Please read my favorites on my bio! The last one is quite funny!

(Hermione's P.O.V)
I was glad when the summer came. I was going to the Burrow for a while. But I worried too. Under all the excitement and impatience for summer to come, I was worried. 6th Year had come and gone. Voldemort was looming once more, but that's not what I was worried about. Ron was what I was worried about. On the train when I first boarded, I took a single glance and realized just how much he had changed. Not just physically, but emotionally. But let's get to physically first. His hair was longer (like Rupert Grint's right now), his eyes were darker, they seemed to go through you, amd he had grown into his long limbs.

Emotionally. He daydreamed more and talked less. He seemed more isolated and less fascinated in things he had been interested in before. Like collecting Chocolate Frog cards and being captain of the quidditch team. Later on in 6th year he quit quidditch. His grades were dropping also. I talked to Ginny, who had only shrugged and said the only thing that was different was that their Uncle Jack was lving with them now. I built theories on that.

"Hermione," Harry's voice snapped me out of my thoughts. I glanced up and realized the train stopped.

"Finally," I sighed.

"No kidding," Ron muttered, I watched him galnced out the window and look away quickly. I looked out and saw Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, and another man.

"Uncle Jack?" I wondered aloud.

"How do you know about him?" Ron asked.

"Ginny," I answered.

Ron looked slightly angry. I exchanged a glance with Harry, who's expression plainly said 'Don't look at me.' I rolled my eyes. We gathered our trunks and met Ron's parents and Uncle.

"Hi, Mrs. Weasley," Harry and I said in unison. She hugged us both and then Ron. Maybe it was just me or he seemed timid at her touch.

"Hi, Mr. Weasley," I said. He nodded and said,

"Hermione. Harry. Ready for the summer?"

"Absolutely," I said.

"Hermione Granger," Uncle Jack said, "I'm Ron and Ginny's unlce, you can call me Jack."

"Can we go now?" Ron asked when Ginny joined us.

I could tell I had a lot to find out. I only had a few notes:


1. Ron possibly did not like his uncle

a. jealousy from his unlce getting too much attention from him living there (?)

b. a possible tension between the two because of family matters (?)


Whatever it was, I was determined to find out.

(Hermione's P.O.V)

He only got worse. During the day Ron spent most of his time in his bedroom. At night Ginny and I heard him walk by the bedroom and down the stairs.

One morning I got up early and went downstairs. Ron was sitting on the couch staring out the window. Fully dressed in baggy jeans and oversized t-shirt, regular summer garb for him.

"How come you come downstairs so early?" I asked, sitting next to him, trying to dig out more notes.

"Dunno," he said.

I studied him for a moment. His expression calm, eyes serious, almost daring, obstructed by fiery red locks that bugged me sometimes because I wondered how he could see. Suddenly I realized something that hadn't been there the day before. Two bruises. One on the bottom of his neck and one on his jawline. After I noticed those I noticed a slight cut on his lip.

"How did you get those?" I asked, indicating the cut and bruises.

"I dunno," He said with a shrug, though something in his posture and expression changed. He had straightened up and he looked very slightly nervous.

"Right," I said, "They aren't just something you get occasionally."

Ron shifted. He knew something but wasn't about to tell. I rolled my eyes and stood up.

"Fine," I said huffily, then walked up the stairs, adding to my mental notes:

2. Numerous cuts and bruises that he won't tell about

a. Possible self injury (???)

1) Stress (??)

I took a cold shower to wake myself up more and got dressed. It was only about 8:00 by then so of course no one else was awake. I went back downstairs. Ron was still there. But something was different...the cut and bruises were gone.

'I hate him.' I thought angrily.

Mental note:

3. Using concealment charm (definate)

a. Not wanting anyone to notice (definate)


I sat back down next to him and said,

"Why do you stay in your room all day?"

"Why don't you ever shut up?" he retalliated, standing up and heading for the kitchen.

I heard footsteps and saw Uncle Jack walk down the hall. He smiled at me and went into the kitchen.

"Sleep well?" He asked Ron in a gruff voice.

"Yes, sir," Ron answered stiffly.

"That's good..." his Uncles Voice trailed off. A screeching of wood on lenoleum sounded. Then a faint thump and the wood on lenleum sounded again.

