"This is how Harry must have felt during the first few years of his life," Hermione said softly to herself. She had already spent a week with the Malfoys at the mansion. A week she spent in a tiny room under the stairs on the second floor. Hardly more than a mattress and a tiny lamp fitted into the little cubbyhole, but at least she could stand comfortably upright in it.

"Harry..."

The thought of her best friend made Hermione sink into herself. Harry was dead. She still could not understand or grasp the thought. Although it had already been a week and the hard daily life with the Malfoy family reminded her of her situation every second, her mind refused to accept the death of her friend.

A soft ringing made her prick up her ears - the house elves from the kitchen gave her a signal. She had about five minutes left to appear in the kitchen and help prepare breakfast. She quickly got dressed. She was lucky that she was allowed to wear clothes, she was aware of that. The dress she was wearing was pitch black and hugged her body tightly. Since it was made of a stretchy material, she could still move comfortably in it. Under other circumstances she would have liked the garment, but together with the fact that she was not allowed to wear underpants and always had to wear a shaping bra, she was only too aware that the dress was meant to serve one purpose above all else: to be alluring.

She had noticed the looks Draco had given her. The dress obviously fulfilled its purpose, at least with the younger Malfoy. And yet he had never touched her. Hermione was happy about it, but she was worried at the same time. Was his disgust for Mudbloods so great that he would not give in to his own physical desires? She sighed. If that was the reason, she was glad. Far worse possibilities kept her awake at night.

Quickly she tied on her little blossom-white apron. Through a hidden door, she then entered the narrow corridors that led to the kitchen within the walls of the manor. Just like in old Muggle castles and villas, this house was equipped with special corridors that allowed the servants to pass unnoticed from room to room. Hermione did not see the necessity for this - apart from her, only house elves worked here, who could get from place to place in a much more comfortable way. But who knew what the builders had in mind at the time.

"Good morning, miss!" the house elves in the kitchen greeted her. Even though she as a slave was reduced to their level, it was impossible for a house elf not to recognize a human as master. And so at least the industrious little helpers in the kitchen still treated Hermione with respect. She in turn showed them as much affection and warmth as she could under the circumstances.

"Today is Sunday! Today the whole family is eating together! We have a lot to prepare," explained the house elf who was responsible for the organisation in the kitchen, "please wash the fruit over there!"

"Gladly, Twinkle," Hermione replied. She pushed up the tight sleeves of her dress, tied her hair together and threw herself into work. As long as she had something to do here in the kitchen, she could forget reality. Washing fruit and working with house elves was by far preferable to all the other horror scenarios she had imagined on her first night at Malfoy Manor.

oOoOoOo

"Would you like some more coffee, Master?"

Attentive and concentrated, Hermione stood next to the family breakfast table and tried to anticipate the wishes of her masters at all times. She had quickly learned that disobedience and inattention were punished with beatings and food deprivation. As much as she wanted to rebel against her slave status, her survival instinct had finally taken over and she had given in.

"Yes, pour!" was Malfoy's terse response.

Carefully, Hermione poured the coffee and then retired immediately. Lucius Malfoy paid no attention to her at all and she was happy about that. As long as it did not occur to him to terrorize her, she was safe.

"Lucius," his wife complained, "why is she wearing that awful dress?"

Sighing, the Lord of the house lowered his newspaper and looked at his wife. "We have all deliberated together and the majority of the Death Eaters have found that women should wear exactly the same dress. I don't care, but I will not oppose the Dark Lord's will.

"Hmm," Narcissa went on. Her eyes narrowed as she gazed over Hermione's body.

Suddenly, the young witch came to a most frightening realisation. Narcissa Malfoy saw a threat in her. The dress emphasized the femininity of the wearer and let her appear in the best light, it was created to attract the attention of the men. Of course, a wife did not like that. Hermione hoped Narcissa would not pursue the subject. After all, Lucius Malfoy had not once in the whole week shown any interest in her body. So there was no reason for jealousy.

oOoOoOo

Icy cold water poured over Hermine. There was no way to get a grip on the tiled floor of the kitchen, so she slipped and violently hit the edge of the table.

"Carefull, clumsy thing!" Narcissa Malfoy sneered at her. Eyes shining with hatred, she looked down at the younger woman, who lay in a large puddle of water, holding her head. "Don't you dare bump into me like that again. Now, you get this out of here right now, or do I have to make you?"

Without waiting for an answer, the older woman turned around and marched out of the kitchen. Shakily, Hermione straightened up. Narcissa Malfoy had rammed her on purpose as she was just coming back into the kitchen with a large bucket of cold water from the backyard. Her head ached and she could feel a large lump forming just above her right ear.

Her dress was soaked and the cold wind blowing in through the open kitchen door from the courtyard made Hermione tremble again. She had to dry herself, otherwise she would catch her death - but she had no change of clothes. Carefully, she looked around. The house elves were busy cleaning the house at this time, she was alone in the kitchen doing the dishes. Narcissa Malfoy would not come down again so quickly and the two men in the house had never shown themselves in the kitchen before.

Moaning, Hermione took off her dress and bra and hung them over the fire to dry. Swaying and with ascending nausea, she first dried her wet body with one of the towels usually used for the dishes and then set about mopping the floor. The cool wind that kept blowing in made her feel her nakedness clearly, but it would have been even worse in a wet dress. She prayed that no one would come into the kitchen at this particular time.

"You're begging for it, Mudblood!"

Startled, Hermione turned her head to the door leading from the kitchen up to the Malfoys' living quarters. With a dirty grin, Draco Malfoy leaned there and stared at her uninhibitedly.

Hermione quickly wanted to stand up, her position on all fours on the floor, her back - and above all her bare bottom - turned towards Malfoy, she did not feel comfortable.

"Don't move," he ordered immediately.

Hermione's breathing accelerated, but she did not dare to change her position. She was only too aware that he had a clear view of everything a man could find interesting about a female body. She closed her eyes and hoped against her better judgment that Malfoy would just walk again.

"It seems to me," Draco whispered from right behind her, "my mother is not happy you're here."

He crouched down, bent over and grabbed her hair.

"How come my mother suddenly has something against slaves? She loves every other house-elf she can boss around!"

He tore at her thick curly mane. A cry of pain escaped her as she was hurled violently backwards against his chest.

"Is it possible you're trying to seduce my father?" Draco hissed dangerously softly in her ear. The hand that was once in her hair reached for her throat and squeezed. His other hand reached her breast. "Answer me!"

Hermione struggled desperately for air, but Malfoy's grip was too tight, he cut off her breathing. She wriggled in his grasp and struck the hand that threatened her life.

"Oh, you can't talk. How stupid of me," Malfoy said with a soft laugh and loosened his grip. For a brief moment, his other hand massaged Hermione's right breast, then he pushed the defenceless witch away and stood up.

Panting contemptuously, he looked down at Hermione, who gasped for breath and trembled all over her body. "Pathetic. Don't think you could ever interest my father in the slightest."

No sooner had Draco disappeared than Hermione let her tears run free. She still felt his cold hand on her bosom and his firm grip on her neck. Images of what he could have done to her flooded her mind and left her drowning in fear and shame.