Hermione's POV
The day had been exhausting, my arms aching from hours of scrubbing and dusting every inch of the endless shelves in the Malfoy library. The enchanted cuffs burned against my skin whenever I faltered, a cruel reminder of my status in this house. Still, I had taken care to do the job well, knowing any mistake would bring consequences.
But apparently, I hadn't been careful enough.
"You call this clean?" Narcissa's voice was sharp, cutting through the silence of the library like a blade. She stood near one of the shelves I had dusted earlier, her pale fingers trailing along a small patch of wood I must have missed.
"I—" I began, but she silenced me with a glare.
"No excuses," she snapped, her voice icy. "You're as useless as you are insolent."
My stomach twisted, but I kept my head high, refusing to let her see my fear.
"You will spend the night chained to your cot," she said, her tone calm but laced with venom. "Perhaps that will teach you to complete your duties properly."
Before I could respond, she waved her wand, and the cuffs around my wrists tightened painfully. A sharp pull yanked me forward, forcing me to follow her as she led me back to the servants' quarters.
Once inside, she flicked her wand again, and the cuffs attached themselves to the metal frame of the cot. My wrists were now bound above my head, leaving me no choice but to sit awkwardly on the edge of the bed.
"Let this be a lesson," Narcissa said coldly, her blue eyes meeting mine with disdain. Then, without another word, she turned and left, the door slamming shut behind her.
The hours dragged on, the darkness of the basement amplifying the cold that seeped into my bones. I shifted uncomfortably, my arms cramping from the awkward position. Sleep was impossible, my mind too preoccupied with anger and frustration.
They want to break me, I thought bitterly. But they won't.
Eventually, exhaustion began to take its toll. My head drooped, and despite the discomfort, I drifted into a restless sleep.
Draco's POV
The house was silent as I slipped down the stairs to the servants' quarters. My parents were asleep, and the elves had long since retired to their cramped quarters. No one would see me.
I didn't know why I was doing this. I'd been lying in bed, trying to forget the harsh tone of my mother's voice as she ordered Granger chained for the night. At first, I'd told myself it wasn't my problem. She was a servant—a Mudblood—and this was how things worked.
But the image of her standing there, proud and unyielding even as my mother berated her, wouldn't leave my mind. She didn't deserve this. Not even Granger deserved this.
The door to her room creaked softly as I pushed it open. The dim light of a single candle illuminated her small, cramped space. She was asleep, her head resting awkwardly against the wall, her wrists bound to the metal frame of the cot. Her face was pale, her brows furrowed even in sleep.
I hesitated for a moment, the weight of what I was about to do pressing down on me. If my parents found out, there would be hell to pay. But I couldn't just leave her like this.
I stepped closer, careful to make as little noise as possible. Pulling my wand from my pocket, I muttered a soft, "Alohomora." The chains unlocked with a faint click, and her hands fell free, her body slumping forward slightly.
She stirred, her eyes fluttering open.
Hermione's POV
I woke to the feeling of my wrists suddenly being released, my arms falling limply into my lap. For a moment, I was disoriented, my mind struggling to catch up. Then I saw him—Draco Malfoy—standing in front of me, his wand still raised.
"What are you doing?" I asked, my voice hoarse from sleep and disbelief.
He didn't answer right away, his gaze flickering to the door as if he expected someone to barge in at any moment.
"You were chained," he said finally, his tone low and almost… uncertain. "I undid them. That's all."
"Why?" The question slipped out before I could stop it.
He shifted uncomfortably, his usual arrogance replaced by something I couldn't quite identify. "You wouldn't have made it through the night like that," he muttered. "Consider it a… momentary lapse of judgment."
I stared at him, trying to make sense of what had just happened. This was Draco Malfoy—the same person who had tormented me at Hogwarts, who had stood silently at the auction as his family bought me.
And yet, here he was, unchaining me in the dead of night.
"Don't get used to it," he said sharply, as if reading my thoughts. "If my mother finds out—"
"She won't," I said quickly, cutting him off. "I won't tell her."
