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Knowing It All	By : Jennlee Category: Harry Potter > General > General Views: 11567 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor any of the characters from the books or movies. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
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Chapter 4 - Despair and Hope
Hermione had no idea how long she lay there, unmoving, stunned in the aftermath of her assault. The Death Eater was gone. The spiders continued spinning silvery nets. The water continued echoing against the stone. The pulse pounding in her ears slowed and quieted.
When the numbness of her mind started to wear off, Hermione felt suddenly sick and crawled over to the bucket where she vomited. Her stomach was empty and there was nothing to bring up, but she continued to retch and heave painfully. Finally, she collapsed to the floor, panting and weak. Sore and tired, Hermione's chest still hurt with each breath. Great purple bruises were forming on her body where the Death Eater had kicked her. Her breasts were bruised and she noticed teeth marks - when had that happened? She didn't think she wanted to know.
The pain between her legs was like fire. She reached down, cautiously, and felt. She brought her hand up to her face - blood and a shiny fluid reflected in the flickering torchlight. Her stomach heaved violently again and Hermione crawled to the bucket, retching.
Torn and tattered, her nightdress offered little warmth and no modesty. She could feel the cold damp of the room and began shivering uncontrollably. Crawling over to the wall, she wrapped herself in the filthy blanket, grateful for it's scratchy warmth. She curled up tightly, knees against her chest. Somehow despite the cold and the pain she drifted off into a fitful sleep.
Hermione woke again in her small prison room. She wasn't sure how long she had slept. Every muscle cried out in agony as she tried to sit up. She didn't want to move, in the back of her mind wondering just a little if she could lay there until she died. But something inside her didn't want to give up. She wanted to live.
She realized she was incredibly thirsty. The sound of water on stone drew her. The small trickle of liquid still dripped from a crack in the wall. Hermione smelled it carefully, hesitantly touched her tongue to it. It had a sharp, metallic flavor but it was water. She lapped at the stone, slaking her thirst slightly, drop by drop.
She tore a piece from her filthy, ripped garment and tried to wet it against the tiny trickle of water. Hermione used the damp rag in a futile effort to clean herself. The bleeding had stopped, she noticed. She had cuts and scrapes across her back and buttocks from the stone floor. A large knob was swelling on the back of her head where Hermione had been knocked to the ground. Her face felt swollen and lopsided. She knew she probably had a black eye. Her hair, bushy in its normal state, now felt like a ragged bird's nest. It was full of dirt, grit, and hopeless snarls. Hermione didn't normally care about her hair, but it was just one more mark the vile Death Eater had left upon her.
Hermione turned her attention to the door. She tried the knob slowly and quietly. It was locked. On her hands and knees she searched the room in the dim torchlight. Discouraged, she only turned up stones, dust, and cobwebs. She finally found a small hairpin under the bucket. Where that had come from, she didn't know. She shivered to think she was not the first female occupant of this horrible place.
Hermione felt a surge of hope when she found the hairpin. She had seen Muggle movies where people picked locks with hairpins. She'd heard that Fred and George could do it - they'd rescued Harry from the Dursleys with the help of a hairpin just before his Second Year.
She pushed the hairpin into the lock and tried to turn it. Nothing happened. She adjusted the angle, trying to feel the mechanism with the small wires. The lock was large and sturdy; the hairpin, unfortunately, was not. The soft metal was bending uselessly. Frustration brought tears to her eyes as she realized it wasn't working. Her movements became more and more desperate. Finally, her cold, clumsy fingers slipped, dropping the hairpin into the large lock. It fell inside the mechanism where she couldn't reach it.
She threw herself down onto the floor and cried in frustration and despair. It was worse with hope, she thought. Hope could be dashed. Hope in a flimsy piece of metal - why did it hurt so much?
Despair filled her. Hope was a such a cruel master, she thought. Why was she so bound to it? Hermione cried, hugging herself, rocking back and forth. Her mind struggled for a way out of her wretched confinement. Her thoughts turned to the people closest to her. Her parents - they lay dead in their home, executed for no better reason than that they were Muggles. If she did survive this she didn't know how she would get on without them. Being a witch and having gone to boarding school for six years had made her strong and independent but she still knew just how much she needed them" wanted them in her life. Thinking of her parents made her feel hopeless and desperate.
She thought of school - Hogwarts - that safe place where she had spent so many years. Hermione's studious nature had set her aside from most students, a know-it-all. Despite this, she had found good friends there - and a home.
She thought of Harry. Famous Harry Potter. They had been good friends since their first year at school. Harry was so incredible. He was noble and a truly good person. He'd fought Voldemort and the Death Eaters many times. She'd been through so much with Harry and he'd come through some impossible situations.
Her thoughts turned to Ron - he must surely know she was missing by now. She wondered what Ron thought when she didn't arrive at The Burrow that morning. He'd probably gone to her house to find out what happened to her. He'd probably seen the destruction of the Death Eaters at her home - probably seen her parents lying lifeless on the floor. Even if he knew she was missing, what could he do? What could Mr. Weasley do, or Harry do for that matter? Hermione resolved not to cling to the slim hope of being rescued. It would just hurt more when it didn't happen.
Her tears slowed as she recalled Ron's ready smile and joking manner. She smiled inwardly, fondly recalling their frequent arguments - just bickering, really. She envisioned Ron, his gangly height, brilliant red hair and pale brown eyes. She wrapped her arms around herself and thought of the times that Ron had hugged or kissed her. Was it love? She hadn't known before. The love of a good friend certainly, but was it the love of a man? She knew she had been through too much emotional turmoil to put faith into anything she was feeling right now but it was as if a jolt of electricity shot through her. Could it be love? Even so, did it even matter if she died alone in this horrible place? Her tears started afresh.
Suddenly Ron's voice rang through her brain. "Are you a witch, or aren't you?" Her tears trailed off as she remembered that time so long ago when she, Ron, and Harry had battled their way through a series of dangerous magical barriers. Stuck in the entwining tentacles of Devil's Snare, Hermione had been thinking like a Muggle - trapped and unable to free herself. The comment from Ron had reminded her to think like a witch. All it took was to remember to think like a witch and she had saved herself and the others. She pondered this. She was a witch, wasn't she? She couldn't just give up. But she didn't have her wand. Again, Ron's voice pushed through her memory, "Are you a witch, or aren't you?"
She thought about her wand - surely lost or in the hands of the Death Eaters. Could she do anything without a wand? Hermione recalled that sometimes magical things happened around her even before she knew she was a witch. She knew a wand focused and amplified her magic, but that magic was there, nonetheless. Would it enable her to unlock the door? She wondered. She'd never tried anything like it before. Again Ron's voice surged through her brain. "Are you a witch, or aren't you?"
Hermione shakily got to her feet, holding her tender ribs. She wrapped the blanket firmly around her tired frame. Stumbling to the iron-clad door, she tried the unlocking spell, "Alohomora." Nothing happened. She wasn't sure what she'd expected. Maybe she needed to focus, she thought, clear her mind of all distractions.
Hermione closed her eyes and tried to shut out the pain. She tried to shut out the lump of cold fear in the pit of her stomach. She tried to close off the feelings of despair and humiliation over her rape. Hermione thought of hope and escape. She thought of Ron. She thought of Harry and Hogwarts. Memories. Friends. Love.
Again she pointed her hand toward the lock. "Alohomora!" There was a sharp click. She gasped in wonder. Hands shaking, she took hold of the knob and rotated it. The door was unlocked!
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Knowing It All