NA: This chapter is about how this world works and the relations between characters. This story is divided in two, one is this one about Hermione and Fleur, while the other is under another title and about other characters.
CHAPTER 1
It was a dark time to be a Muggle. Many centuries before, the Wizarding World had unleashed a curse against every creature that had no magical quality. The purity of blood prevailed over all. Expressions such as "toujours pur" could be read in every corner – especially in France, where slavery took place for the first time.
Muggles lived in the lands of the Great Lords, wizards and other magical creatures with human shape, to whom they owed obedience and tithes, plus the lease and use of their lands. The tithes were suffocating, chiefly for the small villages such as Haut Champ where winters were hard. The snowstorms made it difficult to harvest, trade with other villages, etc.
Winter was notorious for famine and mortality. That was why children started working when they were toddlers. Many worked in mines, crops, or like Hermione, helping their parents. Hermione worked in Aberforth's inn "Bière Pour Tous". Her days consisted of cooking for customers, lighting the fire, cleaning tables, mopping toilets, etc.
"Aberforth, where is my potage?" a regular customer asked.
"Sorry, Pierre. She's still on it."
"I'm coming, I'm coming," Hermione said. She was almost running. "I'm really sorry. Here it is."
The man accepted; it was pretty cold outside to reject a hot meal.
Aberforth realized that Hermione couldn't deal with cooking that day. They opened late and she was being slow with the food, so they exchanged their position. Hermione served tables, even though there weren't many people to attend. No one came in or out for a while. She decided to do something useful, such as cleaning the counter.
Suddenly, a man and two girls came in. They were attired with fancy clothes. The girls couldn't be over 13 years old. The young one must be 8 or 9 years old while the oldest must be a preteen. Hermione was ready to serve them, but, when she saw the bright light the oldest girl exuded, she let the dishcloth drop. She felt herself being hypnotized. For some minutes she was in another world. When she recovered from that state she walked towards them. "I'll be your waitress. What will you have, Sir?"
"My Lord," he corrected. The girl's face was puzzled, so he explained himself. "My Lord, not Sir. You aren't an upper class witch. You're a commoner. I'm Lord James Potter, the owner of the whole region, so I'm pretty much your Lord."
She corrected herself immediately. "Ah, ok. What will you have, my Lord?"
"Where does your water come from?" the Lord asked.
"There's a wellspring in the mountains. Every week we..."
James didn't want to listen what he considered rubbish. "Forget it. Bring wine. For lunch, mmm…" He looked around to guess what kind of food they served. "The biggest cauldron you have with bouillabaisse, and a whole chicken for the three of us."
Hermione opened her eyes wide and stared. It was too much for three people. They wouldn't eat it all.
Her reaction didn't go unnoticed by James, who didn't like it one bit. "What?"
"Nothing, my Lord," she said. "It's just...it's too much. People usually don't have that much money." She felt pretty uncomfortable when the girls burst out laughing. So beautiful a laugh, but at the same time so evil.
"This is good," the oldest girl muttered. Her voice was feminine and showed authority, or, rather, coldness.
The meaning behind the Muggle's words was offensive to James, and he wasn't going to stand it. "I'll explain it to you in your common language so you can get it. This land is mine, this village is mine, also this inn, your chicken... I'm not going to pay."
The little brain of Hermione was trying to work it out to make sense. Aberforth has always told her she serves tables and people pay for it. Now, this man was saying he wasn't going to pay. Too complex. "But...everyone pays."
At that point the family was pissed off. They could cut her hand off if they wished. Before the patriarch said anything, the oldest girl stopped him. "James, let her up to me." Then she rose up from her chair. She held her wand aimed at the bushy-haired girl the way a hunter aims at his prey. Hermione felt the wand pressing under her chin. They were so close; their gazes locked and something inside each of them sang a precious tune. Fleur felt her inner beast roaring and shaking. Never in her life had she ever felt like this.
Before making a fool of herself, she stood up for her beliefs and said hoarsely, "Can everyone do this?" With just a flick of the wrist, she cast a spell that broke the vodka bottle on the counter. The report drew the attention of Aberforth, who leaned out. The scene he found was a haughty Hermione clenching her fists trying not to lose her temper in front of a witch, whom he recognized immediately. She was Fleur Delacour, the stepdaughter of James Potter, who was there as well, and with him his daughter Gabrielle Potter. He ran towards them to offer some excuses and told Hermione to go to the kitchen. "I'm sorry, my Lord. I beg for mercy. She's young and doesn't understand anything at all."