He nodded, his jaw tightening. Without another word, he turned and left, the door clicking shut behind him.
I sat there for a long time, rubbing my sore wrists and staring at the spot where he'd stood. His actions didn't make sense, and the confusion they left behind was almost worse than the chains.
What game was Draco Malfoy playing? And why did I feel like I was already losing?
...
The morning came too soon, the weak sunlight filtering into the cold servants' quarters doing little to warm my aching body. My wrists were tender from the cuffs, but at least I could move freely. The memory of Draco sneaking in last night still lingered in my mind, a puzzle I couldn't seem to solve.
Why would he do that? I wondered for the hundredth time as I pulled myself out of bed. There was no time to dwell on it; the day's tasks were waiting, and I couldn't afford another mistake.
By the time I made my way to the dining hall, Lucius Malfoy was already seated at the head of the table, a cup of tea in one hand and a copy of The Daily Prophet in the other. His piercing gray eyes flicked up as I entered, a faint smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth.
"Granger," he drawled, his voice low and cold. "The floor needs attention. Now."
I nodded, swallowing the lump in my throat. His gaze was unnerving, always lingering a moment too long, as though he were searching for cracks in my armor. I grabbed the bucket and rag from the corner and knelt down near the doorway, trying to focus on the task at hand.
The marble was cold beneath my knees as I dipped the rag into the soapy water and began scrubbing. The repetitive motion was mind-numbing, but it kept my thoughts at bay. At least for a little while.
"Lower," Lucius's voice cut through the silence like a knife, making me freeze.
I turned my head slightly, unsure if he was addressing me or someone else. But his eyes were on me, glinting with something I couldn't quite place.
"You missed a spot," he said, gesturing toward a corner near the leg of the dining table.
My stomach tightened as I nodded and shuffled over, bending down to reach the area he'd indicated. The moment I did, I felt his gaze on me—heavy, invasive, crawling over my skin like a swarm of spiders.
I clenched my jaw, focusing on the floor and willing myself not to react. He's trying to get a rise out of you. Don't give him the satisfaction.
"You're remarkably quiet this morning," he commented, his tone laced with mockery. "Not so defiant now, are you?"
I didn't answer, keeping my head down and my hands moving. But I could feel his eyes burning into me, and the discomfort grew with every passing second.
"Perhaps we've finally taught you some manners," he continued, leaning back in his chair as though he were enjoying a private joke.
The urge to snap at him was almost overwhelming, but I bit my tongue, knowing it would only make things worse. I just needed to get through this and move on to the next task.
As I straightened up to wring out the rag, his gaze followed me, his smirk widening slightly. My hands shook as I turned away, busying myself with the bucket.
"You're dismissed," he said abruptly, waving a hand as though I were nothing more than an annoyance.
I didn't wait for him to change his mind. Grabbing the bucket, I hurried out of the dining hall, my heart pounding in my chest. Once I was in the hallway, I leaned against the wall and closed my eyes, taking a shaky breath to steady myself.
Lucius Malfoy had always been a snake, but this felt different. The way he looked at me, the way his words lingered in the air—it wasn't just cruelty. It was something darker, something that made my skin crawl.
Draco's POV
I was coming down the staircase when I saw her darting out of the dining hall, clutching the bucket like it was a lifeline. Her face was pale, her expression tight, and her shoulders stiff with tension.
"What happened?" I asked before I could stop myself.
She startled, her eyes snapping up to meet mine. For a moment, she just stared at me, as though trying to decide whether or not to answer.
"Nothing," she said finally, her voice flat. "Just doing what I'm told."
I didn't believe her for a second, but I knew better than to press. She was like a coiled spring, ready to snap if I pushed too hard.
Still, as she hurried past me, I couldn't help but notice the way her hands trembled, the way her jaw was clenched so tightly it looked painful.
I glanced toward the dining hall, where my father was no doubt still sitting, smug and satisfied. A knot of anger twisted in my chest.
Whatever had happened, I knew one thing for certain: my father had been involved.
And for the first time, I found myself wondering just how far he'd go to remind everyone of their place.