To Get Back Life
Thanks to –
Curlyqntx,
Mysteriouscharm,
Londonmalfoy,
Rachel,
Swtndreamypnay,
Kristen,
Louiebugooey, - your idea was really good but I can't use it, sorry, the Weasleys wouldn't support Voldemort so it would be unlikely that they would buy a slave. But thank you so much for your input it was much appreciated.
epiphany-the-storyteller,
Danish Pastry 28 – thank you for your ideas for summaries, as you may have seen I have used one of them and it really does sound better now. Thank you also for your comments about the title some of them sounded good but I'm still toying with the idea of whether to change it or not, I did like some of your suggestions though.
A/N – well after that many reviews how can I not continue? I would just like to thank Danish Pastry 28 for so much input and would like to ask you all something about a point raised.
What do you think of the title to this story? Do you think I should change it? And if so have you got any ideas?
Chapter 5
The Farm
They were taken to the Great Hall, and to the most shocking sight Hermione had ever seen.
The whole floor was covered in pens. Small white fences caged off, what seemed like, hundreds of people to Hermione, but she guessed that it was just her mind exaggerating. The people inside where what shocked her; each one of them tied up with fraying rope twisted painfully around both of their wrists.
"Welcome to the Farm!" Voldemort exclaimed gleefully, delighted in the many people's suffering.
He walked down the gap between the pens until they got to, what used to be, where the teachers sat; now there was a large cast-iron tub filled with soapy water, a chest of robes and a branding iron. Voldemort turned to the Deatheaters who were held onto the group of Muggle borns that Hermione was in. "Get them prepared. We open tomorrow so I want everything in here in full working order."
The Deatheaters walked past him, dragging their prisoner behind them. When Hermione was being pulled past Voldemort held up his hand to stop them.
"Once she's ready put here in the back room I'm saving her for someone." He instructed and the Deatheater nodded eagerly before starting to pull her behind him again.
Once up on the platform Hermione was stripped of her clothes, dignity going with it, and shoved roughly into the tub of water, she was scrubbed until she was pink and covered in soap until her eyes were red raw. Once they deemed her clean she was dragged out of the water and hit with the freezing cold air of the Hall. Towelling her dry and cramming a thin black robe over her head she was then sat on a stool for a Deatheater to sort out the tangled mass of knots that was her hair. Deeming it all untangled the Deatheater pointed their wand at her head and her hair was instantly dried. She was then pushed into a queue of Muggle borns, when she reached the end of the line she realised why everyone look positively terrified.
A Deatheater grabbed her left hand and before she even had the chance to struggle pressed a hot metal rod against it. There was the hissing as the scorching hot metal met her cool skin, she screamed out in pain as the skin was burnt. Her skin was already blistering around the number now scarred onto her palm, tears pricked in the corners of her eyes but she held them back as she was led out of the room into the small room where Hermione remembered seeing Harry and the other people who entered the Triwizard Tournament go into.
It was a very small room and was now stripped of all furniture and portraits. It felt bare and cold, much like the rest of the castle did now, Hermione thought. The door was slammed shut and the locked with a firm click. Looking around her tiny room she walked to the corner and curled up, tucking her knees up against her chest. Now that she was alone she let the fresh wave of tears roll down her hot cheeks. She looked at her hand and winced at the sight of it, it looked awful. She gave a very loud sniff and looked around for something that she could use. Finally she found just the thing she needed; the curtains. She got to her feet and ripped the bottom of the clean white material, she wrapped the strip of cotton around her left palm. As it pressed against the blisters the pain intensified, she sucked in her lips and squeezed her eyes shut to stop herself screaming.
--
The next morning a loud bang scared Hermione out of her dreams and she quickly scrambled into an upright position as a Deatheater stormed into the room. They shoved a bowl of horribly greyish lumpy-looking porridge into her hands and stalked out of the room without saying a word.
With a sigh Hermione took the spoon and started to shovel it into her mouth.
"It might taste horrible." She told herself out loud, trying to justify why she was eating it "but who knows when my next meal will be."