"You can be grateful that my stepdaughter took charge of this situation," James said. "I wouldn't have been so merciful."
"I understand, my Lord."
"You may go, peasant. And do what you do best, serving us," Gabrielle said. When Aberforth was out of their sight, she burst into laughter again. "It was the funniest thing; did you seen the old man's face?"
James Potter looked at her. "I don't see what is so fun." To him, the little girl had disputed their authority.
After a silence of several minutes, Gabrielle added, "We should teach her who is in charge."
"Gaby, things are more complicated right now, we cannot punish every peasant of our villages because we want to." James was aware of the whole global situation, the general discomfort. As a good leader, he knew when they could pull the trigger.
The little lady was unconvinced. "Not every peasant, our servants."
Fleur and James looked at each other. "I think we don't follow you."
"Dear sister," Gabrielle said, "it's my eighth birthday. In 3 years I will have my first Blood, and I´ll need a personal slave to help me out with elementary things we don't have spells for, such as dressing, bathing, going downstairs...if Harry doesn't have children, I will be the heiress. I could fall going downstairs before being of age, and goodbye House of Potter!"
"She's too young; she couldn't take proper care of you." James protested. "And even if she could, she's insolent."
"She won't be with me," Gabrielle answered. Her eyes were dark blue; Fleur knew that look too well. She didn't say a word, but she felt sorry for this bushy-haired girl. She was afraid for her safety. Her sister was known for being cruel to Muggles. There was a day when Gabrielle had lit a fire on a slave's hair. Reason? She had mistaken the dessert Gabrielle asked for.
"Father, I swear she will be a good slave, responsible, and most important, submissive." Gabrielle was really interested in her. She insisted, "Her age is an advantage. I don't want a crone like Fleur's one. In a few years her slave will be good for nothing."
Sometimes, James Potter wondered whether his daughter was 8 years old or an adult woman in a small body. Anyway, that day they had gone out to buy her a gift for her birthday and they hadn't gotten one, and he couldn't deny her anything. So, when Aberforth gave them their dishes, he addressed the topic. "Is that your daughter?"
Aberforth knew whom they were talking about; he didn't need to ask. He was older but wiser. "Yes, she is, my Lord."
Fleur looked at him with a disgusted face. "Aren't you old to be her father?"
He smiled. "Not as old as I look, my Lady."
James raised his hand to order silence. He wanted to drive the conversation. "The thing is this. My daughter, Gabrielle, has turned 8 years old. She wants a beautiful present. Your child is beautiful."
Fleur understood the message could be interpreted wrongly. "What my stepfather wanted to say is that my Half-Sister needs a personal slave and she has chosen the bushy girl."
Definitely, it was not good. It was bad, really bad. His head was trying to make up any excuse it could find. "She's too young."
"She'll learn," James countered.
"And silly. Very, very silly."
Aberforth didn't count on Pierre, the customer who asked for potage. That man intervened in favor of Hermione without knowing the serious consequences of his act. "Your daughter will learn. She's smart."
The old man, facing him with a disgraced face, tried to make him go to his place, but Pierre was persistent. He grabbed Aberforth by his arm and went to talk to him alone.
"What are you doing, Pierre?" Aberforth was the first to speak.
"No, what are you doing?" Pierre replied. "I have been coming here for many years and I think we are more than acquaintances, we are friends. Let me tell you that you're stupid if you don't take this chance. Look through the windows!" He pointed to the snow. "It's death. Children die every day because of illness, cold and hunger. Yours is healthy, but for how long? In their estate, slaves have everything, heat, food..."
James Potter was a good chess player. He knew the proper times for taking actions. He waited to finish his lunch. Being eager wasn't good for business. Then he asked again, and this time he was not so friendly. "My daughter is pissed. We can do it in two ways. The one you're going to like the most is, you give me your child willingly; the other is, I take her away from you by force. The second choice would turn all of this into a bloodbath. I'll give you a moment to decide."
While all of this was happening, Hermione was in the kitchen talking to herself. "It's my Lord, not Sir, blablabla. My Lord Fucking Prick! Surely these dudes have their house painted every year. Poison yourself with your fresh paint!"
