Title: Dangerous Games
Disclaimer: J.K. Rowling owns it all.
Author's Note: Thanks for the reviews everyone, they are much appreciated! Hope you like this chapter.
Chapter Three
"You will be as a lowly House Elf, helping them clean and cook and serve during dinner. Do not try to run away, do not snoop around the house, and do not try and contact any of your stupid friends. If you do any of these things, he will know, and you will be killed immediately without question. Once a week you will be honored by being placed in the presence of the Dark Lord, and a worthless little mudblood like yourself should be grateful for the opportunity. Each week he will question you, and each time you do not provide him with satisfactory information, you will be punished as he sees fit. Draco will be down shortly with your uniform and specific instructions of your duties."
Hermione stared up at Bellatrix Lestrange, who was towering over her outside the cell. Hermione figured she had been ordered to sit because she was two inches taller than the woman, who obviously preferred to look down to people. Bellatrix glared at Hermione for a few moments, hatred oozing from her every pore. Then without waiting for acknowledgement from Hermione that she understood, Bellatrix stomped off down the hall, and Hermione twirled her thumbs while waiting for Malfoy to come down. She couldn't explain it, but knowing she would be kept alive until she gave the Death Eaters information elevated her mood considerably. Voldemort apparently thought she would break eventually, and since she knew he regarded the information she possessed as highly valuable, she decided she had quite a bit of time left on Earth. However, she didn't understand why they didn't just give her Veritaserum, but shrugged it off as them liking to torture her. Perhaps when they finally got tired of it they would force her to drink some.
She heard footsteps and stood up, eager to be able to get out of her cell and walk around. Malfoy entered, his black cloak now gone. He held folded clothes in his arms, and when he reached her cell, he handed them to her through the bars. She accepted them almost graciously, also keen to get into some clean garments. The outfit was simple; a long black velvet skirt, a plain white, button-down shirt, and black shoes. She looked up at him expectantly. His eyes were off to the side, staring dully at the patch of light on the floor. He spoke in a monotonous voice.
"This is your uniform, and you are to wear it every time you leave your cell. You are to go into every room on the right side of the hallway at the top of stairs and clean it. You will find cleaning supplies in the first room; take them with you to every room after. Do not snoop around. When you are finished, snap your fingers, and a House Elf will appear to take you down to the kitchen, where you are to help prepare dinner."
He unlocked her door, then turned around and began walking away. Despite herself, Hermione could not say she was eager to run into any of the Death Eaters, especially Snape.
"Malfoy?" she began timidly, "who…who will be up there?"
He did not turn around as spoke, he continued walking down the hall, but she detected a softer tone, almost as if he felt sorry for her.
"No one. Everyone is out of the house now, even the Dark Lord, and only a few will return for dinner."
"Okay," she replied thankfully, relieved, but he was already up the stairs and didn't hear.
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After dressing, Hermione opened her cell door quietly and made her way into the dark hallway. Trying to escape didn't even cross her mind; she hated Voldemort, but she didn't underestimate his abilities as a powerful wizard, nor did she doubt what Bellatrix had said. It was eerily silent, and she hurried to the first door, wanting to get into a room quickly, lest Malfoy had been wrong and someone walked up. She closed the door behind her with a snap, turned around, and gasped audibly at what she saw.
The room before her was not very large; each wall was about 10 feet long and 10 feet tall. But each wall was a mirror. She looked around at all the Hermiones staring back at her, their eyes wide, and whipped around, because the door had disappeared. She pressed her hands where the door had once been frantically, and stumbled out into the hallway. Breathing heavily, her hand over her heart, she opened the door and went back in. The floor and ceiling were not mirrors, but looked as if below/above a piece of glass was some shining, silvery substance that appeared to be moving, like the contents of a Pensieve. It was a remarkably pretty, though incredibly intimidating room.
In the corner was a broom and a dustpan, a few rags, a stool, and a spray bottle of cleaning solution. Hermione set about sweeping the floor, then moved on to wash all the mirrors. When she was done, she carefully exited, trying her best to touch where the door was as little as possible so as not to leave fingerprints. She felt that an inadequate cleaning job would not be accepted kindly by the Death Eaters.
She moved on to the next room, which was not very tall, but was extremely long. It had stone flooring, and the only furniture was a long, dark mahogany table in the middle with about 30 chairs. There was nothing decorating the walls, no photographs or paintings, and no carpet to give it warmth. Despite its unimpressive aesthetics, the room had a very ominous feel; Hermione guessed that dark deeds were discussed and evil plans were made when the chairs were filled with black-hooded bodies.
