Alternate Universe. No Magic. What happens when Hermione Granger is orphaned, and then adopted as a servant, and the one man who had helped her doesn't recognize her? Draco Malfoy London's most notorious rake finds Hermione to be unlike any other woman, and he has to have her.
1822:
She was dreadfully cold- the rain soaking through her cloak as she curled next to the freshly dug grave. As she shivered her thick, brown hair blew around in the wind, sticking to her tear-stained cheeks. If only she had been home, instead of checking on the younger children next door, then perhaps she could had convinced him not to do it. The unmarked grave looked solemn, and utterly isolated. The young girl sat for what seemed like hours, quietly whispering psalms that she had tried so hard to memorize. Exhaustion crept into her bones, and slowly she righted herself, noting with little emotion that her dress was now covered in mud. Lightly pressing her hand against the muddy soil covering her father's grave, Hermione took one last shaky breath. "I'm so sorry Daddy... I love you" With a muffled sob she stood up, just as a hand jerked her backwards by her arm. A cry of shocked pain tore through the young girl as a man angrily shook her.
"You miserable boy! What in the hell do you think you're going to find here? Didn't anyone tell you that all suicides possessions go to the Crown? There is nothing for you here. Get lost!" Hermione blinked through her tears up at the blonde man, his eyes narrowed in contempt. As she tried to reply, a whimper escaped her. He was protecting her father's grave. He was an honourable man. Even if she had nothing else in her entire life, she had this man's values to hold on to. With one last violent shake, she fell to the ground, her hood falling off exposing her childish face, stained with tears.
"Dear God, you're a girl. How old are you?" The man stood above her, his hair shining in the rain, causing him to look like an angel to her. Scrambling to her feet, she slipped slightly in the mud, and he caught her arm, much gentler this time.
"F-fourt-teen, sir." She ducked her head, staring at the droplets of rain fall into puddles that her shoes had made. To her surprise, he lifted her chin, staring at her in confusion; his expression utterly bewildered. She sized him up, noticing his richly-favoured clothing. He was wealthy, and around twenty, she would guess.
"What are you doing out here? You'll catch a death of a cold out here. Why are you even out in this weather?" His voice was deep, and gruff, yet soothing, and she slowly felt herself relax.
"H-Hermione Granger... H-He was my f-fath-" Her voice cut off with a sob, and he pulled her into his arms, holding her close for a moment.
"Hermione? You're his daughter. Of course." Exhaustion seeped through her, and dizziness consumed her. Feebly she leaned against him, closing her eyes. She felt him press his lips to the top of her head, and fresh tears filled her eyes. "You need to get back to town... Here, I'll take you." Carefully he swept his strong arms beneath her legs, cradling her to his chest as he walked her to his tall horse. He gently helped her onto it, before gracefully jumping on after. With a quick movement, he had placed his heavy cloak over her, and moved to grab the reigns. She felt the horse move beneath her, and she tiredly leaned against the man.
With a small pause of hesitation, she whispered, "Might I know your name, sir?" The cloak had warmed her enough that her shivers had ceased, and she moved against his warm chest.
His arms tensed around her as he held the reigns, and she felt his chest rumble as he spoke. "Draco."
"Draco." She murmured softly, before slowly drifting into a deep slumber, the past few days of stress getting to her. When they reached the town, she stayed asleep in his arms as he rode up to an Inn, where a man rushed out. In a soft whisper, he said. "Blaise, this is Ted Grangers daughter. I'm going to bring her to her home."
Blaise stared at the sleeping girl for a moment, and frowned lightly, a look of compassion. "Ted Granger, as in your late Commanding Officer?" With a nod, Draco flicked his wrist, and started back on his way to bring the poor girl home.
The next morning Hermione woke up, with a hot brick wrapped at the foot of her bed. She was in a nightgown, and she hesitantly stood up, looking around the empty room. Despair gnawed at her, and she walked down the stairs, where to her surprise the fire was lit and warming the entire room. Her dress from the night before was drying beside the fire, and Hermione very slowly walked up to it, noticing that the stains had been sponged off. Draco had stayed throughout the entire night, cleaned her clothes and... Hermione turned towards the kitchen, where a loaf of fresh bread sat, with a hunk of cheese and a few apples. He brought her food. Tears streamed down her face as she thought of the handsome man; her knight in shining armour. After she had eaten, and brought down a small bag of clothes and a few books that she had been able to salvage, Hermione sat, and waited silently. Finally a carriage drove up, and a stiff, stern woman stepped out with a grimace on her face.
