A/N: This is only the first chapter, and I know it's kind of boring. At the moment, I'm considering whether or not this story will be R-rated, so to be safe, that's what it will be for the moment. If in the future, I find that the fic doesn't need the high rating, I'll bring it down to PG-13. Anyway, here's the first chapter.
Hermione stared up at the huge mansion that loomed before her and gulped nervously. It was her first day working for this pureblood family, and she wasn't sure what to expect. Only a week ago, she'd sent in an application for a job, and the employment agency responded within 2 days with only the location of the house and the wages they paid. They hadn't even told her the surname of the family.
The mudblood employment agency, or MEA for short, was a huge organization that tracked down mudbloods and tagged them with a serial number. Finding them wasn't a particularly hard job; years ago, the entire population of muggles wiped out by Voldemort with a single curse. With only half-bloods and purebloods roaming the streets now, it wasn't exactly hard to distinguish who was who. When any witches or wizards called the MEA with an open job, they immediately looked up any random serial number and contacted the owner of the it. In this case, Hermione had been lucky enough to be chosen.
Sometimes, she didn't know what she preferred. Living her life as a piece of property that was continually being kept under surveillance, or living her life in poverty and spending her days on the dirty and unkept streets of what was referred to as "Mudblood Town"? Though neither of the choices sounded more enjoyable than the other, she had no choice now - the agency had already branded her with a number and taken away her wand. With no wand, she'd lost all her ability to do magic, as had the rest of the half-blood population.
Sighing, Hermione took one last look at her tattered attire before stepping up to the door and knocking. As she waited for someone to answer the door, she fiddled with a tear in her dirty t-shirt. So much for making a good first impression, she thought sadly. Of course, by now, she'd gotten used to having less-than-acceptable clothing; nevertheless, it still would have been nice to wear something that consisted of more fabric than holes for once.
At last, the heavy, iron door creaked open and the ancient face of the butler appeared. He glared at Hermione suspiciously, and asked in a cracked voice, "What do you want?"
"I'm the new...the new employee for this family," she replied nervously.
He nodded, and stepped aside. The door opened a few inches wider. Hermione squeezed through. Immediately, she gasped at the sight that greeted her eyes.
It was unlike anything she had seen, or at least could remember. The walls were made of beautiful, mosaic designs. Characters in an ancient language were painted on the black ceiling in silver paint, and the light which shone from the giant crystal chandelier than hung in the center of the wide hallway reflected off of them. Two marble staircases curved upwards to the left and right of Hermione, and at the far end of the corridor were two double doors with silver, serpent-shaped handles.
As she gazed around in wonder, she heard someone descending the stairs. Immediately snapping out of her amazement, she turned around and bowed her head respectfully. When she looked up again, she felt her blood run cold.
Pansy Malfoy, once known as Pansy Parkinson, stood at the foot of the stairs, one hand primly resting on the polished stair rail and the other at her hip. Her dirty blonde hair was piled up on her head, adding at least 6 inches to her height, and makeup was heavily applied to her pale face.
"That will do, Bingley," she said in a high-pitched voice as she approached the two of them.
The butler bowed deeply, then retreated to a shadowy corner behind Hermione. Now, the two women were left facing each other.
"So you're the mudblood they sent us," Pansy mused as she circled Hermione, inspecting every inch of her. "You look familiar..."
Hermione barely registered what Pansy was saying; her entire body felt numb - she was working for the Malfoys. The family name which she had hated more than anything back during her school days, back during the war. Pansy's husband, Draco, had been a childhood enemy of hers.. Oh please, please, please don't recognize me, she silently prayed as Pansy continued to examine her.
"You'll do," Pansy suddenly said sharply. "Of course, you'll have to be fitted for another wardrobe. Those -" she gave a sniff of disgust as she briefly glanced at Hermione's grimy articles of clothing "- rags will have to be disposed off immediately."
"Yes ma'am," murmured Hermione. She was still trying to contain her dismay at having to work for the Malfoys. Stop it, she silently scolded herself. You're lucky enough to even have gotten a job. Poor Jeanne is still waiting... Forcing a smile onto her face, she asked, "When do I start?"
"Tomorrow. For now, go downstairs; your quarters have been arranged." Shooting one last disdainful look at Hermione's clothes, Pansy left in a cloud of expensive perfume.
"This way," croaked the butler immediately, roughly grabbing Hermione's arm and dragging her along after him as he made his way down the hallway. Near the end of it was a small, iron door; he opened this and led her down the staircase that appeared.
