And
We Have Sinned
Chapter Three: Mark of Servitude
Author:
Dizzy
Disclaimer: I own the plot, which isn't saying
much.
Draco
looked up at his father, his chest burning more and more with every
foul thought he
directed at the man pacing before him, going over
the instructions.
They had to be executed perfectly he was
saying, perfection was the family credo now it seemed.
Everything
must be taken slow and precise; planned to the last detail.
He
was to give her the gift. He was to take her trunk and load it onto
the carriage with his own
things, and then he would join her where
ever Lucius wanted to take them. It was all so perfectly
simple.
He was his father's servant, his father's prisoner. And
nothing could change that. No one could
help him.
Draco
looked up at the man he had once held in such high esteem. The man he
had respected
and adored for much of his life. He respected him no
longer. He loathed him. And if the
circumstances were different he
would have killed him.
head. Then she brought it forward again, only to tuck it back once more. She sighed, taking in her
as always plain reflection. Her hair was too mousey, her nose to pert and dotted with ugly
freckles, lips too full, cheeks to puffy, hair too frizzy, the list went on and on. She glared at
herself for a moment before smoothing the crisp white blouse and pleated skirt she had chosen
this morning. It looked remarkably like her school uniform. Sighing once more she shrugged.
He was giving her this gift as Hermione, and Hermione she would be, all 5'3 mousy bit of her.
At the foot of her bed was her trunk, packed and ready, and on top of that was her bag, filled
with everything she thought she would need on the train ride back home. In there were at least 3
very large books, a few scrolls of parchment, 2 quills, 3 bottles of ink, a bag of Bertie Botts, 3
chocolate frogs and a bottle of butter beer. She didn't feel that it would be enough, but regardless
she slung the bag over her shoulder, and sucked in a deep breath. She was going to do this.
Ron and Harry helped her carry her trunk to the entrance, telling her the whole way how they
wished she could stay, how much they would miss her. She gave them both brief hugs and pecks
on their cheeks, smiling lightly."I'll be back in 2 weeks," she laughed at Ron's expression. "Owl me okay?" Both boys nodded
and she patted them both on the head once more before levitating her trunk towards the door.
She cast one final wave over her shoulder and shot them both a grin.
As she made her way across the lawn with her levitated luggage she felt a sense of dread in her
stomach. What if he didn't show up? What if this was some cruel prank? She steeled herself for
both possibilities and walked a little faster towards their tree, which loomed, bright and inviting
by the lake. She couldn't see anything through its foliage, but that didn't mean he was really
there.
Hermione pushed aside the bright green foliage and was relieved to find that he was. One
possibility banished from her mind. But there was still the other, looming dark, and cruel, casting doubt on any good that could come of this day.Her trunk followed her into their sanctuary, settling on the grass. She regarded him warily under
lowered lashes, her cheeks flushed.
"You came." He looked almost as relieved as she felt.
"Yes."
"Thank you." He murmured, but his expression was one of stone, completely unreadable.
"You're welcome." She said, stepping a bit closer. "What...what did you want me for?"
"I-" she thought she saw him choke on his words, but cast it off. Draco Malfoy did not choke.
"I have something to give you."
"A present?"
"Don't call it that." His words were sharp, hard. This was anything but a present. Presents were things given out of love, out of friendship. This was given out of neither.
"I'm
sorry." She said hastily. Of course Draco Malfoy would never
gift her a present. It went
against everything he believed in. Yet
he had said that had a gift to give her, what was a present if not
another word for gift? She looked at him curiously. He was utterly
silent before her looking at the ground as he duck through his
pockets.
A few moments of silence later he drew out the most
beautiful, and somehow most frightening
necklace Hermione had ever
seen. The chain was long and sparkling silver, the necklace
itself
nothing more then a deep blood red teardrop of a stone, the
black inside swirling and dancing in
the middle. She sucked in a
breath.
"It's beautiful." She whispered. Draco shook
his head.
"No. It's not." He took a step towards
her, his hand trembling as he held the necklace. She
ducked her
head, letting him put it over her. He was acting very strange indeed.
Normally Draco, having given such a gift to a girl would have been
gloating, smug even. Now he was trying to play it off, as if it was
nothing special.
He didn't let it fall against her at first,
he merely held it above her neck, his fingers brushing the
tender
skin there, but he didn't let it go.
"Hermione." She
looked up, her eyes catching his. She sucked in another breath. His
eyes were
so sad, so full of remorse and something she couldn't
place she could scarce breath.
"Yes?"
She wanted him to kiss her she realized after a moment. She wanted
this necklace to
mean something to him. Which was absurd, she
reasoned, things were no different now then before. He was still
Malfoy, she was still Hermione. A few nice study sessions under a
tree, a few lingering looks and a necklace didn't change the fact
that after this was over they would go back to being enemies. He
would say something to Ron of Harry, or even to her, and be cast back
into the role of enemy once again. She knew this, just as he did.
Just because they were being civil for a few weeks, and sharing
lovely conversations didn't change the past, and certainly couldn't
alter the future.
respond from the beauty of it."Why are you-" and then he let the necklace drop.
It hit her skin, burning her flesh, and she screamed, short and shrill as black smoke wrapped
around her yanking her backwards, away from Draco, away from Hogwarts. She didn't even have time to think about what was happening.
She
was spinning now, tumbling and swirling through a void, her heart
clenching, her flesh,
where the necklace lay, screaming in pain
from the burning. But she couldn't breath, she couldn't
cry out,
she could barely move, merely swirl and turn through the utter lack
of light. Hermione
was quite sure she had never been so frightened
in her life. And then the blackness overtook her.
Draco
fell to his knees, his chest burning with such intense pain from the
thoughts of betrayal in his mind that he thought he would pass
out.
He vomited instead, over and over he heaved, guilt making him
weak, making him want to
weep. He hadn't wanted to hurt her.
Never, in all his years of torment, had he ever wanted to cause
physical pain to Hermione Granger. Not really. Sure he had boasted
that he wanted her dead, wanted all mudbloods dead but that was years
ago. When he still adored his father, and was still held under his
sway. Now he was merely just aggravated by her, years of rivalry and
hurled insults. But certainly he had never wanted to harm her because
of those years.
After his stomach seemed to have nothing
more, he sat there, sweaty blond tendrils of hair falling
into his
face as he clutched his stomach.
