A/N Those of you who are reading and perhaps even enjoying this fic may thank my temporary bout of insomnia for the extra chapter today and the fact that I am posting this story at all instead of waiting until next August to begin.

Edit: To answer my dear Guest reviewer, yes all those working in the house are mates. It isn't how I originally planned it but it is how it worked out.

Chapter Four: Learning the ropes - Part III

"I shall fill you in on the rest over the course of our meal and for the time that I can spare after." With that she turned once again on her heel and briskly began walking once more, Hermione trailing after.

Even the mates wing was relatively large, although far less extravagant than the rest of the mansion. As such it took the two close to quarter of an hour to reach their destination. Along the way Hermione observed many other of the so called Veela 'mates,' this prompted her now active mind to question whether it was synonymous with servants. There was a clear hierarchy, marked by their attire although she had yet to learn what factors influenced the rankings.

I suppose that is something to think over tonight. Her thoughts were halted there when once again the two came to a stop. This time in a kitchen more than twice the size of the house in which she grew up. She couldn't bring herself to think of it as a home. Already this place was beginning to feel like it despite the lack of enthusiasm of the Veela. Which begs the question, what the bloody hell ARE Veela? Once again she began to work up the courage to ask Adrienne- no, Chauvin - a question and once again she stopped short.

This time it was due to the fact that before her dishes were scrubbing themselves. Her curiosity peaked at this strange sight. Although Hermione had been reading from a young age they were often factual books donated to the orphanage or religious texts that the nuns had loaned her. She had never heard tell of magic. On the adjoining counter sat a chopping board and knife carving a large cooked bird. While she was taking in these new developments, Chauvin had tapped another woman on the shoulder.

She turned to face her with a scowl blowing a strand of hair from her face and continued whisking the egg whites for the meringues. Upon discovering that it was Chauvin her scowl faded replaced by a furrowed brow after she rolled her eyes. "Yes? What is it?"

Chauvin cast her gaze around for the girl before she found her, "Hermione, come." Swivelling around Hermione made her way over. "Meet Marcel Ducat. Of course you are to address her as Ducat."

At this Ducat cocked a brow. It was common knowledge in the Delacour residence that mates were only allowed to call others by their surname. Ducat's expression softened seeing the girl attempting to decipher her surprise. She wondered who the poor child was fated to be mated with. As it was it was clear that Hermione was not the girl's surname having seen Shakespeare as a child. She sent a look at Chauvin clearly indicating that she would later be grilled for an explanation. After she received a subtle nod of acquiescence, she returned her attention to the child. Having finished with the sugar she silently summoned the vanilla adding it to the mix before continuing to whisk.

She allowed herself to run her eyes over the child properly, surprised at the clear markings on her face and the ginger way she held herself. Ducat gave a terse nod. "Hello." She would be lying if she told the girl she was happy to meet her. She couldn't bring herself to be happy for anyone who landed in this situation let alone a babe who had already experienced too much of a hard world if her appearance was any indication.

Once more her gaze landed back on Chauvin. "What has happened? What is it you need?" Chauvin had the decency to look uncomfortable even as she drew herself up to her full height. "The girl," came the reply, "I require your assistance in speeding up your recovery." Ducat was beginning to understand. "Take a seat child, I will see to you once the meringues are in the oven."

Despite the fact that she could easily have spelled it there, she took the opportunity to breathe, to compose herself. She gave herself more time by washing her hands and drying them on a rag.

Hermione watched this woman, who like herself was not wearing shoes, or socks for that matter. She spotted a mark on the back of her thigh but before she could identify it she found herself caught.

Ducat was puzzled as to why the girl was looking at her so quizzically. Then it dawned on her. She glared accusingly at Chauvin who merely raised her chin in false bravado. She had not yet learned why she was there. Not truly. Internally Ducat was horrified that she had been lead into this blind, externally she displayed only frustration and exasperation. She knelt before Hermione, placing work roughened hands on her wounds while reciting healing spells. Even though she had ignored it the woman's worry only became exacerbated when Hermione flinched. She continued anyway.

When she was finished she rocked back on her heels and stood. "Are you feeling any better child?" She asked this gently so as not to startle her. A thoughtful look graced her features as the child nodded, "Thank you Ducat." A genuine smile curled one corner of her lips before she turned once more to Chauvin sending her a terse nod. "If that is all," with that she turned on her heel and returned to her cooking, trying not to give too much thought to the girl. She sensed that her life would be harder than most and wondered what it was she had experienced when she touched her. For a second her pupils had dilated and taken on an orange hue only to return back to their original size and colour a split second later. She wondered whether she had imagined it. Not my business, not my place, she reasoned, shaking her head to clear it of her thoughts. If she returned to her work more zealously with the intention of forgetting, no one noticed. Or if they did, none commented.

...

Chauvin once more led Hermione from the kitchen back almost the whole way out of the wing they were currently in silently. She preceded the girl into the small chamber closing the door firmly behind her once she had entered. The room was occupied only by a simple bed. Although she was not yet old enough to know the significance of the sparse furnishing or the single room, she felt a pang of guilt in her heart knowing what was to come in the years that followed. "This is to be your room, you are to remain here until I retrieve you in the morning."

Hermione nodded her understanding as her mentor left. She lay back with the intention of sorting through the day in mind however she couldn't think for tiredness and discomfort. Not only was the bed far more than she was used to, her stomach protested at the lack of even the meagre portions of food it usually received. It seemed that in all the tension between Ducat and Chauvin, the promise of a meal had been forgotten. Shrugging it off, having gone longer without sustenance, Hermione slipped onto the floor taking the blanket with her. She curled up beneath it, with the knowledge that tomorrow things would be made clear, she never realised that she had fallen asleep.