Hermione sat at the large table in the kitchen, still trembling. Around her, the house elves were scurrying about, eager to put things back in order after preparing lunch. She should have helped them with this, but she felt unable to do so and the little creatures would never dare to give an order to a human.

She didn't know what dismayed her more: that Lucius Malfoy showed interest in her body, or that he, of all people, considered her feelings. Somehow, with each day that went by, she was less sure what motivated the people around her to do what they did. She could not imagine Malfoy acting as he did out of cold calculation, but neither did it seem possible to her that he was actually showing her friendly feelings. And yet ... he had taken her in his arms twice, had given her warmth and comfort, had stopped when she had asked for it. No matter how she thought about it, there was no explanation for what her owner was doing.

And there was something else that troubled her: since the night Severus Snape had taken what he had paid money for, she had not crossed paths with the young Malfoy. Sure, at meals she saw him sitting at the family table, and during the day she was now always in the library under his father's supervision. But he had snuck into her room at night before and threatened her - why wasn't he doing it again? Was he waiting for something specific? The uncertainty gnawed at her like the calm before a storm.

After the last house-elf had left the kitchen, Hermione got up and took a piece of bread with butter, a glass of milk and a used tea bag from the morning. She put the latter into a mug of lukewarm water and then watched absent-mindedly as the water slowly turned a greenish-yellow.

"It's inconceivable that father would actually allow you to drink our good milk."

Horrified, Hermione looked up - she should stop thinking about the people in this house, because they apparently had an unpleasant habit of appearing whenever her thoughts revolved around them. At least Draco Malfoy was a master at it. Now, however, it was too late and Hermione could do nothing more than watch as the blond man walked leisurely towards her and then settled down on the bench next to her.

"You should be grateful for my father's kindness to you, Granger," he continued, "because I've heard from a few friends in the last few days that their slaves have since passed on ... Broken, if you know what I mean ..."

Hermione sucked in a sharp breath. Of course she understood what he meant, and she understood as well that he was threatening her indirectly. Once more she cursed herself for having fainted at the beginning of the slave selection and thus not knowing which Death Eater had taken which of her friends. She only knew that Ginny had been placed with Snape. She wished she knew who Ron's owner was, but none of the people around her would tell her anything about it.

"Ah, I see you're worried about your friends," Draco said, stretching. A nasty grin played around his lips. "If I were you, I'd worry mostly about the young weasel ... you know better than anyone that Snape obviously has a thing for young flesh ..."

Unmoved, Hermione looked into her mug of tea. She didn't want to hear what this fiend was telling her, she didn't want to think about how Ginny was doing, but the images he evoked in her could not be suppressed.

"If you want," Draco suddenly said softly, grabbing her hand, "I can keep you company tonight. So you won't be so lonely, and you won't have nightmares."

As if stung by a tarantula, Hermione jerked back and jumped up. "Don't touch me!"

Slowly Draco turned around so that he could use the tabletop as a backrest and looked directly at her. "Why not? You like to be comforted by my father, don't you? What's so different about me?"

Hermione took another step back - so he had been in the library watching her after all. She guessed as much, but since she had not seen him in the last few days, she had been sure that he hadn't yet caught on to where his father always took her during the day.

"Tell me, Granger ... do you like the new world order by now? Was father able to convince you to turn your back on your friends and defect to him?"

A disbelieving laugh escaped her. "You got problems, Malfoy. How great do you think I find a world where your father can just sell me to a former teacher? Where I can just be raped without anyone caring? Do you really think I find such a world appealing?"

Draco stood up and took a few steps towards her. Briefly, he eyed her from above, then replied, "I don't know what's going on in that sick head of yours, Mudblood. Maybe you're into it?"

And with those words, he grabbed her hair and yanked her head to the side. A pained scream escaped Hermione's throat as she desperately tried to free her hair. But Draco held her relentlessly, pulling her with him and forcing her to sit back down at the table. Only then did he let go of her, but immediately put a hand on her shoulder to prevent her from getting up again.

"What do you want, Malfoy?" His sudden violent outbursts and hatred scared her, but right now she was just annoyed. Why did she feel like he was trying to interrogate her? What truth was he trying to elicit from her that he didn't already know anyway?

"I want to know which side you're on." His serious answer did not help her at all. Again, Hermione could only laugh - what kind of question was that?

"It's not funny, Mudblood," Draco snapped at her, "it's dangerous not to know where you stand - even if it's just about a slave. Father is far too careless!"

"Oh, honestly," Hermione retorted dismissively, "it has nothing to do with carelessness. It's just so obvious which side I, Hermione Granger, am on that no one cares!"

She thought for a moment, then added, "And besides, that doesn't explain that salacious offer you just made me."

"Salacious?" said Draco sardonically, "That's the word you use? Seriously?

Hermione blushed, but she didn't let it get her down. She wanted to know what Draco intended by his offer, so she repeated the question.

