Chapter 4

Dressing Up

March 1998

HPOV

She was in a semiconscious state, calmed by a velvety voice muttering several spells. Slowly her consciousness drifted away. She almost fell asleep, when suddenly a stabbing pain erupted from her arm. She cried out in pain and jerked away from the greasy haired Potions Master.

"Easy now!" the baritone voice soothed. A callused and slender hand held a vial to her lips. She regarded its purple content with deep distrust and closed her lips into a thin line.

"Your right upper arm bone was broken and dislocated. I had to mend it magically, otherwise it would misalign, hence the sharp and stabbing pain," the lecturing voice of the Potions Professor droned.

Hermione stubbornly kept her mouth shut and turned her head away.

"By Salazar, I'm not going to poison you, though the world would probably be a better place with one less Gryffindor. It's just a harmless Sleeping Draught. And I'll probably do a much better job healing you, if you lie still instead of squirming around."

"Why are you doing this?" she croaked.

"Healing you, you mean? I just follow orders from a higher place. It appears that He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named wants you alive."

A small part of her brain found it somewhat disturbing that the Dark Lord wanted to keep her alive for some purpose, but she was too exhausted to dwell on it. She was way too weak to fight right now. Obediently she parted her lips and swallowed the purple honeyed content in three large gulps. Shortly after her body felt warm and comfortable and her eyelids began to droop. In less than five minutes she was out like a light.

(*)

Later she woke up by a persistent ray of light from the window opposite the bed. She blinked at the harsh morning light, expecting to see a lake of fire with naked, deform bodies. Instead she gazed at a daylit room with light walls and large casement windows. She lay in a soft four poster bed with white linen, scented with lavender. Along the opposite wall was a dark wooded dressing table and on the wall above the dressing table was a magical picture of a stately Manor surrounded by a baroque garden with a fountain in the middle. Along the other wall stood an antique bookcase, also in dark wood, and carved with snakes biting each other's tails. From her bed she noticed two doors leading out of the room.

She wondered where she was. She remembered little from the last couple of days, only an intense, burning pain, an evil laughter and a lake of fire. She gazed at her own body and noticed she was dressed in a white nightgown in a light material, probably silk. The gown was not her usual style, somebody must have dressed her. She grimaced as she remembered that Professor Snape had tended to her earlier.

She noticed a slight burning from her arm and inspected it. Ugh, it was a horrible sight to behold. Someone had carved the word MUDBLOOD in large, clumsy letters. The scar was probably cursed and she feared it would heal badly. A lone tear trailed down her cheek as she realized that she would probably carry this hideous disfigurement for the rest of her life.

My wand, where is it! She ransacked the bed and the night table, and afterwards the room. As expected, the wand was nowhere to be found. But instead she found a splendid bathroom behind one of the doors. The other door was locked.

Slowly she recalled the events from the last couple of days. She had arrived at the Manor together with Harry and Ron. A group of snatchers had caught them shortly after Harry forgot about the taboo and spoke The Dark Lord's real name out loud. After Bellatrix' horrible torture in the cellar she somehow ended up here in this tasteful room. Something was not quite right about that.

While she pondered her situation, the door opened, and a house-elf entered, a bright smile plastered on its face.

"Welcome to the Malfoy Manor, Milady. My name's Blinky and I'm at your service. If you need anything, don't hesitate to ask."

"I need my wand," was the dry reply.

The elf laughed nervously with a high-pitched sound. "My apologies, Milady, I can't help you get your wand. But if you wish to enjoy a splendid brunch, I'll bring you one immediately."

Hermione gave a small nod and the little creature left, beaming with joy.

Shortly after he reappeared, carrying a tray containing all kinds of delicious food. Hermione was delighted to see traditional English breakfast with bacon and egg. Furthermore, there was Greek Yoghurt with honey, pancakes with syrup and blueberries, and lots of freshly cut fruit. She suddenly felt hungry, which was probably an aftereffect from the extensive healing the night before, and she ate until she was entirely stuffed and could not swallow another single bite.

After the formidable brunch, she spent the next couple of hours being bored out of her brains. Television was not to be found in any pure blood wizarding homes, and even though the bookcase contained several books, they were all about pureblood policies and pseudoscientific writings about pureblood ideas with titles such as "Pure Blood, Pure Soul," or "Pure Blood Supremacy," and "The Day I Realized the Importance of being Pure – a testimonial". Hermione was convinced that someone wanted to remind her of her unworthy blood status. To distract herself and to suppress the disturbing memories of her encounter with Bellatrix last night, she started counting things. She counted the trees and bushes in the garden, she counted the planks of wood-flooring and the knots. When she was about to count the knots once more, just to be sure she had the right number, someone knocked the door hesitantly.

