Flame of Existence

FLAME OF EXISTENCE
/ by Bella

Chapter One

If Hermione didn’t know any better, she would say that bitterness was clawing at her closed heart. She looked from atop her thick volume she had chosen to settle into, at the students who were so mindlessly throwing themselves at one another. She was the Head Girl, and she had her duties, but a prude she would be called by her closest friends if she didn’t attend the seventh-year party that was being held. She was tied to attend, but that didn’t mean she had to get pissed and fuck everything else that moved.

She shook her head and pulled the book up in front of her eyes once more as the party around her continued. The music was loud, being generated by magic, but outside of the extended Gryffindor common room, it was unheard. The Dream Team (yes, including Hermione) had worked for hours on end earlier that day to prepare the room for the entire seventh-year class, which wasn’t that big, but big enough to make one hell of a party.

A loud crash brought Hermione’s head up from behind the book once again. She looked up to see Ron laying on the floor on top of a broken table with Lavender Brown on top of him.

Hermione rolled her eyes and stood. Enough was enough. She was about to yell out when Harry met her eye. Something inside of her clicked and she shook her head. Let them have their fun, she thought to herself. Bugger. I’m losing it... Heh, how can you lose it if you’ve never even had it?.

She exited the common room quickly and entered the long corridor that twisted in every direction imaginable. Leave it to Hogwarts to be complicated as fuck. Turning left, she made her way to the Head Girl’s rooms which wasn’t that far from Gryffindor Tower.

Her thoughts were on Ron, and how carelessly, like the others, he had found himself in an embarrassing position. She knew that Ron was currently going through something odd– what, she didn’t know. She had tried asking him before and he had simply barked at her to mind her “own bloody business ” After that incident, she didn’t bring up the subject anymore. Instead, she watched him closely.

She was worried about her close friend – close they have been since their first year. Being in the backseat of Harry Potter’s car of Fame had sent Ron in a rebellious state in their fifth year. And now, in their seventh, he isn’t so much rebellious as promiscuous.

Many a night Hermione has walked the halls on Prefect Duty to find Ronald and some random witch banging each other into oblivion in some random corner. And tonight only increased her worry. Sure, he was drunk, but by being so, he only showed more of himself. Hermione mentally noted that she needed to talk to Harry soon.

Hermione was about three or so steps from reaching the door that led to her rooms when a dark figure next to her door made her pause and back up, wand at the ready. Through many years of adventures (and near deaths) with Harry and Ron, Hermione knew all too well that she needed to talk her wand with her everywhere she went.

The dark figure revealed itself– or rather, himself– it was Draco Malfoy. For a brief second Hermione faltered and let her wand down, not thinking that Malfoy was really out to get her. That lapse of judgement sent her wand flying across the corridor, where it clinkered and settled onto the ground in some corner or another.

“Malfoy, what do you want? And why did you just disarm me. I wasn’t going to hex you– honest. You just sca–“

”Shut up, you filthy mudblood.”

She flinched at the name, but realized that like the other seventh-years, Draco was drunk. She sighed to herself, knowing that besides Draco being a Malfoy, he wasn’t one to toy with. If she so much as moved to grab his wand, he would lash out and possibly hex her into next week.

Severely disliking hexes as much as she did stained pages in a book, Hermione stood where she was, wondering when and how this little encounter would end.

“What are you doing away from the party, Granger?” Truth be told, Draco Malfoy only had a few drinks. Hermione didn’t realize that, for if she did, she would be a hell of a lot more nervous that she actually was at the present time.

“I– I am tired, and I want to get some reading finished. Now, Malfoy, if you would be so kind as to move away from my door, and point that wand elsewhere...”

Draco took a step towards her without lowering his wand. He couldn’t believe that a muggle-born witch just told him to lower his wand. His brows furrowed together and he took another step towards her. His wand was only inches from her chest when he tossed it aside and leaped onto her.

Her scream, muffled by Draco’s lips, went unheard. All throughout the castle students were either a) partying - including snogging/fucking, b) sleeping, or c) studying. That was pretty much the case with the professors as well.

