Chapter 1

Cool water ran over Hermione's raw hands. The soap she used to scrub the floors never agreed with her skin, but it had that dust repellent quality that the Ollivander family couldn't conceive to do without. The soothing salve helped tackle the rawness.

The bell on the wall chimed, which meant that Misty Ollivander wanted her afternoon tea prepared. Hermione set about to fill the kettle to boil on the stove, while she prepared a tray of biscuits, sugar and milk in the matching silver tea set that the Ollivander family was very proud of. Waiting for the water to boil gave her a little time to stare out the window where legs walked past the window facing Diagon Alley. A grey day by the look of it.

Finally the whistle started blowing and she completed the tea service before taking it up the impossibly narrow set of stairs that bypassed the shop and headed to the family quarters above. The Ollivander house was small, but comfortable in the way hundreds of years of living created.

"The muggles are causing problems," Misty said, folding the copy of the Daily Prophet into her lap. "Who would have through they'd be so unruly? It's the young, they always cause problems, and it will spill over to all of us. Mark my words. Thank you, Hermione. Would you like a cup?"

"I could do with one," Hermione said and took the small seat. Them having tea together was inappropriate, but Misty didn't like having it alone. So when she had no company, she often asked Hermione to join her.

Serving the Ollivander family had been Hermione's saving grace. It was a bearable existence. They treated her well, and she avoided much of the suffering that was meted out to her kind. She was lucky compared to others. Harry was dead. The Weasleys were in hiding, and she had no idea where they were. They would come for her if it wasn't for the tracker that was infused in her body. All muggleborns had them. Halfbloods only got them if they were suspected of illicit activities by the Voldemort regime. Suspect or not, purebloods weren't subjugated, because you couldn't insist pureblood had inherent superiority if you then turned around and said that some needed to be actively managed. Which meant the Weasleys could slip away and hide. They weren't in Britain. She knew that much. It served the regime well enough.

Things had settled enough so that people didn't outright rebel. There was benefit in not rocking the boat, and it had mostly created an orderly and settled society—one where you didn't cause problems. There was surveillance everywhere. This calmness had come about with Voldemort's seclusion. Whispers said he'd gone completely mad, and was being managed somewhere.

Lucius Malfoy was the minister of magic, and with subjugation of society complete, attention had turned to profit. The muggle world was conquered. Not that the muggles completely understood what was going on, but there had been, what was basically, a corporate takeover of the muggle society and economy. Many were growing rich, notably so—the Malfoys, and their immediate circle.

That core group had pushed out the most destructive elements of the Death Eater circle and cold, calm control had been established. Pureblood society thrived. Parties and events. Nothing quite as grand as a pureblood wedding. The very height of pureblood society.

Society was highly stratified in the way the purebloods always wanted, with them as elites, halfblood families as the professional class. Mudbloods, well, they were slaves. They could not be release into the muggle world, because even as the ministry couldn't admit it, their magic posed a threat. Her wand was long gone, but she was still a threat. As a slave, she was controlled. There were people who would come for her if she misbehaved. What would happen to her, she had no idea, but it wouldn't be good. They may not even bother with Azkaban for her. It may go straight to execution.

So yes, she had been very lucky in that her deed had been bought by Mr. Ollivander. The Ollivander family owned her, and that gave her protection, because there was nothing the inner circle respected more than property law.

Hermione sipped the steaming tea. This place was never quiet during the day. Diagon Alley was always busy. The businesses thrived with the order, and most of wizard society was economically doing better. Most just wanted peace after the war, and they were happy to trade peace and security for the minor curtailing of anti-establishment sentiment.

That did not mean there was nothing to fear. Behave well and your family thrived. Behave badly, and they came for you. Don't rock the boat.

Hermione rarely went out. People still remembered her and they watched her if she went out in public. Attention would not serve her. Her situation with the Ollivander family was probably the best outcome that could have happened to her, except maybe if she'd avoided this tracker being placed on her.

"I think perhaps it will be a nice summer this year. There should be a good harvest," Misty said. "I will make jam this year."

The Ollivanders had a cottage in Devon that they sometimes retreated to in summer. It wasn't a large cottage and only really comfortable during the summer. They were a frugal family, and Garrick Ollivander was a little too generous with the prices for his wands than he should be. From his perspective, business was down a little because new muggleborns weren't accepted into Hogwarts. In fact, even the term muggleborn was being phased out. No such thing existed.

Muggleborns were left in the muggle world unless they started causing problem by exhibiting natural magical abilities. They were retrieved, suppressed and turned into slaves. What better than to turn a problem into economic value?

"Hopefully it won't rain too much." Hermione had only been to the cottage in Devon a couple of times, but she adored it. Long summer days in a wild and overgrown garden.

"Hello, love," Misty said brightly, looking up at someone. Hermione turned to see Goderick Ollivander, Misty's husband, in the doorway. Her heart still jumped whenever something unexpected happened. It was a hangover from the war. Her nerves never fully accepted that there was no danger.

The truth was that she was still in danger. Things could change. Things did change quickly and drastically. That she had learned, and if they changed, they would likely not be in her favor. It wasn't as if there was a strong resistance that would win. The resistance had petered out into a grumble about how the good old days were better. The problem was that fewer people now agreed, because the new order benefited most.

Goderick walked into the small room with a letter in his hand. Something official with a letter head. Hermione couldn't see what, but she knew that Goderick wasn't pleased.

"There's been an offer for her," he said.

"Offer for who?" Misty asked.

"Your girl. An offer to buy her."

"She'd not for sale. I need her," Misty replied.

An offer? That was not usual. There were sufficient slaves. Muggles were brought in as slaves if they wanted more. Why would someone offer for her? Unease crept up her spine. There were still a few people interested in her, but her lack of visibility these days had most people forgetting about her.

"Your father will never allow that," Misty said. "He owes her a great debt. He is alive because of what she did."

"I know all that. I won't accept it, but they are offering a great deal."

"Who?"

"Draco Malfoy."

A silence descended on the room. "You cannot accept that. That man does not wish her well. This is not simply an offer for a slave. Who knows what his intentions are for her," Misty said in a whisper as if Hermione couldn't hear her.

"I'll tend to the fire," Hermione said and curtseyed before swiftly leaving the room through the narrow staircase exclusively for servant use.

Panic flared inside her when she reached the basement kitchen. Draco Malfoy was looking for her. This was bad. Very bad. What did he want? Misty was right, it wouldn't be anything good. If there was one person that hated her, it was Draco Malfoy. Maybe his father, if he would allow himself to admit he hated someone so low as a mudblood.

No, Mr. Ollivander would never allow her to be handed over to the Malfoys.

Why was this happening? Why now? Things were done. They'd won. What could they possibly want now? Draco Malfoy had made no bones about the fact that she disgusted him. He'd gloated when she'd been captured. He'd even been there when she'd been auctioned off. He hadn't bid, and hadn't objected to Mr. Ollivander buying her. Truthfully, many of the families had been wary of her, fearing she would cause trouble, so no one had objected when Garrick Ollivander had bid for her. The sale had gone through.

Now he was back, trying to buy her. This was not good.

Calm yourself, she reiterated. The Ollivanders would say no and that would be the end of it.