A.N. Big exams coming in two weeks time. And I'm feeling...I don't know what I'm feeling.

Chapter 7: Trapped

Hermione exited the dining room in a huff and made her way towards the main door. No one tried to stop her; much to her disappointment. She would like very much to scream at a couple of people, with the Mistress Delacour being one of them, to spice up her departure with some dramatic emphasis.

There were neither charms nor any form of locks on the main door. Hermione was mildly surprised at the lack of security and protection on the castle, but her surprise barely matched up to her wariness. She has a nagging feeling somewhere that the beast would not let her go that easily.

Her gut feeling proved her right. After making her way all the way out to the wrought iron gate, she paused in her steps.

She had forgotten her wand.

It was most absurd. She was so near to leaving then, but her strong emotional attachment to that stick held her back. Most people would just continue ahead and get another wand once they are freed from the confines of the castle, being glad to get away from the creature; but not Hermione. The wand meant a lot to her. It was a gift from her mother.

The young girl was in a huge dilemma. On one hand, her family stood beyond the gates, earnestly praying (she hoped) for her return. Well, she was the only one in her family capable of throwing together a proper, edible meal, so you can just imagine how her family will get along without her presence. Even if they do not have strong emotional attachments to her, especially her two sisters, she was willing to bet that they would still hoped for her return due to their daily dependency on her.

With her living family in mind, Hermione decided, with a heavy heart, to proceed ahead. After all, the wand was a mere object in which she had foolishly (she tried to convince herself) attached meaning to it. Her mother was likely to have moved on to her next life already; it was pointless (again, she tried to convince herself) to cling on to that fragmented memory of her mother and throw away a possible life of freedom.

Memories…such elusive, complicated enigmas. But yet so simple and easily manipulated.

Taking a deep breath, Hermione stepped forward with her decision in mind. She rested a palm on the cold metal, expecting the gate to magically melt away like it did earlier on.

It did not.

The young girl frowned at her palm. She then tried using the other hand, but it did not work; not even when she rubbed both hands over every inch possible on the metal gate like some pantomime act. Growing annoyed and desperate, she slammed her palm onto the intricate designs on the gate. Yet again, that failed to achieve the effect she wanted, and only gained her an unwelcomed, searing, pain.

Several minutes of fruitless attempts in trying to get past the gate without her wand made Hermione frustrated and weary enough to disregard any shame and trudge grudgingly back towards the castle. She had tried all ways and means, from pressing suspicious, trigger-looking knobs in the iron to attempting to scale the gate and get over from the top; but still, she failed. The iron heated up when she tried to climb over, thus making it impossible to do so. And after pressing the gate in almost all the places she could find, she was finally convinced that there were no secret mechanisms concealed within the structure.

And she was convinced that the beast meant it when she said that Hermione was not allowed to leave.

The damn bitch.

Hermione felt foolish and even embarrassed. She silently wished that no one witnessed her strange antics out in the garden, and angrily cursed the beast for deliberately messing with her by not stopping her from her attempt to leave. To think that she pitied the beast earlier on…Hermione felt like a complete joke.

She hastily made her way up to her room, not wanting to meet anyone. She was thankful to be able to make her way there unseen. The brunette heaved a sigh of relief when back in the safety of her room, snapping the mahogany door shut behind her. She was not ready to be ridiculed by the beast just yet.

With a huff, she threw herself onto the bed and sulked. There she lay, fuming in silence.

"Miss?"

Hermione sat up with a start. She had drifted off into a light sleep after lying there for so long. Hastily, the brunette scrambled over to the door. She took a deep breath and tried to shake off the blush on her face.

Upon opening the door, Dobby's formal face greeted her. He bent down in another low bow in greeting.

"Hi Dobby. It is all right, you need not be so formal with me. You can call me Hermione."

Dobby looked up at her with a face of shock. "No Miss! The Mistress will be very angry if she hears that Dobby is not treating Miss well!"

"I'm not asking you to mistreat me, Dobby," Hermione answered patiently. "I'm just asking you to be friends. Your mistress doesn't have to know about it."

Dobby gave a doubtful glance to the side. It was only then did Hermione notice another elf present.

"This here is Winky, Miss…Hermione. Winky is here to prepare Miss Hermione's bath."

Deciding that it would be best for Dobby to call her as such, Hermione did not attempt to correct him. "Thank you Dobby."

Turning to Winky, who seemed to be much more reserved and shy, Hermione nodded and smiled. "Thank you Winky."

Winky let out a nervous, high-pitched squeak. Dobby, on the other hand, gave another deep bow. "Dobby will take his leave now, Miss Hermione. Please enjoy your bath."

Hermione nodded to Dobby before he retreated. Then, she let Winky into the room. Winky headed right over to the attached bathroom to start readying the water for Hermione's bath. When the young woman tried to follow, Winky shook her head so vigorously that Hermione was afraid that it may fall off.

"No Miss! This is Winky's duty! Miss can take a rest while Winky prepares the bath for Miss!"

On seeing the elf's violent reaction, the young woman decided that it was best for her not to interfere with the elf's chore. Not wanting to make things difficult for Winky, Hermione went back to the bed. Perhaps it was because of the long and grueling journey, or maybe it was due to the strain of all the happenings, Hermione dozed off again.

Winky woke her up a while later to inform the girl that the bath is ready. The jumpy elf took her leave after Hermione assured her that she would be fine on her own. The brunette let her slight smile slip off her face after the door closed, a sigh escaping her soft lips.

The bath was no doubt refreshing; it cleared up the young girl's fuzzy mind. It was a whole cartload of emotions that she has fallen into that day, confusing her so much that she just couldn't tell whether it was tears or the bath water that was running down her face. It confused her so much that she couldn't help but feel like a total cliché.

Dressed in the clothes she found laid out for her, Hermione was afraid that she would lose her own humanity in the castle. Would she become like the beast? She was highly suspicious that the beast became so unsociable and inept at human interaction because of its isolated life. But come to think of it again, Hermione never interacted much. There was the occasional smile and nod; but they were not much. Though in light of her current situation, those little attempts at being sociable make her feel like a social butterfly compared to the bitch in the castle.

The clothes were by no doubt fine, even better than what she had in the past when Draco still had his fortune before he was unfortunate enough to lose it. But she felt out of place in the fine silk and smooth satin robes. She felt suffocated by the soft material that barely clung to her in its silkiness. Everything seemed too much for her to take; the harsh smoothness of the silk, the painfully dim candlelight, the freezing warmth of the room. Even the books on the shelf seemed to threaten her with their aged, ripped spines and dog-eared pages.

For the first time in her life, Hermione yearn for the warmth of human relationships.