The pair fell to the ground, and Hermione’s head hit the ground hard. The edges of her vision darkened and continued to do so as she stared glaze-eyed up at Draco, unmoving.

The few, soft candles that lit the hallway darkened, but still illuminated the picture of the blond haired Slytherin wizard ripping the clothes from a now-unconscious Gryffindor witch. In the silence of the night, he took her lifeless body against his own, spewing from inside the hatred of seven years.

{--------------------------------------------}

Severus Snape sat alone in his office in the dungeons, his face a mere inch from the paper he was grading. He was about to pass out from being so damned tired that the second his nose touched the paper, he bolted upright and rubbed his tired eyes with his aching fingers.

Time to retire for the night, you old dog, Severus thought to himself as he placed the 3rd years papers in the upper right drawer of his desk that was labeled, ‘To Be Graded.” He cleaned off his desk for the night, a ritual he had practiced ever since he had first started teaching. There was something about walking into his office in the morning and being presented with a clean desk that was ready for work.

A smile played at the corners of his lips as he started out of the small office nook that was located off of the potions classroom he taught in. He swerved in between the desks that the 5th years had last occupied and made his way out of the classroom. He removed his wand from his robes and muttered a few incantations which activated the wards on the door.

Turning, he began his decent further into the dungeons. On his way past the Slytherin common rooms, he noticed a person walking up the alternate hallway. The darkened figure, silhouetted from the light from the upper floor, came closer without realizing that his/her Head of House was standing there watching him break the rules– he was out way past curfew.

Draco Malfoy’s blond hair shone bright even in the dark hallway, and Snape immediately recognized him. Instead of confronting the younger wizard, Snape stepped back into the shadows of the hallway and listened to Malfoy make his way towards the common room.

“Stupid chit. I don’t know who she thinks she is.” Draco was muttering softly, completely unaware that he was being eavesdropped on. “...sure showed her.”

Draco told the painting that protected the house wing the password and entered without looking back. If he had, he would have seen Professor Snape standing there, illuminated from the light of the common room, with both hands crossed across his chest and a perplexed look on his face.

Snape didn’t know what to make of Malfoy’s mutters, but he didn’t let it phase him. He was tired from all of the grading and he didn’t want to stand around trying to figure out the mysteries of a hormonal teenager.

As if nothing had happened, and as if he had heard absolutely nothing, Snape continued on the path to his rooms. He opened the door leading into the study he had spent so many hours reading in, and sighed. Of all his rooms, he loved this one the best. It was quiet, serene – despite the damp and darkness of the dungeons – and it invoked a sense of hominess in him.

After the brief pause, Snape returned to his normal State of Mind and went to his bedroom where he disposed the robes and clothes he had worn all day into a basket that the house elves would pick up in the morning. Stretching his tired limbs above his head, Snape let out a large grown and hopped into bed and snuggled into the cool silk sheets.

He was blind to the fact that another person in the castle was settling into her beds at the same time, though with a worst State of Mind. Hermione Granger had been raped, torn apart by the person she had hated the most (Draco Malfoy) and now she was laying motionless under her heavy covers trying not to cry.

Never in her life had she wanted a Dreamless Sleep potion, but tonight was an exception. She knew her already tired eyes would not be prone to rest tonight. And, little did she know, that her days of dreaming of things like kittens and beautiful libraries were long over.

{--------------------------------------------}

The minute the first ray of sun entered her tower retreat, Hermione jumped out of bed. She had stayed in bed all night, but had not fallen asleep. During her four and a half hours of lying there, she thought about many things, most of them dealing with Draco Malfoy and the incident with him the night before.

Hermione knew she needed to see Madam Pompfrey, but she didn’t want her rape to be widely known. While she had laid in her bed, she realized that by telling Professor Dumbledore or Madam Pompfrey about what had happened, she knew that she would only be doing herself more harm. Having people look at her, pity her for what had happened, would only allow her to bask in self-misery for an even longer time. On top of that, she knew that Malfoy would retaliate and maybe do something worse to her – she didn’t want that, either.

