A/N: I'm really sorry this has been so long in coming and I have no excuse other than my own laziness and forgetfulness. I also hope that this isn't too bad, it's my first time writing.....something like this. Go ahead, read! And please review when you're done!

Chapter 6

Harry heard McGonagall mutter "enervate," and then Dumbledore stepped into view for the first time since Harry had been frozen. The wrinkled old Headmaster smiled benignly at him and then raised his wand and said softly, "Imperio."

At first, he didn't feel it. It wasn't at all like it had been when Barty Crouch had put him under the Imperio. Then, he had been forced to the back of his mind, unable to see or hear anything except a little voice gently prodding him to do something. Then Dumbledore completely took over and he understood the difference immediately. The Imperio of both Crouch and Voldemort tried to persuade him to do something, because they both lacked the mental stamina to actually force the action. Dumbledore, it seemed, had no such troubles.

It was as if the Stupefy he'd been hit with a few minutes before had suddenly been transferred to his brain. No only could he not move, he couldn't even think to move. Whatever part of his mind allowed him movement was being completely occupied by Dumbledore's commands. It was as if the headmaster was actually inside his mind . . .

*Quite right, Harry,* came an amused voice. *I am inside your mind. What can I say, they don't call me the 'headmaster' for nothing!* Silent laughter echoed throughout Harry's skull before fading away, leaving a vague sensation of amusement. Harry smiled mentally. That actually was pretty funny.

A triumphant smile played across Dumbledore's lips. Harry Potter may be the Boy Who Lived, but he surrendered to a good Imperio just as quickly as anyone else. It took minimal mental prodding to bring him to the foot of Hermione's bed. She looked at him with a nervous curiosity, clearly wondering why he was standing beside Dumbledore and McGonagall like the three were the best of friends.

"Now you see, Harry," said Dumbledore quite clearly, "exactly why I've done everything in my power to keep this quiet?"

Harry struggled against this for a moment. What on earth was Dumbledore talking about? He'd seen it! He'd seen what that evil old bitch had done to Hermione! The images flashed through his mind and a surge of anger rose up, pounding against a benign old presence that dutifully nodded his head and insisted to Harry's mind that yes, Hermione was just a confused teenager who had begun taking her restless and altogether whorish nature out on his favorite teacher.

Dumbledore frowned slightly and the anger slowly ebbed to be replaced by a sense of profound confusion. Had he really seen that? Or was it all just a figment of his imagination? As the memories came up once again for a reexamination of what he'd been sure of only seconds before, Dumbledore saw his chance. With the appearance of each memory that arose, he quickly deleted or altered them as it suited his purpose. By the end of his review, Harry remembered quite vividly seeing Hermione in black leather and viciously raping Professor McGonagall, who had wildly clawed out against her student in a valiant attempt at self-defense. The bit about delivering the Cruciatus curse and overhearing the condemning conversation between Dumbledore and McGonagall was deleted entirely. Harry's eyes turned accusingly to Hermione.

"Well, Hermione, it seems I was mistaken about you," he said in a flat tone absolutely ripe with bitterness. "Here me and Ron would've defended you to the end, but you had to go and rape our own head of house?! What kind of sick freak are you? You're . . . you're . . ." he seemed unable to find the words to express his disgust and horror and seized upon the morsel of an idea that Dumbledore offered to him. "You're just like Pettigrew!" he hissed vehemently.

Hermione flinched back at Harry's words, struck dumb by his vehemence. Then she saw the half-smile on Dumbledore's face and the outright smirk clinging to McGonagall's. So the old bitch had been telling the truth, Hermione thought bitterly. If her friends found out, they could and would turn them against her. And Harry would convince Ron, who's big mouth would spread it throughout the school in a matter of hours. It was over. The whole world would know, but not about her shame, but about this story the two had fed to Harry.

Rita Skeeter's going to have a field day with this, she thought numbly.

But Dumbledore was talking to Harry again. What was he saying? More lies? Undoubtedly. Why should she put out the energy to listen? With those thoughts, Hermione curled into a ball on her hospital bed. Maybe they would just leave her alone. Her life was over, why couldn't they just leave her alone?