Carefully, Draco loaded the trunk onto the back of his carriage, securing it with the leather
bindings. The burning in his chest had subsided, leaving a dull ache in its place. He was trying no to think of Lucius. He would be
with her soon. He would protect her as long as he could, as much as his father would let him. It was the least he could do.
When he was certain the trunks were going nowhere he climbed into the horseless carriage,
completely alone. The door slammed behind him and the gentle rocking of the carriage as it
made its way to where his father would meet him was almost comforting.
Draco curled into a small ball on the black velvet seat, hugging his limbs close to him. He would
sleep now and dream of how it used to be. He would lose himself in the past. The future was
enough of a nightmare to make him fear sleep no more.
She could see dark black marble rising up to greet her when the light returned, and her head took the brunt of the fall. It
hit the ground with a dull thwack, her shoulder and hip making contact next. The pain was sharp
and burning, but only for an instant, replaced instead by a searing ache.
She tried to push herself up off the ground, rising up on her arm. She only made it halfway
before her arm gave out from the pain and she met the ground again. She opened her eyes,
seeing nothing but smooth marble tile and the legs of a few pieces of oak furniture, nothing
familiar. She tried to rise again, but failed once more.
Behind her, perhaps in her imagination, she heard a dry laugh, almost a cough, and heard the
rustling of robes.
"Atratus Comburo," a familiar voice spoke, one she couldn't place and then the blackness
consumed her again.
"Your father wishes to see you," Narcissa Malfoy, a woman of great beauty but little to no
substance looked at her son. She had that same faraway look she was never without, and she was
as always in her wedding dress.
At one time the dress had been a beautiful thing, all lace and shiny fabric, it hugged her body,
swirling about her as she moved. At one time it had been a symbol of happiness, of a life she had
always dreamt of. A life of riches and power married to a man she loved. But now, the dress
mirrored her life.
She had worn it for as long as Draco could remember, since his birth at least, and the years had
not been kind to it. He rarely saw her in anything but the dress, unless Lucius forced her to wear
something else if they were going out, or perhaps if they had a party to attend. It was yellowed
with age, torn and ripped in places, splattered with blood and wine and God only knew what
else. His mother could often be seen dancing with a ghost of partner, swirling about her drawing
room, locked away from the rest of her world. Unless his father willed her into sanity she was anything but sane.
And now, sitting in her pristine white throne of an armchair, her legs tucked beneath her she
smiled at her son dreamily, the gown draped about the chair.
"How was France?" she asked happily. The trip to France had been more then 10 years ago, yet
anytime he was away she thought he was just returning home from it. As usual she didn't let
him answer her, for he always told her the truth. He hadn't been in France, he had been at school.
He was seventeen years old, and he hadn't been to France since the first time. She never wanted
to hear the truth, so she always interrupted him before he could speak. "Come to me." She held
open her arms, and Draco crossed the room to her, letting her envelope him in her embrace.
"There are welcome home presents for you in your room," she said wistfully. "New playthings
for my darling." She pushed him back, her hands on his shoulders and regarded him with dead
blue eyes. His mother still believed him to be a boy of no more then five, and he suspected she
always would, except for those brief times when Lucius willed otherwise. When he was younger, around twelve or so he had wished that Lucius would force her to be normal all the time. Then he had learned what lengths his father had to go to do such things, it was then he had learned of the pain Lucius cause his mother in doing them.
She
bought him children's toys, placing them on his bed when he returned
from
school, and scolded him when he acted older then the age she
thought him to be. She was fond of saying that her
little Draco
should enjoy his childhood while it lasted, even though it had ended
many years ago.
His father indulged her of course, he left her
locked away in her drawing room to amuse herself,
he continued to
pretend, at least when she was around that Draco was a young child,
and while
his mother barely noticed his absences when he was gone
for school he continued to tell her that
he was away on that trip
to France he had taken at for his fifth birthday. If there was
company who knew not of her affliction however he changed her, made
her almost normal. The bidding, respectful housewife she should be,
not the crazy, woman lost in the past she was.
The only time
his mother left her drawing room, decorated to mimic the reception
hall from her
wedding, was when his father ordered her too. His
father dressed her in clothes he deemed
suitable, and made her act
the way he wanted her too, with a bit of help from the Imperius
Curse
of course. Draco knew that his mother was very ill, and that
no amount of love in the world from
her son could help her. She
had been subject to years of torment from her husband, and now
she
kept her mind locked away in a world where her little boy was
still 5 years old, and her husband
still loved her.
"Where
is my father?" He asked. His mother smiled at him, stroking his
hair with a cold hand.
She was so beautiful, but so distant, her
beauty the only thing that kept her alive. As long as she remained
beautiful Lucius would keep her.
the way he had styled it as a youth. "He wouldn't let me come visit you."
"Where is he?" Draco repeated.
"You
never sent your mother a letter," she scolded. "I know your
writing skills are highly
advanced for a boy of such a young age
Draco. The least you could have done was write to me."
She
smiled wistfully. "I wish I could have gone with you."
"WHERE is HE," Draco repeated, wrenching himself away.
He didn't have time for his mother's
delusions. She continued to
ramble on about what she had always loved about France, asking
him
if he had found any toys he liked in the shops there. Draco sighed,
disgusted and turned to
leave.
"Your father wishes to see
you," Narcissa repeated. "He's in his study. Do be quite
Draco. You
know how your games upset him."
He made his way down the hall, ignoring the dark statues of dead relatives, ignoring the
paintings on the wall that sneered down at him with contempt. There was no love between
Malfoy's. His father's study wasn't far from the drawing room, he figured it was easy to keep an
eye on his mother that way. She ventured out of the room only to twirl about in the halls,
dancing to a silent music only she could hear. Still at her wedding it seemed.
He didn't knock, he just burst into the room.
"Where is she?" He demanded. His father smiled at him from his desk, his booted feet propped
on it.
"She's fine," his father turned the smile into a glare. "You'll be joining the pitiful girl shortly." He
motioned towards a chair. "Sit." And Draco complied taking a seat in front of him, back
straight, wanting more then anything to leave. "Did you see your mother?"
