Welcome! This is my newest fanfiction. I have written fanfiction since I was eleven, for Ever After High, Spiderman (the movies), Miraculous Butterfly, and a few others. My newest phase? Harry Potter (revisited, of course. Not the first time I'm into it.) Hallways is a Dramione fanfiction, based in their fifth and sixth years at Hogwarts. It's more of a story where there are one shots that are loosely tied together chronologically, but not plot-wise. Basically, a hallway is featured in every one of the one shots. Sometimes the hallway won't play as big of a role as in other one shots, but variety is fun. Well, here it goes. Welp. Here's to hoping this turns out in a way that I'm proud of my writing.
(ooc ernie macmillan)
a quick tw: drunken attacks, teenage drinking, r*pe
Oh, boy. Not again, not again would Hermione do this to herself. She would not be alone at a party, especially a welcoming party into the new school year. Hermione had been to her fair share of parties at Hogwarts, no biggie. The seemingly casual parties that she enjoyed were a thing of the past, however; apparently, fifth year was the year that everyone wanted to grow up and change over the summer. It was truly the summer where puberty started to make changes in the boys and girls. The rowdy fifteen and sixteen year olds swapped pumpkin juice for diluted dragon barrel brandy. For the adventurers of the lot, they downed shots of pure firewhiskey that sent scorching inferno down their throats. No one really knew where it came from, seeing as floo networks were down in common rooms for that specific reason, but Hermione assumed a older brother or sister from seventh year brought it in for their younger sibling.
"What an example they're setting," she mumbled to herself about her most recent thoughts, lifting a red cup filled with butterbeer to her parted lips. A faint ginger sensation filled her mouth. Butterbeer was a familiar taste on the tongue, it being one of her favorite drinks to order when the trio went out to Hogsmeade. Third year was quite the year for her. Any time she had the opportunity, she'd go out of the castle to get a intake of a different scenery. Hermione loved Hogwarts and all, but to stay there all the time would be nearly impossible. Two years later and she still loved her freedom to head over to Hogsmeade and she preferred butterbeer to anything else.
Hermione slumped further into upholstered armchair that screamed Hufflepuff pride. It was positioned in the corner and she gripped the arm of the chair lightly, her fingertips grazing the end. This year's welcome party was being hosted at the Hufflepuff's common room. The dandelion yellow constrasted with the dark pigments, it was nearly an eyesore for Hermione, who was used to the brave crimson and gold of Gryffindor.
Being in the common room made her wonder many things. It was often heard as the most secure of the four houses, since you needed to be able to memorize a pattern instead of whispering a password. How it was only sectioned off for fifth years was beyond her wits, wouldn't someone want to get in or out? How do the Hufflepuff students of other years react to this? There had been a large crowd of people two years ago in the Gryffindor common room, but she wouldn't have ever wanted to join that "mosh pit" that was a party. Thirteen year old Hermione was far too innocent and upon seeing that, she wrote on a piece of paper, a promise to herself of some sorts, she'd stay out of whatever that was. Thirteen year old Hermione must have been disappointed seeing her present self was in the midst of an alcoholic get together, but relieved she wasn't actually moshing.
The room reeked of sweat and alcohol, clearly not the best combination of smells for any single person. Hermione was fed up with all of this. How did people consider this...fun? She knew from muggle television and film that they seemed to party harder than whatever she was looking at currently. She found that really hard to believe. Many of the teenagers sloshed around each other, limbs groping other limbs, and the contents of their cups flew in the air and landed on the ground. Laughs and hollers hurled to opposite walls, making it more louder than it so needed to be. Hermione was getting a horrible headache and she decided she would turn in early, making it so she could get up early to finish homework that was due much later in the month.
