Disclaimer: JK Rowling's.

Summary: A bit of backstory, character development, extensive descriptions of doors.

A/N: Well here's the next chapter. Hope you guys enjoy it, and review it. By the way, I have a new story, "Grade Inflation", involving Hermione and Padma, if you guys are interested. And I'm writing the next chapter of my first story, but this one is so much easier to write. Thanks, and please review.

Pansy poked her head into the room.

"Slave, let's go." She glanced at Hermione, who was wearing a conservative looking maid's outfit, and frowned.

She was standing up straight and obediently, and fit well into the new uniform Pansy had provided. But her feet were bare.

"Don't you have any shoes?"

Hermione shook her head. "No, mistress" she added hastily.

Pansy exhaled sharply, as if angry.

"No matter. We won't be walking anyway. Come on." She turned around and headed down the hallway. Hermione followed.

At the end of the hallway the guards were holding the door open. A fat, balding man, visibly agitated, paced near the door. As Pansy moved closer, he approached her.

"Mrs. Malfoy, please be reasonable! We didn't know the prisoner was yours…I assure you, had we known! But with the war on the continent and all, we are severely strapped for cash and food! Please, Mrs. Malfoy…we have nothing but the utmost respect for the Pureblood Commission, and especially for the name Malfoy. Please!"

Pansy laughed sharply and walked right past the desperate man and out the door. Hermione stepped out behind her and winced. The sun was shining brightly and she couldn't remember the last time she had been outside. Shortly before she was captured, probably. Outside, she turned around to look at the prison that had been her home for months. A banner reading "We Hail the Great Lord Voldemort, Hail Voldemort" hung above the façade, and made her shiver.

A grand old limousine pulled up in the gravel driveway and an old man got out and opened the rear door. Limping with bare feet over the sharp gravel, Hermione followed Pansy inside.

Once inside, Pansy relaxed on her seat. She reached over and awkwardly poured herself a glass of wine, using only her right hand. She began sipping quietly, all while examining Hermione, mostly with a smug and bemused expression on her face.

"Would you like some wine, slave?" She put an emphasis on the last word.

Hermione shook her head no. "No thank you mistress." She opened her mouth again. "But….," she trailed off. She felt faint.

Pansy smiled cruelly. "But what, slave?"

From Hermione's estimate, it was now nearly noon. She hadn't eaten for over a day.

"But I'm so hungry, mistress" she admitted, gasping out the words.

Pansy's face turned grim. "I'd imagine. There is plenty of food at the manor and...hmm…" Furrowing her eyebrows, Pansy reached over and grabbed Hermione's wrist and felt for a pulse. She mumbled to herself and then felt Hermione's forehead for a fever.

"You're really sick," she finally said.

"Yes." Hermione had suspected as much.

"I'll send for a doctor when we get to the house."

Hermione looked up. "Thank you, mistress. Thank you very much." She spoke slowly, staring into Pansy's eyes, wanting to make her gratitude obvious. Pansy just laughed.

"Thank you? Oh I'm disappointed. I expected far more of a fight out of you, slave. I used to respect your pride, but now I think you'd kiss my feet just for a kind word."

Hermione cast her eyes on the floor, unsure what to say. Pansy reached over to the seat beside her and grabbed something.

"Here, I'm going to put this on you." She held up a collar. "This is a magic restriction collar. Even though you certainly seem docile, don't think I've forgotten what a formidable opponent you were in the war. You won't be able to cast anything but the most basic spells with this on."

Pansy scooted over and tried to fasten the collar to Hermione's neck. However, Pansy only used her right hand, and Hermione's neck had grown so thin after months of malnutrition that Pansy had to puncture a hole in the collar herself just to get it to fit. "Goodness," she mumbled.

After fastening the collar, she leaned back in her seat.

"Now I suppose you'd like to know what your duties as my slave are, right?"

"Yes, mistress."

"Excellent. Well, you may or may not know it, but Lord Voldemort is fighting a war on the continent right now. A rather large war. And as such, almost all of my servants have been drafted into service."

This bit of news disheartened Hermione. Voldemort wasn't just stopping at Britain.

Pansy went on. "As you'd imagine, Malfoy Manor is rather large, and it has fallen into a bit of disrepair in the past few months. And despite your unfortunate blood heritage, I do know that you are an intelligent and capable worker. There are a number of everyday chores that it will be your duty to do. Cleaning, cooking, attending to any personal desire I have---these will be your duties. I may put your big brain to work doing some bookkeeping as well. Understood, slave?"