"She's as mad as ever," Draco said spitefully. Lucius glared at his son but offered no comment."You will join the girl at the Winter Palace," Lucius said shortly. "I have supplied Twinkle and
Goden for your meals, and I have sent Kylie of course."
"Of course," he sneered. "So I'll be a prisoner there as well?"
"If
that's how you see it," Lucius shrugged. "You nor the girl
will be permitted to leave." He
smirked at his son, a smirk
that mirrored Draco's own. "Don't want you getting any heroic
ideas."
"Of
course not." Draco tried to stand, but found it impossible.
Lucius lifted up a small blue orb,
barely the size of a marble, in
his gloved hand and tossed it to Draco. "Catch."
Draco
complied, catching the orb in his hand. There was a flash as the ball
hit his bare flesh, and
he saw Lucius smile before he was yanked
away from his father's study, from his mother and his
childhood
home to a place that held more then its fair share of demons.
The
Winter Palace.
Hermione found herself
awakened the next morning by a very pleasant lilting voice.
She
murmured quietly for a moment before realizing two things. For one
the voice was NOT
familiar and for another it was a female voice.
Her eyes snapped open. Hovering above her was a
very pretty girl
of 16 or 17 with long auburn hair and startling green eyes. She
smiled pleasantly.
horribly cheerful. Perhaps she was Madame Pomfrey's newest assistant. Hermione allowed
herself this delusion until she saw that directly behind the girl was a room that was certainly not
the school infirmary."Who are you?" Hermione backed away a bit, her back hitting the cold stone wall."Do you wish to know my name or my purpose?" The girl asked. The girl straightened.
Hermione looked at her more closely in the dim light. She was wearing the most peculiar
assortment of clothes, so old-fashioned and outdated it was like Hermione had stepped right into
a medieval fairytale. It was a wench's garb, the black bodice cinched tightly around a narrow
waist and an assortment of black skirts fell from under that, a crisp white low-cut blouse with
bell sleeves completed the effect. Hermione looked around, not sure whether to be scared or not
of this girl. The room itself was frighteningly beautiful, black marble floor, rising columns and
arches in the same black marble, a pair of wrought irons windows to the left, billowing white
curtains barely concealed the daylight. She was on a very large bed, complete with a canopy and
everything, and like everything else in the room it was covered in black silk.
"You
can give me both." She said at last, trying to stop the aching
in her head. Trying to puzzle
out where she was and what she was
doing here. "I will not panic, I will not panic."
She
whispered in her head, clenching her fists to reinforce that.
The girl started to speak.
"Kylie,
and I'm my new mistresses lady," she gave a little over dramatic
bow and flashed
Hermione a smile. "Master Malfoy bid me to
wake you when the morning came." Hermione's
eyes widened.
bedclothes. "My services were requested by his father." Hermione was now practically naked, a
male's shirt the only thing covering her as the girl pulled off the bedclothes."Come my lady, we must get you ready."
"Ready for what?"
"The
day of course," the girl laughed. "Unless you wish to lie
about all day." Hermione shook
her head and stood up. She
figured modesty was not something this girl cared about if
the
low-cut blouse was any indication.
"You
aren't a houself," Hermione stated. Although the girl's pale
skin and somewhat pointed ears
gave Hermione the impression she
was not entirely human. The girl's cheerful nature and
apparent
innocence was the only thing keeping her from giving into hysteria.
The little Hermione
in her head was freaking out, but outside she
was a picture of bizarre calm, even if her hands
were shaking a
bit.
was the lady to Master Malfoy's Mother before you of course. And then his father, Master Malfoy asked for
me expressly to assist you.""Assist me in what?"
"In
the ways a lady should be assisted," the girl laughed again as
if Hermione was completely
ignorant and then opened the huge oak
wardrobe. "Master Malfoy had some of My Lady's
garments sent
over for you." The girl picked out a beautiful white flowing
gown. "I'm afraid
they're quite old and out of fashion now."
She took in Hermione's shirt. "Although I don't think
you'll
mind overmuch."
burning of tears in her eyes. The girl looked startled, pressing a hand to her shoulder in comfort."Master Malfoy will be here soon to explain it to you," the girl said softly. "I'm to know
nothing." The cheerfulness was back in full swing as the girl busied herself with dressing
Hermione who could only stand there dumbly trying to sort out what exactly had happened.
Hermione had always been a girl prone to fits of hysteria. She was a very emotional girl by
nature and the smallest stresses could be the cause of a breakdown. But now, during the scariest
moments of her life, she could do nothing. Not even freak out properly. Just take it in stride and
let this strange girl, in her strange clothes, dress her for a boy she had trusted. The thought of
Draco filled Hermione with rage, and she clenched her fists at her side, her nails digging into the
sensitive flesh of her palm.
The girl, Kylie, was babbling on besides her, fastening and cinching the dress she had selected.
Babbling about nothing it seemed, until she caught snatches that might have proved useful.
"You
shouldn't blame Master Malfoy o'course. It's not his fault,"
Kyle was saying, smoothing out
the wrinkles in the skirt, kneeling
beside her.
I here?" She demanded. The girl blinked."I only know what my Mistress told me," the girl said. "And she knows nothing at the best of
times." The girl sighed. "If it helps you I am sorry my lady." She shook her head, auburn hair
flying about her. "But like I said, you shouldn't go blaming young Master Malfoy. He's a good
boy, he was just doing what his father bid him." She handed Hermione the necklace Draco had
given her."Where are we?" Hermione crossed over to the window, pushing aside the curtains. "Where has
he brought me?" The windows were covered in thick iron. Still she grasped a bar, trying to pry it
off."The Winter Palace," the girl was saying. "You'll not find a way out. There isn't one."
"What
are you talking about?" Hermione was panicked, absolutely
panicked. The hysteria was hitting now. Ron and Harry had
no idea
she was here, no one did. As far as they knew she was safe at home
with her parents.
"There are no doors to the outside,"
the girl explained. "And all the windows are just like that one
there."
joining you for breakfast.""WHY DID HE BRING ME HERE." Hermione was giving into the hysteria now, screaming at
the poor girl. If Kylie minded she didn't show it, she merely picked up the shirt Hermione had
been wearing before and draped it over her arm.
"I
told you," the girl said coldly. "I know not. I don't think
Master Malfoy does either. It was his
father's wishes." She
glared at Hermione. "He's a good boy," she said. "You'd
do well to
remember that."
