Scream Without Raising Your Voice

Scream Without Raising Your Voice.

By Angelfire-08.

Rating: I'm giving it a soft R as a warning to younger readers for dark themes of manipulation, torture, and the occassional spattering of naughty words.

Pairing: Hermione/Harry.

Timeline: Hogwarts 7^th year.

Genre: Angst/Romance.

Spoilers: Nothing past book five. This is clear cut AU after Order of the Phoenix.

Disclaimer: I don't own anything. I don't make any money off anything. I write to suit myself.

Author's Notes: This is the prequel, if you could call it that, to Midnight in the Garden of Scars and Suffering, so if you want, you can read them together. I happen to think that this isn't as up to scratch as that one but I was in two different frames of mind when I wrote them. So, here's hoping for some continuity even though we're going backwards. Secondly, credit for the title: it comes from a line in U2's “Running to Stand Still” that I thought suited this, and Hermione's character for the two pieces. Anyway… enough. Onwards kind readers and let me know what you think.

I would've killed him…

Laying flat on her back, Hermione's dark brown eyes reflected the swirling torrent occurring within her essence.

If I had muttered those two words…

Her emotions were a raging flood, seeking desperately for any outlet to relieve the building pressure deep within her.

If I had squeezed my fingers tighter…

She clenched her jaw and slammed her fist against the many cushions she was laying on. A grimace covered her features as she butted her head against the crimson pillowing her head.

I would've killed him.

Her full-lips were parted, her cheeks a tinge of red from rage and exertion. Her chest rose and fell swiftly with the quick intake of harsh breaths. Her body trembled from unprocessed, violent emotion. Curly, chocolate tresses fanned out against the scarlet cushions she was resting upon.

And I don't care.

She resisted butting her head against the cushions for a second time, and squeezed her eyes shut tightly. Her features were a mirror to the inner pain and fury that had swept her up in a coiled bundle. With closed eyes she relived her previous actions with crystal clear imagery.

I don't care!

The visions were so real and indefinitely imprinted in her mind that she snapped her eyes back open, and didn't feel quite so cowardly anymore because she'd ran. She'd left behind most of the students, frozen in the circle they had created, as she sprinted up the moving staircases away from the entrance to the Great Hall.

(Yes you do! That's what makes it so agonising.)

The mental argument rampantly spiked; a groan boiled up through her throat, low, raw, anguished. The taunting voices, the images from the conflict with Malfoy, would not leave her alone. She wanted to scream, wanted to burst, wanted to spontaneously combust from the pressure. Her mind was torturing her. She couldn't escape it. Not one moment of sheer fucking reprieve. No peace. No bloody rest. The same as it had been for over the past year. It shattered her control and left her in this state of absolute confusion.

She fucking hated it.

A gut-wrenching heave tore through her chest as she gasped air. Her irrational emotions continued to argue with her cold, hard logic.

He deserves your anger.

(He is controlled by another.)

He deserves your hate.

(He is not his father.)

He is Lucius' son, and never lets you forget what his father has done.

(I don't want to kill him.)

You can't forgive him.

(No!)

You wont forgive him.

(Never!)

A second deep, gut-wrenching breath shuddered from Hermione. Her dark brown gaze narrowed sharply and reddened. Her full-lips split into a threatening scowl and her jaw hardened in rage. Her own mind was becoming her enemy. Vaguely, she felt an arm move from the soft embrace of the cushions she was laying on. Her left hand came to cover her eyes, her finger tips gripping the skin of her temples in frustration. Her breathing was slowly calming down from the exertion of running, but was still deep and ragged.

“I hate him,” Hermione whispered softly in the low-lit expanse of room. “I fucking hate Draco Malfoy.”

You should have killed him.

Ever so slowly, the argument in her head was beginning to dissipate. Her darker side was winning. She reached a decision and clenched her jaw. She had to finish what she'd started. Her other hand searched for the wand in her jeans pocket and upon finding it, clasped it in a bruising grip.

A thought from no where suddenly grabbed her attention and she removed her left hand from her eyes. She raised her head slightly and her seething, red-rimmed eyes viewed her long form against the scarlet cushions. She realised she looked extremely odd with her dishevelled appearance.