"Yes mistress." Hermione nodded.

"Okay, slave. Do you have any questions for me?"

Hermione had been locked up, away from the world, for an entire year. She had a million questions, and her mind raced furiously to sort which questions would be the most important and appropriate.

"War…in Europe?" she stuttered feebly.

Pansy smiled. "Yes, although it should be over in a couple of months. Death Eaters control almost all of Western Europe right now. There are still pockets of resistance in Germany, and do you remember Viktor Krum? He's been one of the biggest thorns in our side. He's still on the loose somewhere in Poland."

Hermione smiled to herself. At least one of her old friends was still alive, for at least a little longer. She thought of another question.

"If you don't mind me asking, mistress, how…how did I…how did you come to own me?"

"Well, Lord Voldemort is very generous with his distribution of slaves, especially with so many purebloods called into military service. You are certainly one of the highest profile prisoners we have, and while you were originally slated for execution, the contributions of the Malfoy family during the war were so great that he rewarded you to us."

Pansy had been somewhat nice to her thus far, but she was still a Malfoy, if not by blood then by name, and Hermione wondered if someday soon she might regret that she hadn't been executed instead.

"And…you are…what do you do?"

"I'm a minister of the Pureblood Commission."

Seeing Hermione's incomprehension, Pansy explained.

"The Pureblood Commission is made up of the senior member of all the great Pureblood families. We're responsible for producing laws and enforcing order."

"Oh." Hermione thought for a moment. The Pureblood Commission was made up of the senior member of each family, which meant…

"Draco?"

Pansy's mood shifted. "He's dead," she said quietly.

She took a big breath and continued, seeming to lift a burden off her shoulders.

"So are Lucius, Narcissa, and my parents. And Millicent and Blaise. And Harry, Ron, Neville…hardly anyone from your side survived."

Hermione stared at her. She had known of Harry and Ron's deaths, but she had had no idea of the casualties on the other side. Pansy's face betrayed no emotion other than cold reality.

"Everyone's dead, slave. Everyone but you and me."

Malfoy Manor was a large estate right on the outskirts of town. There were iron gates, an enormous garden and even stables. It reminded Hermione of what Thornfield Hall, from her favorite book Jane Eyre, would look like. The limousine pulled up right in front of the main entrance, an impressive large pair of oak doors set against an imposing marble façade.

"And here we are." Pansy reached over and clipped a chain to Hermione's collar, giving her a de-facto leash. She gave it a gentle tug.

"Come on, let's go," she said, opening the door and stepping out.

The chauffeur, who Hermione now saw was frightfully old, had walked around to the rear of the car and opened the boot.

"Your bags, Madam Malfoy." Hermione saw that there were several bags in the boot.

Pansy, who had already been leading Hermione up the stairs to the door, turned around.

"Ah yes. We'll have the slave carry them up to…" she paused as she examined Hermione's gaunt figure one more time. "Actually, let me get the slave settled down, and I'll be right back and get them myself."

The doors opened automatically for Pansy, surely some spell Hermione thought, and she led the way into the grand entrance room. The Malfoy family crest was prominent over the large staircase, and the walls were adorned with tacky paintings of Lucius, Narcissa and Draco in happier days, posing with furs and jewels adorned around their necks and smug smiles plastered to their faces. Pansy led Hermione up the staircase and down a long hallway, full of paintings of the Malfoys. Hermione noticed that there were no paintings of Pansy.

Stopping at the end of the hallway, Pansy gestured to the giant oak door in front of them. "Okay, this is my bedroom. And this," she turned to the right and led Hermione into a far more modest room, "is yours." The room had a cot, small dresser, closet and wash basin. She unclipped the chain and beckoned Hermione to the bed.

"Lie down. I'm going to go call for a doctor and fix you some soup. Just lie down. I'll be back in a few minutes." She turned to leave.

Hermione, though having been chastened for it earlier, couldn't stop herself. "Thank you mistress," she managed to squeak out.

Pansy snorted. "Oh honestly, shut up with that already, idiot." But she stopped at the doorway and looked down at Hermione. Finally she shook her head and exhaled loudly.

"You're welcome."