At the foot of the rotting, wooden staircase was a small, rectangular room. It was very unkept; old cobwebs had accumulated in the corners over time, and streaks of dirt ran across the stone floor. A simple bed lay in the center of the room, the sheets covered in a thick layer of dust. A tiny drawer sat against the far right wall, and a cracked mirror hung above it. It was obvious that no one had been in this room for a long period of time.
"I'm sleeping here?" exclaimed Hermione incredulously.
"Yes, and if you have a problem with it, I suggest you don't take it up with the master," sneered the old man. He gave a dry cackle, then left without another word.
Hermione now stood alone in the room. She carefully walked around, grimacing as grit and pebbles bit at the soles of her bare feet. "At least it's better than the previous one," she muttered, referring to the storage closet that had been her room in her last employer's house. "Yes, this place is definitely better than any I've stayed in before."
Sighing, she sat down heavily on the bed. She sneezed as clouds of dust immediately flew up to greet her. "Well maybe not that much better..."
As she lay down on the bed, Hermione closed her eyes. Another day, another job. Merlin, this life sucks, she thought. Four years of this hell. Bloody mudblood control laws... I wonder how different things would have been if Voldemort hadn't won. Hah, actually, don't even consider that, Hermione. You might be killed for being too happy or something. Hey, maybe being entitled to a life of service to purebloods isn't so bad. I mean, not all of them are horrible. Just about 99 of them... Gah, but they're the MALFOYS. If Draco recognizes me I think I'll just die. Yeah, that's what I'll do. But no, you can't do that. Stop acting like a little wimp, Granger. Malfoy never got the better of you back in Hogwarts and you can't let him now.
These jumbled thoughts rolled around in her mind as she buried her face in the lumpy pillow. She tried not to cry; after all, she'd already done her share of crying over the past few years, and there weren't any more tears left in her. Eventually, she fell asleep out of pure exhaustion.
When Hermione woke up, the uneasy feeling of someone else being in the room came to her at once. Struggling into a sitting position, she nearly shrieked out loud when she saw a tall figure with pale blonde hair standing at the foot of her bed. Her heart pounded fiercely when she realized who it was - Draco Malfoy.
"So you're our new servant girl," he remarked as he raised an eyebrow at Hermione. His steely grey eyes ran back and forth across her body, and she resisted the urge to pull her thin covers over her. The way he was scrutinizing her made her feel as if she were lying naked before him.
"Yes," she replied stiffly.
His eyes widened slightly. "I recognize that voice..." he carefully said as his gaze intensified.
Oh shit.
Draco suddenly laughed. "Granger? Is that you?"
She blushed fiercely and looked at the ground.
"Oh Merlin, this is good. Hermione Granger, Potter's little sex slave. I can't believe you're the mudblood they got to work for us."
She angrily mumbled something under her breath.
"What's that?" He took a step closer to her.
She bit her lip and refused to say anything.
He took another step towards her. "You'll speak when you're spoken to, Granger," he stated.
Before she could stop to think, she shot back, "Oh yeah? What are you going to do about it?"
His eyes flashed dangerously, and suddenly, he slapped her hard on the cheek. On instinct, her hand flew up to where he had hit her. She turned her eyes to him in surprise.
"That's what I'm going to do about it," he answered calmly. "Now, let me lay down the rules in this household for you, since no one obviously has yet. One: My wife and I, along with our two children, are the only ones that live here, besides our butler and maids. As the lowest step on the priority ladder, you will obey orders from everyone else. Two: Let me remind you that you're only a dirty little mudblood in a house owned by me. Here, you have no rights nor privileges. You'll refer to me as master, and nothing less. Three: I specifically asked for the agency to find me someone of your age, meaning while you're here -" he now stood directly before her, and as he said these words, he placed a finger underneath her chin and tilted her face up to look him in the eye "- you will do anything and everything I request of you. Do you understand?"
Hermione was having a hard time breathing being so close to him. At last, she whispered, "Yes."
"That's what I thought," he replied in a cool voice, stepping back. "Pansy will have more appropriate clothing brought to you by tomorrow. In the meantime, you may wander around the manor, but you may not go up to the third floor. Be at dinner no later than 6 o'clock sharp."
With that, he left the room. The door slammed after him.
Hermione was left sitting on her bed, her entire body shaking from her encounter with Draco. She numbly touched her cheek where he had slapped her, and found to her surprise that she was bleeding. Standing up, she walked over to the mirror. Looking into it, she was shocked at the reflection that greeted her - the 20-year old witch that gazed back at her was barely recognizable. Her mane of tangled brown hair was matted and dirty, and her face was gaunt and pale from lack of food and sleep. Her large brown eyes seemed even larger due to her protruding cheek bones, and they held a disturbing haunted look.
"I won't call him master," she whispered to herself. "I refuse to."