Usually she was neat and tidy, the perfect image of a young witch in training. Now she was the scruffy young woman she felt like on the inside. Her Gryffindor tie was loose from her collar and the first few buttons of her white school shirt were unclasped. Her robe had long since been cast aside and she wasn't even in her school skirt.

Her first destination had been to her dormitory, where she'd quickly ripped off her skirt in exchange for something more comfortable, her jeans. But halfway through doing them up, she realised that it wouldn't take Harry and Ron long to realise where she was. While they couldn't personally come to her dorm, they could trap her in the common-room, forcing her into a dangerous position. She hadn't been in the best state-of-mind to face her two best friends.

With that knowledge, she had bolted from her dorm and from Gryffindor Tower, dishevelled in half her uniform, searching for a place where she could find the solace she so desperately needed. Luckily, she hadn't run into either Harry or Ron on her way to the Room of Requirement.

Now Hermione lay, observing her tattered self, in a suspended state of fracturing discontent; she was a far cry from the peace she craved with everything she had. Her mind still focused on the matter of her confrontation with Draco Malfoy and her resulting confusion. It always returned to the mayhem of her thoughts. How could she have let herself get to this stage of uncertainty?

Why can't I make a fucking decision and stick to it?

A dull ache began to form in her hand and she realised she still possessed that taut grip on the handle of her wand. She clenched her jaw as she released her wooden weapon. Instead, the Room of Requirement witnessed a long, low and viciously raw growl come from Hermione as she allowed herself to relax on the cushions. It was incredibly perceptive of the Room for it to realise she needed a place to think and let go of many of her thoughts and feelings. Then again, that was the function of the Room itself. It was a simple thought that helped to restore her tenuous calm.

But it was shattered into sheer oblivion a moment later.

Fierce pounding sounded on the door. Hermione tried to ignore it, closing her sore red eyes to the world. When the knocking silenced, a small smirk worked its way onto her lips. But it was quickly dashed when the sound of the door opening and closing echoed through the quiet of the chamber. A sigh and quick footsteps followed the sound of the door shutting. Opening her eyes, she was greeted with the sight of Harry as he skidded to the polished floor by the cushions she was resting on.

She took the time to notice he was flushed, a sign of the effort he had put into searching for her. His chest heaved a little, also showing his physical exertion. But it was the unmasked look in his emerald eyes that captured the majority of her attention. Pure worry and a desperate fear were battling behind the thin glass of his spectacles.

Somewhere inside her confused mind, she marvelled that she could incur that sort of reaction out of Harry. Another small part of her felt guilty for having put him through the feelings he was now recovering from. But most of her troubled mind focused on the sight of her best friend, how she had him alone, and how she could best utilise this opportunity to further her way into his heart and mind. The thought made her half-smile. Her best friend didn't detect the thoughts behind her expression.

For one long moment, all that sounded was his harsh breathing, slowing and returning to normal as he calmed down. For a small eternity, all that passed was a powerful, unwavering gaze. Finally, silence was swept away by her calm, even voice.

“I had a feeling you'd be the one to find me eventually, Harry,” she spoke softly.

“I searched everywhere, Hermione,” he answered a little louder. “Are you alright?”

Trust Harry to get straight to the matter at heart. She didn't want to venture down the path he obviously wanted to take. It hindered the plans that were forming in her head. In an effort to divert him, she made a blatant gesture of inspecting herself for any damage or injury. With her quick look-over, she returned her firm gaze to Harry, her eyebrow raised.

“By the looks of things, I can't see anything wrong,” she intoned. “There's no need for you to assume the worst, Harry.”

Hermione watched him swallow, his gulp audible. She knew her steady eye-contact was unnerving him again. She didn't care. Harry had walked into the Lion's den, as it were. She was in no mood to control herself, her feelings or her advances.

“Don't play games with me, Hermione,” he spoke swiftly. “I know things aren't okay. There's no point in trying to lie to me. Don't push me away.”

The only sign that he had struck any sort of nerve in her was the slightest narrowing of her dark eyes. She knew he'd noticed it by the way he'd taken a breath.

You underestimate his vigilance. For as much as you know him, he knows you, too.

“You seem to think I have something to say,” Hermione said, returning her gaze to the ceiling of the Room.