The next two rooms were disappointingly normal bedrooms; no dark objects were inside of them, at least not on display, and the only extraordinary thing about them was their lavish decor. The first was decked out solely in blood red and gold coloring, which Hermione found odd, since it resembled Gryffindor. The hangings on the bed were velvet, while the sheets were pure silk. The pillows had gold fringe, as did the velvet curtains on the high windows, and the carpet on the floor. The other room was much more predictable; mostly dark green, with a few silver embellishments.
Then came the library, which Hermione had to admit, she was excited about visiting. She took her time dusting around the mantelpiece, peering interestedly at all the book titles. 1,001 ways to exact revenge, A Beginner's Guide to the Dark Arts, and Achieving Power by Rather Frowned upon Means were among the most notable ones. However, most intriguing was a small black book atop the fireplace that had no title and looked like a diary. Hermione itched to open it, her imagination on overdrive as she imagined it being a detailed account of the Death Eater's plans, but reason intervened and she decided against it. She finished cleaning, then, feeling rather foolish, snapped her fingers as quietly as she could.
Almost immediately a small House Elf appeared, wearing a battered pillowcase. It had an abnormally long, pointy nose (which was saying something, since it was a House Elf), and startlingly blue eyes. Hermione had never seen a House Elf with blue eyes. It looked up at her shyly and curtsied, making her realize it was a girl.
"Hello, Miss," she began bashfully, placing her hands behind her back and dragging one of her toes on the ground around in a circle. "I've been ordered to take you down to the kitchens and make sure you help prepare the meal. I'm terribly sorry."
Hermione smiled at the small elf, and figured it must be quite young.
"It's fine, I'm happy to do it. Anything to be out! My name is Hermione, what's yours?"
The elf looked positively alarmed that Hermione was being so kind.
"You don't need to do that, Miss. Just follow me down to the kitchen."
The elf turned promptly and walked out the door, down the long hallway, and went out a door on the left side. Feeling rather confused, Hermione was surprised that it walked so briskly, and hurried to catch up.
The room they entered was small and dingy, with wooden shelves as the only furniture, which were filled with cleaning supplies. It was then that it struck Hermione that this part of the house must be devoted to servant's quarters and rarely used rooms. A short flight of stairs was off to the right, and the small elf ran down them. Hermione followed, then covered her eyes as she was hit with a powerful smell of onions and copious amounts of steam.
The kitchen was rather expansive, though only a quarter of it seemed to be employed. Its size must have been to accommodate for the numerous parties that were thrown. Death Eater functions, more like, she thought to herself disdainfully.
About six other House Elves were in the kitchen, all busy with pots and pans, putting things in an oven, taking them out, and stirring ingredients together in a large mixing bowl. She was told reluctantly to peel potatoes by the girl elf, so she situated herself on a stool by a steel countertop and reached out for a potato peeler enthusiastically; she had never hated chores at home, but had never been so ready to be doing something as long as it wasn't sitting around in her cell. As she thought of home, her heart suddenly ached terribly, and she bit her lip and resolutely began to peel.
Hermione spent a good thirty minutes trying to get the elf to give her name; she kept saying Hermione had no need to be bothered with such petty things, seeing as how Hermione was above her. This enraged Hermione, because the House Elves there had obviously been brainwashed, but she finally coaxed it out of her (Missy). She kept trying to make conversation, but Missy seemed completely petrified that she was treating her as an equal, so after a few minutes she stopped, and contented herself with humming as she chopped up various vegetables.
Being around all the food made Hermione's stomach growl loudly, and since the Elves had not been instructed to not feed her, they joyously handed her all kinds of food. Hermione accepted everything with only a slight twinge of guilt at being served so fervently, and even placed a few things in a hidden pocket she had found inside her skirt.
With dinner ready, six of the House Elves including Missy lined up, five who held golden plates laden with food, and one holding two bottles of elfish-made wine. "Now," Missy whispered as they began walking up a stairway at the far end of the kitchen, "since it's your first night you're only expected to stand and watch, and learn all the different signals and how things are done. Then tomorrow night will be your first night of actual service." Missy abruptly stopped talking as they entered the dining room, and Hermione felt grateful that she could stand surreptitiously in a corner. Hopefully, whoever was eating would soon forget that she was there, and would not harass her too long
All of her least favorite people in the world were situated at the table, excluding Voldemort and Umbridge, although her hate for one was slowly evaporating, even though she didn't notice it yet. Lucius was seated at the head of the table, which looked almost identical to the one in the Conspiracy Room (as she had dubbed the ominous room), except only half as long. On his right side was Narcissa, who looked unusually diminished, and beside her Snape, who was talking to her husband. Malfoy was on Lucius's left, staring straight ahead blankly, and Bellatrix sat beside him. She was glaring straight at Hermione, looking incredibly smug.