"Hermione Granger?" The grouchy woman asked with a frown. Mutely the young girl nodded, picking up her bag as she walked down to the carriage. Opening the door, Hermione saw with dread two other girls, a few years older than herself. With a sigh, she sat down, and stared out the window as the carriage started driving towards her new home. The St. Peters orphanage. ************************************************** ************************************************** *****************
1828:
Hermione quickly and efficiently made the bed in a few small gestures, before tucking the sheets in. With an easy grace, she stooped down, and picked up the nightgown that littered the floor. Her hair was tied back into a bun with a small old, ribbon, and she was clad in an old, dirty black dress. With one last glance around the room, she picked up the old sheets, and the nightgown, before retreating out of the room. Squaring her shoulders, she walked purposefully towards the servants courters, using the back corridors to get there quicker. With a small sigh, she entered the room, nodding politely to a few other servants. Moving swiftly, she made it to the corner of the room with the wash basket, where she dropped the garments she held. With a small frown, she picked up the basket of mending, and moved to a chair, where she began to sew.
After she had finished three pieces, the seat beside her was taken by the newest servant girl- Ginny. Her bright red hair was hidden under a small bonnet. As she began to do her own mending, she glance dup at Hermione, and smiled politely. "Did you hear the news?" Her voice was soft, and her green eyes sparkled with excitement.
With a frown, Hermione shook her head, causing a few wild curls to bounce loose from her bun. Her nimble fingers were working quickly with the needle and thread, as she looked up at Ginny. "Which news, girl?"
Almost bouncing with excitement, the red-head grinned up at her, "Lord Malfoy is coming to visit tonight! Miss Pansy was talking with her Ma, and from what I gathered, they suspect an engagement is going to be in place." Hermione wrinkled her nose, imagining the poor bloke who would end up being betrothed to the girl who she worked for. Watching the girl bounce with excitement, Hermione recalled when she had first been adopted by the Parkinson family, only to be used as a cheap source of labour that couldn't leave until she was of age. Twenty-one... Just one week to go, Hermione smiled into her mending as she sewed.
With a small shake of her head, Hermione whispered, "Lord Malfoy?" She tried to recall previous events, but came up blank, before she let out a small noise of realization. "As in, London's most notorious rake? The man who just came into his fortune due to his father's untimely death?" Ginny giggled, and blushed; obviously daydreaming of the man. Hermione had never seen him in person; she had only come across snippets of conversation about him.
"Yes. Apparently he just got rid of his current mistress, and that's why Miss Pansy believes that he is interested in her. Obviously there must be a reason for him to get rid of his current fling right before attending the house party." Ginny smiles sweetly, still innocent at the age of seventeen. With a grimace, Hermione finished up her mending and stood.
"Well, from what I heard, Lord Malfoy frequently disposes of his mistress's without a reason why. I highly doubt he has come to marry off Pansy, but we can always hope." Hermione left a giggling Ginny, and darted outside, walking out into the garden, where the tall hedges hid her well. She presumed she had less than two hours before she would be needed again, and she planned to use it. Stretching lightly under the warm sun, she moved to a tree, where there was a hollow hole at the base. With a sneaky smile, Hermione pulled out a large book, and curled beneath the tree. Flipping it open, the servant was soon lost in another world, where dreams actually came true. ************************************************** ************************************************** *****************
"Hurry up, Missy! I cannot be late for dinner!" Pansy whined her hands on her hips as she pouted down at Hermione. Growling at the ridiculous name that they had given her when she was adopted, Hermione glowered. With a roll of her eyes, Hermione stayed silent as she continued to mend the torn flounce on the dress. After a moment, she stood up, dusting off her dress, watching Pansy with a bored expression. "Now get my brush, and fix my hair. Honestly, are you servants good for anything?" The snooty girl looked at her reflection; lightly adding blush to her flawless features. Hermione retrieved the brush, and began to pull in through the girl's hair, trying her hardest not to pull the misses hair. Who knew what the silly lass would do if she was too rough.
This was the second night that Lord Malfoy had been at the Parkinsons manor, and Pansy was trying as hard as ever to get him to propose to her. As far as Hermione was concerned they seemed perfect for each other. She had personally been busy in the nursery for the past few days, so she hadn't seen him. But she had hears from other servants that he had arrived late, snubbed at least three waiters, believing them to be beneath his exalted touch, and every person was hanging on his every utterance. In all honesty, Hermione believed the proposal, if there was to be one, would be richly deserved by both parties.
