelling was going down, but the bruise was turning purple and green. Today his whole face seemed red, puffy, and swollen, possibly from the strangulation. His bottom lip was also swollen and bloody, and Hermione was sure she saw teeth marks in the skin there and on one of his ears.

The last thing she took note of on his face were the tear tracks left behind in the dirt of his face. She hadn’t seen that before, and her breath hitched a little to see it now, though neither Harry nor Ron could hear her with the silencing charm around her. She couldn’t stand it if they were breaking him. She knew what it meant. What it meant for all of them.

Taking a deep breath, she continued. It looked as if the wound on his shoulder had re-opened. It was weeping blood, mixing with the dirt and drying on his chest. She examined his neck. Her eyes mapping every inch of the raw flesh she found there. It was hard to tell if he had any other new wounds or bruises with the dirt covering him.

Her gaze moved down his body. She tried to avert her eyes to his nakedness. Harry was a private person, and she knew he would be embarrassed to be seen like this if he were conscious. Instead, she focused on his legs. Her eyes traveled down his right thigh and over his knee. It appeared to be red, she noted, as if he was kneeling at some point, maybe for a while from the look of them. Then down to his foot, no new injuries there.

She moved to his left leg. One sock inexplicably remained on this foot, though it had been pulled loose when they had dragged him in. Her eyes journeyed up his calf and she found the same redness on this knee. But what she found on his thigh made Hermione squeeze her eyes shut. Blood was trickling down the inner thigh of his left leg, moving though the dirt, gravity forging a path slowly down his leg towards that one filthy sock.

And she knew. She knew what it meant; what they had done. Hermione turned to look at Ron, but she didn’t need to see the horror on his face to confirm in her mind what they’d done to him. Mad Bellatrix and her equally mad husband, Rudolphus had violated Harry in the worst possible way.

Oh, God! They’d raped him. Hermione wanted to look away, to stop looking, and never see again. She was so helpless here, she and Ron, unable to help Harry, unable to stop these vile people from torturing him, unable to speak to him or each other and try to formulate a plan for escape or at the very least, to comfort. But worst of all, she knew that it was her fault, hers and Ron’s, for being captured so easily. Harry had given himself up to the Death Eaters for them, and now they could do nothing but witness what the Death Eaters were doing to him. Watch as he suffered. And she knew that she would look again, would see it all. Be a witness, albeit a silent one, to all that he endured for them because it was all she could do.

She watched him through tears, watched as his chest rose and fell, rose and fell, feeling her hope falling, too. She watched, and knew when unconsciousness turned to sleep, when sleep turned to dreams, when dreams turned to nightmares. She watched him jerk and cry out, though she heard not a sound through the silencing charm. She watched as he came awake and aware of himself and his surroundings, watched the remembering coming over him, of where he was and what they’d done to him. Harry retched, and Hermione knew that if he could, he would have curled into a ball in misery. As it was, he slid as far down the wall as his shackled wrists would allow and pulled his knees into himself, shaking violently.

Harry glanced at her once to see if she still watched. His eyes looked dead and glassy. It terrified her more than anything she had seen yet on this dawning of the fourth day of their captivity. It was the fourth day of no food, no sleep, and no break from the torment of watching.

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What it comes down to

Chapter 2. Hermione