Chapter Text
“You are all just the same. I can smell the mud of you. Stealing magic was just the beginning. Tell me, would you curse me the moment my back was turned?”
Hermione lifted her chin, the wall at her back holding her up more than she’d like to admit. Both of her hands were holding a tray of empty steins she had just cleared from a table.
The wizard in front of her took another step closer. “An unforgivable, perhaps?”
Hermione swallowed. “I haven’t a wand.”
“Yaxley,” a deep and elegant voice called from the door. “Now is not the time to play about.”
“The mudblood stole from me,” Yaxley accused.
“I’ve stolen nothing,” Hermione said firmly.
“I’d hope not. That would be terribly embarrassing… for him,” Lucius chuckled. “Dolohov swiped your stopwatch if that is what you are looking for.”
Yaxley groaned before stumbling out of the back kitchen, returning to a private room within The Leaky Cauldron. Hermione hated serving private parties.
This wasn’t the first time it had nearly cost her life.
“You’re here often,” Lucius said.
Hermione turned to drop the tray on the counter. “So are you.”
Levitating it would be easier, but she was not meant to know how to perform any magic.
“Not when I can help it.” He stood taller. “If he bothers you again, tell him you have Lucius Malfoy’s favor.”
The glasses crashed loudly into the sink as they slipped from her fingers. Hermione turned around. “Thank you, Mr. Malfoy.”
With another nod, he walked away.
Hermione continued to clean the dishes by hand. Employment at the Leaky Cauldron was one of the most lucrative a muggleborn could have. She earned enough to pay for all of her and Colin’s rent, though his pride still insisted they split it fifty-fifty.
The walk back to her flat was dark and cold, and the winter rain had soaked Hermione’s coat by the time she arrived. She walked quietly past Colin’s room and waited until she was safe behind her bedroom door to strip off her wet clothes. A hot shower sounded brilliant, but the pipes in the building were so old and loud that she opted to climb into her bed in only her knickers to try and get warm. It was only a few moments before the exhaustion came to take her.
“You’re out of your bloody mind!” Colin exclaimed as Hermione moved the screaming kettle off the stove.
“Fifty galleons a week,” Hermione said. “Not to mention I can finally get out of the Leaky.”
“You’ll trade waiting on pure-bloods for living with them?” he continued.
“We all have a price. Fifty galleons a week is well beyond mine,” Hermione said. “I’m sorry. I know this is putting you out.”
“I won’t have trouble finding another roommate,” Colin said, waving her off. “Just… promise me you will get out of there at the first sign of trouble. There is a reason the Malfoys can’t keep servants. They’re terrible.”
The thought of it made her shiver. Still, from the moment she saw the posting in the Daily Prophet, she knew it was an opportunity she couldn’t pass up.
Colin said a quick goodbye before he left for his shift at the apothecary. Finally alone in the flat, Hermione used her magic to load up her trunk and then went on her way.
There was once a time when they were allowed to attend magical schools, but that ended decades before her birth. Everything Hermione knew about practicing magic was from books she snuck from the library she had worked at. It was all basic things, and most didn’t work without a wand. The small expressions of magic she did manage were enough to keep her outbursts of accidental magic at bay.
A witch was waiting for her by the light post, and she hardly got a word out before she grabbed her arm and disapparated them. When they reappeared, they were standing before the largest home Hermione had ever seen.
“Pick your jaw off the ground, you have work to do,” the witch said, levitating Hermione’s trunk and walking inside. “The masters of the house are busy. Don’t hover. Stay out of sight and out of trouble.”
“Understood-”
“And don’t speak unless spoken to!” she snapped.
Hermione’s jaw clenched. “You did speak to me.”
The older women whirled around. She looked Hermione up and down and then snorted through her nose. “You won’t last a week.”
“How long have you lasted? About a hundred years I’d wager?” Hermione smiled.
“Gertrude, tend to Lucius’ guests in the lounge. He is running late,” Narcissa Malfoy walked out, looking even more regal than her photos. “Who are you?”
“The new servant-in-waiting,” Gertrude answered.
Narcissa scoffed and walked away. “Show her to the quarters first. I don’t need her lingering about where someone could see.”
There were two types of servants in the wizarding world. Lower-born purebloods like Gertrude, and “high-functioning” mud-bloods like herself. Gertrude and her peers would tend to the manor during daytime hours, with regular breaks and pay. Hermione would be the only one to reside at the manor, on call all hours, and be paid a mudblood’s wage.
“You’ll tend to the kitchens and the laundry today. There are private passageways to each, so you won’t need to roam the halls,” Gertrude continued. “If you finish early, you didn’t do it properly.”
Gertrude reached her hand into a wall, and a door appeared. It was short and narrow, and Hermione suspected that it was where the house-elves used to reside before the Dark Lord exterminated them.
Hermione ducked through the door and was pleased to find the room had high ceilings that matched the rest of the home and was spacious enough to fit a full-size bed and a small table.
“Give me your wrist,” Gertrude waved her hand to hurry Hermione along. She clasped a gold bracelet around her wrist, with a tiny bell dangling from it like a charm. “There are four of us that support Malfoy Manor, but we leave shortly after supper. You will be available any time of day, for anything they need. This will alert you when your services are required.”