"I thought you'd be happy to be asked first," he explained condescendingly, "but as I suspected a moment ago, you seem to be more into playing hard to get and enjoying the surprise..."

Annoyed, Hermione groaned. Obviously, her counterpart was unwilling to have a serious conversation with her. "We're going in circles, Malfoy. If you don't want to tell me what's going on, do as you please ... But then don't expect me to tell you anything!"

Apparently, Draco knew nothing more to say in response, because he just looked at her silently, one hand on her shoulder, the other clenched into a fist on the table. Slowly, the hand that rested on her shoulder travelled up her neck and brushed the bushy hair aside. When Draco's gaze fell on the bite marks Lucius Malfoy had left a few hours ago, he paused. Thoughtfully, he traced the contours with his thumb. Hermione remained sitting frozen - she hadn't been aware that the morning's interlude had left marks, but when his fingers touched the spot, she winced in pain. Suddenly Draco came so close to her that she could feel his breath on her neck.

"I'm surrounded by fools," he whispered softly in her ear, "no-good idiots and losers everywhere you look. And you're the worst of the lot, Mudblood!"

Before Hermione could respond, they were both interrupted by footsteps approaching the kitchen. Lucius Malfoy appeared in the doorway and stopped in his tracks at the strange scene before him. There sat his son and his slave, obviously in the middle of intimate caresses, side by side in the kitchen, looking at him as if he were a three-headed dog. Draco brought his expression back under control more quickly. With a suggestive smile, he let go of Hermione, stood up and whispered to her for all to hear, "See you tonight!" before leaving the kitchen with another grin.

When Lucius Malfoy turned back to his slave, he couldn't believe what he saw: like a little heap of misery, Hermione looked after his son as if she had just been abandoned by the last friend in the world. When had the two of them become such good friends? What had become of the hatred with which his son had always regarded this young woman? Or were they more than friends? Anger rose in him as he thought of how Draco had gently caressed Hermione's neck.

Hermione, for her part, looked blankly to where Draco disappeared from the kitchen. The hatred was still there, there was no doubt about that. But something else was mixed in, she felt it more and more clearly. He wanted to hurt her, to see her suffer, to scare her - and at least the latter he always succeeded in doing fabulously. He always left her with the feeling that she was alone in this world, that she had no friends, and she was absolutely powerless. And she hated that feeling.

As she slowly let her gaze wander up to the master of the house, her breath caught. Hot anger blazed in his eyes, too. Anger that was directed at her.

"I see you have finally made friends with my son," he began, but Hermione interrupted him immediately. "Made friends? Is that what you think?"

She could see the surprise in his face as the elder Malfoy blinked and fell silent. Hermione, for her part, was fighting tears. She was dreading the night; she didn't want to return to her room that evening, knowing full well that Draco would pay her a visit. When Lucius Malfoy had entered the kitchen, a mad hope stirred in her that she would be able to seek shelter with him. Instead, for whatever reason, it now felt as though this Malfoy was back to hating her as well.

"Eat up," her owner suddenly commanded, "there is work waiting in the library."

Intimidated, Hermione obeyed, downing milk and tea and taking the bread in her hand. Then she followed the impatient Malfoy down the now familiar path to the library. She just couldn't understand what was going on in the Malfoys' minds. Just this morning, Lucius had kissed her and touched her as if he were dying of desire for her, had hugged her and clung to her like a drowning man to a saving barrel. He had made her feel as though he saw her as a person and respected her wishes. And now, after lunch, there suddenly stood before her again that Malfoy who had chosen her as a slave so many weeks ago, who had sold her virginity. And just as she had not even an hour ago, she wondered which was the real Lucius Malfoy - the kind, open, emotional one, or the cold, bossy, arrogant one.

oOoOoOo

Tired, Hermione yawned. She was sitting on the hard chair for hours without a break, writing and writing and writing. Not once did Malfoy interrupt her, not once did she notice even a single movement from him. The old-fashioned hour candle at her side almost burned down, indicating to her that it must be well past ten o'clock at night. Her stomach growled, and she could imagine that her owner felt similarly, for he too had not left the library to partake of dinner.

A soft knock interrupted the monotonous silence. With a sigh, Lucius Malfoy rose and went to the door. Briefly, he carried on a quiet conversation, then returned to Hermione.

"Enough for today," he ordered, "it's time I ate something."

Hermione dropped her quill in relief. As much as she appreciated this new job, after so many hours her eyes simply burned. Carefully, she rose and stretched her tired limbs.

"Granger" Malfoy said slowly, "my wife ... has been sleeping in the guest room for several nights because she cannot bear my presence at night."

Hermione looked at him, wondering what he wanted to say, but he did not continue. Instead, he put both hands on her shoulders and looked intensely into her eyes. This seemed to be that Malfoy of the morning again, the kind, empathetic one, and so Hermione returned the look openly and curiously. Whatever he was looking for, he seemed to find it, for after only a moment he straightened up and let her go.

"I shall take my supper in my bedchamber tonight - and wish you to keep me company."