Embers

The orders from his father had been quite specific. See that the breakfast got delivered to Hermione’s room and leave without being seen. Something in his father’s voice recalled a distant memory…so familiar…and yet he could not place it…the feeling that it should remind of something. He pushed that from his mind and opened the door. Walking in, he set the tray down and looked on the bed. For a moment, a startled gasp began to form on his lips as he took in the empty bed. He quickly looked around and spotted a slumped form shivering on the floor. He walked over to her and kicked her gently.

She stirred but was groggy. She looked up at him, but said nothing. Her eyes were filled with suspicion.

He looked at her questioningly. “Why did you sleep on the floor?”

“Why do you care?”

“I don’t.” He caught himself staring at her and turned away. “Eat your breakfast and wear whatever’s in there.” He pointed at the wardrobe before leaving the room.

Hermione stood. Her muscles ached from a night on the floor. Her sleep had been fitful. She spotted the breakfast tray, but sat back down on the floor with her back against the bed. The thought of eating anything put before her by a Malfoy filled her with revulsion. It does smell good, though, she noted as her stomach betrayed her and growled hungrily. She’d not eaten since late the previous morning. She walked over to the tray and saw two pieces of toast with a reddish jam, a glass of pumpkin juice, chilled she noted with raised eyebrows, and a small pot of what appeared to be tea along with what was presumably sugar and milk waiting to be added to taste. A single red rose in a small vase stood off to the side. She picked up a piece of toast, sniffed it, moved it to her mouth then threw it down. She sat on the bed with her arms tightly grasping her waist. Her eyes were pinched shut. She sat until the teapot no longer had steam issuing from it. She looked at the pictures on the wall. They reflected a cheery morning scene, the sun rising higher as the morning dew dried and a light fog was burning off. She looked over at the wardrobe almost as if wishing could make it go away.

With a sigh, she walked over. She hesitated only a second before she grasped the handle and swung open the door. Inside hung a single hanger and on that a dress of some sort. A piece of something or other covered the dress. She reached in and pulled it out, pulling the cover off of it. Her eyes widened in shock, then narrowed in anger before finally closing in a moment of hopelessness. Fearing that Lucius might enter any moment, she breathed deeply and decided it was hardly the worst thing, however embarrassing it may seem at first. She stood and quickly removed her own clothes. She picked up the red lace bra and matching panties and donned them, then the short frilly black dress with the white trim and the tiny little apron. She found that the bra pushed her bosom up uncomfortably, but inwardly marveled for a second at the resulting cleavage it created. Then, she remembered who would be ogling it and her stomach knotted. The skirt was quite short so that if she were to bend over or sit down, her lacy barely-there knickers would be quite visible. She spotted a pair of black pumps with impossibly high heels and slipped those on. She tried to walk and wobbled somewhat. The heels were much higher than anything she’d ever worn before. ‘I don’t think he expects you to do much walking, anyway,’ she thought grimly. Once all the clothes were on, she remembered the mirror and stumbled her way over to it. The French Maid outfit fit as though tailor-made for her, but her face was flushed and her hair totally unkempt. It had not been combed in who knew how long. Though, she could hazard a guess, she realized she had no real idea how much time had elapsed.

She stood for several minutes, but when Lucius still had not appeared and her feet hurt, she sat down and stared at the door. She resigned herself to do whatever she had to in order to survive. Malfoy could have her body for a little while, she decided, but he’d never take her mind. She waited, each minute a bigger torment than the previous one.

Downstairs, Lucius sat sipping his tea waiting for the arrival of Severus Snape. He had received a communication earlier and was expecting his old friend. He did have to wait long. Severus Snape stepped out of the Malfoy floo, which Lucius had been careful to activate only in anticipation of Snape’s arrival.

“Severus, old friend, always a pleasure! Come join me for some breakfast.” Lucius gestured with his hand to the spread on the table. Draco sat silently at the table. He had long since learned to speak only when addressed.

Snape looked at the spread, but pointedly ignored Draco. “I’m afraid I don’t have the time this morning and so must regretfully decline your gracious offer.” He brushed the bits of soot off his robes.

Lucius studied his friend. “I don’t believe you’ve accepted one invitation in twenty, Severus. Does the food on my table not agree with your palate?” Lucius sipped his tea as he closely watched Snape for a reaction. It had been years since Lucius had made any reference to Snape’s background being somehow ‘less’ than that of the Malfoys. Lucius knew the subtle verbal challenge would not go unanswered.