"He's
a bastard," Hermione spat. "A cold-hearted lying bastard."
Kylie said nothing more, merely
swept out of the huge room, the
door slamming closed behind her, leaving Hermione alone.
And
she was alone. The girl sunk to her knees, a dry sob racking her
chest.
Truly alone.
Draco
looked at the shattered blue crystals in his hand, closing his eyes.
That was it then. He was
resigned to his fate in this horrible
place.
The Winter Palace had always been something to
fear. It was a veritable prison, with no doors
leading out into
the endless plain of snow that could be seen from the barred windows,
and
enough curses and charms to keep even the most skilled of
wizards within its confines.
The only way in and out of the
place rested in the hands of a man who had his own purposes in
mind.
And apparently those purposes included keeping Draco in the place
that had been the
source of many of his nightmares.
It was
cold and musty, all hard marble and sharp pointed arches rising to
infinity. There was no
warmth here, no love. It was just dank,
silent and utterly horrible.
He could remember once as a child
being brought here, left for two weeks without another
person to
rely on, only a house-elf to bring him food and then scurry away into
the darkness.
He had been six then. It had been his birthday.
And for those 14 days he had been chased by
shadows that twisted
into horrible monsters by a six year olds rampant imagination.
A
punishment it seemed to him, a lesson to Lucius. And those
shadows had never been forgotten.
And now he was back.
Kylie approached him, her expression worried, an old
shirt of his draped across her arm.
letting the crystals of the shattered blue orb fall from his palm to the floor.
"What did my father tell you?"
"Just that I was to serve her, and to do as you ordered me of course," she looked down at the
ground, submissive as always. "I told her it wasn't your fault." Draco glared at her.
"You shouldn't lie to the girl Kylie," she looked as if she wanted to protest, but of course she
stopped, clamping her mouth shut.
"Is her trunk here?" Draco asked, the girl nodded.
"I had it brought to the drawing room beside the bedroom." Kylie fidgeted for a moment with the
shirt.
"The elves are preparing breakfast, it should be ready within the half hour." She said finally.
Draco nodded again.
"I'll see her now," he looked at the girl. "Busy yourself with something." Kylie nodded and
scurried off. Draco let out a sigh as he watched her go.
Kylie had been there for as long as he could remember, no older then he, yet always present,
wise beyond her years. She had hidden in shadows, forever in the background. A gift to his
father from hers, a live servant of human flesh and blood, who would grow to be a well-endowed
beautiful girl to have around, if her genes were any indication. And Lucius had been no kinder to
her then anyone else. She was bound to the man as Draco was, although hers was a different sort
of binding. He had long suspected that his father used Kylie in ways he didn't want to even
imagination. She was a sweet-natured person, and very beautiful as they had always known she
would become. And she certainly didn't deserve that. No one did.
He took in a deep breath, steeling himself for what was to come. He had to face Hermione
sooner or later. And Malfoy's were no cowards, only when it served them to be.
Hermione heard the door open but didn't look up, too absorbed was she in her tears, they dripped
onto the marble floor as she sobbed."Hermione?" The voice was familiar, and tentative, but it sparked a rage in her she'd never felt
the likes of before. Hermione didn't think, she acted.
She flew off the ground, launching herself at the boy, who cried out in surprise. Trying to back
away but failing.
"YOU BASTARD," she had sent them both sprawling to the ground, his arms trying to fend off
her small fisted attacks. "WHY. WHY DID YOU DO THIS?" She was screaming at him, her
voice shrill even to her own ears, a bit hysterical.
"I HAD TO," he was yelling back, trying to dodge the tiny blows to his chest, to his head,
wherever she could reach.
"HOW COULD YOU," the girl continued to scream at him. Hermione fell backwards as he
managed to push her off, another sob overtaking her. "I actually trusted you."
"I know," he said softly. Draco picked himself up off the ground. "I said I was sorry."
"Well, sorry is not bloody good enough is it?" The girl snapped, drawing her knees to her chest.
"Why?" It was a question she would be asking a lot lately.
"I don't know," he said truthfully, sitting up completely. He looked at the girl sitting across from
him, her knees drawn to her chest, her face red and streaked with tears. She was shaking.
"Why did you do it then?" She snapped.
"I had to," he snapped right back. For God's sake he had said he was sorry. What more did she
want from him?
"Liar," she hissed, the word somehow wrong coming from such an innocent mouth, despite the circumstances.
"All right," Draco stood up.
"Let me go," Hermione stood up as well, facing him. "Let me out of here."
"I can't," he glared at her. "There IS no way out."
"Don't LIE TO ME," she clenched her fists. Draco had had about enough.
"I'M NOT LYING," he roared. The girl reared back, almost stumbling as she did so. "There's no
way out of here, for either of us." He snapped. "I'm just as much a prisoner as you so bloody well
get over it." He ran a hand across his face, sighing.
"Why should I believe you?" She hissed, she could barely think from the pain in her head, from
the pain in her heart as she stared a boy that until a night ago she had thought changed.
"Believe what you want," Draco said shortly. "You can try to escape but it's no use." He sighed.He ran a hand across his face, guilt taking over his formerly enraged features. "I really am
sorry, Hermione."
"Don't call me that," she was being a bit melodramatic she realized, but really what did he expect
her to do?
"Don't call you your name?" He ran a hand through his hair. "Fine. I really am sorry Granger."
"What does your father want with me?" She asked, plopping onto the mattress. "Why did you do
this?"
"I don't know," Draco repeated, a bit more forcefully then necessary but she could hear his
distress, his guilt. It warmed her a bit, but not much. "And I didn't do anything I wanted to." He
said shortly.
"How can you know NOTHING? How can everyone in this stupid place know nothing?" Hermione
asked, drawing her knees to her chest once more.
"By not being told ANYTHING," Draco took in a shuddering breath, trying to get himself under
control. "Breakfast will be served shortly. If you want to eat I suggest you come."
"I'm not hungry," Hermione bit out.
"Suit yourself," he growled. "I've already apologized. I don't know what more you want me to
do."
"Get out." Draco nodded, and did just that, slamming the door behind him as Kylie had done
earlier. Hermione felt a sob rise in her chest again, and she fell back onto the bed, curling into a
little ball. She prayed it was all just a dream, a horrible dream she would weak up from.
