A/N:

Yesterday, I met Eoin Colfer and my life was changed. He is perhaps the funniest man to walk this earth because of the way he talks about the background for his characters and the way he tells stories from his life that inspired him to write his characters the way he did. I loved him!

Happy birthday David Mccullough and David Hasselhoff! So, readers, what did you think of Chapter "Cinderella"? And overall, which chapter has been your favorite? Leave a one-word answer in the comment box? Make an author love you for the rest of your life? (BlueNeutrino, I love you already) I'm also accepting dares for the next chapters...

Cracking an eye open like cracking an unwilling egg, Silwen woke up. The thin curtain cutting the room in two veiling the horror on the other side. A horror that now felt less horrific than last night. Staring at it, she waited for a hand to wipe the curtain away. On the other side, a silhouette stood darkly against a lamp's light. Tall, black, spectral, and perhaps waiting for her to brush the curtain to the side. Her eyes wandered around her side of the room, looking for her dresser-which wasn't there. Where it had been remained four imprints on the wooden floor, but that was all. It had been moved to the other side.

"Get up." Voldemort's voice slid over the curtain's top and forced her to swing her legs over the bed and stand on them. "Now come over here. I have your clothes." Obediently, Silwen pushed the curtain aside and looked at him. Cold radiated off him though the morning temperature was softer than usual. Grabbing hold of Silwen's hand, he walked with her over to her dresser. On top of it, a bundle of clothing lay. "Take them and change into them. Then come out the moment you have finished," he said handing them to her and pushing her back to her side, drawing the curtain.

To her surprise, the color of the fabric wasn't black or green. It was violet. Since when do I have violet clothing? Is this a hand-me-down from Narcissa? Silwen held the bundle up and a dress unfolded. Long, single-layered, shimmering, and low-necked, with most likely hand-sewn lace designs swirling all over the silken dress like painted wind. Pity the room had no mirror; it would have been amusing to spin and watch the design fly around her body. She changed into the dress, not proud enough to deny herself the small joy of loving the dress' benign feel on her skin. It clung to her torso and arms, but the skirt flowed subtly when she moved even an inch. When parted the curtain, the dress made a pleasant, windy whisper as it trailed on the ground. The only uncomfortable thing was the low neckline that she couldn't change; the Dark Lord had taken her wand from her.

"Narcissa chose well indeed," he murmured softly, inspecting her.

"Ar-is the meeting starting now?" she whispered, backing up.

With a smirk he said, "Not yet." He conjured a stool and motioned for Silwen to sit on it. She sat, her back to him. "Do not move from this stool until I allow it. Now sit up straight and hold your head high." A brush came down on her head, deathly fingers pinching her hair. "You cannot go out in a dress like that without your hair brushed." Stiffening, she let out a lilliputian exclamation and shied away from Voldemort's touch. Frigid fingers caught her hair again and pulled it back towards him.

"I-I can brush my own hair, thank you," she said, her voice cracking. The strokes merely harshened and bit through the knots in her hair, causing her to yelp and cringe.

"Little Snape, behave." The yelps and cringes stopped and she held statue still, hardly daring to breathe. The brush was a blade wrenching through a thick, unwashed, knotted rope, cruelly cutting through it just to see it fall apart and crumble, the wielder not relenting until the rope was completely straightened. Stopping, he said cooly, "Stand." Silwen stood, wiping off a tear before he could see it.

"Come, we are going." Opening the door with a creak, he led the way down the corridor, Silwen following a few paces behind. Soon, they stood in front of the Dining Hall doors. Voldemort pushed the doors apart and continued his proud stride, with her faltering after him. Reaching the head of the table, he took his seat. A moment after, she stood in her place, grateful that at least, he wasn't able to look at her. "When the meeting is over, you will stay and clear up," he hissed, looking around at the currently empty room.

"Yes, my Lord," she said, fingering her hair, trying to comb through it and rid the feeling of Voldemort's fingers. She could still feel the brush pulling, and parting in painful strokes over and over and over again.

