Hi everyone! I hope you all had a good crimbo and a new year's eve! I'm sorry I haven't updated for so long, it was just taking me a long time to write and stuff, cos I have my other fics as well, and I had a very busy crimbo. But I've already got the next chapter written, and I plan to write the next one after I update! So I'll be updating much quicker from now on!
Disclaimer: I don't own anything!
Thanks go out to the people who reviewed! I got a very nice one this morning, so that was what made me sit down and write! Review=more updates!
I'm not planning this to be a big fic, not as big as Harry Potter and the Slayer is gonna be, so don't expect an epic. But I am no where near finished, I have everything planned out though.
Please review!!!!
Two days after Hermione was beaten by her master, she was shaken awake by a Flint. All the other slaves were asleep, but that did not stop Flint from shouting loudly to Hermione. She stood up quickly, if she took longer, then Flint would wake up everyone, and the other girls needed their sleep.
"Follow me." Flint demanded, making him way through the slaves, stepping on fingers and other body pieces carelessly. Hermione followed him, tip toeing around the slaves, even though her feet hurt from stepping on glass the day before. Once they were out of the slaves quarters, Flint turned left, which was the opposite way from Voldemort's chambers. Wordlessly, Hermione followed him, she could sense that Flint was angry, and she made sure not to lag behind too much otherwise he would get angry.
They continued down the gloomy corridors, the carpet black and the stoned wall were stained grey. The portraits were empty; the occupants had fled long ago. It was cold, and Hermione shivered, she was only wearing small thin robes, stained with blood and dirt. They stopped off at the kitchen, Hermione collecting food and then they took off again.
"Master told you about that Auror?" Flint asked, his voice low. Hermione nodded yes, and Flint continued. "Well, that Auror killed Lucius Malfoy."
"O dear." Hermione lied, inside, she was jumping for joy.
"Yes, well, now that Lucius Malfoy is dead, the Dark Lord has appointed a new right hand man. He is to be trained in the Dark Arts and will join the Dark Lord when he is ready." Flint said, turning a corner which led to the Slytherin tower.
"May I ask why you are telling me this?" Hermione asked as politely and meekly as she could. Flint stopped walking and turned to face her, a twisted grin on his face.
"Yes." He growled. "The Dark Lord has requested that you be the new Death-Eater's personal slave. The Dark Lord has gotten bored of you, after what you did two days ago." Hermione nodded, her head bowed. Flint smiled again. "Don't you want to know who your new master is?" He teased.
"Yes sir."
"Draco Malfoy."
Hermione's heart sank. She hated Malfoy with a passion, and serving him would be hell. He treated her like dirt every time he saw her, always calling her a mudblood or some other disgusting name. Flint smiled, seeing Hermione's reaction. He removed his hand from his robe and put his hand on Hermione's chin, tilting her head up to him. His eyes glowed like a cat's and they searched at Hermione's chocolate ones.
"You're a pretty one." He said, stroking her cheek. Hermione bit her tongue to stop herself crying out, she felt disgusting and dirty having someone like him touch her. "Such a shame you're a mudblood." He spat, dropping his hand. He continued on, veering right from the Slytherin tower. Hermione rubbed her cheek, trying to get the invisible dirt off her face. Realising that Flint had gone, she ran the way he went and caught up with him. They walked down towards the dungeons, and Flint stopped opposite a painting of a man in black, his face covered, but his eyes glinting gold. "Dragon." Flint whispered to the painting. It swung open and Hermione looked to Flint for permission to enter. "Go on." He said, he leaned closer, his mouth inches from her face, "Be good." With that, he strode down the corridor, black robes billowing behind him, reminding Hermione of Snape.
She sighed, bracing herself for what was to come. She stepped through the hole and came through to a large room. It was decorated in silver and green, the large four poster bed adorned with silver pillows and a soft green bedspread. The carpet was warm and thick, there was a decorative fireplace in the corner, the green flames shining on the dark wooden walls. The room was warm to the touch, but cold to the eye, chains and knives hung on the walls, a shiny Quidditch broom leaning against a forest green arm chair. Malfoy sat at the small table, a delicate black quill in his hand, a box of tissues next to him. His eyes were red and his hair dishevelled, and for a moment, Hermione's heart went out to him. She knew what it was like to lose a parent; she lost both of her shortly after Voldemort came back into power.
"Are you just going to stand there mudblood?" Malfoy shouted, his voice ringing in the quiet. Hermione's pity and sympathy disappeared immediately. She bowed to him and placed the tray of food on the table. She poured some tea in a small china cup and paused when it was time to add some sugar.