Brilliant. Hermione shook her wrist, but there was no sound. It didn’t escape her notice that she was the only servant to have one.
“How do I take it off?” asked Hermione.
“You can’t,” Gertrude smirked. “It is charmed together. A simple spell, but only a true witch or wizard can release it.”
Hermione pursed her lips together and turned around. She heard the thump of her trunk as Gertrude levitated it to the small table at the foot of her bed.
“Your hall is behind that door. Get started,” Gertrude said as she turned and exited the room.
Hermione took a quick moment to run her hands over her robes. They were the best ones she owned, but she still looked completely out of place. She groaned, knowing the first of her earnings would have to go to her work wardrobe.
A narrow hall appeared on the other side of the door that led to all parts of the manor. Above the door frame, labels were etched: Masters Wing, Potion Lab, First Floor Lavatory, Conservatory. The former house-elves charmed them to get from one side of the manor to the other in only a couple of steps.
The kitchen was large, nearly industrial. To relieve her anxiety, Hermione started chopping the vegetables for dinner once she ran out of things to clean. The door she walked through disappeared, and she kicked herself for not noting where on the wall it was located.
“That has got to be the least efficient method to-”
“Merlin- fuck!” Hermione yelped, hands flying in the air. She turned to see no other than Draco Malfoy standing before her. She had seen his likeness in enough issues of the Daily Prophet to recognize him.
Draco chuckled, his shoulder against the door frame, unbothered. Hermione's jaw hung for a moment before she picked back up the knife and resumed chopping.
“Is there a reason you are laboring away like a muggle?” Draco snorted and Hermione felt her cheeks heat. A small rush of fear made her hand quiver. “Are you mute?”
Hermione shook her head, still looking down. “No, sir.”
Heavy footsteps approached until he was practically looking over her shoulder. Did masters always get this close to their servants? What was he doing in the kitchens anyways?
He walked over to the fruit bowl, grabbed an apple off the top, and tossed it to her.
“Cut it,” Draco commanded.
Hermione wiped the knife clean on a rag before taking the knife to the apple.
“No. The proper way,” Draco stopped her.
Hermione huffed in defeat. “I can’t use magic.”
Draco snorted. “Why not?”
Hermione couldn’t help the incredulous glare she gave him. Honestly, were rich, pureblood boys taught nothing of the world outside of themselves?
“Oh. You- you’re not…” Draco said with a nervous laugh, like he was waiting for her to admit she was having a go at him.
“I am the new servant-in-waiting,” Hermione said.
They both knew what that meant. It was a position people above her designation were too proud to fill. A conflicting look came over Draco’s face for a moment, and she had to look down.
“Well, well,” Draco sang as he crowded her personal space again once he remembered himself. “You must forgive me. Just last week our mudblood was a hefty bloke who mostly tended to the grounds. Never thought I’d see the day mother would allow one in the house.”
“I’m to stay out of sight,” Hermione answered plainly, swallowing down her pride and gripping the knife tighter. Each chop through the apple was louder than the previous.
Draco kept lurking over her until Hermione had to take a few steps back to maintain adequate distance.
“You really don’t know how to use magic?” Draco asked, his hand in his pockets looking down his nose at her. “I bet you know at least one charm.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” scolded Hermione.
It was foolish. Talking to purebloods to complete a task was one thing but challenging one was unheard of. Hermione looked away, both anger and fear making her heart pound in her chest.
“What about a hex?” Draco poked, and Hermione glared up at him. He looked deeply into her eyes, so much so that it felt like he swam right through them into her mind. When he came back into view he was smiling.
“You can, can’t you?” He asked, intrigued. Hermione shook her head frantically. “Liar.”
“Mudbloods aren’t allowed to practice magic,” she rushed out.
“Hex me.”
Hermione gapped.
“Do it.”
Hermione started panting through her nose, looking around the kitchen. “You’re trying to get me killed.”
“Am not.” Draco caged her between his arms. His hands rested on the wall on either side of her head but he was careful not to touch her. “Hex me. It will hardly hurt. I just want to see.”
“No.”
“Do it,” he playfully asked.
“Please–let me go.”
“DO IT.”
Draco burst into laughter, taking a few steps back and covering his mouth. The laughter subsided after only a few seconds, but then he looked back at Hermione humorously.
“A tickling jinx? Really?” he said leaning against the table.
Hermione shrugged. Her nerves were almost gone. Likely by the realization that Draco was not going to use the jinx against her, and the relief of expression of magic.
“I should get back to work,” Hermione said, picking up the knife and quickly cutting the remainder of Draco’s apple before placing it on a small plate and holding it out to him.
He grabbed it, slowly and carefully so that his pureblood fingers would not touch her filthy skin.
“What is your name?” he asked from the doorway, the last step before exiting the kitchens.
“Hermione,” she answered, trying to keep her voice steady. “Yours?”
“You can address me as Master,” Draco declared, and Hermione couldn’t stop her eyes from narrowing at him.
It only caused the mischievous grin on his face to grow larger. He chuckled and brought a slice of apple up to his mouth to take a bite and wiggled his fingers at her in farewell before disappearing through the doorway.
Once he was out of sight, Hermione released a breath she didn’t realize she was holding. Finally alone, she started prepping the main course for dinner, throwing the scraps from the vegetables into the bin.