Hermione got on her feet and set the red cup of butterbeer on the end table beside her. She nearly made it to the stairs leading to the foyer of the basement when someone's fingers made it to the sleeve of her sweater, tugging, nearly pulling strings out of her favorite sweater. She knew she shouldn't have worn this sweater to this party. Her head whipped to find the suspect, scanning behind her as the figure tip toed around her to get in front.
"What are you doing Hermione? Stay!" Ernie Macmillan's voice slurred together into hardly separable words. He was a Hufflepuff, but he wasn't the kindest of people, nor the most private either. He was Hannah Abbott's boyfriend for a total of ten days and Hannah was done with him, after he had told everyone in his house and Ravenclaw that they started dating because she wanted him. It was completely the opposite of the truth and that bothered Hermione hearing that last year. His arm slung around her back, laughing for no apparent reason. In the hand that didn't grip a shoulder, a cup displayed pride in being nearly finished. "C'mon, I'm almost done with this cup of brandy, we can get another drink together. You need to stay!" Pink splotches decorated his cheeks and strands of ashen hair stuck in whichever way it pleased to. He downed his remainder of his drink and shoved the empty cup into the hand of a random student, who Hermione recognized as Michael Corner. It didn't damper Michael's mood as much as she thought it did, because Michael kept on partying along with Seamus and Terry.
Hermione peeled herself from Ernie's clutch and turned to face him, inching away a little more. "No, I think I'll be going now, Ernie. But thank you for the offer. You Hufflepuffs throw an amazing party." She politely remarked their party-throwing skills, if there were such a skill for that. She just wanted to leave, read a book on her day back and settle back into her dormitory. She shouldn't even have stepped foot into the Hufflepuff common room. Had she known this would have happened, her present life would be a different story.
Ernie's hand traveled to Hermione's wrist, knuckles turning white and nails digging into her thin skin. She squirmed under his touch and winced as he tightened his grip further. His clear set of eyes turned dark with lust and anger towards Hermione. She felt as though he would envelope her with his body; he was at the advantage, he was at least ten centimeters above her head. "Stay." Ernie growled, clamping his set of teeth into one. Her heartbeat accelerated to an erratic pace and beads of sweat appeared on her face that was even more pale than usual.
Somehow, this was all in everyone's peripheral vision but no one batted an eyelash to their direction. It was as if they wanted Hermione to be attacked or hurt. "No," Hermione's faint whisper trailed into the air and was taken away to a far off place. The sly badger backed her into the secluded hallway that separated the common room from the dormitories. You'd think that all Hufflepuffs are fair and they're all nice, but clearly, Ernie should have been sorted into Slytherin based on his behavior now.
"I've got you now, princess, isn't that what everyone calls you, the Gryffindor princess?" Ernie's words stuck sharp, mocking daggers into her heart. What once was an endearing nickname by her best friends became a haunted set of words that deemed her sexual prey across the four houses. Each word he said, he got closer to her until eventually the boy's breath threatened Hermione right in the face. His fingers found their way to her hands, pinning his palms deep into hers, making sure she couldn't lift the weight of his force away from the wall.
Ernie's ugly, chapped lips got more in her personal space, whispering in her ear, "I've got you, princess, you're mine." She dodged his attempts at kisses; only grazes of the lips landed on her snowed cheeks. A cat got her tongue; her heart and mind was going a million kilometers per hour, but when she opened her mouth slightly, there was nothing that could come out and she felt like there was nothing she could do. The poor girl thrashed and resisted as much as she could but she couldn't do much to guard herself when she felt so frozen in time.
"I'm pretty sure she said she wasn't interested." She stiffened even more than she had previously. Hermione could recognize the supercilious and vexatious voice from nearly anywhere. Even if it were just a faint hint of it peeping out of nowhere, but his voice could carry over for years and years to come. There couldn't have been a way that she'd forget this voice.