"How much sugar would you like, master?" She muttered through gritted teeth. I can't believe this is happening.
Hermione glanced at Malfoy, her eyes locking with his. They were beautiful, pools of silver, with so much depth and soul. He also looked desperate, his eyes were longing for something, and Hermione was captured. She had never really Looked at Malfoy before, never really looked into his eyes and seen what he really was. He was different from the other Death-Eaters, from the other boys in this school. She did not know what it was that separated Malfoy from the others, but at that moment, when she was looking into his eyes and he was looking into hers; she vowed to find out what.
Malfoy coughed awkwardly, his eyes moving from Hermione's to the tea cup. "Three spoons, bitch." He muttered. Hermione nodded, shocked by how suddenly Malfoy had looked away, but she complied with Malfoy and stirred in three spoons of sugar into the cup.
"Anything else, master?" Hermione asked, her head bowed.
"No, thank you, mudblood." Was Malfoy's gruff answer. Hermione nodded, and moved towards the door. But before she left, she turned to Malfoy, and said something she thought she would never say to him.
"I'm sorry for your loss." She whispered shyly, loud enough for Malfoy to hear. His hand stopped moving, his tea cup inches away from his mouth. He gazed at Hermione, a confused expression on his face.
"Thanks." He muttered, his eyes not moving from Hermione's face, searching for an answer as to why she said that.
"I lost my parents a couple of years ago." She said, inching closer to Malfoy. Why am I doing this? "It gets better, honestly." She reassured, meeting Malfoy's gaze.
"I don't want sympathy." He said roughly after a pause.
"I know, it's just-"
"Did I tell you to talk?" He demanded, his brows furrowed, his eyes blazing with anger.
"I'm sorry." Hermione said, her head bowed again.
"Leave." He responded, a lump forming in his throat. Hermione nodded, and quickly bowed out of the room. She shut the door to the room and leaned against the painting.
"You are such an idiot Hermione." She scolded herself, before running down the corridor to finish off her other chores.
***
Malfoy's eyes were fixed on the spot Granger had just vacated, his tea cup still inches from his mouth. Why did she say that? Why was she sympathizing with me? Why are her eyes so soulful, so amazing? She's been through so much, but her eyes are still blazing with passion.
He had been shocked when Hermione had said 'sorry for your loss'. He thought that she wouldn't be the kind of person to say that, even if she was a slave or not. No one had said that to him yet, all his friends had just voiced their thoughts on who was to be the next right-hand man of Voldemort's, and many of them had congratulated Malfoy when it was announced that he would be. Not one had said sorry, or had reassured him that everything would be ok. His mother did not seem sad, and when he had tried to talk to her about it, she had just brushed him off and said that it does not matter.
Malfoy had loved his father. His father had been determined, passionate and strong, and when Malfoy was younger, he had looked up to his father, as any young boy would have. Lucius Malfoy had trained and lectured Draco about being a Death-Eater, he had made sure that Malfoy would become one, and would become a faithful servant to Voldemort. But sometimes, living with his father was hell.
Contrary to popular belief, Malfoy did not agree with most of Voldemort's views on Muggles and Muggle-borns. He did believe that they were lower than pureblood wizards, but he did not agree with what Voldemort was doing to them. Forcing the girls to work as slaves and killing all the men. Malfoy had seen a lot of blood and torture in his short life, his father would let him come to the watch Voldemort torture a helpless muggle, or a mudblood. He had seen and lived around this type of stuff from the moment he was born, his father and some Death-Eaters would take a weak muggle into the Malfoy manor and torture him, for fun.
Draco did not understand that, how his father and his friends could kill for fun. It immoral, brutal and barbaric and Draco never wanted to do it.
It's a bit short, but the next chapter is much longer, and you get to see Malfoy and Hermione become nicer to each other…which is always a good thing!
Here is a quick preview of the next chapter:
Malfoy nodded, looking into the fire, the green flames dancing. "I was jealous." He replied quietly. "You had friends, friends that cared about you, even if it was the Weasel. They did not like because of who you're father was or if you were wealthy. They like you for you, even that wimp, Neville."
"It's not like that with you?" Hermione asked gently, aware that she was touching on an awkward and painful subject.
Malfoy shook his head. "You know when my dad died?" He asked, glancing at Hermione. When she nodded, his gaze returned to the fire. "Not one person said 'Sorry for your loss'. Not one person asked how I was, not one person asked if I missed him. All my friends were just happy that I was the new Right-hand man; no one even cared if I missed him. Only you."
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