She wanted to get over it, forget about it... She didn’t want the constant reminder that Draco Malfoy had shoved his precious little dick into her. She wanted it gone, erased. A memory charm on Hermione Granger was out of the question. She knew that by forgetting it, she would unlearn a very valuable lesson. She wouldn’t see the signs if there were to be a next time– she wouldn’t be able to prevent it if she had completely forgotten about it. Instead, she decided to push it into a tiny little box in the back of her mind where she could summon it when the time came.

Hermione Granger didn’t like to pity herself, but with the unmoving reminder that she had been raped lingering in her mind, it was hard to do anything but. In the shower the night before she had scrubbed herself into her skin turned raw. And now, in the morning, she stood before the full-length mirror staring at herself with a look of disgust painted on her face.

She dressed quickly and walked from her Head Girl’s rooms with her head held high. She told herself that she was posing as the normal Hermione Granger, when in reality she was somebody completely different. Overnight she had aged – and sensible witch or wizard who dared look beneath the surface would see it. She was being fake. She wasn’t happy, nor was she proud that the raging pureblood had laid a finger on her.

She walked towards the hospital wing and by the time she entered, her shoulders had slumped a little, and her head wasn’t held as high. Meeting the eyes and her peers in the hallway had done nothing but kill her confidence. It was harder than she expected to look somebody in the eye when she had a secret that was burning to get out.

What if Malfoy went after some other witch, she questioned herself as she took a seat on the edge of an unoccupied bed as she waited for Madam Pomfrey to finish observing another Seventh-year that had an unusually large knot on his forehead. Her mind’s question went unanswered– she didn’t know how to even begin. What if Malfoy actually did go after someone else?

That’s not my problem, she said hastily to herself as Madam Pomfrey made her way over to where Hermione was sitting. Not my problem.

“Good morning, Hermione. Are you feeling well?”

Hermione smiled a little and shook her head. “I didn’t get much sleep last night. Actually, Madam Pomfrey, there was a–er–party in the Gryffindor common room last night, and... I needamorningaftercontraceptivepotion.”

“A what?” Hermione had said the last part so quickly that it was barely distinguishable. “Oh, my.” Realization hit Madam Pomfrey. Normally she would have a student fill out a form of request, and then consult Dumbledore before administering such a potion, but the look of desperation in Hermione’s eyes quickly changed her mind.

What Dumbledore doesn’t know, the older witch thought to herself as she looked through her the large wall of pregnancy/contraceptive potions, won’t kill him. It is a girl thing, after all.

“Hermione, dear, you are almost a grown witch. You are head girl and you are one of the brightest students Hogwarts has ever had the pleasure of teaching. Big responsibility comes with being Head Girl. Here, take this potion,” she grabbed Hermione’s hand and placed the small vile of pink potion in the palm. “You will feel sick for a few minutes, but then you’ll be back to normal.
“Hermione, you must think about what you have done. I will not administer this potion to you again. You have to learn from your mistakes and grow from them. I expect you to do that, you know. Now drink up, honey.”

Madam Pomfrey stood up, gave Hermione a quick hug, and then walked back across the large infirmary to where the student with the goose-egg on his forehead sat.

Hermione, looking down at the potion with tears in her eyes, sighed inwardly. She unstopped the vial and drank the contents in one gulp, and left the empty vial and stopper on the bed, and ran from the hospital wing. She was torn.

{--------------------------------------------}

The first weekend of the school term had begun, and on that first Saturday she had woken up realizing that she had been raped, and she had asked Madam Pompfrey for a “morning after” potion. The only good thing about Hermione’s school term so far was that she had a nice class lineup and a room bigger than her house at home – she was now Head Girl. But now that she was defiled and violated by none other that the Ferret, her initial happiness had worn into a pasty bitterness that edged its way into her line of vision.

By lunchtime on Saturday, Hermione found her stomach calling out to her. She had forgotten to eat in the morning, and hadn’t really thought that her stomach would need feeding. However, with her dwindling energy, she knew that she would have to eat something.

She walked into the lunchroom and arrived at the Gryffindor table before Ron or Harry showed up. When they did, they looked tired and immediately put their heads between their heads and groaned – their hangovers were still in full force.

