Author's note: Hello, my name is Steph. I will be your friendly neighborhood storyteller for this ride. This is my first ever attempt at fanfiction, so I appologize ahead of time if it isn't any good. I will also warn you upfront that my updates will probably not be very regular, and they may also be fairly infrequent at times, due to my personal family life, but bear with me. I promise I'll try my best to stay on top of things. That is, if you darlings even LIKE it! Well then? Have at it! =D
p.s. Do I really even NEED a disclaimer? If I was Ms. Rowling, I would have just put Dramione in the REAL Harry Potter. Obviously. Let this stand as my disclaimer for the entire story, cuz i really dislike repeating myself. Lol.
Chapter One
Hermione Granger. Bushy haired, know-it-all, bookworm extraordinaire. Muggle-born. Brightest witch of her age. Smartest witch in the past century, in fact. She had been tested by her professors at the end of sixth year, the day before leaving Hogwarts for the summer.
'I am Hermione Granger.' she thought miserably, 'and I'm trapped in a closet.' Although locked in was the more appropriate term. Padlocked in, to be completely specific.
'How did my life come to this?' she asked herself for the millionth time that summer. And for the millionth time, she received no answer.
Hermione felt herself slipping into oblivion, a place her mind visited frequently these days. At first, oblivion had been hard to achieve. Always the thinker, incapable of NOT analyzing a situation from every possible perspective, Hermione had found it impossible to force her mind to shut down. To turn off. At first. But now, now it came as naturally as breathing. As if she had never been capable of stringing thoughts together from the start.
'Except you CAN think,' a voice nagged at the edge of her mind. A voice that refused to be turned off. Refused to stop thinking. Interjecting unwanted opinions about her current state of existence. Forcing her to touch base with reality. Oh, how she HATED that voice.
But just as she had gotten good at shutting down her brain, she was also getting pretty damn good at ignoring that voice and pushing it back to the recesses of her mind.
But apparently this was not one of those times. Hermione's nagging thought had been heard, and now a flood of memories rushed into her brain, taking over, and forcing her to think of things that were better left alone.
Hermione squeezed her eyes shut in the dark closet as they grew hot with tears. Stinging tears of pain and regret and a desperate desire for things to go back to how they had been before. The tears spilled over like lava, leaving a burning trail down her cheeks, as she was forced to remember all of the events that had led to her being locked in this dark and stuffy closet.
:Flashback:
Hermione, Harry, and Ron stepped off of the Hogwarts Express onto platform 9¾. Sixth year was officially over. The trio would be going to their respective homes for two weeks before meeting up at the burrow where they would be spending the rest of their holiday. Once there, they all had very different plans for how they wanted to spend the summer. Harry was determined to laze about and catch up on sleep now that the weight of the wizarding world was no longer on his shoulders. Ron had plans to practice his keeping skills on The Burrows overgrown quidditch pitch. And Hermione, well Hermione would be studying. Of course.
The three friends said their goodbye's and with promises to write, and a chorus of "see you soon"s, they went off on their separate ways.
Hermione stood on tiptoe trying to catch a glimpse of her parents through the crowd. Scanning the tops of the heads around her, she grew more anxious with each passing minute in which she did not see her mothers tiny hand waving at her from amongst the bustling people. Her parents were more reliable than a clock. They were ALWAYS on time. "If you're not five minutes early, you're late," her father always liked to remind her. But this time, Hermione's parents were most definitely late. She was hoping that maybe they had run into an old friend at King's Cross and been sidetracked by the latest gossip, so with her eyes set on the stretch of wall she needed to get off of the platform, Hermione made her way over to the barrier.
Without any warning, she suddenly found herself smashing into something warm and solid, and felt a steadying grip on her shoulders.
"Whoa. Alright there Granger?" Asked a smooth, drawling voice, with a hint of amusement.
Hermione looked up into two pools of molten silver, warm and deep. And then blushed, horrified, when she realized that the warm and solid thing she had smashed into was none other than Draco Malfoy, who was currently giving her his infamous smirk.
"Watch where you're going you silly bint," he said, rolling his eyes and releasing her from his grasp.
She barely managed a small, humiliated "thank you," before he sauntered away to stand next to his parents.
'My parents!' She thought frantically, before making her way towards the barrier once more, only this time, she payed more attention to the people moving around her.
