Disclaimer: JK Rowling owns 'em.
Summary: Day 2 of captivity begins.
A/N: This chapter and the next were originally going to be one chapter, but it got far too long. So I'm splitting them in two. Expect the next chapter in a day or so. Hope you like, and if you do, please review.
A huge bowl of soup hovered into the room, Pansy following close behind. With a flick of her wand, she directed the bowl onto the table beside Hermione's bed.
"Here's some chicken noodle soup. I'm not much of a cook…in fact that's a reason why I got you in the first place."
It could have been warm mud and it wouldn't have mattered to Hermione. Just the smell of food overrode all her senses. She forgot her manners and began devouring the soup. In her year of captivity, she hadn't had anything nearly this good. Pansy stood and watched, waiting until she had finished before continuing.
"I also sent for a doctor. He should be here in a few minutes."
Hermione looked up, at her mistress. She gave a low nod, a silent thank-you that Pansy apparently understood, for she nodded back.
"Now just lie down and rest. I have to go fetch luggage from the car." She turned and left.
Hermione leaned back and spread herself out on the bed. This morning she had woken up on the floor of her grimy cell, half-mad with starvation and probably a few weeks from death. Now she was lying on a bed—a bed!—and would apparently be kept and fed well.
And for this she had to thank Pansy, one of her most vicious enemies at Hogwarts and most feared enemies on the battlefield. It was so bizarre, being grateful to Pansy after years of cursing her very name. And being grateful to Pansy for allowing, allowing, Hermione to become her slave. A slave!---the last vestiges of her old personality protested. In the old days she would have rather died than serve someone like Pansy, no matter the treatment. But the years of war and months of brutal captivity had changed her. She was now loyal to anyone who fed her, anyone who refrained from beating her. Pansy was right, she had no pride left.
Closing her eyes for a moment, she drifted off into a light nap, waking a few minutes later when she heard Pansy's voice from down the hall.
"Yes, she's lying down in the servant's quarters over here."
Another voice, a man's voice, responded. "And may I ask, Mrs. Malfoy, why this patient is so important that I had to floo over here immediately?"
"She is very sick, and the wait to see a doctor is days long unless you specify emergency." They entered the room.
The doctor was an old, grey-haired man, whose face quickly turned to purple when he saw who he was treating.
"A mudblood! You called me here all the way from London to treat...this?" he said, gesturing at his patient.
Pansy was calm. "She is not just a mudblood. She is my slave, and a valued servant in the household."
The doctor was still incredulous. "A mudblood! Can you imagine…"
Pansy steeled her expression. "She serves vital duties in the household."
"She is a mudblood! My goodness, I am opposed to the idea of even feeding her, much less treating her! In fact, I just came from the Thrace estate. Mr. Thrace goes through five mudblood servants a month! He lets his kids hunt them for sport, honestly Mrs. Malfoy, the laws of this country are very clear, we're not even allowed to treat them."
With an exasperated sigh, Pansy reached under her coat and pulled out a death eater medallion. "As you know, I am a member of the Pureblood Commission, and as such, this isn't a request. You are hereby ordered to treat the patient." The doctor nodded, but obviously under protest.
"Very well, madam."
Pansy saw the anger in his eyes, and suddenly thought of something that would soothe him. "And, this is just not any ordinary mudblood." The doctor looked up, a tint of interest on his face. "This is the famous Hermione Granger, now my slave. The propaganda value of someone of her former stature now serving as my slave is priceless."
Hermione's stomach tensed up. Is this really why Pansy wanted her as a slave?
"Is that so? The mighty Hermione Granger? I thought she had been executed." The doctor peered down at her. "Not so mighty anymore, are you, mudblood?"
"No…sir," came Hermione's choked response.
"Very well, now that's settled. Please treat the patient and I'll let you be on your way."
The doctor worked quick and efficiently. Checking Hermione's pulse, taking and analyzing a blood sample and examining her mouth, he came up quickly with a diagnosis, and a cure. He handed Pansy a vial of potion.
"Give this to her and have her rest till tomorrow. She should be fine tomorrow. Also…" he sneered slightly, showing his disgust, "if you really value her well-being, I would advise feeding her more. She is clearly malnourished."
Pansy nodded. "Thank you," she said curtly.
"My respects, Mrs. Malfoy. Hail Voldemort."
"Goodbye, doctor."
As the doctor left, Pansy turned around to face Hermione. She handed her the vial. "Drink up, you heard what the doctor said."
Hermione obliged, and handed the empty vial back to Pansy, who was now pointing her wand at Hermione.
"The doctor says sleep is good for you, so I'm going to put you to sleep, okay? If you wake up during the night, the bathroom is down the hall to your left."
Hermione nodded. Pansy pointed.
"Dormis quiete."
And then everything was black.
"Slave, wake up. Come on."
Hermione opened her eyes. Pansy was standing above her.
"Do you feel better? The doctor said you would."
Hermione blinked her eyes and rubbed her head. She couldn't really tell.
"Yeah, I think so."
"Well come on, there's breakfast for us in the kitchen." Pansy plopped something on the floor. "I brought you shoes."
Hermione scooted off the bed and followed Pansy down the stairs, past several doors and into the large and well appointed kitchen. She was somewhat surprised to see a refrigerator, toaster and dishwasher. Muggle appliances! She couldn't remember the last time she saw one, and would have never expected to find them in the Malfoy manor, of all places.
Pansy saw her curious look.
"Lucius would roll over in his grave if he saw this, but it's just so much more practical," she explained. Pointing at a microwave, she continued. "But I must admit, I'm still a novice when it comes to using most of these things. That's why I have you."
Hermione smiled to herself. The appliances reminded her of home, a place she hadn't been to or even thought about in years. Pansy broke her chain of thought, beckoning her towards the bowls of oatmeal and platter of sausage on the table.
They ate quietly, Pansy humming to herself while reading various reports and Hermione staring dutifully at her mistress. There was something unusual about the way Pansy ate that Hermione just couldn't put her finger on. When they were finished, Pansy took Hermione on a tour of the house and gave her the day's duties.
"As you can tell by today's breakfast, I'm a poor cook. So I expect you to do the cooking from now on. I wake up at 7am, every morning. I expect breakfast to be waiting when I get up and dinner to be waiting when I get home in the evening." She had gone back to the authoritarian tone she had used at the prison.
Hermione nodded, and they continued on.
Pansy led her into a dark, musty room that looked like it had been through an earthquake. Objects were strewn all over the floor. "This was Lucius's study, and after he died Narcissa went mad and wrecked it up. I've been meaning to clean and re-organize all the books, but I never had the chance. This will be your job today. I'd like it to…no, I want it to be cleaned by the end of the day."
"Yes, mistress."
"Very well, now I have a meeting to attend. I'll be home by tonight, and I want dinner waiting and that study cleaned, am I clear?" She held Hermione's chin and tilted it up to face her.
"Yes, mistress."
"And be sure to fix yourself lunch when you get hungry, okay? You still need to gain a lot of weight."
"Yes, mistress."
"And you know where the bathroom is, right? Take a shower if you get dirty."
"Yes, mistress."
Pansy by this point was grinning with delight at the endless chain of responses. "Are you going to be a good slave?" she cooed.
Hermione hesitated, looking at Pansy's expression.
"Yes, mistress," she finally said. No pride left.