She couldn’t pity them, because whether she cared to admit it or not, the pain she was feeling was ten times as worse. Sure, it wasn’t so much physical as the boys’, but her’s was emotional. She was scarred, perhaps for life, and her heart was beginning to erode. Her faith shattered to bits by one single encounter gone wrong, she sat there and sulked into her blueberry muffin as the other two talked quietly amongst themselves while they ate.

“Hey ‘Mione,” Harry said once he was finished eating. “You left early last night. Didn’t like the party?”

Hermione looked up, and Harry and Ron didn’t miss the look of a deer caught in headlights that passed over her face. Momentary surprise and a few rapid heartbeats pushed aside, Hermione shook her head.

“Not my scene,” she said quietly as she stood up from her seat and started out of the Great Hall.

“Everything all right?” Ron called after her.

Lifting a hand, she waved, as if gesturing that she was find (which she wasn’t). Her eyes set forward, she ignored the snickers that was coming from Crabbe and Goyle at the end of the Slytherin table. She could feel a certain blond-haired, grey-eyed wizard’s stare on her back as she left the Hall.

The party... oh what Harry and Ron don’t know... And never will know, she reminded herself.

Her hasty exit raised more than a few eyebrows, and quite frankly, she didn’t care anymore if she caused a scene or not. She was tired of the same mediocrity that seemed to satisfy the students at Hogwarts.

As she made her way back to her rooms, she looked down at the spot where Malfoy had ripped her clothes from her body and spread her unwilling thighs. She stopped and looked down at the marble floor, unstained from the nights events... Washed clean by the house elves who probably thought the blood was from a paper cut... or something.

Gathering up the courage not to cry, Hermione mumbled the password to open the door to her rooms and walked in. The first thing she noticed as she entered the room was the tawny-colored owl sitting on the window sill opposite of the door she had entered. She walked over to the window and retrieved the letter that was tied around the owl’s leg and looked at the blank envelope.

Curiosity got the better of her and she opened it up. Printed in the middle of the single page were three words. Silence is survival. Her breath caught in her constricting throat and her eyes clouded over.

Inside, Hermione knew that a death threat from Malfoy was inevitable. Ratting on him would ruin his reputation. A pureblood’s reputation is practically everything to them, especially when it concerned a Malfoy. If Hermione ever told on Draco, she would not only get the wrath of Draco, but also from his family and his family’s friends. That was the last thing she needed.

She shooed the owl off without giving it a response or an answer, not caring if she had pissed it off or not. She took her wand (which had been grabbed this morning from the corner in which it had resided) and muttered a few words which sent the piece of parchment into a fit of flames.

That done, Hermione went over to the couch in front of the fire and sat down and put her head between her hands. Her eyes, watering over for the umpteenth time that day, closed instinctively and she let out a heart-wrenching sob.

She would get Malfoy back in one way or another, even if it killed her.

Monday morning found Hermione sitting upright in her bed rocking back and forth. For times like these, she was glad that she didn’t have to share a room with the other Gryffindor girls. Another nightmare had eased its way into Hermione’s line of dreams, proving the dream catcher above her headboard to be deceiving.
Her eyes, which would normally be bright and brown, full of life, were now a dull, muddy color that lacked happiness. Her skin was sallow, her cheeks no longer rosy and smiling. In short, she felt like a can of royal shit.

With an extended sigh, Hermione pushed the blankets off of her legs and climbed out of the four poster bed. She looked up at the clock that was hanging on the wall and realized that she would be late for double potions if she didn’t hurry. She had already missed breakfast, but she didn’t care. She was never hungry anymore, anyway.


Hermione pulled her hair back into a tight bun and put on her school robes. When she was done with the bare necessities that pertained to her image, she left the room. Normally Hermione would carry a large backpack that would be stuffed with books of varying measure. However today, she carried none. The only thing she carried under her arm was a simple notepad and a pen.

Her walk through the castle was slow. She didn’t even want to go to class, much less put up with Snape’s insistent badgering and whatnot. Moreover, she didn’t want to have to get her hands dirty. But most of all, she didn’t even want to be in the same room as Draco Malfoy, the soon-to-be man that had taken from her something she considered precious.

