Hermione grimaced as her sore back twinged. She straightened up and leant on her mop, wiping her sweaty forehead.
She had to bend back over and resume her work as the Family came out of the parlour and made their way up the stairs. Young Master Malfoy sent Hermione a vindictive smirk as he passed, which she glanced up and caught.
"How's the back, Granger?" he asked spitefully.
"Draco, don't talk to the creature unless you are issuing an order." His pinched mother commanded. "It's not worth the breath." She smiled evilly.
"Oh I know that, mother. I was just enjoying how pathetic she is."
Hermione glanced away and glared at the wall, knowing she would earn herself a slap if he saw her glaring at him.
The house elves only came out when they heard the doors close above them, showing that the Family had retired for the night. One of the male elves took the mop from Hermione with a sympathetic smile.
"If Miss wants, we will finish this job for her, and be happy to do it for Miss." Daisy ventured tentatively.
Hermione smiled gratefully. "Thank you. I have fresh scars to tend to." There was a distinctive stoop to her shoulders as she walked towards the servants stairs.
She pushed open the creaking door to the attic and made her way around the stored items deftly, knowing the position of them all by heart. In one corner was an old mattress with a few blankets and a discarded cushion on it. On this Hermione sat and lit the candle by the aid of a box of Cook's Matches. A few old photographs were tacked up on the wall behind the mattress, her lost friends smiling down at her, offering their silent hope. An old gramophone stood on an unwanted table, a few old records on the floor next to it.
Taking the candlestick to the gramophone she selected a record and wound up the ancient player. Soon 'A Whiter Shade of Pale' crackled out through the room. She didn't care if the Family heard it. She was past caring how much trouble she got into.
The door creaked open again and Daisy came in bearing a bowl of water and vinegar and a rag. The little elf approached Hermione and gently made her lie down on her front on the mattress.
Hermione winced as the elf began to tend to her cuts from the morning's beating. Gently Daisy cleaned off the dry blood and let the vinegar water do it's work in helping to heal the scars.
"We admire your defiance but Miss should take care. Young Master is growing more impatient with her."
"Good. I want him to hate me as much as I hate him. I know you don't understand why I'm fighting so hard against the inevitable but it's the only way I can keep Harry alive. Dumbledore once said that he would never be gone from Hogwarts as long as those there remained loyal to him. The war may be over and Dumbledore and Harry dead, but although we lost, they will never be gone as long as those few of us that are still here keep fighting against those who brought down the free world." Hermione glanced at a photograph of Harry, Ron and herself on the wall. "Someday we'll win it back. Dumbledore's Army is in pieces, the Order's been disbanded; most of my friends are dead. There's only one Weasley left. Poor Fred."
"Where's he?"
"He's a slave for Fenrir Greyback. Neville is Belatrix Lestrange's slave. Luna was forced to serve Dolores Umbridge along with Professor McGonagall. That's really all that's left of us."
"Pity that." a casual voice said from the doorway. Daisy leapt up as though she'd been stunned and Hermione scrambled round clutching her dress to her. "Daisy, go help the other house elves finishing Granger's work." Draco ordered. Daisy exchanged a look with Hermione who nodded. The little elf disappeared with a pop.
"What are you doing here, sir?" Hermione asked quietly, going to the gramophone and stopping the needle, purposefully showing him the scars on her back, many more than this morning's twelve fresh ones; all his handiwork.
"I came to give you this." There was something odd in his tone; could it be guilt? He placed a little bottle of healing tonic on the gramophone table. She glanced around at him. "I felt bad about this morning."
"Is this sympathy?"
"Yes. Strange isn't it?"
She half laughed. "Yeah. Young Master Malfoy showing something like compassion towards a lowly servant. It's unheard of. I should say slave actually, since you don't pay me anything."
"We don't?"
"I get paid as much as the elves do." She sat down on her mattress. "And treated worse. At least all they get is the physical punishments. I have to endure the verbal as well."
"I'm sorry."
"No you're not. Not really. I know you better than that. Or at least I thought I did."
"I'm really not how I appear."
"I've been your slave for nine months, we were at school together for seven years, I think I know your character pretty well by now."
"No you don't. Not really." He smiled as she restrained her glare at his almost repetition of her own words. "I meant it when I said I was sorry. I'm sorry I had you whipped this morning, out in the cold. I wouldn't have done, if you'd had the sense to yell at me when my father wasn't around to hear it. I deserved to be shouted at, and you're welcome to take your anger out on me when we're alone, but do it in front of father and I must have you punished."
"So if I'd yelled at you, said all the same things I did yesterday, when he wasn't there I wouldn't have been whipped this morning?"
He nodded. "I'd have let it slide. Does that surprise you?"
"You would never let me get away with something like that. Not at school, not here."
"I didn't pay you back for punching me in third year did I?" he smirked, but it wasn't his usual one; this one was nicer, more friendly. "Look, you have every right to be angry with me. I've been ghastly to you, and your friends. I didn't blame you for yelling at me yesterday, like I said, I deserved every word. To tell the truth, I actually like it when you shout at me." here Hermione noticed his blush.
"Why?"
"I've never told anyone this, but I like how you look when you're angry. You don't take crap from anyone and you're not afraid to be rude to those who warrant it. You were never afraid of me. My parents thought we'd break your spirit within a week of your servitude. I knew better. Turn around." he ordered gently. Perplexed, she got up and turned her back on him. Gently he traced the scars. "I knew that however much we punished you for the disobedience I knew going to come from you, however many times I was forced to beat you, that however many taunts and insults I threw at you, you would still keep rebelling. It didn't matter if I drew buckets of blood from you, nothing would break you. Not hard chores, not beatings, not humiliations, not insults or slaps. Nothing. You may not always be screaming at me or my parents, or throwing things at me, or hitting me. It's usually just a look. A defiant, furious, beautiful look which lights up your face, puts colour in your cheeks and reminds me that you are a Gryffindor."
"Malfoy are you on something?" she asked sceptically, glancing over her shoulder and meeting his eyes.
The look there stopped her laughter. Sincerity. He was being honest.
Oh Merlin, that changed everything.
"I'm sorry about these." He said in barely more than a whisper, still stroking her scars. "I wouldn't have given you so many, if father didn't test my wand for the strokes of the whip."
"Sounds like we're both his slaves." She said softly.
She heard him chuckle humourlessly. "It's why I intend to get away from him. Soon. Don't tell anyone."
"I won't. A good servant is discreet." Hermione turned to face him with a kind smile on her lips.
He returned it, keeping his silver eyes locked on her brown ones.
Maybe she had found a kindred spirit in the unlikeliest of places.