Footsteps sounded like whispers as they approached the dining hall. They entered soon, their owners taking a seat. In amazement, Draco looked at the immaculate room; the chairs didn't scrape against the wood, the chandelier made every shadow flee, and the walls glowed vibrantly with pride at being restored to their former beauty. "Incredible," he mouthed at Silwen, smiling. Then he noticed what she was wearing. Eyes growing in amazement, his smile left and an expression of awe took its place. "I've never seen you in purple. You are...pulchritudinous." Lucius and Narcissa, too, were extremely pleased with how their dining hall looked and nodded at Silwen to say thanks. In return, she curtsied.

Before too many people arrived, Voldemort turned to Silwen, soft wax in his hand. "Put this in your ears." She nodded and, carefully avoiding contact, took the wax from him. By the time she had put the wax in, everyone had arrived. New faces were sitting around the table, as well as former ones having left. The meeting began and she stood there, not even pouring glasses; a charmed jug was doing that already. From beginning to end, she stood there, chained by her promise. She watched people's tempers rise, voices raise then drop instantly when Voldemort lifted his hand for quiet. Every so often, Draco risked a smile at her and she smiled back.

The Master constantly attempted to catch her gaze with a possessive smirk, but Silwen managed to avoid his stare, finding a flint on the dress, or a fly that had snuck inside, or Draco to look at. Draco was always willing to help her and hardly knew how much he really did. I'll have to tell him sometime. ...

Despite the commotion that fell on her deaf ears, and the Master's silent gloat reminding her of yesterday, Silwen was able to recuperate. The silence and the torment of standing there doing nothing that Voldemort had planned was what she needed to endure for her to finally realize that she...was ok. That she could cope with what was transpiring around her. That she could find peace. And as ironic as it sounded, when Voldemort was there, she was safe-at least from the others in the room. Voldemort might torture me, but he'd never... She shuddered and didn't finish the thought. A day of silence got rid of her hysteria and soothed her nerves like a slow-working salve.

Half-way through the meeting, Silwen even started to get bored. Not knowing what the people were saying, she decided to make up what they said to herself.

"You stole and ate my kitten, Greyback! I'm going to put you on a leash and you'll be my new pet," shouted a nameless Death Eater.

"Silence human, you don't know who you're dealing with!" replied Greyback.

"Are you my mummy?" asked the Master angrily looking at Bellatrix.

"Would Timey like some cookies with his milk?" cooed Bellatrix, her face contorted in anger.

"I have a big rock. My friends don't and they'll be jealous of me!" chanted Spike.

And so on, all around the room, all sorts of ditties quoted, all chair occupants-except for Draco who never said a word-were mocked, to her guilty pleasure. For a while, she was fully entertained. However when she snorted suddenly, Voldemort's menacing glare told her that she'd better stop what she was doing now.

Hours later, the meeting was over. Finally. The room was evacuated and almost empty, with only the Dark Lord and Draco. The Dark Lord moved his lips and hesitantly, Draco left, casting a worried glance at Silwen. Turning to her, the Dark Lord went over to her and pulled the wax out of her ears before she could do it herself. "Do you remember what you are to do now?" he hissed, irritated. So the meeting hadn't gone over well.

"Clear up."

"You have twenty minutes. I will return by then and this room will be as clean as it was before the meeting started. If not, you will feel my anger...or the Master's."

Silwen chocked and coughed, then once she had regained her composure, nodded. "Can I have my wand?"

"No. You-" He stopped mid-sentence, using Ligilimency, seeing in her memory what she had done. "You mocked my guests." The temperature plummeted several degrees. "You now have ten minutes left," he spat slapping her with the back of his hand, watching her fall. "Did your uncle never teach you bravery?"

"He taught me loyalty," spat Silwen, rising to her feet. "He taught me love. Things you will never understand no matter how many people you enslave or murder."

"Crucio!" he shouted. Angry from the meeting, Silwen became his scape goat. Falling back on the ground, she screamed loud enough to block out any other noise. He watched her body twist and writhe, his anger ebbing slowly away as he let her torture draw on. Taking the curse off, he left her there on the ground, and stalked out.