By the time she reached the potions classroom in the dungeons, Hermione was more than ten minutes late. She didn’t care. It seemed as though the old Hermione had left her completely. She opened the door of the classroom, and was met with a seen of every student turned around looking at her. The potions master was sitting at his desk at the front of the room looking at her with narrowed eyes.

Letting out a large sigh, she slammed the door behind her and flopped down into the only open seat next to Neville Longbottom. How he had made it into Advanced Potions, she would never know. As terrible as Neville was with potions, Hermione valued his friendship and acquaintance very much, granted not as much as Harry and Ron’s, but nonetheless so. At that moment, Hermione was glad to be sitting next to Neville, who wouldn’t drill her about being late or why she had looked so apathetic towards her tardiness to her once-favorite class.

“Miss Granger,” a silky drawl from the front of the classroom called. “You are late, twelve minutes to be exact. Explain yourself.”

Hermione sighed, and in a bored, this-is-SO-NOT-like-Hermione-Granger tone, “I’d rather not, thanks.”

Snape raised his eyebrows. This was going to be interesting. He stood up and crossed the dungeon classroom in a few long strides. “Miss Granger. Explain yourself NOW, or get out of my classroom. I do not have time for this foolishness.”

Hermione stood up and looked Snape in the eye. She glanced over at Draco who wore a triumphant grin, then back to Snape, spitting, “You Slytherins are all the same.” And with that, she left the classroom, slamming the door twice as hard as she had when entering.

She stopped outside the door and waited for Snape to come out yelling and throwing hexes, but he didn’t. Slightly disappointed, Hermione went to the kitchens and asked Dobby personally to bring lunch to her rooms, as she would be dining there. The elf bobbed his head obediently and grinned up at Hermione.

“Of course Dobby will, ma’am.”

Hermione sat at her desk in her rooms writing a letter to her mother and father. She was not informing them of anything that had gone on in the past few days, but was asking them to send her muggle CD player and CD case that she had sitting in her room.

The world be damned, what Hermione needed right then was some quality music that would set her mind at ease. She signed and sealed the letter, then ran to the Owl house and sent a resident owl off to her parents’ house.

On the way back to her rooms, Hermione thought about what had happened in Professor Snape’s classroom. It was like Hermione had transfigured into an evil, less caring side of herself. She had stood up to Snape, something nobody ever did, and then stormed out of the classroom. She wondered what he thought of her standing up to him. He was probably angry beyond words since he didn’t come after her. She knew that the next time she saw him he’d probably take a million points from Gryffindor and then make her serve detention with Filch for the rest of the year.

But somehow, Hermione didn’t care. She didn’t care that Snape was going to punish her. She didn’t care that she wasn’t going to get credit for the assignment for that day. She. Didn’t. Care.

Draco Malfoy had created a monster, and she hated feeling like just that. Monstrous. She could tear every painting off of the walls and burn them, Nazi style. She could go up to Snape and shove a hatchet through his heart. Why? Not because he was the greasy git, but because he was simply a Slytherin.

Malfoy had invoked something in Hermione she had never thought possible. Apathy being the most present thing she was being faced with. She didn’t care what happened to her anymore. Say, if the staircases decided to change on her and she wasn’t holding on to the railing and she fell fifty flights down to the bottom of the school... she wouldn’t care. If the Bloody Baron came back to life and choked her senseless for calling him Casper last week, she wouldn’t care.

When Hermione got back to her rooms, she sat down on the sofa and looked into the empty fireplace, which reminded her of the emptiness in her own heart.

Before she knew it, Dobby brought lunch to her and she sat there motionless staring down at it. She thanked the house elf automatically and sat the tray down on the table.

The sun set that evening and the shadows in the room included that of her untouched lunch.

End Chapter One / To Be Continued

A/N: Hey all. :) I hope you enjoyed the first chapter– some reviews would be much appreciated.

Note: I do know that it is rumored that muggle items (such as CD players) do not work at Hogwarts, but guess what? In this story... they do :)