Chapter Text
10 June 2008
Hermione sipped her gin and tonic, occupying a booth in the back of the room. The dimly lit Muggle pub was surprisingly busy for a Tuesday night. Every table in the place was full, and groups of patrons stood throughout, the din of conversations and laughter at a nearly unbearable level. She scanned through the smoky haze, studying each person briefly before moving on to the next, searching for any sign they could be her next target. This decision was not one she made lightly, and they had to fit within her criteria.
She felt the insatiable itch under her skin starting last week. After a particularly taxing day, all she wanted to do was curl up on her couch with a good book and drown out the world. Unfortunately for her, she’d instead been requested by the Wizengamot to provide testimony as an expert witness on a case. They had sworn the commitment would be short, but several hours later, she still remained at the Ministry, famished and exhausted. With a lack of sustenance and rest, and no available distraction, her defenses had been down. Her mind began to flood with excruciating memories of the war. This is always when it started. The need to punish, to inflict pain, to make someone pay for their sins had begun pulsing through her veins. She tried to stave off the feeling, but she lacked the willpower and desire to stop herself, and the urge grew ever stronger until it overwhelmed her. Which is how she ended up in this tiny Muggle pub in Oxford, intent on satisfying her needs.
Her eyes fixed on two people across the bar, the man clearly drunk, the woman twitching nervously. The small woman appeared to be alone, and had taken up a spot against the wall, tightly holding onto her pint. The man was sitting at the bar when Hermione arrived earlier, and had looked as though he’d been holding up that barstool for most of the day. When he noticed the woman wasn’t with anyone, he zeroed in on her. A predator and his prey. Hermione could tell by her uncomfortable body language his advances were frightening her. As the man leaned in closer, towering over her, the woman’s eyes darted around looking for a way to escape. Hermione watched on, prepared to intervene. She saw the woman cringe as the man’s hand clasped her upper arm, and he began yanking her aggressively towards the exit.
Slamming her drink down on the table, Hermione stood, seeing red. No one else seemed to notice the couple, now slipping out the door. Pulling her hood over her unruly curls, Hermione checked to confirm her wand was tucked neatly within reach before striding quickly outside after them. The light drizzle of rain falling from the night sky enveloped her, dampening the city sounds. Hermione craned her neck first right, then left before honing in on the man dragging the woman into an alleyway one block over. Wand now in hand, she stepped carefully over puddles, leaning into the shadows of nearby buildings as she approached the alley entrance. Her anger surged when she took in the scene before her. The man had the woman trapped by his enormous body on the ground, her skirt pushed up to her waist. One large hand covered her mouth to suppress her cries, the other undoing his trousers. The woman struggled futilely under his weight, her muffled sobs barely audible. Just as Hermione had expected, the man had sinister intentions. Being correct in her assumption gave her no satisfaction.
Spotting an empty beer bottle in the pile of rubbish next to her, she picked it up by the neck and smashed the end against the building. The man’s head whipped around at the sound of glass breaking. Hermione held the broken bottle threateningly, jagged edges glistening with raindrops. Giving the man a face-splitting, evil grin, she raised her wand arm and pointed directly at him.
“Crucio.”