The bowl empty, Hermione got up and paced the room thinking of something she could do, anything at all. When no thoughts came to her she pressed her head firmly against the floor to see through the thin crack of space between the door and the stone floor. After a few minutes she sat up and gave a frustrated growl; she could see nothing but the feet of many Muggle borns and Deatheaters. Feet were no help to her, feet couldn't tell her anything at all.
--
Draco was pacing his room with growing agitation; where was she now? What was going on? Was she now, in fact, lying stone dead because of him? He picked up the closest object to him, which just happened to be a very expensive china mug that his father prized, and flung it violently against the opposite wall. It smashed loudly into many pieces and for the slightest moment he felt a little better. But then more worries crowded his mind and he was back to pacing the floor.
He had, of course, wanted to go over to the safe house as soon as Voldemort had disapperated, but his father had dragged him by the wrists and flung him into his bedroom. Triple locking the door behind him, then, just for good measure charming the windows so he could climb out of them. But even in the height of his rage Draco could see this was a stupid idea, he was on the fourth floor, if he had jumped out of it he would be splattered on the concrete below. And just how good would he to anyone if he was dead?
Suddenly he came to a dead stop in the middle of the room, one foot still slightly raised ready for the next step that would never come, as realisation took a hold of him. What good would pacing and fuming really do? How would that help when anything he did he would be killed for? This was The Dark Lord he was up against, Harry Potter; the Boy Who Lived had died in his hands. How would he, an average nineteen-year-old wizard really compare? Not too well was his guess.
So there we have it, he thought furiously, giving up again, as usual, aren't you Draco? I always give in; couldn't possible handle a fight now could I? Just shut your mouth and follow orders as ever, just forget about this girl that you so obviously had feelings for and now whatever happened to her is actually all your fault!
He lay down on his bed feeling thoroughly sorry for himself and carrying on his line of self hating thoughts for quite a while. So long, in fact, he didn't realise that he had at some point fallen asleep; so when he next opened his eyes it was a bit of a shock to see the candles distinguished and light pouring through the open blinds.
He changed out of his stale, creased, slept-in clothes into a fresh t-shirt and jeans, Muggle branded, with a robe over the top, before trying the door again; still locked.
It was hours until it was opened and his mother walked in.
"Put on some shoes, we're going out." She ordered and flung a pair at him, watching like a hawk as he pulled them onto his feet and laced them up.
Once he was done he stood up and followed her out of the room, to the library. The fire in the huge fireplace was already glowing green and Thomas, Clarissa and Adam were stepping inside. It was large enough to fit four people in at once, although it was usually so hard to get out of the other end that they rarely travelled as a family anymore. They had already disappeared before Draco had time to focus on the location that they had said.
He was quickly ushered next into the flame with his Mother and Father along side him.
"Hogwarts!" His father declared in his demanding, loud voice and they were zooming off through the Floo network.
They soon came to a halt and stepped out into a large room that was filled with fireplaces that had various witches and wizards stepping out of.
"What are we doing here?" Draco enquired feeling very bewildered.
His Mother shushed him as he followed her down a large, high ceiling-ed hallway. They stopped outside a grand looking doorway which was promptly opened for them by two Deatheaters. Draco decided that they must have been far below the ranks of his father as they were not even acknowledged by him. But this thought didn't last long as it was pushed out by the horror that befell him as soon as he set eyes on the Farm.
He looked to his Mother and Father; who were gazing around the scene as if it were of usual occurrence, next to his cousin and his wife who also both look equally under-whelmed by the whole thing. Dracp simply shook his head in horrified wonder and followed his parents to have a closer look at the goings on, almost like a morbid curiosity.
It took him a little while of eavesdropping on various conversations to finally work out exactly what was going on. This was the Muggle born sale that Lord Voldemort had been talking about at the dinner party. All the poor, tied up people before him were to become slaves. It sickened him to think about it, so much so that he hastily made excuses and slipped outside to breathe in the fresh air and calm himself down.
--
"-such good prices, a really good deal. I've got four already; that's one to clean, one to make beds, one to wash and one to answer the door!" Draco overheard one Pure-blooded woman tell her friend.
"-only young ones mind," he heard another say, "all the oldies are locked up in the dungeons ready for the chop."
With these words Draco had to suppress a shudder, how could they talk so calmly about things so brutal? How could they seem so happy about so many people's deaths? It was horrific in Draco's eyes.