But the pain in her head told her that it wasn't a dream. It was a nightmare.
Kylie pushed open the door carefully, peeking her head inside, wincing slightly from the pain.
The girl, Hermione was her name apparently, was asleep on the bed, but it was not a peaceful
sort of sleep. She tossed and turned in the large bed, the blankets lying useless on the floor, her
pretty dress wrinkled and tangled around her as she cried out. Cried out for people who would
not come, asked for help she would not receive.
Kylie sighed and entered the room, a tray in hand. The girl had to eat something, and while
Draco had made it clear that if she would not eat in the dining hall at meal time she would not
eat at all, Kylie could not help preparing the tray. No matter how much it hurt.
The pain in her arm almost caused her to drop the tray in her hands, but she clenched her teeth,
crossing the room swiftly. She had always been a strong girl, and while this was almost
unbearable she was lost either way. The sooner she set it down the better off she would be.
These little rebellions were liberating but painful nonetheless, and sometimes you had no choice.
You could follow one set of orders or another.
She set the tray on the nightstand, and almost gasped in relief as the pain in her arm subsided to
a dull throb.
Leaning over the girl she touched her shoulder, startling her awake.
"I bring you food, my lady," Kylie helped lift Hermione into a sitting position.
"I'm not hungry," the girl murmured.
"You must eat," Kylie said firmly.
"I don't want anything," Hermione repeated. Kylie sighed, pushing off the mattress, releasing the
girl.
"You're a mite more difficult then I'm used to," Kylie said, looking at the tray of soup and bread
she had prepared and gone through so much pain for. "But then you're not like my former lady at
all I expect." Kylie looked to a chair. "May I sit?" Hermione nodded, pulling her knees to her
chest again, eyeing the girl.
"Did he send you?" She asked. Kylie shook her head eyes wide.
"Master Draco told me not to bring you the food," Kylie said. She rubbed her arm, absently. "But
you have to keep your strength up mistress."
"For what?" Hermione said hollowly. Kylie just stared at her. "They're just going to kill me."
Hermione went on. Kylie shook her head.
"Do you think they'd go to the trouble to bring ye here if they were just going to kill ye?" Kylie
said and stood up again, her accent growing deeper with her indignation.
"Then why am I here?"
"I know not," the girl said. "But my Master's father doesn't do anything without a reason. I've
learned that much in my time with them."
"How long have you been..."with them"," Hermione asked.
"I was presented to my Master's father when I reached my fifth year," Kylie said. "When I
reached my seventh I was given to Master Draco and his mother."
"Given?" Kylie nodded.
"I have served Master Draco since he was a boy," the girl smiled faintly. "Since I was a wee girl
myself."
"So you're a servant here," Hermione said dully. "Is that why they want me?" Kylie shook her
head wide eyed.
"Of course not my lady," Kylie smiled at the girl's ignorance. "I doubt my Master would have
sent you such things if you were to be a mere servant."
"Then WHY am I HERE?" Hermione repeated for what felt like the hundredth time. Kylie
looked exasperated.
"I cannot tell you what I do not know!" Kylie motioned to the door by the wardrobe. She calmed
a bit before speaking. "I have brought your things up. My Master sent them over yesterday while
you slept."
"My things," a spark of hope entered Hermione's chest and she shot off the bed.
"You'll not find your wand in there, my lady," Kylie said softly reading the girl's mind, stopping
Hermione in her tracks. The spark of hope going out completely. "Nor your books." Kylie's voice
was a bit wistful now, as if she herself would have liked the books. "Master Lucius took them
out before he sent me with them."
"Where are they?"
"At the Malfoy Manor I expect," Kylie shrugged, busying herself by straightening the bed now that
Hermione had vacated it finally. Sometimes her work could be very comforting in its
tediousness. "That's a better question for Master Draco."
She
could see Hermione's face twist into a look of utter loathing at the
mention of the boy's name, and Kylie sighed again. The girl, for all
her years at the school Draco attended, was certainly not very
bright. She was missing
everything of importance, seeing only what
she wanted to.
Out of the corner of her eye Kylie watched
Hermione edge toward the nightstand, and the tray
and she almost
smiled. So the girl was hungry after all. Kylie continued to smooth
out the
wrinkles on the moth eaten duvet, wondering how a family
like the Malfoy's had let such a place
fall into such disrepair.
Hermione sat in the armchair Kylie had occupied moments
before,
pulling the tray towards herself. Kylie began fluffing the
pillows, dust rising from them in huge
clouds. She heard Hermione
gasp behind her and whirled around, startled.
"What is
it?"
"Your arm," Hermione shot up from her
seat, ignoring the tray and the food on it. She crossed
the
distance in two strides and wrenched up Kylie's arm. She pushed back
the sleeve of her
blouse, which had fallen away briefly moments
before, to reveal the black twisted mark on it,
and the red
blotched flesh around it. Kylie snatched her arm away.
"What
of it?" She asked.
"What happened?"
"It's
the mark of my servitude," Kyle said. She pulled the sleeve down
once more.
"It looks awful." And it did indeed, red
and raw, the white skin almost maroon.
"It was bringing
you the food," Kylie said shrugging, she rubbed her palm on one
of her many
skirts. Hermione stared at her, taking in the full
implications of what she was saying.
"I did that to
you?" Hermione reached out again, grabbing her arm and ignoring
Kylie's protest.
The girl tried to yank her arm away again, but
Hermione's grip was firm. Her concern instilled in her a strength she
didn't possess otherwise.
The black mark on the Kylie's arm
was a thing of beauty; a horrible beauty but a beauty
nonetheless.
It was all curving lines and intricate patterns, marring the smooth
white flesh of her
underarm, barely longer then the palm of
Hermione's hand, but huge against the small forearm.
"You're...you're supposed to...serve me correct?"
The girl nodded.
"That is my Master's wish."
"Which
Master?" Hermione asked.
"It was Lucius who gave the
order. But I am Draco's otherwise." The girl said, and her
face
showed no love for the man, Lucius, but adoration for the
boy. She obviously hated Lucius with
the same passion Hermione
did, but on the issue of Draco they differed substantially. Just
how
much they differed Kylie would not betray on her face.
"He
told you to serve me?" Hermione was confused. Why would Lucius
care about her?