A mere thought filtered from her head that the Room immediately interpreted. She wanted to see the night sky. Abruptly, the stone of the roof disappeared to be replaced by a dark night gleaming with small, bright pin-pricks. It brought a soft and silent sigh from her.

“I know you have things to say,” Harry spoke gently. “You keep all these thoughts and emotions to yourself and it's eating you up inside, Hermione. I can see it. And so can Ron.”

She valiantly withheld the scoff that begged to be released from her throat. But he must have sensed her disbelief. He leaned forward on his knees, drawing himself closer to the scarlet cushions she was embedded in.

“We've both noticed how you've changed,” he continued, to which she quickly clenched her jaw to hold back the surge of anger that swelled in her. “And we're worried about you.” A pause sounded and all that was heard was their breathing. “I'm worried about you, Hermione.” She had to close her eyes. They simply stung too much. “Please, talk to me. Tell me what happened this morning. Tell me what's been happening to you that's changed you so much.”

She hissed in a breath as he finished. He'd deeply struck several raw nerves within her and the beast that had taken her that morning began to claw at her insides again. Her eyes were narrowed tightly and she could practically feel them burning red. She could sense her body start trembling again; nerves and a valiant effort to hold back the violence tearing through her mind and soul. She quickly strained for her control. Hands clenched into fists from the pressure, the sound of knuckles cracking dull in the back of her mind.

“You want to know things that you're not ready to hear, Harry,” Hermione growled quietly. “You want me to tell you things I'm not ready to say.”

“I asked you to talk to me, Hermione. I didn't demand,” he returned.

“You're pushing me into a corner, Harry,” she was quick to retort. “You're forcing me into a cage. You should know that's a dangerous thing.”

“You helped me for the first six years of our friendship,” he went on to her dismay. “Now it's my turn to help you, Hermione. I'm not going to let you push me away.”

The tether of her patience snapped. Her fingers cracked audibly as her hands unclenched from bruising fists. She sat herself up so quickly, she had Harry blinking rapidly from the movement. She turned her hard, narrowed gaze on her best friend and let him see the furious torrents of pain that ruled her essence in her dark brown gaze. He stiffened visibly, but she didn't let it faze her. Rather than let the beast that consumed her turn to violence, she allowed every ounce of passion she had possess her.

Faster than her mind processed, she'd grabbed Harry by his closest arm and his tie and yanked him toward her. He was so surprised that he didn't fight her. She pulled his lips onto hers in crushing force and plundered his mouth freely, taking what she wanted with no never mind. A second later, she used all the strength she had to pull him onto the cushions to her left, quickly covering his body with hers, never breaking her bruising kiss.

Harry still showed no resistance to her as she changed their positions. Hermione didn't care either way. Instead of hurting her best friend in ways like she'd hurt Malfoy, she chose to let her passion govern her. She let every shred of anger, infatuation, hunger, possessiveness and love she felt for her best friend be fused into her kiss. She roughly delved for his secret taste with her tongue, tightened her nails into the flesh of his arm. She felt some movement from his lips under hers as she possessively claimed them, but deep down she knew he was not responding to her in the way she wanted. Backing off slightly, she nipped the lips she'd battered with her own and withdrew her tongue. Immediately, he seemed to relax into the scarlet cushions and she felt him draw in a deep breath. With a last, gentle sweep of her lips on his, she pulled back and met his emerald gaze.

He looked up to her, his eyes telling her everything. But like every other time she'd had him in a similar position, had forcibly expressed her feelings, had made him know what it was like to taste her, she didn't allow what she saw to affect her. There was bewilderment, confusion, reluctance and the barest flicker of anxiety reflected in his widened gaze. But something else lingered deep in the dark flecks of his eyes that she believed grew every time she had Harry in this spot. However, she shook it from her mind and focused entirely on his countenance. He was breathing deeply beneath her, his chest contacting hers gently. She was out of breath, holding herself above him by the strength that remained in her trembling limbs.

“I don't know how to let you help me, Harry,” she spoke quietly, her eyes fierce, but her actions tender. She leaned forward, her full-lips red and battered, feathering so soft against his. She felt his chest hitch with his breath and a spark of delight ignited in her soul. “I don't even know how to help myself.”

