Beginning

There was a light tapping on the door.

Draco rose from the metal chair where he had spent a sleepless night and stretched. It was probably that muggle girl.

From what little contact they had the previous night, he could tell she was odd. She barely spoke and there was a manipulative air about her. She seemed preoccupied with her own sense of power, though he didn't consider slumlord true power. He momentarily wondered if she had some secret that would give her power over him, but quickly rejected the thought. From what he had been told, muggles were simple, foolish, arrogant creatures. It was likely all muggles were as strange as she was.

The tapping on the door became louder and more incessant.

He yawned and unlocked the bolt to the door. The girl stood before him, leaning languidly against the door as she had done the night before. However, the apathy in her eyes had been replaced by a certain smugness. His stomach clenched. No filthy little muggle had the right to act superior to him, let alone her. She was nothing more than another lost soul in this broken down hell. He was above her. He felt his temperature rise at the thought that something lowlier than a mudblood now dared to attempt to exert power over him. He was about to put her in her place when he had the sense to bite his tongue. He needed her- for now. This was not the time to insult her.

His temple was throbbing from the effort he was exerting on self control.

The smugness in her eyes was replaced by a glint of amusement.

"Good morning, Mr. Malfoy," she said in a throaty voice. "I presume you're ready for your first day of work?"

There was something sinister in the way her lips curled ever so slightly upward.

He eyed her wearily. Her lank black hair was tired back, throwing her features into sharp focus. Her face was plain. There was little color in her face other than her red lips and the dark circles under her eyes. She might have been pretty, he though to himself, if she got some sun- and wasn't a filthy muggle.

But what shocked him was what she wore. This girl stood before him in nothing more than a pair of, very, cropped pants and a black undershirt. His solid upbringing had given him little exposure to muggle fashion. He had hear of it's scandalous nature, the opposite of high society's well mannered young ladies, who knew better than to prance about scantily clad in what would barley suffice as night clothes.

What made it worse was that she looked good.

Though her face was plain, he couldn't help noticing her figure. The shorts hugged the curve of her hips and the tight top clung to her slender waist.

As if anticipating where his gaze was drifting, she crossed her arms over her chest, bringing his attention back to her stern features. Her smirk was replaced by a slight frown.

Grinning at her annoyance, he stared into her cold black eyes.

"And what is it you plan on making me do today?"

A hint of the amusement, or perhaps malice, crept back onto her face.

"Paint. Today we will begin with painting one of the apartments on this floor."

He sighed inwardly. Painting was a task meant for house elves or to be done using a spell, but it was better than the little bitch making him scrub something.

He followed her down the hall to a door where a few cans of white paint sat patiently. He realized he had let to learn her name.

"What's your name?"

For a moment, it appeared as if she would ignore him as she did the night before.

"Hope."

How ironic, he thought to himself.

Inhaling deeply, he rolled up his sleeves, ready to endure his first day in hell.