"He said I was to keep you well,"
the girl said. "Keep you strong."
"Why?"
"I
know not." And Hermione knew, from the expression on her face
the girl couldn't lie to her,
not directly anyway. She could evade
all she wanted to, change the subject perhaps, but she
couldn't
lie. By telling Kylie to serve her Lucius had bound the girl in the
same way Kylie was
bound to him. Kylie could not lie to Lucius
therefore she could not lie to Hermione. It was a
small comfort at
least, having someone truthful around.
"Please,"
Hermione sad. "Sit." And she motioned to the bed. The girl
complied, eyes wary. "I
have questions."
"I
have no answers." The girl tried to rise, but Hermione had told
her to sit, and the pain in her
arm kept her sitting there. She
had seen enough pain that day defying Draco. The conflicting
orders
were enough to drive her insane. Lucius wanted her to keep Hermione's
strength up,
Draco was okay with letting Hermione starve for her
stubbornness, and Hermione would not let
her leave, she thought
she would go mad.
"I'm sure you do," at least
Hermione was gentle. She was nice even. Narcissa was a nice
mistress
as well, but then, she was not aware that Kylie was there
half the time. She was stuck in her own
little world, one Kylie
wished she could see. It was better then this one she was sure.
"Why are you their servant?" Hermione asked. Kylie
sighed, fighting with herself. But answering
the girl's questions
was not such a burden, it was not answering it.
"My
father owed Master Lucius a great deal," the girl said. "I
was his gift to help repay it."
"Then you are a
witch?" Hermione said and Kylie nodded.
"I have been
stripped of my powers, however." She amended quickly, seeing the
spark of hope in
Hermione' s eyes once again. It was actually nice
having someone to confide in. Draco, however
good and kind he was
to her, was cold and distant, treating her as the servant she was, if
not
taking pity on her at times.
"And you are a
pureblood," Hermione said. Kylie nodded again. "Your family
is wealthy?" Kylie
shrugged.
"I remember they
were," she said. "But Master Lucius took a great deal from
them."
"What..." Hermione looked at the mark
again, the girl's arm still in her grasp. "What exactly is
this
mark?"
"It is a mark of my servitude, as I said
before." Kylie said slowly.
"I
understand that," Hermione said patiently. "Do you know
what it IS though? Which spell he
used?" Kylie shook her
head.
"Master Lucius gave it to me when I was sent to
him."
"And it hurts if you break an order?" The
girl nodded. "Badly?" Hermione asked. Kylie's nods
were
so insistent Hermione was afraid she was going to pull something in
her neck.
"It burns something fierce," Kylie said
softly.
"Oh," Hermione looked at the tray, guilt
flooding her. "Then it must have taken a lot for you to
bring
that to me." Kylie nodded, eyes wide.
"Master
Lucius's orders are stronger then Master Draco's," the girl
said. "So it wasn't as bad as it
could have been."
Hermione nodded.
"Do they treat you well?" The
girl's eyes were wary.
"Please," she said softly.
"Do not make me answer such a question."
"All
right you don't have to."
"I can't speak actual ill
of them, you understand," Kylie amended quickly. "It's part
of my
burden." She lowered her voice to a whisper. "Sometimes
it hurts to even think ill of them."
"That's
horrible." Hermione ran a finger along the girl's arm. Kylie
just looked at her.
"Master Draco is kind to me,"
she said softly after a moment. "He treats me like a person.
He
gives me his school books when he comes home. He taught me to
read."
"Well, his House-Elf relations still leave
something to be desired," Hermione remarked dryly and
Kylie
smiled.
"Ahh, but house elves are not people," Kylie
reminded her, and Hermione, filled with righteous
indignation over
her long-lost cause, forced herself to keep from replying.
"He
taught you to read?" Hermione focused for the first time on what
Kylie had said. Kylie
nodded, her eyes going from pained and wary
to bright.
"When I was 11." She puffed her rather
expansive chest out proudly. "He said I'm very talented
at
it. It's not so hard." Kylie looked a little wistful. "Master
Lucius does not approve, however."
She bit her lip. "He
told me I was not to fill my head with such nonsense." Hermione
wanted to
hug the girl, who looked on the verge of tears, but she
had never been very affectionate, and she
barely knew this girl.
"He said I needed to know my place."
"But
Draco lets you read?" Kylie nodded, smiling.
"When
he tells me I'm allowed it dulls the pain," Kylie stood up,
shaking her head, her auburn
hair tossing about her. "I have
said too much."
"No," Hermione smiled up at the
girl, rising with her. "You've been very helpful. I
appreciate
your honesty."
"It's not as if I had
a choice," she muttered and then pointed to the food. "Will
you eat then?"
Hermione nodded.
"You went to
all the trouble to bring it to me." She looked at the steaming
soup and bread. "It
looks very good. Thank you Kylie."
Kylie's heart swelled at the words, one of few thankyou's in
her
life.
"He will kill me if he finds out I disobeyed him."
Kylie said. Hermione looked up startled.
"What?"
Kylie shook her head, giving a nervous laugh.
"Not really
my lady," Kylie gave a small smile. "Just an
expression."
It was a twisted version of
the Knights of the Round Table, one full of blood and evil
intentions.
The table itself was in fact round, but there was
no justice and honor to it. The thirteen men
around it were not
noble knights concerned with chivalry and the ways of the good.
They
wore not the helms of proud silver and shining virtue, but masks,
marked with the face of
evil.
The table was dull silver,
no light reflected off its surface except that of the green flame at
its
center. It danced and flickered, making the images of death
and corruption engraved on the
surface act out their misdeeds in a
display of stunningly cruelty.
At the tables head was the
only unmasked one in the gathering, his face impassive, ugly,
and
marred from years of toil, of sacrifice. A face reminiscent of
the serpents he loved so much. His
eyes were cold yellow, flashing
with something so horrible and frightening it made even his
closest
supporters cringe to look him in the eye. The shied way from his
visage, the scarred and
twisted face was enough to make anyone
nauseous. But they did not love him for his looks. They
loved him
for his power. He was Voldemort, formerly Tom Riddle. Most recently
He Who Must
Not be Named. And that was the kind of fear he
commanded, the respect he felt he deserved.