Finally, Hermione was able to leave the girls chambers, and she hurried up the stairs away from the guest. If anyone were to see her come across him, she would surely get a lashing. Madame Parkinson had made it very clear that she was to stay away from Lord Malfoy at all costs. It was normal though. As the nursery governess, she was hardly ever introduced, nor allowed near the visitors. Arriving to her chambers, she searched around the small space before finding a novel to read. Every so often, she would put the book down, and listen to hear if dinner was done, then begin reading again. Almost two hours later she heard movement downstairs, and she put away the volume, before making her way down to help with the dishes.
As she moved quickly down the corridor, she was grabbed by the arm, and pulled into a dark corner. "Where do you think you're going?" A voiced breathed in her ear.
Urgently, Hermione, pulled away, and glared up at the chubby man who had grabbed her. Queasiness poured through her as she took a step away from Goyle; the Parkinson's esteemed son. Well, Master Parkinson's son. He was the child of an affair, or so all the older staff say. He stepped closer to her, reaching for her again, as she very headily stomped on his toes. With a yelp, he pushed her backwards, causing her to tumble and lose her footing. With a small shriek, she tried to catch herself, but instead found strong arms catch her.
"Is there a problem here?" A deep voice sounded, and Hermione stiffened, turning slowly to find herself looking up at her Draco- the man she had never forgotten. He was the one who starred in her dreams, the one she always imagined her happily ever after to be with.
Flinching from his touch, she shrank back from him, her eyes wide as she whispered, "What are you doing here?" She was aware of his dark grey eyes on her after she spoke, and watched with horror as he frowned slightly, raising a white-blonde eyebrow.
"Do I know you?" His deep voice questioned, and she recoiled, realizing with a sudden insight that this was the esteemed Lord Malfoy. He didn't recognize her. A stab of grief overcame her, before she realized it was for the best. She was nothing to him, and that was how it should be.
Shaking her head lightly, she lowered her eyes in a servant-like manner. "No sir, I was not expecting anyone to be up here this soon. You startled me is all. I just happened to slip. Sorry sir."
The blonde man raised his eyebrow higher as he stared at her, before raising his voice slightly. "You slipped, did you? And did Parkinson slip as well? You may as well come out, Goyle. We should be quite clear that we understand each other here."
The chubby man stepped out, his face red with anger as he glowered at Malfoy. "What's it to you? This ain't your house. You should learn to mind your own business."
Lord Malfoy smirked with the least vestige of humor, his eyes alight with spite. "The whims of a visitor should always be taken precedence over one's own indulgences. It seems that this wench is less than willing, and you shall oblige me when I say you shall not touch her again. Is that clear to you, Goyle?"
Wench? She choked back her explosion, and stepped to the side. It was safer for her not to say anything more to the man.
Goyle stared at the two of them, his eyes narrowed in contempt. The look of pure hatred he shot at Hermione swore revenge, and her heart sank. Fear crept up her spine, and she swallowed lightly- if Madame Parkinson heard about how she had stomped on his toe, or talked to Lord Draco, she would be severely punished.
Goyle smirked a lewd, greasy smile, and muttered, "Oh, she's always willing enough… Aren't you, wench?" Lord Malfoy took a step closer to Goyle, a glare on his face.
"Leave, before I forget that your father is my host." Without another word, he had scampered away like a frightened mouse. Hermione turned and started to walk away before a hand on her shoulder stopped her. "A moment, girl."
She slowly turned, and lifted her eyes to his face. The angles, and sharp expression held her captive; he held the promise of strength and purposes. Something within her revelled even as she stood motionless, captured by his intense stare. "My lord?"
"You confuse me, girl." He muttered, as she tried to look submissive; trying to look away from him. Mutely she pulled her eyes away from his, and stared at the ground. "Are you a servant?"
With a small nod of the head, she admired his shoes; noting how they had a small amount of dirt on them from riding earlier. This eased her mind slightly, for if he didn't mind a small amount of mud he mustn't be too pompous.
"You don't talk like one," He went on. She could sense his searing stare on her, and she lightly wiped off her skirts.
Nervously, she cleared her throat, "Nursery governess, my lord."
"Oh… Well, I shall mention this to your mistress and-"
"For God's sake, no!" Shaking, she tried to return her voice to clam. "She would blame me- not him! I'd be whipp- sacked. Please don't!" Her wide brown eyes looked up at his, and he frowned.
"Very well. What is your name?"
Her breath caught in her throat, and she hesitated. His eyes narrowed when she didn't answer right away, and finally she was able to mutter out the pathetic name from her adoption. "Missy." She whispered, bobbing a small curtsy, and leaving before he could ask anything else.