Screams and Whispers

Author Note: I do not have a beta for this story. If you are interested please contact me, but otherwise I'm REALLy sorry for the mistakes that slip past both me and my word processor.

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It had all changed the night when Hermione found herself in the dungeons of Malfoy Manor. Tortured unrelentingly by a crazed death eater and forced to endure what felt like years of physical and mental torment. Burning ever inch of her skin and trailing an ice cold shiver down her spine, at the same time succumbing to the sensations of blades slashing and stabbing into every inch of her skin. Suffice to say it would have been far more pleasurable being skinned alive than to be put under such torment. Yet never once did her mouth open. Hermione Jean Granger was the strongest female of her generation considering the pure extent of torture that she was placed under during those weeks in the manor. Despite Voldemort wishing that his faithful servant be by his side, he saw how much fun she had with the filthy Mudblood and had given her reprieve of the fight to simply stay and play with her toy. It had taken all of two seconds from being given that notion that the pain that never seemed to leave returned with renewed vigour. The same slicing, piercing cold pain causing the girl to shriek in pain, her agony completely worthless to the downfall of the once dark lord.

Even when the battle was over it had taken five full days for the Aurors to locate her and bring her back to HQ. Bellatrix once and for all being given the Dementors kiss. Despite Ronald getting free due to the quick thinking and selfless act that was making his shoe a portkey that would take him to the Aurors HQ, sending him on his way while she was left to the evil woman; he had been unconscious for a few days after the battle. Being hit rather hard by a stunning curse and suffering a bout in St Mungos before he finally revealed to the group of their friends whereabouts.

The shockwaves of what had happened to her however continued on for the next few months. Her back was constantly arched, her eyes rolled to the back of her head and her mouth open in a continuous scream that not even stunning spells could halt. It had gotten to the point where the minister for magic had seriously considered euthanizing her for the sake of the group. And surprisingly only one person had stood up for the motion to keep her alive. Determined that she would wake and who had stayed by her side even when her shrieking caused him to break down into tears behind his glasses, rubbing his head and brushing over that oh so familiar scar that would never again harm him.

When she did stop screaming it was to a bought of tears so heavy that the girl all but choked herself to death. Always reassured by the one person who cared enough to make sure she was alright. Lying aside her at night and keeping her warm despite her thrashing, at one point knocking his glasses clean off his face as she tried mentally to fight through the pain of the Cruciatus curse. How he had the strength after having come back from the dead was a wonder to them all. All but him.

During his time in the between speaking to his parents, he had been told that Hermione needed him. That she needed someone to make sure she got out alright. It had been Harry Potter who located the witch, the one who stormed the mansion and ultimately the one who gave the order for Bella to be given the kiss. He didn’t care that the others disagreed. He was going to put his reputation to work for him at least once and had called it a personal favour to the one who killed the dark lord and returned from the dead to do so.

“Help …” She mumbled weakly in her sleep, her face contorted into one of fear and utter anguish. But it was at least the first word she had spoken since they found her. “Please …” She whimpered, thrusting out her wrist and bubbling in pain as seemingly, something under her skin crawled. He veins in her arm shifting and moving painfully, thrashing and pulsating against the nerves over her body. Another part of the aftershock they had concurred. The med witched at St Mungos having told them that there was nothing they could do for her and having her in their hospital would only make the other patients heal slower.

“’Mione!” He urged, his hands finding her shoulders and gently shaking her. Causing her to let out an unearthly scream that had half the Order rushing to the room, finding her skin pulsating and her writhing in agony once more. Her face damp and gaunt from endless night screaming in pain. It was only when a deep rugged voice spoke up. An accent not of his own, but from years of being the estranged member of the family, never seen or heard apart from the owl he occasionally had time to send to his family in another country. “Harry, leave ‘er to me.” There was no questioning the voice of the second eldest Weasley as he pushed himself with little effort through the sleeping crowd toward the shrieking girl. Years of dealing with dragons had hardened him. Enough that there was no questioning him when he gave an order. “I’ll make sure she’s sleepin’ an’ calmed down before th’ morn.” With a glint in his eyes matching the occasional glint of his diamond stud earring, he helped the boy stand and replaced him by the girl. Leaning down and pushing some hair from her ear. Whispering to her so quietly that the others couldn’t even hear when they strained themselves. His face holding the shadow of a smile as he continued whispering in her ear, holding her hand gently and rubbing a hard calloused thumb over the back of it. Slowly, and surprisingly to the group the girl seemed to visibly calm down. Although the crawling under her skin remained. It would be a while before the tremors ended. But for now, the remaining order members could get some much needed rest.