"Yeah, it's great," Ron snapped, then after that he added in a quiet but snappish voice, "Sir."

I raised an eyebrow and added another mental note:

4. Ron must adress Uncle Jack as sir

a. A request from Uncle Jack (???)

Something was going on between them.

I climbed the stairs again and felt a pulling sensation as I passed Ron's room. I looked in and, as if a light were surrounding it, spotted his journal. I swallowed hard and went into his room. Ron was downstairs. I was here, able to read his last entry for clues.

I sat on his bed and pulled the journal into my lap. His last entry was marked. I opened to the page and wasn't that surprised that he didn't write 'Dear Diary, or Dear Journal'. He just started writing. I took a deep breath and read the first sentence:

'It happened again tonight....'

(Hermione's P.O.V)


It happened again tonight....


"What are you doing?" came a voice.

I felt a chill go up my spine. I dropped the journal in suprise and stood up. Ron was standing at the door. He looked slightly shocked and sligthly nervous, but not that angry.

"I swear I didn't read anything but the first line," I said quickly.

"Just get out," Ron muttered, his eyes suddenly seemed to turn fiery as he stared into mine.

"I'm sorry-"

"Get out!"

I rushed out the door and back into Ginny's room. She was still sleeping peacfully.

Note:

5. Something has been happening every (??) night

a. Something that has to do with the cuts and bruises (???)


(A.N the "(???)" marks mean that she is not definate on this, 3 question marks mean she is definately not definate, 2 means she is sligthly not definate and one means she is pretty sure but not that sure)

I felt awful. Invading someones privacy was something I had done before, but this was my best friend! Yet something bad was happening to him and I needed to know more. But I'll get back to the notes:

1. Ron possibly did not like his uncle

a. jealousy from his unlce getting too much attention from him living there (?)

b. a possible tension between the two because of family matters (?)


2. Numerous cuts and bruises that he won't tell about

a. Possible self injury (???)

1) Stress (??)


3. Using concealment charm (definate)

a. Not wanting anyone to notice (definate)


4. Ron must adress Uncle Jack as sir

a. A request from Uncle Jack (???)

5. Something has been happening every (??) night

a. Something that has to do with the cuts and bruises (???)


It was definately something between Uncle Jack and Ron. But what could be going on that makes Ron hurt himself? Is Uncle Jack talking Ron INTO hurting himself?

'Hmmm...' I thought, "That could be. But if Ron is using the concealment charm there must be more bruises and cuts. Or worse. I need more clues.'

I sighed and walked back out of the room. Where could I get more information? Ron would most likely hide his journal now. Maybe I could have a friendly converstaion with Uncle Jack...

Hermione's P.O.V)

I climbed down the stairs and headed for the kitchen. I opened the door and saw Uncle Jack sitting at the kitchen table. I sat across from him and said,

"Good morning."

"Good morning. Hermione, right?" he asked.

"Yes. Do you know why Ron is acting so odd lately?" I got right on the subject.

Uncle Jack looked clueless.

"No," he said, "I was wondering that myself."

"Oh," I said, "Why does he have to call you 'sir'?"

He looked sligthly nervous.

"He just started," Uncle Jack said innocently, "Ron always has since he was 5, which was the last time I saw him."

"How come you only last saw him when he was 5?"

"I lived in France. I normally come visit every year-"

"So why haven't you?"

"I've been busy."

"With what?"

Uncle Jack laughed.

"You need to keep your nose out of other peoples buisness, young lady. You might get yourself in trouble one of these days," he said, a strange look in his eye.

I huffed and stood up, then left the kitchen.

Note:

6. Uncle Jack last saw Ron when he was 5 (definate)

a. Busy with work (thats what he says)

Mental note:

1. Find out if osmething happened between Uncle Jack and Ron the last time they saw eachother


(Ron's P.O.V)

I really hoped Hermione only read the first line. She probably did or she would be bombarding me with questions and telling me I needed help. But I don't. I'll tell if I need to.

I slipped my journal on the top shelf in my closet. Then I fell back on my bed. My whole body ached and hurt worse with every move I made. I was even sure that my ribs were broken.

"Ron?" Hermione called through my door.

"Yeah?" I called back. I wasn't mad. Just scared that she found out.

