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Au/N: Thanks to my reviewers. I lush you. Like, so, so much. Beta: Unbeautifully-Broken.
Chapter Three. A Nice, Quiet Dinner
Hermione Granger
Draco Malfoy had never prepared a meal in his life. He was actually attempting to cook something, and he burned the water that was boiling on the stove. I know he didn't screw it up on purpose, because I threatened him with my new little white box of pain. But, when the carrots in the water turned to pure mush, I had to take over. I decided that, since it was his first day, it would be his first—and only—break.
I did, however, force him to watch me use the oven and the non-stick cooking spray, so that the next time he had to use them, he wouldn't overdo it. He seemed very interested at how hot the oven would get, and I promised him I'd let him test it one day.
"You can get inside with a thermometer, and I'll turn it up full-blast until it breaks…or until you die—whichever happens first," I'd said, and was quite proud of myself. Then, I'd brought out a frying pan and put it on the stove. The mixture of butter and olive oil inside popped once, loudly, and it frightened me so much that I jumped back. My body collided with Malfoy's, who had been hovering dangerously close to me. To my surprise, he caught me and held me against him a fraction of a second longer than I thought he should. But he did let me go as soon as he felt me tense against him, and I saw him wipe his hands off out of the corner of my eye.
When dinner was ready, I called Harry and Ron down to the small dining room. Harry had obviously been informed about Malfoy's presence by Ron, because when he saw my new slave, he was not a bit shocked; on the contrary, he was ecstatically grinning from ear to ear.
I told Draco to fill the plates, and he did so, one at a time. Harry nodded as politely as he could when it was his turn, but it was still a stiff, cold gesture. Ron gave Draco a dirty look, but Draco overlooked it and eventually sat down in the last chair at the table.
"What's he doing?" Ron asked me, as though Draco wasn't in the room. I looked over to Draco, who was sitting quietly and filling his plate with spaghetti, meatballs, and toasted bread.
"It looks like he's eating, Ronald. Something you're very familiar with…" I grimaced, remembering his last experiment with cheese.
"But aren't servants supposed to eat…you know…with the dogs?" Ron asked sweetly, placing special emphasis on the word 'servants'.
Before I could reach for my wand, Draco had jumped up and grabbed Ron's neck, squeezing it tightly. Apparently, the enchantment that kept him from touching me in anger did not apply to Ron…but hopefully, since Harry was injured, it did apply to him.
I reached into my pocket and gripped the small, white box in my fist. I jerked it out and pressed the red button, my heart pumping madly in my chest. Draco had been doing well; he'd been calm, docile, and quiet ever since going upstairs for his shower hours ago. His silence was probably due to the fact that he couldn't figure out how the hell I'd been able to resist his advances. But out of the blue, he'd turned into a dangerous, vengeful, frightening man…the man I most definitely was afraid of.
Draco howled in pain as some unseen force caused him great anguish. He tore at his neck again, and when the attack died away, more scratches were left on his skin. He shook his head and glared down at his plate, serene and normal-looking once again. Strangely, it was not him that I was angry with.
"Ron…" I said through gritted teeth. Ron looked over at me with a broad grin on his face, obviously expecting me to thank him. However, when he saw my expression, his pride shattered into fear for his life. "As long as he obeys the rules, I expect you to do the very same. If he steps out of line, then you have my permission to say whatever you wish to him. But then, and only then, is it acceptable. Do I make myself clear, Ronald?"
His jaw dropped as though I'd slapped him; he looked as though he was going to speak, but then he seemed to think better of it. He closed his mouth, nodded, turned his gaze to his plate, and began engulfing his food. Harry looked at me with wide eyes and raised eyebrows. Clearly, he thought I'd gone mad. But as I turned to look at Draco, I saw an expression very much like Harry's. He was surprised that I'd defended him. Come to think of it, so was I.
Then, only a few minutes later, Harry dropped a meatball on the floor, and a terrible thing happened. He seemed to momentarily forget his condition, even as Ron began to reach down to pick up the scrap for him. As Harry bent down, I saw his face contort horribly. He froze, pain and shock filling his eyes. Draco turned to look at him, and within seconds, his curiosity turned to complete and smug satisfaction.
