Chapter 1: Slave at the Manor

O

Hermione was shoved head-first into a room full of deprived men.

She looked up, and noticed all of them appraising her. Well, she could only assume they were all appraising her under the great big hoods they were wearing. Not seeing the deatheaters' faces made it doubly hard to figure out what they were thinking.

Whether to toy with her, or kill her.

Use her as bait for Harry Potter, or string her carcass in Diagon Alley to show resistors how they would be dealth with.

Hermione jutted out her chin, prepared for whatever outcome. She had risked these missions, knowing there was a possibility of being caught. There was no point cursing the heavens. She was meant to be caught that day. It was only a pity they had to drag her back here, instead of disposing of her quietly.

"Which one of you lads want to break her?" Yaxley chortled, coming up behind Hermione, and yanking her to her feet. This disagreed with the contents of her stomach terribly, and she emptied it neatly on his shoes.

"Euch, you disgusting creature!" he pushed her to the floor again. "These robes cost a small fortune!"

"Don't pretend, Yaxley," someone called out. "You took it from a dead corpse."

"Suits me," he smoothed the creases on his sleeve. "Doesn't it? Much better than some mudblood."

Hermione retched, as she thought of the poor muggle who was murdered in his own home, and stripped of the dignity of even being properly dressed. Would she share the same fate? Hermione shuddered at the thought of being randomly pawed and humiliated, even when she was long gone.

"She looks like she's already broken," someone had the gall to wryly comment.

He stood up and threw three galleons at Yaxley's feet. Needless to say, it bounced off the shiny exterior and right into a pool of vomit. Hermione didn't look, when the voice offered to take her. She was too busy pressing her forehead on the ground; and focusing on breathing.

Cries of dissent filled the room.

"Not fair, Malfoy! Why do you get to take her?"

"She's worth a lot more than that!" Yaxley spat, driving a hard bargain.

Malfoy, not wanting an argument, agreed to an offical settlement. He wasn't happy offering the Pre-19th century Boudica hairslides, but they were the only valuable items he didn't mind being parted with. Narcissa had acquired them shortly before marriage, and insisted they were cursed to anyone who touched them.

But Yaxley didn't know that.

"You, Malfoy, are pathetic, McNair shook his head. "Wasting heirlooms on a slave."

Malfoy chose that moment, to reveal his fair head to the crowd. His mouth was set in a grim line. There was no reprieve swimming in his eyes as he glared around the gathering. "This slave will crack before the fortnight," he pointed a finger at her. "Then we win the war."

Hermione had been dipping in and out of the conversation. She wasn't really paying much attention, but when the word "war" cropped up, her interest piqued and she croaked out never. This cast the room in a shocked silence. They all seemed to be looking at Malfoy, to see how he would discipline his new charge.

Malfoy wasn't about to loose face in the toughest environment out there.

He pulled back a leg, and kicked her square between the hipbones. This caused Hermione to loose her breath and clutch her stomach in agony. "Don't speak unless you are ordered too!" he yelled.

The shocked silence continued.

Or maybe it was surprised?

"I think we're worrying about nothing," Bellatrix gave a proud smile. "He knows how to handle trash."

This caused the room to break out in applause. Malfoy didn't let a flicker of mirth show in his armour. He followed Yaxley's example, and yanked her up by the skin of her collar, to only toss her again seconds later. "Get up," he cruelly said, "You're coming to my bedroom."

If deatheaters had the audacity to nudge each other, they would have.

Rape? They're eyes would've exchanged.

As it was, Hermione staggered to her feet and spat on the ground, in pretense of clearing out her mouth. A hot jinx skimmed her heels, and Hermione jumped, instinct prevailing. "Keep moving," Malfoy barked, sending another jinx. Hermione hopped again, and surged forwards.

The front door was right there.

But Malfoy was guiding her away from it, towards the stairs.

"What are you planning?" Hermione asked, not missing the thin veil of anticipation coming out of that room. "Crucio," Malfoy whispered, in earshot of everyone, and unmistakable shrieks came from the stairwell. There was a sense of admiration, the longer the spell held, and the screams went on and on and on...

Hermione collapsed; on the brink of insanity.

"Don't you remember cardinal rule number one?" Malfoy said softly. "Don't speak unless ordered too."

He lifted the wand, certain a valuable lesson had been learnt. Hermione was too weak to continue the journey herself, so Malfoy grabbed a healthy handful of hair and dragged her all the way to the second landing; to his room. He shoved her in, and slammed the door after him.

"This is suitable slave attire," he grabbed rags that were lying to the side, and pushed it into her chest. "I expect you to be wearing this when I come back, waiting to be chained by my bed."

Hermione's tearful eyes travelled from the awful clothes, to the chains lying stringently by his bed. They were thick and made of lead, something used to shackle a dragon not a person. They hung from his ceiling, but didn't reach the floor. In fact the only way she could be chained to them, were if she was hung upside down by her ankles, or by her wrists.

Malfoy sent her one last hateful look, before departing.

Hermione didn't waste a second. She threw down her clothes and rushed to the window. The latch was heavy and wouldn't budge. Malfoy had certainly put some kind of spell on it, envisioning exactly this sort of thing. When it looked like her only other escape was the door, Hermione gave up, and crept to the door handle.

She put one hand on it, testing, when she felt a powerful surge of heat bypass her nervous system.

Hermione fell cold to the floor.

Shortly after midnight, Malfoy must have returned to his room.

She woke to him pinning her against the floor, straddling her midsection. He was muttering something. "Can't even get a moment's peace. The last thing I want to do before going to bed, is undress my slave. Seriously. A simple instruction. And you couldn't even listen mudblood, could you?"

Growing alarmed at the nature of his dwellings, Hermione wriggled her arms, and found they were trapped in the blouse Malfoy was trying to tug off. She willed up the courage to sock him in the face.

But her bones were decidedly weak.

"Gee. You don't even have much of a rack," Malfoy scoffed when he finally succeeded.

Her chest was covered modestly, but she might not have bothered. There was nothing there to grab. Nothing there to see. No wonder the Weasel King looked elsewhere for a piece of ass. He grabbed the brown rags, and shoved it over her head. It was literally a shapeless potato sack that came to her knees.

Something she should be grateful to even wear.

The idea of chaining her up, made Draco almost wish he didn't have to. It's not because he had sympathy for her plight. It was more himself he was worrying about. Today had been wretchedly long, and the strenuous process of making sure every lock and bolt was in place before he went to sleep, was not a positive one.

But the alternative was much a worse one to consider.

The idea of waking up to mid-strangulation at her hands was a real possibility.

Draco wasted no time, lifting her lifeless body to the chains and stringing them up by the wrists. If the girl at any point nodded of to sleep, and slumped over, heavy pressure would be applied to them. She needed to be vigilant, and stand on her feet all night, to make it as comfortable as possible.

"Avert your eyes," Draco said humorless, as he disrobed and fell back on the silk, shirtless.

"It's a one-way ticket to Hell."

AN: Two reviewers for the next chapter.