Chapter 2

The Dementors were famed for making you 'feel like you'd never be happy again', but after a few weeks, Hermione found that they did far more than that. In fact, her mind would often taunt her with happy memories, just to tear through them with terrible ones. She would drown in the horrors of all that had happened, and sometimes even accuse herself of it all being her fault.

So when she woke one day with the forgotten feeling of lying on a mattress, she assumed that her mind was playing tricks on her again. Many times she'd woken up thinking she was at Hogwarts, the Burrow, Grimmauld Place, or even her old Muggle room. Perhaps her dreams were taking their cruelty one step further. She would surely open her eyes to find herself on the cold stone floor of her dank cell.

But when she finally convinced herself to open her eyes, she was surprised to learn she wasn't imagining the mattress. She wasn't even in the cell that she had occupied for the past few months.

The room was some type of cell, but presumably not one in Azkaban —her mind was clear of the Dementors' influence. The room didn't have any windows, besides a barred one at the heavy wooden door, and was lit by two magical torches.

But the most startling difference between her old cell and this new one was that this one had some sparse furnishings. The thin mattress where she lay was on a simple metal bed frame and beside it was a plain bedside table. Across the room were a wooden chair and a worn wardrobe.

She got off the bed and hesitantly tried the door. It was locked, which didn't really surprise her. She peered out the bars in the door, but besides a similar torch that lit the empty hallway, she saw nothing.

She was confused as to how she was here. Or more importantly, why she was here. She had a hard time putting thoughts together. While around the Dementors, it was impossible to think with much clarity, and her mind was still a little foggy.

Finding no answers to her questions, she decided to take a better inventory of her surroundings. She went back to the bed and lifted the mattress. Finding nothing besides some rusty bedsprings, she decided to move on to the freestanding wardrobe.

The wood of the wardrobe was old and warped so that its only door didn't fit in its frame properly. Her fingers grazed the handle, hesitant to open it. Could there be something dangerous in it? But curiosity got the better of her and she pulled the door open.

All she found was a single dress hanging limply and formlessly on the clothing rod. She opened the door farther, a little disappointed in her spoils, only to discover a mirror on the inside of the door. It was covered with a thin layer of grime, giving the reflection an even grimmer appearance. There was also a noticeable crack that ran diagonally down the center. But before she could angle the door to look at herself, she heard approaching footsteps and quickly shut the door.

When she turned around, her door was opening to reveal none other than Draco Malfoy. She stood frozen as a smirk slowly grew on his face. How could she have forgotten? He had come to her cell weeks ago, promising hell for her, but it had somehow gotten lost in her mind.

"Morning, Granger. You look surprised to see me."

She tried to put on a facet of bravery and wet her lips. "Well, you've always been a big talker, Malfoy, but with nothing to ever to back it up."

But his smirk didn't falter. He knew what she was trying to do, and it wasn't going to work on him. "You know, you talk rather big yourself, but it's not going to do you much good here… Because I'm the one in control, Granger, not you. You're quite at my disposal."

She swallowed but refused to alter her gaze. "And what exactly do you have in store for me?" she said quietly.

"Not much…for now," he added, pleased to see some fear on her face. "You remember me telling you of my plight to find a willing house-elf? Well, being that you are the one responsible for that, I decided that you will serve as a replacement for one —"

"I knew you were a less than mediocre wizard, Malfoy, but I'd think that even you could take care of yourself."

His lip curled menacingly. "That's something that a Mudblood like you will never understand, Granger, that a wizard of any social standing deserves to have something at his beck-and-call. It's not a matter of the capability to do things, so much as the principle of having something else do it for you."

Hermione ground her teeth at his blatant arrogance. But she couldn't let him win.

"So is this the manor of yours you always bragged about in school?" she asked, eager to change gears. "Because I have to say, you could use a decorator."

Malfoy laughed. "Actually, it's my own manor. Not as big, but still respectable. This is the dungeon, which is where you'll be staying."

He eyed the wardrobe behind her, thats door had not shut in her haste to close it. "So, I see you've already found your new uniform."

He moved near her and reached behind her, his body moving in closely to hers, but she refused to back away. This close* to her, she realized how much larger he was than her. The last she had seen of him, besides his visit in Azkaban, he had been just a skinny teenager. But now his shoulders had broadened and he had grown taller, and she realized that he had even more of an advantage over her than possession of a wand.

"Here," he said throwing the dress at her, "change into this." The 'uniform' was in the same style as most house elf clothes, this time a bedsheet fashioned into a basic frock. He walked back to the door, leaving it open. "But before you do, there's a washroom upstairs for you to bathe. 'Cause even for a Mudblood— you stink."

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