The person knocking on the door waited a moment for a reply, that never came. Given that she was held here against her will, Hermione would not try to pretend otherwise. If someone wished to see her, she was in no position of stopping them anyway.

Thus, the door was opened after a little while, and an elegant, blond lady entered. She was dressed in a chic black jumpsuit and her hair was held together in a loose French braid. Hermione recognized her immediately from platform 9 ¾, it was of course the Malfoy matriarch, Narcissa Malfoy.

It was easy to discern the blood ties between the two Black sisters despite the difference in colours. They both shared a superior and haughty attitude. But while Bellatrix had a dark and fanatical glow about her, Narcissa was more like a cold and distant snow queen. Today, however, she looked unusually frail. Her complexion was ashen and her eyes puffy and red, as if she had been crying.

"Miss Granger?" she asked hesitantly.

Hermione nodded in consent.

"Welcome to the Malfoy Manor," she greeted Hermione in a dull voice, blinking away tears. "I'm going to help you get dressed for tonight. Do take a bath and make sure you use plenty of soap. You smell of dirt and mildew from the basement."

The last comment was followed by the trademark Malfoy wrinkling of the nose, which Hermione had seen Draco perform ever so often at Hogwarts.

"I'm waiting for you in here until you're done."

Hermione wrinkled her brow suspiciously. "Why are you suddenly so interested in my hygiene? Yesterday I was tortured most viciously by your sister in the dungeons," she said, closing her eyes, trying to force the violent memories away.

The Malfoy matriarch sighed, her gaze hollow. "When the time is ripe, you'll get to know everything."

The frilly haired witch raised her chin, meeting Narcissa's eyes defiantly. "The Order of the Phoenix knows you keep me hostage, and I assure you they will do everything in their power to deliver me from here. And when I'm freed, all the people who has tortured me and kept me in prison will be prosecuted and brought to justice, as soon as the Ministry and Azkaban reopen."

Narcissa shrugged and mumbled something like "we're doomed anyway, one way or the other".

Realizing she would not get any answers from the Malfoy matriarch anytime soon, Hermione marched to the bathroom and slammed the door shut behind her. She undressed and entered an old-fashioned bathtub with cast iron claw feet, which was already filled with tempered warm water, and savoured the relaxing feeling of hot water against her skin. Despite the extensive healing from her former Potions Professor; her body was still sore after the horrible encounter with Bellatrix last night.

The hot water did wonders for her aching and battered body and she stayed in the bathtub for a very long time. Even so, Narcissa was still waiting for her as promised when she re-entered the room. On the bed was a little black dress, sexy lingerie and fish net stockings. It was in sharp contrast to her usual way of dressing, given that Hermione was a girl who always preferred comfort over style. One of the things she loved the most about Hogwarts was the use of school uniforms, which meant a release from thinking about one's appearance. Instead the pupils at Hogwarts could focus on important things, such as schoolwork and academic achievements. With narrow eyes and a furrowed brow, she studied the way too short black dress, the offending red bra and the matching thong. On the floor below the dress, was a pair of high-heeled fuck-me shoes.

She frowned at Narcissa. "What is this? Is this some kind of sick joke?"

The blond witch shrugged. "Order from He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named"

"And when he says jump, you say how high?"

"Do feel free to resist his command, if you dare. But I'm quite certain it will prolong your survival if you play along."

This was not good! Not good at all! Someone had plans for her, plans that she knew nothing about. At least Bellatrix' goal had been simple, it was torturing her in the most degrading manner. The fact that she was going to be dressed up like harlot by order of the Dark Lord was ill boding indeed. She knew she probably ought to fight back, being a Gryffindor and all, but she couldn't really summon the energy. Despite having few physical scars from yesterday, she felt frail and sick, and she kept having these horrifying flashbacks of burning bodies.

After dressing herself in the loathed pieces of clothing she was studied meticulously by Narcissa, who waved her wand and uttered a few make-up and beatification spells.

"Well, I can't do much about the arm. It's typically Bellatrix, she always behaves so theatrical and her manners are severely lacking. However, the stack of hay called hair on your head I know just how to handle."

From her elegant purse she retrieved a small container with Sleekeazy's Hair Potion, which she carefully distributed in Hermione's long and bushy hair. The product had a lovely scent of vanilla and oriental spices. Narcissa combed her hair thoroughly, and while she combed, the once so bushy chestnut mane became smooth and curly.

The blond lady took a step back and examined her work.

"This will do! Now you're ready to meet my son," she said solemnly.

"What do you mean? Tell me what is going to happen! I have a right to know!" Hermione tried to gain information once more, but it was futile. The aristocratic lady refused to answer any of her questions and left the room in a hurry.

Shortly after a couple of Death Eaters entered the room and took her away.