Chapter One - Foal Steps
Hermione's life plans were usurped at a surprisingly tender age. Though in many ways she was the same as every other young heiress in the world there was one way in which she was extremely different, and it was this divergence from societal norms that had stolen her dreams. At first it seemed such a small thing that it oughn't matter, she had thought. Yet as she grew older, it was reinforced in every aspect of her life that she was decidedly not the same. She even had different rules:
One. She could not attend balls with her parents.
Two. She was not to be seen out of the house – certainly not in the garden! – and preferably not more than thirteen steps outside her rooms (the distance it took a small child to reach the top step of the servants' stairway).
Three. She was not to speak to members of the household unless they were direct relatives. Not even if they asked her a question. Not even if they asked politely.
Hermione had wondered at these ridiculous restrictions until her eleventh birthday, when she did not receive an acceptance letter to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry like her mother and father and the rest of her family had always said she would. She was, needless to say, devastated. It was that day that the young witch learned that she wasn't a witch at all, not even a little bit. Her mother hexed, her father cursed the furniture, and her aunt informed her quietly that whilst they had been holding out on slight hope that she was simply a late bloomer, it turned out that she, the birthday girl Hermione Granger, was not magical in any wizardly sense of the word – and that was the only way that mattered in the end.
"But isn't Hogwarts there so I can learn magic?" she pulled desperately at Auntie Mel's skirts, pleading. She was pleading. It was something that was Not To Be Done and she was doing it, quite vigorously at that, Melusine noted.
"Hogwarts exists to teach magical children to control their magic, Hermione. I'm afraid it would be not very useful for a magicless little girl to sit in on classes in which she cannot engage. Nor would it be prudent to waste the time of tutors who have many other very magical children to concern themselves with explaining theory to someone who cannot understand it. You simply must understand. Hermione," her previously greatly admired aunt told her in a toneless, sensible manner. Her words were clipped and no-nonsense, lacking the usual warmth. That, more than anything hit Hermione like a swarm of nixies. In that moment she had lost so much. She had even lost her aunt's esteem, she was sure.
Magicless. Not Useful. Not prudent. Not.
"But I can do magic!" she shook her Aunt's robes to stress that her heart could not be turned, "I can make plants grow! I'm really good at it!"
Melusine clucked her tongue, "Hermione! That is not magic, that is gardening! And it is extremely mundane of you to dig around in the dirt in such a manner."
Mundane.
Hermione released Aunt Melusine's robes, running from the room and the manor as if it had burned her. In some non-tangible ways it had. For in that moment, a spark had lit inside the young Not-A-Witch's insides and had refused to go out.
So she wasn't magical? She couldn't go to Hogwarts and make friends and play and eat sandwiches and go to balls? She was to stay in her room, unseen and unheard for the rest of all time because they said she wasn't a witch?
The girl glanced – glared rather – at the manor that had previously been her sanctuary from the edge of the hedge-maze that led out from her home. It was tall and enchanted and impeccably, incredibly pruned. It was also overlooked. It was a backup plan if magic ever failed (which it never did, she had been taught). It was gardened. Hermione swished her entire body away from the cold, hard manor home with enough force and intent to apparate, had she the talent for such an endeavour.
She was a waste of space, was she? She had no magic, they told her?
No. That was a Big Not. Not if she had anything to say about it. If she couldn't be a wizard or a witch then she would become a sorceress or a druid or mage if she had to! Unmagical indeed!
She put a hand to the maze and ran.
The foaling had been unexpectedly taxing, she decided, pulling seaweed from her hair. Kelpies were such antisocial creatures that it was the mating that was often stated as the hard part. The woman snorted. In books maybe. She wanted to know what those dry old tomes had to say when a unicorn was involved. Nothing worthwhile probably. The only good books were romance novels, and even they could be ridiculous (a fairy prince paired with a human priestess? Please!). Still, when she had awoken that morning, it had not been to the thought that maybe today was finally the day she got to pull a halfling foal from a distressed and extremely nippy mare.
They were still arguing outside the stables, unsure what to do with the horned, sopping foal who seemed unwilling to follow his dam into a cursed bog and unable to locate his (presumably still living) sire. Hermione sighed at the high pitched screech that had just left one of the men outside.
Such was the life of a meagre maid.
Weaving around the stacked bales of hay, the woman swiftly made her presence re-known to the squabbling quartet, "Gentlemen, if you will?"
All eyes were on her, "I believe that the foal won't last very long on his own. Perhaps now is the time to arrange an alternative source of sustenance for him?"
"Mouthy little bint isn't it?" one man spoke. Not to her of course. He didn't reply. No one replied to her. She was just there. To be unseen and unheard but always a hard worker. She almost scoffed at the irony.
"We will refund you the money you paid for the...offspring," Mr. Malfoy broke in quickly, always one for words, "However, for the distress caused to my mare during the mating and following pregnancy I'm afraid we will have to keep the initial deposited sum of four thousand galleons. Agreed gentlemen?"
"Agreed? I paid for a keplie, not a-" the man seemed to lose his ability to speak, gesturing at the by now very spooked halfling. Hermione thought that was unfair of the man. It was a pretty little foal to be sure, exhibiting all the sought after characteristics of both parents – the ocean deep eyes of a kelpie, the horn (albeit slightly crooked) of a unicorn. The colt – male, yes – even possessed a silvery green coat that was delightful to gaze upon. Almost hypnotising. Of course, the little fellow hadn't mesmerised anyone standing to a watery grave yet, so all that was for nought. Invalid. The foal was bought to be a guard creature. A kelpie made a fearsome guard. A shivering halfling abandoned by his mother to die a minute after being born did not.