"Bring her
to me," He raised a hand, and the man to his right, his mask
firmly in place, white
blonde hair visible even under the hood of
his cloak, nodded and stood.
"Send
her in." Lucius spoke into the flickering green flames, and not
a moment passed before the
doors to the room swept open.
The
woman was screaming, clawing at her captors, struggling against them.
She twisted in their
grasp, trying to wrench herself free, her
face unmarked, but her eyes were wild. They were
fearful, and that
was the way he liked them.
"I
expected better of you Lucius," Voldemort murmured, his yellow
eyes darkening at the sight
of her. "She is not as obedient
as you claimed her to be." In fact the woman was fighting so
hard
it looked for a moment as if she would be freed.
The
faces of the two young men at her side were wary, barely 18 years of
age, and they were
usually strong young lads, until the moment it
meant the most. They had scratches up and down
their arms, their
faces bloody from the woman's work. There was a certain shame to
being so
marked and obviously abused by a woman of such a slight
stature, especially in the face of their
master.
"But
she is a beauty," Voldemort stood. "Leave us." Eleven
of the 12 men stood, bowing low
before their master, they cast not
a look to the struggling woman. None raised a hand to defend
her,
none rushed to her aide. Not even her husband. He remained by
Voldemort's side, under his
mask lie another, this one just as
impassive and inherently evil as the first. Lucius Malfoy had
always
been a man of little emotion, especially when it came to his
wife.
"Bring her to me," that was easier said then
done. The woman in question, the beautiful and
usually docile
Narcissa Malfoy renewed her struggles. She yanked and clawed with
razor sharp
nails, digging them into flesh, drawing blood. She
screamed and fought against them, but still
they pulled her
towards him.
"Don't let them do this," she looked to
her husband, the blood from those holding her spotting
her white
dress with dark red, her wedding dress. "Please. Don't let him
do this Lucius."
The man she had pledged her life too,
given her mind to responded by lifting his wand, his
hand
steady.
"Imperio." The hands released her,
and she fell to the floor in a heap of blonde hair
and
bloodsplattered white. "You fools." He snapped.
"Leave us." The two boys, the newest in a series
of
recent acquisitions into the fold bowed low to their master and
scurried out.
"Get up," Lucius crossed the stone
floor to the heap that was his wife. She stood, her back
straight,
her eyes dead, but there was just the barest trace of a tremble in
her lip, the smallest
chance she would collapse again. But she
stood.
"She is lovely," Voldemort smiled, and never
was their one more horrible. He crossed over to
her, circling the
woman. His hand snaked out, touching the top of the gown, running a
cold
finger across her chest, up to her throat. He circled her,
his eyes raking her body. "She'll do
nicely Lucius."
"Of course my lord," Lucius nodded. "There
still is that small issue. But I have a solution for
both our
problems."
"Oh?" Voldemort yanked his eyes
away from the woman. "I'm impressed Lucius." He flashed
the
man one of those awful smiles. "You will be greatly
rewarded. For all of it."
Voldemort reached into the
sleeve of his cloak, and drew out of it a dagger. It was beautiful,
all
shining ornate silver, a snake creeping up its hilt, emerald
eyes flashing in the green light from
the table's
flames.
"Would you like to do the honors?" He handed
the blade to Lucius, who took it, stepping towards
his wife.
"Of
course my lord." Lucius raised the dagger and brought it down.
The fabric ripped, and he
continued to pull it down, slicing the
silk easily, narrowly missing the white milky flesh that lay
just
beneath it.
Narcissa sucked in a breath, her mind crying out
against this, even as the dress pooled at her feet.
Voldemort
smiled again.
"She is lovely indeed." He looked to
Lucius. "You can return for her in the morning Lucius."
The
smile turned to a leer. "Everything will be in order
then."
Lucius Malfoy nodded, bowing to his Master, not
casting a second glance at the woman he had
pledged as his wife,
and strode from the room.
Draco had been
staring at whiteness all day. Just to rid himself of the black. It
was everywhere
here, in the walls, in the floor, in the furniture.
It was all consuming blackness, sucking
everything good about the
world into it. So he had gone to the window, to look at the
endless
world of white stretching out for miles and miles to the
gently rising peak of the mountain that
lay just beyond.
It
was his only comfort, his only source of purity. But there was no
warmth in snow, and as he
shivered against the cold, watching the
sun dip behind the mountain he knew there would be no
warmth in
the night.
"Master Draco?" The whisper was feint,
and he barely looked up to acknowledge the form of
Kylie, slinking
into the room.
"What?" He continued to stare out at
the snow, he couldn't even reach out and touch it. He could
only
look. It seemed that was the way with a lot of things.
"It
is my mistress-" he looked up then, startled.
"What
happened? Is she all right?" Kylie nodded, her eyes wide, more
then a little meek now.
This Draco was different then the boy
she knew. He was tense and harder then she remembered,
and he had
stood there looking at nothing for hours. She had checked, walking
back and forth
past the room, glancing at him. And he hadn't
moved, merely stood there staring out at the
blanket of white just
beyond.
"She is fine," Kylie said reassuringly.
"She is Master." Kylie made a show of
rubbing
her arms. "It is freezing here."
"I
know." There was never warmth at the aptly named Winter Palace,
regardless of the season.
There was just cold, and colder, and
snow, lots of snow. A black obelisk on a field of white was
what
he imagined it must look like from the outside. Not that he would
ever see it.
"The blankets..." Kylie drew in a
breath. "They are thin and full of holes." Kylie shook her
head.
sleep." Draco nodded. "I gave her my own blankets." Kylie said quickly, should he think she had
been neglecting her duty. "But still she shivers." Draco nodded again.
"Alright." He crossed the marble floor, ripping the blanket off his own, smaller bed and balled
them up against his chest. "Are there any more bedrooms?" He himself had never ventured
farther then this wing.
"No my lord," Kylie ducked her head. "I'm-I'm sorry I got a bit curious and I was wandering
about. There are bedrooms but they are not made up."
"It's fine," Draco said tersely. He went to the door. "What will you sleep in?" He looked over his
shoulder to the girl.
"I have more skirts then I know what to do with my lord," she gave him a sheepish smile. "I am
used to the cold." That was certainly true. Malfoy Manor wasn't the warmest place on earth. He
nodded. "If you would like me to remove the drapes-" he left the statement unfinished, and
turned before Kylie could acknowledge it. She couldn't have if she wanted to. Her heart swelled
again at his kindness.