"Yeah, Malfoy?" Ernie released one of his hands to face his shoulders toward infamous Draco, the Slytherin Prince. "What'cha gonna do about it? Save her?" Ernie laughed haughtily, his laugh forming in the deep bellows of throat. It seemed as though Ernie performed Petrificus Totalus on her, as Hermione's courage was tucked neatly into a minuscule part of her brain, struck and surrounded by fear and tragedy.
"Well, maybe I will," He muttered and took a swing straight at Ernie's jaw, who reacted quite immediately. The hufflepuff hobbled over in pain, nursing his jaw as he let go of Hermione's wrists. "Come on!" Draco hissed at the stunned girl. She still couldn't move even after Draco saved her; that was yet another shocking thing that had happened to her that night.
Draco carefully took her hand and ran off with her. He knew that people, sometimes women more than men, were sensitive to the touch after being attacked. To be frank, he wouldn't want to be touched, more so grabbed and pulled by someone after being attacked. For hell's sake, Hermione could have gotten raped tonight. He was thankful that he was nearby and could hear Hermione's pretentious voice slipping away from the crowd.
Hermione couldn't cry. No tears, no frustrations, nothing was expelled from her body except the skin that rebounded upwards from Ernie digging his nails. Draco led her quickly outside the common room, leaving the sounds and sights of a horrible party that would change both of them forever. After that, he advanced onto the hallway of the Gryffindor tower, which was at least a ten minute walk. Not a breath was wasted between each of them and they just kept on going until they reached there.
"Are...are you okay?" It somewhat pained him to see the usually put-together Gryffindor in such disarray. She was always calm, cool, collected, at least in front of everyone else. Every book accounted for, every assignment done, every word read, and most important, everything in its place and everything on time. This wasn't scheduled, this wasn't arranged in advance, this wasn't how she planned to spend her night.
She became so overcome with shock that she went rigid. It took Hermione more than a few moments to recover and be able to speak. Her first words were of utter confusion and it showed she was at a lost for any sensible string of phrases. "I-I don't know."
Malfoy instinctively tried to grab her in his embrace, without thinking of the consequences. She immediately jumped away from his grasp, her hands clutching her opposite shoulders. "I'm sorry, D-Draco." She had to forcefully pull his first name out of her mouth; it pained her to say it because to her, he'd always been Malfoy, the blond-haired git. In this occasion, he was Draco, the teenager who saved her from being attacked. "Thank you," she stammered out, still in fright but she was grateful for his kindness. She looked out to him, searching for his eyes, trying to hold his gaze, but he stared at the ground. "I don't know how to repay you."
Had it been a less serious situation, he would say, "You know what you can do? Don't mention it, Granger." Now, he was a changed boy—still a boy, but not yet a man—and he exchanged his words for that for, "You're welcome." Malfoy, of all people, least understood the meaning of "thank you" and "you're welcome." However, in this situation, the world seemed to make sense for once. He was here for a reason, as was she, and that reason was to save each other. He looked back up, matching his eyes to hers. "Suppose I should take you to your room now? Er—" He felt embarrassed saying that, looking back down almost as soon as he finished the sentence. He hoped she wouldn't get the wrong idea, that he only did this to drag her to bed like Ernie might have done. "Maybe Potter or Weasley shall get you? Or Weasley's sister, or someone—"
"I'm capable of getting inside on my own." Hermione glanced behind her shoulder to her way back inside, the Fat Lady, who shuffled quickly to get back into place, as if she hadn't been listening to their conversation the whole time. "Thank you, Draco." This time, it didn't hurt her to say his name; in fact, it flowed delicately out of her mouth as if it was meant to be this way. It was in the stars that they'd cross paths tonight, Hermione was sure of it. It would be a while until she recovered, but she knew Draco would be an essential role in her convalescence.
A secret smile formed on Draco's face as he turned on his heel without a word, walking slowly down the hallway toward the staircase leading down to the dungeon. Hermione shared a similar smile as she reiterated the password to the painting. The Fat Lady swooned in delight, crowing drunkenly, "Hermione, you have quite the boy there!"