"Can I come in?"

"I guess." I said.

She came in and sat down next to me.

"I'm really sorry." she said.

"It's okay. I never write anything personal anyway. I've let Ginny read it before."

"You have?"

"Not recently."

I cut off here. She knew too much already.

(Ron's P.O.V)

It was the next night. My whole body was aching again. I stood up and went into the kitchen, I seemed to be walking through water because my movements were sluggish. But I got there and went to a cupboard. It was locked. I didn't have my wand but I knew where the key was. Under the breadbox. I lifted it up and pulled the key out and unlocked the cupboard, it was full of sleeping potions. Dreamless Sleep, Simple Sleeping Potion and Sleeping Draft...something hit my memory. Hermione's voice:

"I've filled these with a simple Sleeping Draft...simple, but powerful."

The bottle was big, about the size of a shampoo bottle. I grabbed it and read the lable: 'Sleeping Draft'. There was a warning at the bottom: "WARNING: DO NOT INTAKE MORE THAN AMOUNT SHOWN ON BACK. FATAL."

'Fatal?' I thought, 'All I want to do is sleep and never wake up. Make this all seem like a dream.'

I opened the bottle and brought it to my lips. The draft smelled sugary almost. I drank it. All.


(Hermione's P.O.V)

*That Morning*

I woke up to light streaming through the curtains. The room was dimly lit by it. I stood up and went to the bathroom. As I splashed cold water on my face I wondered if Ron was downstairs.

"Hopefully," I murmured, drying my face off. I combed my hair and then headed downstairs.

Ron wasn't in the living room. I went into the kitchen and there he was. On the floor. Shattered glass was near one of his hands.

"Ron?" I said quietly. I got to my knees next to him. He was breathing, I could hear him. I shook him slightly, knowing he was a light sleeper. But he didn't wake up.

I sorted through the glass next to him, finally I saw a large piece with a lable on it. I read it quickly: Sleeping Draft. Then down at the bottom, read lettering caught my eye: WARNING: DO NOT INTAKE MORE THAN THE AMOUNT SHOWN ON BACK. FATAL.

I heard my self gasp. I dropped the peice of glass and stood up. But something else caught my eye, I got back to my knees and studied him for a moment. More bruises were scattered across his neck and jaw. A cut was underneath his eye and one more on his lip. I swallowed and stood back up. Not exactly sure what to do I ran out of the kitchen and up the stairs.

'His parents.' I thought, then ran into their room.

Luckily they were both awake, reading.

"Mrs. Weasley!" I gasped, cathcing my breath, "Come quick..."


At the Hospital

(Ron's P.O.V)

I opened my eyes. Then closed them. Too bright in here. Nope. I am going to sleep...

"Ron?"

Hearing Hermione's voice I slowly opened my eyes again. I heard feet walking over to me.

"You awake?" Harry asked.

"Nope." I closed my eyes again.

Harry and Hermione laughed feebly. I then opened my eyes again.

"Tired?" Hermione asked.

"What do you think, I drank a whole bottle of Sleeping Draft. Yeah, I'm wide awake."

Harry snickered. I could almost hear Hermione shake her head at us. I was able to sit up, but it drained out a lot of my energy.

"What's this?" I suddenly asked, realizing there was a thin tube pertruding from my wrist and into a machine.

"Oh," Harry said, "The Healers were going to turn that on once you were awake. It's something that helps you stay awake."

"Now..." Hermione interupted, "I have to ask you something. What has been going on with you and your Uncle?"

(Ron's P.o.V)

I thought about this for a moment.

"Okay." I said finally, sitting up in the bed, "But you have to swear not to tell anyone, okay?"

"Deprending on wat it is," Hermione said.

"It's my uncle," I muttered, my voice shaking, so were my hands, "At night. He hits me."

They were silent. I didn't know how they were going to react.

"Oh..." Hermione murmured, "I was thinking of something like that..."

"He hits you?" Harry asked, seeming angry, "Is that all he does?"

"Yeah. He just hits me...and chokes me," I muttered, my whole body seemed to shake.

"He chokes you?" Hermione asked, "So that's how you got the marks on your neck."

I nodded.

"But we have to tell someone!" Hermione exclaimed, "Or else he's just going to keep doing it!"

