It was raining again; it always rained in London nowadays. Hermione was heading home after yet another long shift at the Ministry. A simple charm was the only thing stopping the rain seep into her clothing. She wouldn't have to hold the spell up for much longer though; she was coming up to the Leaky Cauldron, where she could safely Floo home. After a break in at the Ministry, the fireplaces in the Atrium had all been sealed off, so that wasn't an option for the foreseeable future. This was why Hermione was walking home yet again.

She ordered a small glass of Firewhisky to warm her up before heading back into the rain. Gulping it down she stood up and headed towards the back of the pub where the entrance to Diagon Ally could be found. She tapped the bricks with her wand and passed through, not before creating another spell to protect her from the rain.

The streets were deserted, which was the norm for this time of night. She preferred it when it was quiet, it meant no forcing through crowds to get to her flat above what used to be Weasley's Wizard Wheezes. After Fred had died, George had closed the business down because he just couldn't run the shop without his scheming twin brother.

She was fishing out her key so didn't notice the footsteps in the dark. She also didn't notice the figure step out from the shadows behind her. It was too late to scream when a hand covered her mouth. It was too late to fight as she was hit with a body-bind curse. It was too late for anything. She was helpless against her attacker.

She felt herself being pulled into the shadows, but before she was gone completely from the night she noticed a flash of blonde, and the pale skin of a man she hadn't set eyes on since the war.

Even though she couldn't move her body, she could still feel pain, and her attacker was causing her agony. She was tossed to the ground and her hands were bound above her head. She could feel the skin scraping off where her arms rubbed the cold concrete.

Her rain resistance spell had broken when she was grabbed and she was soon drenched and freezing. She felt her shirt cling to her cold skin, and knew that it was turning see-through.

She saw a gleam in her attackers eyes as he gazed down at her form. Her bra was clearly visible through her now sheer top, and he was enjoying the view. But apparently it wasn't good enough. The felt the knife tear through cloth and soon she was exposed completely. Her shirt fell apart and her bra was in tatters around her. If she could, she would have wept right there. But she couldn't even sob.

She was so helpless; the brightest witch of her age was helpless. Her attacker revelled in that fact. Of course he knew her, he had tormented her all through her life at Hogwarts, and now he was tormenting her again, and he loved it. It made her sick to her stomach, that look of glee in his eyes. It made her sick.

He didn't stop with her shirt though. His knife cut through her trousers and pants soon enough. She thought she felt the knife go through flesh too, but she couldn't be sure. She was naked, completely exposed, and the rain felt like daggers against her skin.

She felt the body bind curse lift, but what kept her so still was the fear that coursed through her veins; fear of her attacker, and worse still, her death.

Hands were suddenly on her thighs, dragging her legs apart. No, please no. She couldn't cry out, they caught in her throat. Her failed attempts at cries seemed to make him stronger. His fingers quickly undid the button on his jeans, and they were soon around his ankles. His boxers fell soon after and he returned to where Hermione lay, trembling more with pain and fear than with cold.

She didn't even feel when he entered her; she didn't acknowledge the sting of him thrusting into her. She didn't notice the blood tricking out of her as he broke her hymen. She did feel his orgasm as he reached his climax; she did feel the semen flow inside her as he ejaculated; she did feel him thrust into her one last time before pulling out. Then she felt nothing. Her fear had washed away, briefly. The knife was in his hand again, and she pleaded in her mind, begged for him to kill her. But he didn't; he walked away, laughing at the brightest witch of her age, lying defeated in the dirt.

This time she did manage to cry out. But who would hear her now? Who would care? She was just a filthy little mudblood, and that was all she would ever be, especially in the eyes of Draco Malfoy. He whistled as he pulled up his trousers, and his humming continued as he walked down the street towards the Leaky Cauldron for what he thought was a well deserved pint.