Suspiciously, Aberforth came into the kitchen telling her to have lunch. Which was weird because she never ate after 4 pm. Something was up. Maybe a difficult truth to confess. He inhaled air as if it could bring him courage. "The wizards want you to go with them."
"Well, sorry for them. I don't want to."
The old man got on his knees and put his hands on her shoulders. "It's not that easy, Hermione. They can order it; they are wizards, after all."
"You are a wizard too!" the girl replied.
"They cannot know it. No one can know it." Aberforth had been hiding from his past for so long. A dark past that could come back if someone knew what he was. "I promised your parents I would protect you; if we attack them here, I would put you in the spotlight. You wouldn't be safe."
All those words didn't convince Hermione. Why was he hiding? For her, all were pretences, lies. Negation turned into confusion and vice versa. It was a mess. "You don't want me here, do you?" She walked away from him. "I can run. I don't have to go with them."
"For Merlin's sake! They're wizards. They don't need to run to catch you!" Aberforth grew angry. He wasn't her father, but he had raised her like one. He wouldn't allow her to make stupid mistakes. "Even if you escape, you will be a fugitive. You cannot come back. Look, they have people to bring them food from this village. Usually from the village to their estate, but, sometimes, their slaves do it, the are allowed to come to this village as a reward, and buy food for them. Maybe in a few years, if you still remember me, you could visit this gaffer."
The farewell was easy for him. He was the one staying. She didn't want to recognize it, but she was afraid. People told terrible stories about that place. If her father had been there, he would have said, run, escape if you have the chance, not matter how slim is your chance, even if she had to...She was fast and took the wand Aberforth had been hiding. He took the wand away from her. He made her understand that it couldn't be. Nothing good would come out of this rebellion.
Before she got out, he muttered something to her, hidden in an embrace. "Don't let them know."
Fleur watched them carefully. Something was wrong in that scene. Father and daughter hugging each other, yes, but something was missing. She remembered her father's funeral. She saw herself crying. "She's crying as well, but, is she crying over coming with us or going away?" she thought.
Finally, all were inside the carriage. On a whim of Gabrielle's, Hermione was with them. The trip was torturous; Hermione kept thinking about the stories while ceaseless words from Gabrielle filled the silence.
"You'll be my personal slave; you have to dress me, bathe me, help me getting downstairs..."
"You are wizards, couldn't you disappear and appear downstairs, my Lords?" Hermione asked, her tone sarcastic when she had to use the noble title.
Gabrielle, offended by her ignorance, replied, "Stupid, you cannot appear and disappear until you are an adult. You should be punished for your stupidity."
The little French girl was calmed down by her sister, who hadn't said a word since they left the inn, and didn't seem to be planning on it. What disturbed Hermione the most was Fleur's piercing eyes, which didn't let her out of their sight, as if an object were broken and Fleur were trying to figure out where.
Meanwhile, James wasn't paying attention. He was thinking about Aberforth, the owner of that silly inn. He looked familiar. Not as if they had ever met before; he was sure they hadn't. But he reminded him of someone else; he couldn't guess whom.
They didn't speak again until they arrived at Potter's estate. There things got worse.
"Dad, dad, I wanna be an Auror like uncle Sirius," said a boy who wore glasses; Hermione deduced he was Potter's son. Not only because he said dad; also because the two of them were alike.
"I see Apolline read your uncle's letter to you," James said. He came into the living room. Hermione guessed that was the beginning of the end. She knew things would have an ugly finish. She just watched to see when everything would go wrong.
"Yes, she did," the boy said with pride. "When I become an adult, I will be like him. I'm going to travel around the world; I will run to catch the 'bad guys'."
She identified that moment. That was when the sky was going to fall down. She hadn't met the family before, but, if they were the way they showed themselves to be in the carriage, someone would say something cruel to that boy.
"You would not do such a thing," Gabrielle said. She came into the living room behind James.
"And here we go," Hermione thought. No, they hadn't let her down. Being an Auror was not something you should be proud of, because they chased down Muggles who ran away from their owners. Demon dogs.
Fleur tried to help her stepbrother out.
