The Maid and the Master

The Maid and the Master

by Mermaid

Author's Note: At first, I had made this story without magic, but I felt: what the heck! This is the HP universe... and a HP fanfiction without magic is just silly. Slight adjustments made.


Chapter One

The plump, red haired woman stood inside of a humble two-story house, an expression of genuine sorrow and helplessness fixed on her face. Her gingery brows were pushed together with concern, the brown eyes moist and lips tight as she clutched the edge of her thin but clean white apron.

"My darling Hermione," she said passionately, addressing the wan girl beside her. The young woman appeared all of seventeen, and was on the slender side. She was no beauty. Her hair, tied back in a severe braid, was overtly thick and not of a fashionable color- it was a woodsy brown shade. Though she was shapely, and the classically oval face was pleasing to look at, there was no striking feature about the lass.

"Mrs. Weasley, I pray do not exert yourself," Hermione said steadily, trying to look cheerful. "I am sure that the position I have gotten will be just fine. You mustn't worry about me. I'll manage, somehow. I always have." She embraced the older woman warmly, nobly hiding the fear that was making her heart thump painfully fast against her chest.

"It should not have to be this way," whispered Molly Weasley, still fiercely clutching the young girl, her hot tears dropping into the bushy chestnut hair. "I had always hoped that Ron-"

Hermione stopped her, putting a hand up in the air. "Please, let's not speak of could have beens. I am content with what has happened. And it isn't such a bad thing to be working as a maid, now is it? I have felt so ashamed of not helping out for the past few years, with things being as tight as they have been..."

"Don't say such things! I have always thought of you as my daughter, and you have always done what you could. Sewing, gathering herbs.. oh Hermione, can you forgive me?" sobbed the good woman, who now was crying earnestly into the other's shoulder.

Tenderly, Hermione replied, "There is nothing to forgive, mother." But the brown eyes were somber, as if saying silently: But what is to become of me now?

*

Ronald Weasley hopped off the stout tree limb he had been sitting on, troubling thoughts running across his normally content mind. His longtime friend and adopted sister, Hermione Granger, was to be sent off tomorrow from the Burrow. It was a frightening thought. He was a boy who loved stability and this would definitely change things in his little world.

Grabbing a crisp red apple from the tree, Ron bit into the fleshy fruit, the wheels in his brain rattling as he chewed. Hermione had come into his home about ten years ago, after her Muggle parents had passed away in a tragic accident. The good-hearted Weasleys had taken the Muggle-born witch in when no one else in the village would have, and raised her as their very own daughter.

Together, the two had learnt their letters and the basic spells, done their household chores, eaten their meals. And through the years, Ron had begun to felt a little more than mere brotherly or friendly feelings towards the girl.

She certainly had become prettier as of late, though in truth, Lavender Brown was the beauty of the village, with those flashy blue eyes and flirtatious attitude. Hermione was nothing to sneeze at, however, although most boys weren't really attracted to her. Too bookish and serious, they called her. But Ron, who had grown up with her, after all, had noticed the lush curve of her waist and the way her breasts stretched out against the thin cotton of her dress. Her once uncontrollable brown hair had lengthened into less riotous, wavy curls. And when she smiled, well- Ron would have offered her the world.

But, he thought bitterly, as he threw away the core of the apple, that was of course figuratively. The Weasleys were dirt poor, and there was no denying that fact. With seven- including Hermione, eight- children in the family and very little income, it was all that Molly Weasley could do to feed them all and keep them clothed.

Ronald Weasley was attempting to become a Quidditch player, but hadn't been recruited and so had no income except the little he made doing side jobs. Besides, he had been much too bashful to even ask Hermione about her feelings toward him. But that would change tonight.

*

In silence, Hermione Granger watched as the first star came into sight, the moon casting a pale glow upon the earth. She was sitting outside on the porch of the plain wooden house, not noticing as the cold night air settled around her.

Dinner had been a silent, awkward affair. So many things people had wanted to say had stuck in their throat, and Hermione hadn't been able to eat above a forkful. Still, she had borne up well until everyone had gone to bed, and she had been left alone. To cry.

The tears were slow in coming, though. It was all trapped somewhere deep inside her, a hard painful knob that she couldn't eject. She had always known that one day she must go out to service, but it had always seemed so far in the future, something she needn't regard till later. But that future was a mere night away. It was her last night at the house in which she had experienced so much love, so much joy.

Hermione remembered how at seven years old she had been left to her own devices, her parents buried underneath the unforgiving earth. No one had cared about the little girl, dressed in poorly fitting black wool, crying hoarsely on the streets. The small house of the Grangers had been sold and the money pocketed away by an unknown person. She had been virtually penniless. Kicked to the curb with no one to care for her, Hermione had wept, her chubby arms wrapped around a hideous old doll that her mother had given her.

Then she had met a small ragged boy her own age, with messy red hair and a freckled face.

"What you cryin' for?" he had asked carelessly.

"I ha-haven't got any p-parents."

Obviously discomfited, the boy had coughed a few times, and said a little more politely, "Haven't you got anyplace to go, neither?"

"N-no," she had wailed, fat tears dripping down her nose.

"Well, why don't you come with me? I've got so many brothers and a sister that my parents would barely notice you!" And taking her by the hand, he had welcomed her to his family just like that.

At the memory, Hermione almost laughed, and was startled when she felt a warm blanket thrown over her shoulders. She stiffened, turned, then gave a shadow of a smile when she recognized who it was.

"Hello, Ron." Hermione's voice was low.

"What are you doing out here in the cold? You could become ill," Ron said annoyedly, sitting on the rickety stool beside her.

"I was just thinking."

He was quiet then. "I see." Then, Ron spoke again. "So you're leaving tomorrow?"

She nodded assent, then looked down at the twisted hands in her lap. "It was to be expected, anyway."

Angrily, Ron said, "It shouldn't have to be this way, Hermione."

"Don't speak so, Ron. I'm content." She was startled when he suddenly moved in front of her, passionate. Ron's hands had clasped around hers, his familiar face closer than it had ever been before. The blue eyes were intent, burning into her own.

"Hermione..." There was no need to say anything more, for they silenced each other with a heartfelt kiss.