Harry, on the other hand, was being directed like a puppet. 'Come on,' urged a voice in his head. 'Get her back for what she did to McGonagall. Show her what it's like to be attacked by someone you trusted. Show her what it's like to be . . . raped.' There was an edge of excitement that leaked into these last words. Dumbledore's excitement to be sure, but it did the trick well enough. Harry felt himself stiffen at the thought that he could avenge his teacher, and well, he'd always liked Hermione a little . . .

Dumbledore seized upon that and magnified it many times over, driving Harry nearly insane with lust. From this new perspective, he'd wanted her for years, but had held back because Ron was his best friend and wanted her, and besides, he didn't want her to be hurt if Voldemort found out that he had a girlfriend.

New lust and new memories (neither of which he'd had any time to become accustomed to) made for a very unstable mix. With a growl of frustration, he clumsily launched himself at Hermione, knocking her off the hospital bed in the process.

She stared up at him with wide eyes, "Harry, what are you doing?" He ripped her hospital gown down the front and grabbed her breasts roughly, cruelly pinching her nipples.

"Harry, stop it!" she screamed, trying to push him away. What was going on? Why was there so much hatred etched into his face? Knowing about McGonagall couldn't make him hate her this much, could it? She'd thought he'd push her away, be disgusted with what she'd allowed herself to become. But this? In a way, this was worse. There was such revulsion on his face that she wanted nothing more than cover her eyes, block him out, block out the green eyes that had been so kindly to her. Tears ran down her face as her struggles renewed, except she was no longer trying to fend off Harry, she was just trying to escape, to run away and find someplace dark enough that she couldn't see those cold green eyes.

"Stop fighting you little bitch!" Harry snarled as he released one breast to backhand her. "You wouldn't fucking let me near you, but you played the slut to McGonagall well enough, didn't you? Now it's my turn, damn it, and you're going to moan and scream like the little mudblood slut you are!" His eyes darkened with lust as he sneered down at her. Then he ran his eyes down her body possessively, with his hands following close behind. His grip was painful, but different from McGonagall's. The animagus used her fingernails like scalpels, but Harry's fingers were strong and blunt from years of Quidditch practice. His touch was rough and bruising, unlike the sharp, cutting pain she'd long since become accustomed to. His grip was stronger, digging into her. She could feel her bones groan in protest as he pushed down on them.

Harry's feverish version of foreplay continued, as he took two fingers and roughly explored her, slamming his fingers from one side to another in a parody of preparing her. Satisfied, he removed his still-dry fingers and knelt on her thighs while he struggled to undo his trousers. Hermione shrieked and sobbed and writhed, trying to get away, twisting and turning like a snake, but all in vain. His task finally accomplished, Harry knelt between her legs, then grabbed her by the thighs and pulled her back onto his dick.

Hermione screamed. McGonagall's twisted ministrations had always prepared her body, so that it hadn't hurt much, even when she'd taken Hermione's virginity with her own wand. She'd never slammed into her dry, with as much force as a well-muscled physique could muster. It only got worse, as he tore through her the pain increased, as if he were raping her with a rasp or file instead of himself.

Through a haze of pain, she felt him shudder and go still. As the pain began to ebb, she felt him slide out of her, and suddenly the painful pressure that had pinned her to the floor disappeared. Without even a glance at him, she scrambled away, until her back hit the wall and she simply pressed against it, seeking both comfort and escape.

Later on, they would reckon that Dumbledore had been feeding off the rape, leaching of off Harry's forced lust, and when he'd ridden the wave of Harry's orgasm, he'd let his control slip, just long enough for Harry to shed the suggestions and rewrites like water.

But right now all that Harry knew was that Hermione was huddled against a wall, trying to escape from him. He looked down to see blood covering his penis, staining his trousers. He'd just raped his best friend.

A/N: Like I said above, I hope the rape scene wasn't too bad. If you are a pervert (like me) and enjoyed the above chapter, please remember that having more reviewers might encourage me to make prompt updates..... *hint hint* No previews, but the next chapter will probably deal with Neville and Snape.

-Ailene