She stayed above him, her kissed-bruised lips toying with his swollen ones. She marvelled in seeing the sparkles that his green eyes held. Being so close to him, her gaze so focused, was helping the more impulsive side to say farewell to control.

“Hermione…” he breathed, and then swallowed sharply.

In response, she smiled, making sure he could feel it on his lips. She enjoyed the fact that he could lose his voice and his thoughts because of her. It had been happening more often and it pleased her to no end.

Calm began to soothe an anxious Hermione with her lips so tender over his. A second later, she reclaimed the kiss, deepening it much more gently this time, which coaxed the desired reaction from the object of her passion. Feeling his mouth move under hers was always the catalyst for the peace she experienced these days. He was the only one that could calm her down; could make her see any sense in logic anymore. And yet, he could also fan every craving she had for him into flame.

It was a pleasant contradiction.

It was an insane situation that made complete sense to her.

Hermione pulled away again, this time, letting him see the stars the roof had become above them. The flaming sparkles reflected so beautifully in his green gaze. She shivered with the ardour the sight caused her.

God, Harry, you're gorgeous.

A smile creased her full-lips.

You're mine.

The thought had her dark brown eyes boring holes into the depths of his green gaze, trying her best to communicate her thoughts to him. A hitch in his chest told her that in some way he understood the message. But not entirely. She'd have to work on that.

“Hermione please let me help,” he whispered, his voice hoarse as it recovered recovered from her assault.

It dashed every good feeling that had given her a brief half-taste of reprieve.

Her eyes narrowed in fury at his persistence. Hermione withheld the growl that wanted to slip from her throat and her smile fell into a familiar scowl. She couldn't be near him at the moment. Not with her rage and confusion returned. With a hiss, the young witch purposely arched her body into the length of his as she pushed herself to her feet. Seeing his hands clench into the scarlet cushions betrayed his feelings to her action but she wasn't concerned with the growing effect she possessed over her best friend.

“Fuck your curiosity in the ear, Harry!” she snarled. “You want to help me, Harry? You want to know what happened. You want to understand?”

Blazing dark brown targeted his green orbs and noted the shock that was swiftly covering his features. Hermione had him on the back-foot, easily reinforcing every worry she'd seen in Harry when he'd first burst into her sanctuary. Her fury and her confused mind easily blinded her to thoughts that focused on her best-friend's safety. The beast within her was brutal, dominating, unforgiving. If it consumed her, she wouldn't be able to control herself. She wouldn't be able to protect Harry from everything it wanted to to rip through.

From herself.

You'll be fighting Draco Malfoy all over again.

“What if I told you everything was beyond all comprehension, Harry? What chance do you have of solving my fucking problems if I can't even begin to understand them myself?” she seethed.

Merlin how she wanted to smash something. Break something. Any-fucking-thing. Just to feel something. Even if it was more pain or confusion. The tight fist her left-hand was clenched into made her believe she could crush anything with a simple squeeze of her hand. And how she wanted it to. How she so wanted to.

Like you did with Malfoy's throat.

That thought stopped her fast, transformed her rage from flaming hot to chillingly cold. A gasp ripped from her throat and her eyes narrowed in anger at herself. The clench of her jaw, the reddening of her eyes, the tensing of her muscles; she was brought back to the state she had been in when she'd first sought refuge in the Room of Requirement.

Out of no where, a pair of solid arms reached for her body and Hermione was brought back from the depths of her thoughts to face questioning green eyes. But the comfort that his gaze usually brought served only to anger her at this current moment. Darkness marred her features as she roughly pushed him away and stalked to the other side of the room.

“I don't want to hurt you, Harry,” she breathed with malice.

Don't make me hurt you, please!

“I won't let you hurt me, Hermione. And I won't let you push me away!” He moved slowly toward her, reaching out for her again.

She physically had to hold herself back from the man that promised her comfort. His arms beckoned to her with a call so clear. She desperately wanted to walk into them, to take him, make him her own. In every way. But, gods, she was so confused and enraged and vengeful at this moment. She really didn't want to hurt him. And she wasn't capable of control. Not by any stretch of the god-damned word.

In the end, impulse took precedence over rationale.

It was the first time Hermione knew she was lost without Harry Potter.

And the fear this new knowledge caused was enough to push her to the precipice her mind had been flirting with ever since the night the world had cruelly turned on her.

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