Hermione was curled in a small ball on the large bed, barely making a dent in the firm mattress,
and spread around her was an assortment of mismatched moth eaten blankets, and still she
shivered. The blankets were paper thin, almost see through, and he could make out the white of
her gown beneath them despite the number. Kylie had fetched everything she could to warm the
girl, she'd even managed to get a table cloth to drape over her.
Draco looked down at the girl in the bed. It seemed there was something pure to look at besides
the snow. There was at least one light in this place. He unraveled the ball of blanket in his arms
and draped it over her, the air causing her hair to flutter against her cheek.
He froze as she blinked, opening her eyes.
"What are you doing here?" She murmured, but she didn't rise, she just pulled the blankets
around her further. "How can you stand this cold?" Draco didn't reply, he just wordlessly reached
up. The clasp fell away easily, and he swung his cloak around."What about you?" Hermione asked sleepily.
"I'll
manage." He whispered. "Sleep." And then he draped it
over her. Hermione said nothing
else, just closed her
eyes.
Somewhere they had formed a truce, from one prisoner to
another. And Draco had a feeling he
had Kylie to thank as his
ambassador.
Hermione awakened the next
morning to Kylie's insistent rocking and murmurings of the
usual
morning drivel.
tones were more soothing then anything. There was something so comforting about the Irish.
Hermione groaned, pulling the blankets closer around her, a dull throbbing making itself known
at the top of her skull. Hermione moaned, reaching a hand up to touch it. She hissed as the
throbbing turned to a burn and snatched her hand away.
"You
wouldn't-" Hermione moaned. "By any chance have some
aspirin." Kylie looked confused,
but if she cared she didn't
show it, she merely put her arm around Hermione's back, lifting
the
girl to a sitting position.
"We must get you dressed mistress," Kylie admonished. "Breakfast is soon."
"I
don't want food," Hermione moaned, trying to fall back into the
bed. Her head was killing her,
a sensation like nails being driven
into her skull the only really clear thing in her mind. She had hit
it very hard the previous day and it was catching up with her now.
"But
you must eat," Kylie was using all her weight now to lift
Hermione into a standing position.
"My lady must be strong."
Kylie pushed the half-asleep, and very achy girl over to the
wardrobe,
to stand before the mirror. "Please don't make me
bring you another tray." Kylie said sadly,
looking away.
was strangely calm this morning. All thoughts of imminent death had been cast away by logic.
Surely, if Lucius intended to kill her he wouldn't have given her a live human servant to do her
bidding, he wouldn't have sent over a mass of beautiful silk gowns for her to wear. And if he had
intended to kill her, or rather, have Draco do it, since he was such a faithful lackey it seemed, he
would have gone and done it. Hermione had always loved logic."I have been on no trips," Kylie was saying wistfully, drawing out a gown of deepest crimson.
"Why
did Draco's mother give me her clothes?" Hermione asked, still a
bit uncomfortable with
the veritable stranger undressing her bit.
"She
has no need for them," Kylie said, and her voice was a bit sad
as she undid the laces of the
now rather dirty white gown Hermione
had worn the previous day.
"There
must be fifty dresses in there," Hermione cast an eye to the
wardrobe. "They must be
fantastically wealthy." The
dresses themselves were no doubt very expensive, made of the
finest
in fabrics, and probably hand-tailored for only Narcissa
Malfoy, who it seemed was a bit taller
then Hermione, and a might
bit skinnier.
"My mistress wears but one dress if she can help it."
"Well, one a day is standard practice," Hermione looked to the girl's strange medieval type garb. "Not one a year."
"I
do not mean she wears one a day," Kylie admonished, pulling on
the back laces of
the dress a bit too harshly. "I mean she
only wears ONE dress." Kylie looked a bit wistful again,
her
expression far away in the mirror as she tightened the strings. "It
is tragically romantic."
"And
not a bit gross," Hermione said cheerfully, shaking her head.
Kylie almost glared at the
girl, but stopped herself, finishing
her lacing with a flourish. "Why is it so
"tragically
romantic"?"
"It
is the dress she was wed in of course," Kylie turned the girl
around, a brush Hermione hadn't
seen before in her hand.
"And
she wears it everyday?" That was a very morbid thought. And not
in the least bit romantic
as far as Hermione was concerned.
Actually it was more then its fair share of creepy.
"I have never seen her without it on a normal day."
"Define
Normal in Malfoy terms," Hermione said dryly, wincing as the
brush rather briskly
swept her hair up.
"A
day without somewhere to be," Kylie said patiently, she let the
hair drop. "There is nothing I
can do." She said
gravely, picking up a curly lock. "I have only this
brush."
"It's all right," Hermione said.
"You
will join him for breakfast then?" The look on Kylie's face
could only be described as
jubilant and hopeful, like a child at
Christmas. Hermione sighed.
"If
I must." Hermione didn't want the poor girl to have to suffer
any more pain then was
necessary. And she did want to eat.
"He will not order you," Kylie said sternly. "And he will not ask you."
"Yeah,
he sends servants for that," Hermione said bitterly. Kylie just
nodded, finally glad the girl
was understanding.
"Come
my lady," and with that Hermione resigned herself to her fate. A
meal with the person
she hated most.
Lucius
swept into the room, the woman in it made no noise, did not stir, she
just continued her
business.
Narcissa Malfoy had never
been the strongest woman, and years of marriage, of slaving, of
being
mentally battered and abused had taken their toll on her.
And
then there were the visions.
But now, as she lay there on the
cold stone floor, her dress forgotten across the room, she was
more
far gone then ever. Her eyes were completely lifeless, and as she
stared at the gray stone
she saw nothing.
"It is done
then," Lucius said. He bent to his wife, gathering the unclothed
woman in his arms,
noting the bruises on her fragile arms, the
vicious red of a bite on her neck and he felt nothing.
"You
have made me very proud Narcissa." He began carrying her out of
the room.
"You have sacrificed much to Our Lord." He
continued, his boots echoing off the walls as he
continued down
the corridor. The woman in his arms didn't respond, merely lay limp,
unseeing
eyes staring upwards. Lucius smiled to no one.
"And
for that, I will be greatly rewarded."