The slam of the basement door echoed in my ears as I ascended the staircase. I didn't look back. I couldn't. Something about the way Granger had stared at my father—unflinching, defiant—stuck with me, gnawing at the edges of my mind.
"She'll learn her place soon enough," my father said, his tone dripping with satisfaction as he strode toward his study. "A few weeks here, and she'll be no better than the house-elves."
"Of course," my mother replied, her voice calm, but I could sense the irritation simmering beneath the surface. Narcissa Malfoy didn't like having her pristine world disturbed, even if it was by a decision she'd supported. She'd been the one to insist we purchase Granger, after all, arguing that the family's reputation among the remaining Death Eaters required us to uphold the regime's traditions.
I said nothing as they disappeared into the study, leaving me alone in the vast, empty corridor.
Granger. Mudblood. The cleverest witch of our year.
I scoffed under my breath and made my way to the library. But no matter how much I tried to distract myself—by leafing through books or staring at the fire roaring in the hearth—I couldn't shake the image of her standing there in those rags, her wrists bound, but her chin still lifted like she was daring the world to break her.
Why does it matter? I asked myself for the hundredth time. I should feel nothing but contempt for her, like my parents did. And I tried—Merlin, I tried. But there was something unsettling about seeing her like that.
When I thought of Granger, I didn't think of the girl they paraded out at the auction. I thought of the girl who had bested me in almost every subject at Hogwarts. The girl who had matched me hex for hex in duels. The girl who had stood up to me and my friends more times than I could count, even when she knew it would only earn her more ridicule.
Now she was here, a servant in my house. A prisoner.
And I hated it.
I hated that I felt something—pity? Shame?—when I watched her walk into the Manor. I hated that I could still hear the auctioneer's voice in my head, listing her "attributes" like she was nothing more than an object to be used.
I slammed the book I'd been pretending to read shut, the sound echoing through the empty library. My jaw tightened as I stood and strode toward the window, staring out into the gardens below.
What was wrong with me? This was how things were supposed to be. Granger had always been beneath us, hadn't she? She was a Mudblood, an enemy of everything my family stood for.
But if that were true, then why did it feel like I'd swallowed a rock every time I thought about the way my father had looked at her? The way he'd spoken about her? The way he'd purchased her like she was a broomstick or a potion ingredient?
A soft knock at the door jolted me from my thoughts. I turned to see my mother standing in the doorway, her expression cool but curious.
"Draco," she said, her voice as calm and controlled as always. "Are you well? You've been unusually quiet today."
"I'm fine," I replied quickly, forcing the tension from my voice.
She arched a brow, but thankfully didn't press further. "Good. Your father and I have business to attend to at the Ministry tomorrow. You'll be in charge of the household while we're away. Make sure the new… addition understands her duties."
I nodded, my throat dry. "Of course."
She studied me for a moment longer, then nodded and turned to leave.
As the door clicked shut behind her, I leaned back against the window frame, running a hand through my hair.
Tomorrow, I'd have to face Granger again. I'd have to look her in the eye and pretend I didn't care.
But deep down, I already knew it wasn't going to be that simple. Not this time. Not anymore.
The air in the servants' quarters was damp and cold, seeping into my bones no matter how tightly I wrapped my thin blanket around me. Sleep had been impossible; the creaking of the Manor, the faint echoes of footsteps above, and the oppressive silence of the basement left my nerves frayed. I sat on the edge of the cot, staring at the small, flickering candle that cast long shadows across the stone walls.
I wasn't sure how long I'd been sitting there when the door to the staircase creaked open. My head snapped up, and my heart jumped into my throat as footsteps descended. I steeled myself, trying to hide the unease that rippled through me.
When Draco Malfoy appeared at the bottom of the stairs, I froze. He hadn't come down here before—not since they'd locked me in this tiny room last night. His gray eyes scanned the space with a flicker of distaste, as though even stepping into the servants' quarters was beneath him. He didn't speak at first, simply watching me with that same unreadable expression he'd worn at the auction.
"What do you want?" I asked, my voice sharper than I intended. The words echoed in the small space, and I half-expected him to lash out at me for speaking without permission.
Instead, he folded his arms and leaned against the doorframe. "You're awake early," he said, ignoring my question.
I narrowed my eyes, refusing to be drawn into whatever game he was playing. "It's hard to sleep when you're locked in a dungeon."
His lips twitched, though whether it was in amusement or annoyance, I couldn't tell. "It's not a dungeon," he said flatly. "If it were, you wouldn't have a bed. Or a candle, for that matter."
"Forgive me," I said, my voice dripping with sarcasm, "for not being properly grateful for the luxurious accommodations."
His eyes darkened, and for a moment, I thought he might snap back. Instead, he sighed, running a hand through his hair. "You're impossible," he muttered.
I stared at him, my confusion growing. This wasn't the Draco Malfoy I remembered from Hogwarts—the boy who'd delighted in tormenting me and my friends, who'd sneered at me every chance he got. He seemed… different. But I couldn't trust that. I wouldn't.
"Why are you here?" I asked again, softer this time.
He hesitated, his gaze flickering toward the floor before meeting mine. "My parents are leaving for the day," he said, his tone devoid of its usual sharpness. "That means I'm in charge. You'll be expected to help in the house, and I'm here to explain your duties."
I crossed my arms, leaning back slightly. "Let me guess—scrubbing the floors, cleaning your shoes, and keeping out of sight?"
"Something like that," he replied, though there was no malice in his voice. He seemed almost… distracted, like his mind was elsewhere. "You'll start in the library. Dust the shelves and organize the books. Stay out of the drawing room—my mother doesn't want to see you there."
"Of course," I said with mock politeness. "Wouldn't want to offend her delicate sensibilities."
Draco's jaw tightened, but he didn't rise to the bait. Instead, he stepped forward, his presence suddenly towering in the small room. "Listen, Granger," he said, his voice low and controlled. "I don't care what you think about me or my family. You'll do your work and keep your head down, or you'll make this harder on yourself."
I glared up at him, anger sparking in my chest. "I'm already living in your basement, Malfoy. How much harder can it get?"
For a moment, he didn't respond. His eyes searched mine, and I thought I saw something flicker there—guilt? No. Not possible. But the silence between us stretched, heavy and charged.
Finally, he stepped back, his expression closing off. "You'll start in an hour," he said curtly. "Don't make me come back down here."
I watched him leave, my hands trembling with suppressed anger. As the door slammed shut, I let out a shaky breath, the weight of the interaction settling over me.
He was wrong about one thing. He might think he had power over me, but he didn't—not really. Not where it mattered. I wouldn't let them break me. Not him, not his parents, not anyone.
And if they thought I would meekly follow their orders, they were in for a rude awakening.