--
"Mr and Mrs Malfoy, just the people I wanted to see!" Voldemort exclaimed as he crossed the room towards Draco's parents. "I have something in the back for you; I saved her especially for you. Follow me."
They quickly followed their leader into the small room where Hermione was being kept. When they saw inside they were hugely disappointed to see that it was just one girl; or they were at least until Voldemort explained who she was.
"This is the one that your boy was friends with. I'm giving her to you as a thank you for getting me another house to raid. This is Granger, Potter's friend."
Draco's father twisted into a happy smirk as he realised that the girl stood before him could be the perfect torture weapon to use against his son.
"Thank you My Lord." He said quickly and made a low bow to her.
He handed him the rope that was tied around Hermione's wrists and walked from the room without another word. They dragged Hermione behind them as they left the room and went back to the departure room.
"Draco come on we're leaving!" His mother barked as they sailed past, by the time he had turned to face them they were no where to be seen.
By the time he got back to the room with all the large fireplaces they had already gone and his cousin and his family were leaving too. With a huge sigh he stepped into flames alone and declared where he wanted to go.
The library was empty when he stepped out of the fireplace into it, as was the hallway and the living room. He was just about to start up the stairs to his bedroom when his mother shouted him.
"Draco! Kitchen now!" she ordered and, grudgingly, he walked towards her voice.
His whole family was sat at the table, apart from Adam who was sat on the floor playing with his toy broomstick.
"Draco we would like you to meet our new maid; Hermione Granger." His mother told him and dragged Hermione back into the room. "You can thank him for getting you this job Granger; it was Draco who told the Dark Lord where you were."
Silence filled the room as the two teenagers regarded each other in horror. From the looks on the rest of his family's face Draco knew that they knew exactly who she was.
"Draco?" Hermione breathed tears filling her eyes.
"H-Hermione!" He stuttered in shock.
"Girl, you shall be sleeping in the attic with the house elves. You shall get up each morning at five and clean each fireplace. You shall then serve us breakfast at seven o'clock. At eight we got to work, you shall then make the beds and clean each room. Wash the clothes when you have finished that, there is a large washing tub outside. You shall then serve us dinner at seven thirty. Once you have done the dishes from our meal and made sure that everything is clean you may go to bed." Mrs Malfoy explained quickly, in a tone that implied that she would not repeat herself so it was very important to listen carefully. "Now, there shall be a bell, if you hear it you must come to the drawing room immediately as there will be a task for you to do. Do you understand?"
Hermione nodded quickly, finding she was quite unable to talk.
"You may go now; your duties will start tomorrow."
Again Hermione nodded and quickly fled from the room. She started up the five flights of stairs that would take her up into the attic.
That's four floors to tidy each day. She thought glumly as she climbed.
How can he have told Voldemort? He was lying to me the whole time, making me believe I could trust him. Sad thoughts spun in her mind as she lay down on what she guessed passed as beds for the house elves. He was just trying to get information from me. All he wanted to know was where the safe house was and I trusted him, it's my fault that the Bennett family is now dead.
With these depressing notions, for the second night running she cried herself to sleep.
--
The next floor down Draco wasn't feeling much better. He too was wracked with guilt. He too felt that it was his entire fault that Hermione was here and that the family that had been looking after her had been murdered.
She'll hate me, he sighed, and she'll think I lied, that all I wanted was to leak information from her. This is all Voldemort's fault! If she hadn't interfered Hermione would have probably moved on by now and everything would be great.
--
"Well this should teach him that he shouldn't befriend Mudbloods." Lucius Malfoy said happily to his wife as he poured out two glasses of Butterbeer for them.
"It will also make him despise us more." She responded sadly.
"Well if he wasn't such a bloody disappointment then we would have to be so damned hard on him and he would be like this at all!" Draco's father spat, slamming his hand against the table in anger.
"I know dear, I know." She soothed him, as she always did when he began to get worked up, which was usually quite often.
"What will we do about him getting the mark?" She asked a little while later, "You know as well as I do that he's going to refuse."
"I'm giving him six months, if he doesn't get it by then I shall get the Dark Lord to come and brand him himself," He informed his wife with a decisive smile, "Whether he likes it or not."