“I’m sure the food is as delectable as always, Lucius. I merely find myself charged with accomplishing several tasks on behalf of the Dark Lord today and lack the time to indulge in any…frivolities.” Snape knew the thinly veiled reference to the state of disgrace in the Dark Lord’s eyes, from which Lucius had only recently begun to emerge after a few minor successes, would silence his friend on any further verbal sparring at that time.

“Indeed. Do you bring news of the Dark Lord? Does he wish for me to perform another service?”

“No, not at this time. From what I gather, the Dark Lord has been quite pleased with your attempts to redeem yourself since your return to the civilized world.”

“What news do you bring then?” Lucius frowned. Since his escape from Azkaban, courtesy of a daring and wholly unexpected raid that had caught the Ministry completely off guard, Lucius had been quite diligent in his single-minded pursuit to regain favour with Voldemort. He had participated in many attacks himself and had killed Narcissa for her perceived betrayal while he had been incarcerated.

“The Dark Lord wishes Draco to perform a small service.” The corner of Snape’s mouth twitched ever so slightly upwards.

“Draco?” Lucius did not think the boy capable of anything, despite his recent successful kidnapping of the Mudblood. Neither man had yet cast even a glance at the teen-aged wizard, who had tensed upon hearing his name.

“The Dark Lord feels that his extension of mercy for the partial success at Hogwarts at the end of last year has long since expired. He has made it known in no uncertain terms that Draco, despite having participated in several successful raids, largely on Muggles I might add, has yet to plan, organize and carry out a successful action against anyone who can wield a wand. The Dark Lord feels it is time for Draco to demonstrate the results, if indeed there are any, of the intensive training he has received since the events at Hogwarts.”

Lucius nodded thoughtfully, but did not look at his son. He blocked the images of Hermione as best he could. He was not particularly well-skilled in Occlumency, though he was reasonably certain that Snape was not probing his mind. “And what task does the Dark Lord wish for Draco to perform?”

Snape flicked a piece of imaginary dust off a tea cozy. He remarked casually, “We have it on good authority from a source inside the Ministry that two new Aurors by the names of Henley and Eastwick are getting uncomfortably close to a ‘sensitive’ area. The Dark Lord wishes simply for Draco to track them and eliminate the danger their continued presence poses to the Dark Lord’s interests.” Snape allowed a few moments to pass in silence. “This is a simple task, Lucius.” Snape continued to address only the elder Malfoy. “After all, since we’re talking about novice dark wizard hunters,” his tone was dripping with sarcasm, “why not send a novice dark wizard to deal with the problem? The Dark Lord believes it to be quite fitting. I can even offer some assistance.” Snape looked almost amused. “I know for a fact that both of these young wizards frequent the Leaky Cauldron when they’re not on duty. It should be quite easy to spot them there and finish them off.”

“When is he to do this service?”

“As soon as possible,” Snape answered immediately. “The Dark Lord wishes to take no chances.” Snape then turned abruptly to Draco, acknowledging him for the first time. He was certain that the younger Malfoy would have absorbed every word of the conversation. “You know what you are to do. The Dark Lord will not tolerate a second ‘partial’ success. Is that understood?” Snape waited just long enough to see Draco nod affirmatively before turning away. He headed back to the floo. “I’ll be in touch, Lucius.” In a flash of green light, Snape vanished.

Lucius deactivated the floo network once more, and then faced Draco. He cringed when he noted how white the boy had become. ‘Such a disappointment’ thought Lucius. “Will you be able to do as the Dark Lord asks?”

“Of course, I will.” Draco replied, somewhat indignantly. “I got the Mudblood, didn’t I?” Lucius noticed Draco shaking slightly.

“Yes, it’s quite an accomplishment to trick a Mudblood.” Lucius withdrew from the table with no further comment and headed upstairs to Hermione.

He entered the room silently. “You look lovely, my Dear.” His words caused her to jump. He took in every curve of her body and allowed his eyes to linger on her breasts that had been pushed up so tantalizingly. “Stand for me, Hermione. Let me see you.”

She glared at him for a second, and then reluctantly stood. “Does this please you?” Her arms had risen as she motioned to herself. “Do you find this funny?”