As she stepped out into the bright lights of King's Cross, Hermione's heart began thudding in her chest. Her parents weren't here. She broke into a run, trying to get outside as quickly as she could. She burst through the doors into the muggy London sunshine. Still no parents. No parent's car. Nothing.
Hermione started to panic. Never in her life had her parents forgotten to pick her up. They were RELIABLE. They were good parents. Sitting in the front row of every dance recital, every school play, every spelling bee. Always on time. Even though they didn't quite understand the wizarding world, or the fairy tale creatures their daughter told them about on holidays away from the wizarding world, they knew it made her happy, so it made them happy. They had never in all her life, failed her. Therefore, she knew, without a doubt, that something was terribly wrong.
:End Flashback:
Hermione was jerked back into her new, harsh reality, by a banging on the door and the sound of the padlock clicking open. Her palms began to sweat and her heart was racing with dread.
"Git out of there and wash yerself up tramp. We have guests coming in an hour and they're REALLY lookin forward ter meetin ya," said a voice Hermione hated more than anything.
The man that spoke, was a disgusting excuse for a man. Unwashed and reeking of whiskey, with a wild scruff of hair on his face and head, always sporting a dirty undershirt with sweat stains around the neck and armpits. He disgusted her. And she was completely at his mercy.
He leered at her hungrily and dragged her out of the closet by her hair. Hermione knew better than to voice her pain, he liked it when she hurt. So she bit her tongue and refused to give him the satisfaction. But when he yanked her up against his rank body and let out a breath of air straight into her face, she couldn't stop herself from gagging, and turning her face away.
Chuckling, he licked the side of her face, and threw her over his shoulder, giving her bum a smack and a lewd squeeze, and carried her into the bathroom. She saw an outfit set on the counter that she would never have been caught dead in. 'Except someday, you just might be caught dead in something like that,' the relentless voice spoke from the depths of her mind. Gulping, Hermione began to strip off the thin and ragged nightgown that she was wearing. She knew better than to expect her captor to leave the bathroom. He enjoyed watching her shower. He enjoyed anything that made her uncomfortable. He thrived on it. She stepped into the shower, feeling his eyes roam her backside, and turned the water on as hot as she could stand it. She began scrubbing herself raw. Trying to wash away from the outside all of the filth she felt on the inside. It didn't work. It never did. She grabbed a razor and made quick work of shaving her legs, pits, and unmentionables. He didn't like pubic hair, and she knew too well what would happen if she neglected that. Steeling herself for what was to come, Hermione turned off the water and stepped out of the shower, standing with her feet shoulder width apart and her arms out to the side. She turned her head as the man walked towards her with a towel. He liked to be the one to get her ready for these nights. He dried her body slowly, his hands lingering on every part of her body. Pinching her nipples painfully, cupping her between the legs with one hand and holding her there. He used his other hand to force her to look him in the eye, his fingers digging painfully into her jaw.
"Now i wantcha to be on yer best behavior, hear? I'll not have anyone leave here disappointed," he breathed quietly into her face, his rotting breath washing over her, as he rubbed her mound with his other hand.
Hermione nodded meekly, and leering go, he moved to get the clothes from the counter. He dressed her just as slowly as he dried her, pausing every so often to adjust himself through his dirty trousers, and to run his hands along her body, occasionally biting her flesh and groping her roughly. Hermione accepted this obediently. She knew what happened if she tried to push him away. She wore the scars of her punishments. When she was dressed, he ran a brush through her hair, yanking roughly and ripping hair out with each downward stroke. Hermione took it in silence, closing her eyes tightly to ward off the threatening tears. He liked tears.
When he decided himself satisfied, he shoved her over to the full length mirror and forced her to look at herself. She did not resist. She knew better. This was her life now, and she had always been a fast learner after all.
Hermione stared at herself in the mirror and this time, she couldn't stop the tears that fell at her appearance. She was wearing a skimpy strapless dress that looked like a terrible mockery of something a little girl would dress a doll with. It cut off just below her bum and was followed up by white thigh highs. And that was all. No bra. No panties. Nothing to get in the way. Her arms were riddled with finger shaped bruises and teeth marks. Her face was sunken and sallow, with one long scar tracing from right below the middle of her left eye, to the corner of her mouth and down to her chin. A tear track. Made with a knife. He so enjoyed it when she cried. But the sight that frightened her most were her eyes. Except they weren't her eyes. They were someone elses. And there was nothing in them.