"Well, well, well. It seems the 'boy who lucked out' has the worst battle scars of us all. So tell me, Harry, how it feels…to be crippled?" Draco asked evilly, his words dripping with icy cruelty. Harry was trying to straighten up; he grabbed onto the corner of the table and carefully straightened his back, so that the scar running across his abdomen wasn't stretched too quickly. A few moments later, he was breathing normally; he wiped away tears from his eyes.
Ron and I stared, horrified, at Malfoy. He'd just insulted my best friend, called him a cripple, humiliated him…and, in the end, it was my fault that he'd done it, because since I'd defended him, he thought I'd always be on his side. Well, that was where he was utterly wrong.
"Malfoy. Up. Now," I demanded, rising from the table. He looked at me strangely, but stood anyway. Ron and Harry looked at me just as curiously, but they seemed to understand that this time, I would not come to the ferret's rescue. "Come with me," I said as compellingly as I thought possible.
I left the room and began to walk to the living room, but I realized there was no dividing wall between the living room and the dining room, so Ron and Harry would still hear our conversation. So, I changed my mind and headed up the stairs. It would be much more effective if I could corner him in a room with a door. Heading up to the spare bedroom that was now Draco's, I turned only once to make sure he followed me. He did…closely, I noticed.
"My room? What's wrong with yours? I'm sure your bed's bigger…" he said suggestively as I ushered him inside and closed the door behind us.
"Like I'd ever take you into my bedroom, Malfoy," I said, my anger boiling inside me. "I need to talk to you. Now. And we won't have any interruptions this time."
"That's good. I don't like interruptions. Messes with the flow of…things…you know?" He said, sitting down and relaxing on the bed.
I rolled my eyes and crossed the room so that I was standing directly in front of his bed. He had no choice but to look at me. Once he saw the way I was standing, with my arms crossed and a scowl firmly set in place, he sighed, realizing he wasn't going to get me into his bed yet again.
"Well, get on with it, Granger. I haven't got all day, you know," he said, waving his hand unenthusiastically at me.
"You…you…ungrateful little bastard! I've brought you…into my home…I've given you clothes and your own room…you've barely even worked at all…and you make fun of my friends like you're some kind of almighty God! Yes, Harry is…different…"
"…crippled?" he offered, beaming.
"Well…yes…but you have absolutely no right whatsoever to ridicule him in such a cruel, evil manner! Just who do you think you are?" I demanded; the volume of my voice was slowly rising and becoming more high-pitched. I stomped my foot in my anger and clenched my fists to keep from hitting him. He looked at me, amused, and stood, crossing the room to me. I didn't like the fact that I had to look up to see his face when he approached me; it made me seem smaller and less frightening. He looked down at me with penetrating black eyes, as smug and conceited as ever.
"Who am I? You mean you don't know who I am? I'm the man all over the Daily Prophet. I'm the man who gave the orders to have thousands of people killed. I'm the man who had…has…so much power that even the Dark Lord himself couldn't defeat me. And now, I'm the man who's living with a worthless, know-it-all Mudblood, in this pathetic little house that she can't leave, because it's the last thing she has left of her dead parents." As he spoke, he inched closer and closer to me until his lower body was pressed against mine. He'd also backed me farther towards the wall, until my back pressed into it so hard that it began to ache. But moving was nearly impossible.
His words hurt me because I knew they were true. I couldn't leave the house because I'd grown up there, and my mother and father had loved it. To leave it would be to admit their defeat, their death. I simply could not do it. But I would not give in to the man who'd killed them. I would sooner eat cheese-covered shrimp and dance naked while Dobby the house elf squirted ketchup on me.
"That…may be true. But in case you haven't noticed," I said, pushing up against him and thinking I felt a certain hardness in him where I shouldn't have, "you are my slave. You take orders from me now. And if you thought the Dark Lord was someone to be afraid of, then you'd do best to back out of this 'deal' now and go back to Azkaban, because I can assure you that I can be a hell of a lot worse than Voldemort ever was."
I got my point across. Or, at least, I think I did. It was hard to tell, because I'd no sooner gotten the words out of my mouth when Malfoy's lips crashed into mine again.
End Chapter
Cliffhanger!
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