"You can't tell anyone!" I said, "Not my parents or anyone else. Ever!"

"But why?" Hermione asked.

"Because I know if I really need to I will," I snapped, "And right now I don't."

"There has to be more to it than that." Harry said.

"And we won't tell your parents," Hermione added, "We can tell one of the Healer's and they can get somone who will help."

"No," I said flatly, scared.

Just then two Healers came in. One of them, the youngest, was saying,

"That's impossible. He doesn't have a scratch on him besides what you see."

The other Healer, an older man, sighed, walked over to a small machine, and flipped a switch. I saw a bag of clear liquid hanging from a metal bar, drops fell down a tube that was attatched to my arm. The Healer then sighed again and said,

"He's using a concealment charm then," he looked up at me, "Aren't you?"

I nodded. The Healer got out his wand and tapped it on my arm.

"Uncilio." he said.

(Hermione's P.O.V)

I was shocked. I knew he must have had lots of bruises and cuts. But I was still shocked. Their were scattered bruises on his neck, fading but still noticable. There were a few bruises on his jaw and one under his eye. He had three cuts on his lips and I was sure there were more marks on him, but covered by clothes.

"Well," the Healer said, "How did you get these?"

I wanted to shout out 'It was his uncle!'. But my throat seemed closed...and Ron would kill me.

"We know you didn't give them to yourself," the Healer said, "So how did you get them?"

Ron locked eyes with me. I looked away. I knew he was going to tell.

"It was my uncle," I heard Ron say.

"Damn." the younger Healer muttered, shaking his head.

'Ditto.' I thought.

"What is it with people these days?" the Healer exclaimed, slamming his fist on a counter, "And why is it children they go after? Why?!"

"Calm down," the other Healer said, "We'll get this kid some help."

'Please,' I thought, tears slipping down my face.

(Hermione's P.O.V)

I watched Mrs. Weasley sob in the waiting room. The Healers had just told her what was going on. A few people around us in the waiting room looked either mad at what they overheard or sympathetic. An elderly woman moved next to Mrs. Weasley and handed her a tissue.

Harry and I had had to leave since a woman had gone in to take pictures of Ron's injuries for evidence in the trial. I was wondering if Ron was cooperating.

Ginny looked mad.

"I knew it." she said, "Well, I didn't really know it. Jack (-she refused to call him "Uncle" anymore-) always seemed so aggrivated around Ron."

"You knew what?" came a voice.

5 heads swivelled around to see Fred and George. They sat on a couch. No one seemed to want to tell them what had gone on.

"All we know, from your letter, is that Ron was sent to the hospital," George looked slightly amused, "We don't know anything else."

I looked around. Mrs. Weasley was crying too hard to tell, Mr. Weasley was comforting her. Harry was trying to calm Ginny down.

"He," I heard my voice crtack. I cleared my throat and started again, "Ron tried to commit suicide."

Fred and George exchanged a glance of shock.

"Why?" Fred asked, sitting up straighter.

"Um..." I couldn't bring myself to say it, I felt hot tears press against my eyes.

"Your Uncle has been abusing him." Harry said, "He's been using a concealment charm to hide them. Yesterday he drank a whole bottle of Sleeping Draft."

"What?!" George exploded, standing up, "Our Uncle? Jack? No...really? God, that-"

He called him a name that would have made a Dementor drop its jaw.

(meanwhile, Ron's P.O.V)

A woman with a camera came in and ushered Harry and Hermione out. She had red hair that went slightly past her shoulders. Her kind face made it hard for me not to listen to her. She looked mid-twenties or ealry-thirties.

"I am going to take pictures for evidence at the trial," she said.

"Why?" I asked, "I'm going to be there, isn't that enough?"

"Not for the judge." she answered, "Keep your head still."

She took about three head shots.

"Okay, now can you turn your head to the right, please?" she asked.

I obliged. Snap...snap...snap.

"To the left...thank you." snap...snap...snap.

"Do you have to take three every time?" I asked impatiently.

"No. But I always do. Hmm...can you take your shirt off please?"

Not feeling the slightest bit embaresed, surprisingly, I did.

"The things some people do," she said with a sigh. She took pictures of the ones on my neck and shoulders. Then she went to the back.