"Well," she drawled, "if it isn't the little mudblood who's come out to play. Finally in your place, are you? Serving your superiors?"
"Actually, Madam," began Missy, "she won't be serving you tonight-"
"Quiet!" yelled Bellatrix, sneering at the small elf. Missy squeaked with fright, almost dropping her plate. "Did anyone give you permission to speak?!"
Missy's eyes filled up with tears as she put her plate in front of Snape, then backed up behind him, her head bowed and her lower lip trembling. Hermione was almost overcome with the urge to slap Bellatrix across the face, but she folded her hands behind her back and dug her nails into her skin until the desire passed.
Fortunately, daunting the elf had satisfied Bellatrix's need to put down others for the time being, and she turned toward Malfoy with an almost pleasant look on her face.
"So, Drakey, are you thinking about asking this Parkinson girl to marry you? She comes from a respectable, pureblood family, and you know your father asked your mother to marry him during their seventh year at Hogwarts. Celia Nott tells me she's a charming girl, you better snatch her up before her Theo does!"
Hermione had to bite back a laugh, not wishing to draw attention to herself. Bellatrix's tone is almost…motherly. Apparently she has a soft spot for…Drakey.
"Pansy isn't a serious girlfriend, Aunt Bella. I doubt I'll ask her to marry me. I don't plan on getting married anytime soon anyway."
Malfoy's tone was dead, completely devoid of feeling. It unnerved Hermione. It was unnatural for someone to be that detached.
"You'd be better off marrying Pansy now like Bella says; girls worthy of having the name Malfoy are few, and even fewer will be the number of ones who will actually accept your hand, what with your complete failure at achieving even the simplest of tasks the Dark Lord assigns you." Lucius Malfoy cut into his steak forcefully, throwing his son distasteful glares as he spoke. Narcissa kept silent, her hand shaking as she reached for her wine.
Malfoy said nothing as he reached for the salt and pepper to put on his mashed potatoes.
"Your father is right, Draco," Snape interjected after setting down his glass. "Millicent Bulstrode came from a decent enough family, but Pansy is much easier to look at."
Lucius Malfoy grinned at Snape appreciatively, and Hermione was revolted by their utter chauvinism.
"Then there are the Hermione Grangers of the world," said Snape silkily as he turned toward her, and Hermione saw Bellatrix's eyes light up with excitement. "Tolerable enough, at first glance. But once you learn she is a mudblood, you are barely able to even look at her."
Hermione had to bite her tongue and dig her nails into her hand to keep from lashing out this time.
The rest of dinner continued in a similar manner; Bellatrix doting on Malfoy, his father demeaning him, Narcissa remaining quiet (although her face became increasingly redder with each glass of wine she consumed), Snape agreeing with his father, and either Bellatrix, Lucius, or Snape insulting her. She could have easily tuned them out and ignored their comments, but her lack of human interaction made her desperate for anything, and she listened intently to everything they said to one another (so by the time they got around to insulting her, she couldn't tune them out). By the end of dinner, the skin on her hand was broken in several places, and was even bleeding in a few.
The House Elves all stepped forward to retrieve the dirty dishes from the table once everyone was finished eating, then they formed a line and scuffled out, back down to the kitchen. Missy motioned for Hermione to follow her down, and Hermione slowly slipped out of her corner and walked swiftly across the room. As she approached the stairs, however, Lucius and Snape's conversation caused her to slow down.
"I don't know what I'm going to do about Draco, Severus. The Dark Lord is very displeased with him, and I have to admit, I agree with his punishment completely. His behavior lately has not been very pleasing, and I too see him as little more than a servant."
"Well, he doesn't seem as eager as the rest of the children to begin his duties as a Death Eater. Both Crabbe and Goyle have already killed two people, and it is my belief that both of their heads hold little more than air. Draco could not even muster up the conviction to kill Dumbledore, whom everyone else would have gladly gotten rid of; I had to do that for him."
Hermione looked back over her shoulder. Narcissa and Bellatrix had already left the room, and Snape had moved over to take Narcissa's seat. Malfoy was sitting in his chair, his shoulders slumped, and Hermione saw the first emotion on his face since she had been there. He looked like a person so completely defeated and broken that he had lost all hope. It disgusted her that his own father and Snape would talk about him so bluntly in front of him, like he wasn't even there. As if he sensed her watching him, Malfoy looked up sharply. She quickly looked away and hurried down the stairs, but even from the kitchen she could hear his chair scrape against the stone as he stood up and exited the room.
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Author's Note: Only one thing to say: review, review, review!