"No, Fleur, Gaby's right. My son has to accept this, and the sooner the better." The patriarch stated. "You will not be an Auror, Harry. You are the Potter heir, the bearer of our House and our business. You'll meet a beautiful lady and will get married to her. You two will give me grandchildren. Then, they will do the same as you did, and so on in order to keep our House alive."
She couldn't help but feel pity for that boy who went crying to his chamber. Deep down, it was very sad to have that money and not be freer than a slave. He was going to stay in Potter's estate because his father said so. As she would.
Surely these things don't happen in a Muggle family," Fleur said. She felt their slave's eyes during the scene. Fleur circled the brunette. "I bet, Muggles don't care enough for their children, not even when they have to work in dangerous jobs such as mines. Take your father as an example. He didn't cry. Right now, he must be celebrating that he has one mouth fewer to feed."
It touched Hermione's heart, not in a good way. Fury was seizing her because somehow she felt that the blonde wasn't wrong. Some truth was in it. She fought against her tears, but they won. They got out bit by bit.
Madame Delacour called over Fleur's personal slave, Rosmerta, a nearly 40-year-old woman. She didn't want to put up with a moaning Muggle. Two slaves could console each other better.
Never in her life had Hermione's eyes been so itchy. The only factor that distracted her was a certain redhead who broke into Rosmerta's room.
"What's wrong with her?" Hermione heard the redhead asking.
Rosmerta, who finally noticed Ginny's presence, thought it was not the best moment to introduce them. "Nothing's wrong, Ginny, please..."
Ginny didn't care; she never, ever listened to lies. "Is it because of your kidnapping?"
Kidnapping, that was how it felt for Hermione. No one had given her a choice.
"Ginny, please! No one kidnapped anyone!" Rosmerta was horrified by that word. If it came to the Potters' notice, she could be punished. She knew she heard it somewhere, from someone.
Hermione nodded. She liked that girl for her sincerity. She wasn't like adults.
"It's not a kidnapping," Rosmerta insisted. "Our Lord has every right to call you into his service."
To Hermione's mind, that was a stupid excuse. What was wrong with her? Her mind tried to get the whole picture. That woman, the redhead, the wizards... "Blasted!" she shouted. Rosmerta, shocked, covered Hermione's mouth with her own hand. Hermione talked even with that impediment. "I'll run away; I'll go back home to my father."
"I don't know why you complain so much. We are not so badly off here," Ginny said.
"Easy for you to say," Hermione thought.
The ginger sat down in front of Hermione to look at her. "When we don't have anything to do, we play tag."
"Ginny, I don't think she cares about your scampering," Rosmerta cut her off.
For the first time, Hermione looked back at her. Her eyes got wide with hope. "You run around?"
Rosmerta saw the new girl's interest and allowed Ginny to continue. "Yes, we do! And we also dance."
"Do you dance here?" At that point, Hermione's eyes were open like an owl's.
Rosmerta intervened. "Yes, we do. Some of us make drums and such things to play music. Others sing...it's not so bad."
The little girl concluded that the authenticity of those stories mightn't be so great. A place where you can dance and scamper couldn't be so bad, right?
"I'm Ginny," the ginger introduced herself.
"My name is Hermione."
Ginny eyed her with a weird face. "What an ugly name!" That got her a slap in the back by Rosmerta. It wasn't something appropriate to say. Hermione had a reproachful face. "D'oh! Ok. It doesn't matter. Anyway, when you don't have any task, you can find me in the kitchen or in the garden. I'm sure you'll have a lot of free time. Nymphadora says that personal slaves barely work and you become lazy."
Rosmerta was going to correct Ginny, but she decided otherwise. It was better not to tell all the tasks a personal slave must undergo in front of the new girl.
The last thing Ginny said before going was, "Sorry for your kidnapping again." When she was out of their sight, Rosmerta tried to think what she had been told when she had been a child and had arrived at the estate. "You know, if you work hard, they allow you to visit the village."
Hermione had Aberforth's word still in mind. They both said she could go to the village, so it had to be the truth, and going there would give her a chance to escape. That made her smile. But Rosmerta had lied; she knew that white lie would keep her occupied, and what she had lived until that moment would be forgotten gently.
NA: English is not my first language but Qoheleth is helping me out with the story because I am very absent-minded so you can guess the stupid mistakes I have in my written. Most of them are the capital letters hahaha very stupid mistakes. Thanks Qoheleth for dealing with my English.