I heard her gasp sligthly. Then I remembered the gash from being cut by Uncle Jack, with a knife.

"Did the Healers see this?" she asked.

"Yes," I lied, biting my lip, "They said they would get to it."

I heard the camera snap. One...two...three. Then again. One...two...three.

She was done.

"I will see you on Thursday," she said. Just before she left I asked,

"What's today?"

"Tuesday," then she left.

I slipped my shirt back on and sighed.

***THURSDAY***

I swallowed as we entered a large building. The lady that had taken the pictures led me to a rooom that probably took up half the building. Seats for others waiting for their trial sat silently.

I sat at a wooden table next to a wooden podeum. Across the aisle was Uncle Jack. He was sitting at a wooden table next to another wooden podeum. The largest wooden (was everything here made out of wood?) podeum was for the Judge.

"All rise-" a man said. I cut him out when I saw Uncle Jack stand up, for a fleeting moment he looked into my eyes. Terror ran through me. The lady, actually I found out her name was Sarah, nudged me and I stood up.

A woman that must have been the judge walked swiftly down the aisle. She had curly black hair and was in her forties (about). When she sat at her podeum, everyone sat down.

I turned around for a fleeting moment and saw my family and Harry and Hermione. I turned back when the Judge started talking.

"Mr. Jack Weasley?" she asked. Uncle Jack stood up, a slid down in my chair.

"You have been sued for abusing your nephew for a month and a half and when he was 5 years old." the judge said, I had heard her name but had not remembered it.

"No, your honor," Uncle Jack said, "I did not do anything to him when he was 5."

"Well that's not what it says here," the judge said in a sharp tone that reminded me of the tone Uncle Jack used with me when he was shouting at me, I began to shake.

"I last saw him when he was 5," Uncle Jack argued.

"Lets see what your nephew has to say," the judge turned to me. Sarah nudged me. I stood up, praying that I didn't faint.

"Honey," the judge said in a strong yet soft manner, "Tell me what happened."

I couldn't talk. My throat seemed closed up. I couldn't breathe. I could see the words yet not speak them.

"It's alright," the judge said, "Just say what happened between you and your uncle."

I wondered whther to lie or tell the truth. If I told the truth when Uncle Jack got out of Azkaban he would come and get me again. If I lied he most likely wouldn't. Maybe. Not much of a choice. Lie...don't lie...pain...maybe pain. I could hear murmurs behind me. I could feel my family, Harry, Hermione, and Uncle Jack's eyes boring into me. I inhaled shakily...thinking hard...what to do...he was going to kill me if I told the truth...he always said to lie if someone asked.

****Flashback:****
"And what do you do if someone asks?" he asked, his grip on my arm tightening.

"Lie," I answered, looking at the floor.

He jerked my head up.

"What do you do if someone asks?!" he asked again.

"Lie, sir," I answered.
****End Flashback****

When I snapped back to reality I heard people behind me whisper. I finally decided what to do...

"He got drunk." I heard my voice say, "He was drunk when I went to the kitchen to get a drink. He tried to get me to drink and I said no. Then he hit me. And he choked me. Then he told me he would kill me if I didn't come down every night. I thought he would forget since your memory gets impaired when your drunk but he didn't. He made sure I came down every night."

"We have pictures, your honor, " Sarah said, standing up and going through her folder. She pulled them out and a man came up and grabbed them. He took them to the judge who filed through them.

"Thank you, hon." the judge said, staring at me through tiny eye glasses. She nodded, intending that I sit down.

A few minutes of studying the phots later. She sentenced my Uncle 2 years to Azkaban for child abuse.

"Oh no." I said, sitting down, feeling slightly dizzy, "Oh no oh no oh no."

"What?" Sarah asked, her eyes widened as she sat down, she felt my forehead, "Are you okay?"

"This is not good," I stammered, "He'll come back and get me. He will. Once he's out of Azkaban."

"No he won't." Sarah assured me, "He has a restraining order."

"That won't stop him if he's drunk." I said, my voice shaking as much as I was.

"No one can get out of Azkaban," Sarah said assuringly.

I watched as they put handcuffs on my uncle, he was galring at me.

They walked him out a door.

He was gone.

For two years.