“I find it fitting.” Lucius responded as he moved closer. The low-cut dress left little to the imagination. “You are fit to be a servant. I could have dressed you in rags like a common House Elf. I thought you might prefer human clothing suitable to your station.” He looked at her from all sides. “Lift the skirt for me, Hermione.”

A wave of nausea swept through her. She stayed still.

Lucius sighed in exasperation. “I am trying to keep this pleasant for you; however, if you continue to resist me, I shall be forced to use other means. Lift the skirt for me.”

Slowly, Hermione lifted the skirt of the maid outfit until the red lacy knickers were fully exposed to Lucius. She knew he could see through them. She could feel her face redden with embarrassment. Her lips quivered, but she bit down on them. She forced herself to stare at her tormentor.

“There, was that so difficult?” His voice was low, but nonetheless threatening to her ears. “Now open the top for me.” He smiled as he watched her hands slowly move to the buttons and undo each one and finally pull the sides apart baring the push-up bra. She did not know how long he had her remain standing like that as he stared. The tension was becoming unbearable. She had stood holding her blouse open for what seemed an eternity, yet he made no move to touch her. A chill crept over her when at last he stood and walked over to her. He lowered his face to her partially exposed breasts as if aiming to place a soft kiss. His lips never touched her skin, though she did feel his breath. He lifted his head and whispered, “Very good, Hermione. I suggest you eat your lunch when it arrives rather than throwing it on the floor.” He strode out of the room, leaving Hermione standing with her hands still holding the blouse open.
Her legs gave out from under her and she sank to the floor. This time, she let the tears flow. He had not touched her, yet she felt violated. She dared not think he would never touch her or cause her pain in any way. The waiting and the wondering proved far more difficult to deal with than any physical pain. Great heaving sobs burst forth and with them came a sense of relief. The tears meant not only that she still lived, but that she still cared. It was a thought she needed to hold on to if she hoped to come through her imprisonment alive.

She looked around the room once the sobs had subsided. The breakfast still lay where she’d thrown it. She tried to remember where she’d dropped her own clothing, but found it missing. “Damn him!” She screamed though there was no one there to hear her screams. For a while she sat on the floor until an uncomfortable fullness began to make itself known to her. She tried to ignore it, but the need only grew in intensity. With a sigh of resignation, she pulled herself up, kicked off the irritating and uncomfortable pumps and headed in the direction of the pail.

She leaned against the wall a time before pushing away all feelings of self-pity. She decided to examine the contents of the room more thoroughly. A pang of hunger went through her as she caught a whiff of the toast when she walked by the mess on the floor. She moved to the painting on the wall. She ran her fingers all along it, but it could not be moved. When she touched the surface of the painting, the scene changed. She found herself looking into her parents’ living room. At first, she turned away. Tears threatened to spill over. She caught a glimpse of a figure in the corner of her eye and looked closely at the painting once more. Her parents were sitting together on the sofa. “Mom, Dad,” she whispered softly. She watched as her father placed an arm around her mother’s shoulders and leaned in for a quick kiss. One kiss quickly led to two and her father embraced her mother. Hermione frowned. Her father now had her mother lying down on the sofa and was undressing her! Hermione shook her head ‘no’. She took a step back. Her father was now removing his own clothes as his wife sat up and reached greedily for him, taking him into her mouth. Hermione screamed, “No! This isn’t real!” She turned away and sat in the spot where she’d been before. She waited for the lunch that never came.

She could not know for sure how much time had elapsed, though she felt confident that she was only nearing the end of the first full day. Again, she resolved to search the room. This time she did not look at the painting. She moved to the door. She tried it, figuring ‘what do I have to lose’? It was locked, of course. She looked at the vanity. None of the drawers would open. She picked up one of the pumps and threw it at the mirror. It bounced harmlessly to the floor. The mirror was not even scratched. ‘Apparently, the ferret told the truth for once in his miserable life’. She moved to the bed and pulled back the thick duvet, then ripped the sheet off. Nothing. She knelt to peer under the bed, but found the space bare, as well. She tried to think of something; anything she could do to help her situation, but nothing came to mind. Once again, she felt the need to make use of the bucket. She turned up her nose when she saw that the bucket, like the breakfast, was exactly the way she’d left it. ‘Better than on the floor’ she thought and hiked the dress up, pulled the knickers off and squatted over the bucket.