A sharp light cut through my eyelids like a knife. I groaned, and rubbed my eyes. More than anything I wanted to roll over and fall asleep again, but I knew it was not an option. Grumpkin had permission to beat me within an inch of my life if I failed to awaken. At least I had a few moments to spare.
"Servich," Grumpkin taunted, using the nickname given to me by my oh-so-brilliant father. It was the ancient word for "mistake", something I was considered to be. "Servich," he said again, "Time to wakey! Oi've got a noice brekkist fo' you, oi do. Brekkist in bed, if you loike … oh, lookit that, you've taken too long, you ave. Is cold now, oi'll just haff to eat it fo' you!"
I heard a the platter clamoring and Grumpkin chomping what I guessed to be eggs and bacon noisily and with great gusto.
"An' the milk's a wee bit warm, too, oi'll take care off it!"
It was like water running out of the kitchen faucet, and when the milk stopped flowing, I could hear joyful gurgling on the other side of the door.
"That was moighty good, Servich, too bad you couldn't enjoy it!" Grumpkin laughed hysterically at his own joke. "Now, git up!" His mocking tone was gone, and in its stead was a commanding one. Grumpkin banged his grimy, knobby fist on the door.
I groaned again, but obeyed. I opened the door to see Grumpkin in his filthy pillowcase staring triumphantly up at me. Part of him loved the family that enslaved him, but the other part, his pride, hated them. Since I was apart of this family, it gave him great pleasure to give orders and have them obeyed, instead of the other way around.
The house elf pointed to the floor, where remnants of my "brekkist" lay strewn about his feet. "Clean it up, quick loike, an' then git into the kitchen!"
I nodded sleepily and went back into my room to fetch a broom and a dustpan. I heard a small patter of footsteps and knew Grumpkin was gone. Taking orders from a house elf was beneath my dignity, but I was a squib, what dignity did I have? After my older brother Draco, everyone had expected another son, a strong son, powerful and brilliant. Instead they got me, a girl. A squib. A nobody. A nothing.
In this house, I took orders from house elves and was dressed as one too. I patched my clothing together from old cloaks that my dear family threw out. So I was able to keep somewhat clean, but the only time I could bathe was, at earliest, eleven at night, which was when I finished my chores. By then, I was tired and sore. The most I could do was climb the stairs to my room , which was something like a muggle supply closet with a mat and blanket against one wall.
The Malfoys were a proud family, too proud for their own good. A squib in the family was out of the question. For some reason or another, they had decided not to kill me at birth, but a part of me always wished that they had. Death would have been better than this. Not only was I a slave in my own home, but the meetings down in the secret dungeons haunted my dreams.
My father, from a distance seemed a respectable man, well dressed, and who gave the air of someone important. Drawing closer, however, you'd see the cold in his eyes. The air seemed to lose all its warmth. Young children ran from his presence, and I couldn't blame him. Lucious Malfoy was my own father, and I couldn't stand him. However, terrible as he was, the company he kept was much worse. My father was a servant to one he called, the Dark Lord. I called him it too, it was an appropriate name.
The way they spoke of him in whispers … the way they told and retold stories of past terrors. Not stories of horror they had witnessed, but horrors they had gleefully caused. I had wanted to turn away, but I had no choice in this dream. I remember names too. Crabbe. Goyle. Avery. Bellatrix. Macnair. Rookwood. Snape. And the name of the one they served, the one they called the Dark Lord, he was there. He was there in their midst, though they themselves did not know it. But I knew it.
I had no way of telling if my dreams were true or not, but I was thouroughly convinced that they were. The cloaks I saw in my dreams were often tossed out as rags, probably by my own father and possibly my mother. I never touched these.
In the back of my mind, I knew I should be turning these men and women in. There was a Ministry, after all. But there was no Cassandra Malfoy on the records. Nobody outside my family and Grumpkin even knew of my existence. I would be marched back home. "Oh," my father would say in his slithering, slimy, soothing tone, "So sorry, just a servant girl, squib, you see. When she started to lose her mind we simply couldn't just put her out on the streets …" Tattle-taling would have not effect whatsoever.
I shivered, and shook away these dark thoughts. I swept up Grumpkin's mess and went back inside my room. Closing the door, I donned one of Draco's old school cloaks that I had stitched up in the front, and put two small slits that went up to my knee on the sides. Underneath, I had an old shirt of my mother's, and tattered leggings made from another cloak that went halfway down my calf. I didn't bother with my hair. Unlike the rest of my family, my hair was raven black. I kept it cut short and out of the way. What I looked like, I had nearly forgotten. I avoided mirrors.
I crept down into the kitchen, nearly making Grumpkin jump out of his skin. He shouted indistinct curses and threw a frying pan at me.
"Git to work," Grumpkin shouted, pointing to a mountain of dishes in the sink, then, in a pleasanter tone, "got to go take brekkist to mistress ow."
I glanced over at his tray. Breakfast for one lay ceremoniously on the silver platter.
"Draco still not back from school, then?" I asked.
Grumpkin flinched. "Young Master won't be beck fo' a while …" he broke off abruptly. "Git to work! Them dishes isn't goin' to wash emselves!"
I raised an eyebrow. There was no way he had used that many dishes. Glancing at Grumpkin's smug expression, I would have wagered a guess that he'd added a few pots and pans to the mix, just watch my reaction. Well, that was satisfaction, I was not going to give him. Silently, I walked over and began scrubbing enthusiastically.
"Hmph," Grumpkin said. Then he turned on his heel and left.
Water slushed and gurgled around my hands and arms. Washing dishes wasn't the worst chore I could have been given. A bit of soap splashed up and landed on my nose. At least it was fun. However, I had other things on my mind. Why wasn't Draco coming home? Why hadn't my father been home for so long? It wasn't that I was concerned for their safety. They could have died years ago, for all I cared. What bothered me was the fact that something big was happening … and I had no idea what it was.
I had no time to ponder this in detail, however, because at that moment, I had a dream. Better called a vision, but I had never gotten one while I was awake before.
The cloaked men were huddled around one of their own. I could not see his face, just his white blonde hair … it was my brother, and they were taunting him.
"Weakling, …"
"Mother's boy …"
"Lucky Snape was there to do it for you …"
"I could have done it myself," my brother protested, "I … was in the moment. Wanted to make him suffer a bit …"
"Of course, of course," they mocked.
"You couldn't kill a toad!" a woman shrieked. They all laughed. Draco reddened in shame.
"How are you gonna serve the Dark Lord if you can't do something as simple as murder?"
"He needs a test," one said.
"Aye, he needs a test …"
"Boy," said a tall man.
Draco flinched at being called a boy, but answered, "Yes?"
"Do you know where we can find someone young, defenseless," there was a mad chuckle, "a girl, perhaps that you can … practice on?"
Draco frowned, then brightened. "Yeah, yeah, I know. I'll get her … I'll get her right now!"
Suddenly I was back in the kitchen. My body was seized up, frozen with fear. If my dream had been true, then I had an aching suspicion about who that girl was going to be.
Still in his Death Eater cloak, Draco apparated next to me with a large crack and grabbed my arm, an evil smile spreading on his face. "Come on, sister," he sneered, "I have a job for you."