The nights carried on like that. Despite all of his efforts, every time his best friend gave out a shriek, he was always bested by the second eldest Weasley. Already by her side with a ‘pop’ and holding her hand, whispering into her ear and calming her down so that sometimes it looked like she had even fallen asleep. For what seemed like forever the pattern continued. Harry potter, now the proud husband of Ginerva Potter and expecting father of twins, would sit in his room alone thinking. Everyone assuming that he was still distraught about the war and the deaths that had surrounded him. Or that he was simply stressed with Auror training that had began the day the war ended. Or to be specific, eight minutes and twenty three seconds after Voldemort fell dead. He was apparated to the Ministry and began training ruthlessly. All the while trying to figure out the whereabouts of his dear friend.

However, tonight was different. Charlie Weasley had returned to Romania after the news that three of his dragons had began destroying their habitats sent him running a mile. No matter what, nothing would come between him and his dragons.

Not even Hermione Jean Granger.

Letting out a small whimper, Harry was once more at her side. Picking up her hand and rubbing it with his soothingly. The crawling beneath her skin as no longer a constant. Only serving as a memory once every few hours or so. From what had been said, it would be at least a year before the tremors truly stopped. But at least by that point she should be awake. “I’m here ‘Mione. I’m here.” He soothed, hearing a thick broken voice finally whisper back to him. “’ow many times ‘arry. ‘ate bein’ call’d ‘Mione.” She gasped suddenly, trying to sit upright and giving a shout of indignation when her back popped from the months of horizontal healing.

“She’s awake!” The boy - now man - wonder shouted. Rushing toward the door and repeating the sentiment, being returned by the thundering sounds of the household rushing to see the now awake Hermione. First one through the door was Ginny, throwing herself at her best friend and forcing the recovering witch onto her back again as she mounted the bed and attacked her with kisses and rib crushing hugs that only Ginny could. After being pulled off her it was a much calmer ordeal. She up righted herself, breathing heavily and finding herself surrounded by worried faces that all but made her wish she was pretending to sleep. But sleep brought nightmares, nightmares brought pain … she didn’t want the pain again. Ever.

Glancing up to let her eyes adjust, she caught a gasp that rippled through the order members. For reasons she had not quite understood. “Miss Granger?” One of the members spoke out, breaking the cold silence in the room. “Do you know what day it is?” When she shook her head, he continued very professionally, walking in front of the crowd and standing with an air of authority that she knew he would be reprimanded for soon enough. “It has been four months now since we found you. Do you understand that? Four months where the ministry has pumped money into your recovery when it should have been spent re building the wizarding community.” His words were out before anyone had the chance to silence him and short of being hexed into oblivion by both Molly and Ginny he was pushed to the side by Arthur Weasley, giving him a look so dark that she wondered just how badly the war had affected him too.

Yet before anyone else could speak, the brightest witch of her generation was standing by her bed, hair a tousled mess and her face so gaunt that she looked a mere shadow of her former self. Silently and with a rigidness that was so unlike her it made her extended family worry she walked herself out of the door everyone had piled through and took a look to gather her bearings. Finding that they were unsurprisingly in Grimmauld Place. The order probably had no need to move, after all; the place did belong to Harry after the death of one Sirius Black. Thankfully she knew the place well enough that without so much as another word she took herself down the steps of the building, ignoring the shrill screaming of Mrs. Black; throwing the word Mudblood at her in hopes of a response, and becoming horribly angry at the lack thereof. By now, Hermione had heard the word enough times that it was simply part of her understanding of the wizarding world. She was a Mudblood. A muggle born witch whose magic was said to be stolen from the pureblood families around the world. After her time with Bellatrix the sentiment was so far cemented into her brain that in no time at all she found herself believing the dreadful things she had been tortured into thinking. No longer did she want to be the brainiest girl that ever walked through Hogwarts. Nor did she mourn the loss of her wand. It had been taken by Fenrir Greyback right before her torture began. The only thought she had now on the remaining world she would find herself in was that she didn’t belong there.

With ease she slipped through the door and passed the wards. Knowing fill well that Harry would feel her leaving the perimeter and set about walking through the muggle streets in the same clothes she had worn for months. She probably stank but after so long her hair had gotten itself in shape on its own, proving a valid point that the hair could clean itself. Yet not one of the more fore front thoughts in the girls head. She would no longer wish to be associated with the wizarding world. She would return to the muggle world. Go and find a job, perhaps try and convince someone that she had complete memory loss. Something that quite frankly seemed a very good option. Hermione didn’t look back as the voices came into the open, passing the wards and being followed by a very irate and worried group of people.

Instead in the midst of a heart wrenching sob, the muggle born girl began running. Throwing her scrawny legs out and pumping them against the ground. Soon, out running the wizards who were used to riding on brooms as their mode of transport.

That was the last time the order saw Hermione. The last time she let them see her.