Chapter One

She is but a Mudblood

For the first four years of her life, Hermione Malfoy lived in the cellar of the Manor, the houselves tending to her, becoming her first friends, her truest family as her parents wanted little to do with her and her brother Draco taunted and pushed her, making her cry. She particularly grew close with Dobby, who she worked with most. She wore the same clothes as him, her hair dirty and tangled around her face, but she suffered less than him and that made her sad.

The years passed that way, serving meals and cleaning under the cloak of darkness until one special day. It was a day that would change the course of her life forever. Draco had a spoiled fit, his temper bursting and causing a valuable vase to shatter. Their father had sent him to his room without dinner.

Hermione had little care for him. He was mean to her, but seeing his tears as he ran upstairs, she felt compassion. She rushed to the kitchen where her friends were preparing dinner, and she sloppily made a peanut butter sandwich and poured a glass of milk.

"Miss Hermione should be careful."

"I will, Dobby," she promised.

Draco though sneered at her when her bare feet touched his plush carpet, bellowing for her to get out, but once he saw the tray he allowed her inside.

"You were not ordered to do this," he told her as if she did not possess the smarts to know that.

"I know," she told him.

There was a dawning in his eyes, and it occurred to him then that she had a mind of her own, and what she did for him she did out of kindness.

Their father had spotted them minutes later, sitting on his bed, sharing the food and he began to yell, horrified at what he witnessed. By her arm he dragged Hermione off the bed and she hit the floor roughly, bruising her knees, but he jerked her to her feet, unconcerned with any possible injuries. He pushed her out, but it was too late for what he tried to stop.

In the night, Draco had tip-toed out of his room. When he felt the coldness of the cellar he went back to his room to get a blanket, and when he arrived he gave it to her, sitting beside her.

"Are you hurt," he asked.

"Yes." She raised up her brown cloth and showed him a darkening bruise on her knee.

"You turned my ears red once. Can't you heal that?"

She shook her head, even more saddened at the memory of her first transgression. She was punished horrible for doing to that Draco, even if she didn't mean to, even if he had pushed her into the mud.

"No..." It was not for lack of trying, but as hard as she tried to concentrate, she was frazzled. How long would the punishment continue? It was apparent that their father wouldn't want to see her face around for a while, not want a reminder of what he brought into the world.

Draco frowned, and touched it. The skin stretched, the redness faded, and the wound disappeared under his fingertips as though it had never been there. Magic.

"Draco! You did it! You did magic!"

He beamed gallantly, looking at his fingertips as if they were made of gold.
She returned his smile, but it soon slipped as she saw how the light from the doorway lit his hair like a halo. "Why do I look different from you," she asked, a question she desperately been wanting answers for.

"I don't know..."

"They hate me for it..."

"I don't hate you." He tenderly wiped a tear from her cheek. "Not anymore. I'd be starving right now if you didn't feed me."

Months later, Lord Voldemort had ordered to meet with Hermione in her father's dark study. Hermione stayed as far back as her father and mother would allow, afraid of the pallid man that resembled a snake. She hid slightly behind her father's leg, though she didn't touch him. Her father didn't like to be touched.

"You are Hermione Malfoy," Voldemort addressed her.

She nodded. She wanted to know why she was there, who that man was, and why she was being spoken to. Yet, she knew better than to ask questions. A hope for the Wizarding school she heard about grew inside of her. Maybe it was then that she would be allowed to ask questions, and even answer some herself. She could have more friends...

"Speak, child."

"Yes, sir. I'm Hermione Malfoy."

He frowned. "Dear Lucius, why is the girl wearing a cloth fit for a houself?"

"She works in the kitchens with them, Lord."

"No. That will not do. I ordered you to treat her as you would a daughter, Lucius. Not as a servant. She is of great importance to us."

"But, Lord, she is but a mudblood."

It was a word she didn't recognize, and knowing she would never get an answer, she let it pass.

Lord Voldemort raised his arm, aiming a gnarled wand at her father, and Hermione became horrified. Surely, he wouldn't - he wouldn't curse her father?

"I warned you, Lucius. I have warned you for the last time."

"NO!" Hermione ran forward and placed herself in front of her father. "No, please. Don't. Please."

Lord Voldemort was intrigued, cocking his head to the side at her. He lowered his arm, and smiled, as if some experiment he had been conducting turned out better than planned.

"Please don't hurt him," she cried.

Her father was stunned. He didn't touch her, but froze in silence at the actions of the little girl he treated so terribly.

"Why do you protect this man?"

"He's my father," she answered so softly it was a breath.

"He has been cruel to you, and you are ready to accept his fate?"

She flinched, she didn't want to, she didn't want him to see it, but she couldn't help but ponder what the curse he was going to use on her. Through her cotton-mouth, she spoke, more childlike and innocent than before. "Yes, sir."

He raised his wand at the girl.

Narcissa gasped. It was low and nearly inaudible but she moved forward to pick up her daughter, but Lucius had grabbed Hermione's arms and wrenched her behind his legs. For the first time, despite the dirty cloth she wore and the dirt under her nails, her mother held her close, tears fresh in her eyes, Lucius looking everywhere but at the wand now aiming at him.

"Take your family out of here, Lucius, and be glad. If she did not come to your defense, you would be dead, but heed my orders to treat her as your child. I am unhappy with what I saw."

"Yes, my Lord."

It was that day that things changed. Hermione's mother ordered for a room to be decorated for a princess, and she ordered Dobby to be Hermione's personal assistant. Hermione was most delighted by that. It would save Dobby from being hit so often from her father's snake cane. She could protect him.

Her mother came for her in the cellar and brought her up to the second floor, across from Draco's room. Hermione's eyes hurt, not used to such brightness. There were plenty of windows that stretched across the large space, allowing the sunshine to pour in. There were pink comforters and stuffed animals, and stars that glittered realistically on the ceiling.

"Do you like it, sweetheart?"

"It's pretty," she said, possibly more shocked than her father was earlier that day. "Why am I not in the cellar anymore?"

Her mother knelt to her eye-level. "You saved your father's life, you know that?"

She wondered if Draco had done something to earn his place, but she did not dare ask. Questions, they made her parents angry.

"You did," her father said, walking into the room. For the first time, he looked kindly on her. There was a debt there, a clicking in his head, that he had to do what he must, and that girl proved to be far worthier than many purebloods he had met. How many of them would have stood in front of him, had begged for his life?

Hermione nodded, although she was confused at why the snake-man was threatening him. She didn't know what it was about, but she knew better than to ask. She wouldn't receive any answers from them.

"You do love us, don't you, Hermione," her mother questioned, apparently still stunned by the fact.

She nodded again.

"I promise you that things will better from now on. Do you accept our apologies?"

"Of course, mother."

Her mother gathered her in her arms, and hugged her tight. "My daughter..."