Hermione shook her head ever so slightly before approaching the young...kelpicorn with hand outstretched. She said nothing as the colt reared back weakly, unsteady on his legs, nor as his curiosity overcame his sense and he decided to inspect her proffered hand. When he nipped gently on her fingertips, followed by a soft snuffling, which preceded another nip she smiled. She would take him to her mare. It was decided. Leaving the squabbling wizards to their failed trade, she slinked off with the curious colt. Unseen and unheard.
"I heard my father scream from the Manor."
Hermione looked up from her cooking pot, leaving the herbal solution to boil on its own, "Yes, I suppose you did," she agreed. She really did try to get along with her employers' family, but they didn't make it easy. Case in point – the young man leaning over the locked half of her door, chewing on an apple and smirking like the little shit he truly was. She had no doubt that Draco Fucking Malfoy would have walked right up behind her before speaking had the door not been (partially) locked and then where would she be? With a spilled solution for the foal and burns probably, that's where. It wasn't an exaggeration to say that the blond idiot was the very reason she locked her door in the first place. It might even be the reason she had installed muggle door locks.
"I was on the third floor. Mother heard him from the observatory," he stated, taking another bite of the apple. He chewed obnoxiously loudly for a supposedly well-bred gentleman. Like a horse.
She snorted.
He certainly had the teeth to match.
"I suppose you're here to gawk at the oddity then," she shifted up, straightening her stained skirt. He laughed at that, "Funny, I thought I already was."
Hermione resisted the urge to scratch his eyes out. She needed the pay. She needed the pay. Gods. The solution was ready, so she busied herself with bottling that instead.
The young heir was nearly slammed into the cottage's outer wall with the force with which she unlatched her door, "Whoops," she didn't spare him so much as a glance as she headed towards her stable, steps calm and measured.
"Oi! I didn't mean it like that you little witch!" he ran up behind her again. Yes, always behind her. As he should be. Sneaky git.
"Funny," she replied, voice devoid of humour, "I've been told I'm not a witch at all. Did you know?"
The lordling rolled his eyes, "Never would have guessed. You certainly brew like a witch."
"That's Severus' fault," she snapped unintentionally, eliciting a victory grin out of her unwanted, unneeded companion, "Knew I'd get a reaction out of you eventually," he crowed. It was Hermione's turn to roll her eyes, "I know I'm practically a muggle," she stated smartly, "but that does not excuse thirteen years of goading, insulting, or otherwise pestering me."
"I know that," he had the sense to sound offended even though the grin remained, "I do it to get back at you for all the lectures, Miss Granger. I don't know if you know this, but I'm something of a rising star around these parts. The next Lord Malfoy, they're saying," he leaned in consipratorially to her ear, voice low. She frowned into the distance.
"They say a whole lot of things," she agreed grimly. Snapping back to reality, she threw the young lord a dirty look, "Stop blowing in my ear, you absolute cockroach! You're just like a fucking horse, I swear."
Draco relented, his brow raising, "Yes, evidently you do swear,"his grin became even wickeder if that was possible, "Do you remember when you were so afraid of me you would clam up and run away? The good old days when no one spoke back to me. How I miss them," he dramatised.
"Please, Malfoy. I wouldn't have ran from you if you weren't always after me for some nefarious scheme or another. I do work here you know? Your father nearly had me out on my arse for that toad incident," she spoke of the 'toad incident' with venom laced tongue. The pair of them trembled slightly in remembrance of the horror of the situation. It was unspoken between the two that the 'toad incident' was never mentioned. That didn't stop Mr. Malfoy Jr. from speaking though.
"Come on Granger! I was twelve!" he nudged her hip, much to her annoyance, "And what makes you think I'm not still after you for one of these 'nefarious schemes'? Was that what you called them?"
Hermione's head snapped around so quick it made a popping noise, "Whatever you're planning in the future is none of my business and I want no part of it, Malfoy."
Draco pouted, "I'm not that bad am I? What if I came up with a good 'nefarious scheme'? One you liked?"
He was grumbling now, kicking at the ground like a little boy. Or a bloody horse. Never a good sign for her pay docket, that was to be sure. Hermione turned fully, hands on hips, "I'm not interested in losing my job, thank you very much, so I will decline, even if one of your idiotic ideas did happen to catch my attention. Though I fail to see you being able to offer anything of higher value to me than my lifestyle."
She was practically begging him to understand. Sure, she was bound to do his bidding all day, everyday unless an order violated her safety, but he was fond of playing with her sanity and gods did the binding oath smart whenever she turned down some ridiculous command to 'bring a live dragon to the atrium tomorrow at six sharp' or 'come to Hogsmeade with me'. Leaving the property? Ridiculous! The magic would behead her for daring to 'escape'. It was unfair and downright draconian, but it was her life.
The young man sighed, "I think you value your job far too much. It's not healthy."
"Draco, look at me. Losing my head is not healthy either. At least this way I get to keep it and keep a roof over it."
She gestured towards the rickety stable where she kept her mare, effectively cutting off all future attempts at communicating, "We're here."
A/N: As usual, error reporting is encouraged.
Love,
Lucy~!