Satisfied that she was complying, her captor dragged her back through the house and into a clean and well kept lounge room. With several comfy looking couches and a small bar in the corner flanked by two tall tables and stools. Hermione hated this room. Everything about it.
She was shoved onto couch in the center of the room, and while her captor was making drinks and setting things up for the evening to come, Hermione felt her mind slipping back to that day at King's Cross while she waited for their "guests."
:Flashback:
Hermione heralded a cab and gave the driver her home address. She stayed silent for the entire forty minute drive.
Her heart calmed slightly as her house came into view. Her family owned a fairly large cabin nestled in the middle of a thicket of trees. It was a beautiful three story lodge and it had been Hermione's home her entire life.
She paid the driver and started down the walk, her gut twisting with worry. This didn't feel right. Something was off. It was then that she noticed an unfamiliar car in the drive, with no sign of either parent's vehicle. She pulled her wand out of her shoulder bag and held it ready at her side. Just as she was about to grab the door handle, it opened to reveal a man in a frumpy suit with a badge pinned on his lapel.
"Hermione Granger?" He asked with a soft, quiet voice.
"Yes," she replied hesitantly, gripping her wand tighter.
"I'm Detective Gamble. I'm afraid i have some bad news. Let's get you inside," he said kindly, placing a large hand on her shoulder gently and steering her inside.
:End Flashback:
The doorbell rang. And with one last leering grin in her direction, her captor left to greet his guests.
Dead. Her parents were dead. Heart attacks. Both of them on the same day. Both in the prime of their lives. Two people that were extremely conscientious about their health. 'Heart attacks my arse,' Hermione scoffed. She did not SUSPECT foul play. She KNEW. Just when she thought everything was going to be ok, Voldemort defeated, the Death Daters disbanded. She assumed a rogue death eater had tracked down her parents and killed them out of revenge. After all, she was Harry Potter's right hand man, so to speak. She had helped cause HIS downfall. And now she was paying for it.
The door to the lounge was thrown open. Hermione gulped against the lump in her throat, preparing to close her mind off once again for the evenings "festivities".
In walked a group of six men, all wearing hungry looks upon their faces when they saw her on the couch.
"Stand up and greet yer guests properly, wench," her captor bellowed.
Hermione immediately stood up and offered a clumsy curtsy, her cheeks flooding with embarrassment.
"See how well she listens gents? She does anything she's told. And i mean ANYTHING," he said, causing all of the men to chuckle heartily and their eyes to light up in anticipation. "Well don't just stand there staring, ya dolts. Lets start this party!"
All six men immediately moved in her direction, one sitting on either side of her, the rest on the various couches near her. The one on the left put his meaty hand on her thigh and started to kneed it roughly. The one on the right pushed her hair away from get neck and proceeded to cover it in wet, sloppy kisses and grope at her breast.
Meaty Hands was sliding his palm further up her thigh, and smiled gleefully when he discovered she had no panties on. "I see you're ready for me, pet, dare i say you were looking forward to tonights activities?" he whispered into her left ear while using his other hand to undo his trousers and free his member, stroking it softly in preparation. "Well lets not keep you waiting then. I paid extra to have first go." He said as he roughly shoved a finger inside of her.
Meanwhile Sloppy Kisses had pulled down the front of her dress exposing her breasts to himself and the others, and was currently fondling both breasts, sucking and biting each in turn.
Hermione, however, was in her own world. A safe haven inside of her mind that these men could not intrude on. She had no desire to know the things that were being done to her body. So instead, she allowed her mind to drift through happier memories. Her seventh birthday when all she wanted was the complete annotated works of Shakespeare. Her eleventh birthday, when an odd looking man with a flowing white beard and long white hair, sat on her couch and explained to her and her parents, that she was a witch. The first time she visited Diagon Alley. Her first glimpse of Hogwarts, from the middle of the black lake. Harry and Ron, and all of their adventures. She missed them desperately.
She was ripped out of her musings by a sharp blow to her face. Apparently, she had bitten somebody's something unknowingly. Now blood trickled out of the corner of her mouth. Her blood. The men surrounding her laughed uproariously, and continued their ministrations. Hermione's head was throbbing from the blow she had received and she was having trouble zoning out again. She could feel everything. Humiliated tears prickled behind her eyelids.
This was her life now. Brightest witch of her age.