The Worst That Could Happen

Hermione stared in shock as she watched her best friend fall. He had failed. He had fallen. He was dead.

Harry Potter was dead, by Voldemort's hand. And Hermione was a Muggle-born witch, whose very survival had depended on Harry's victory. She knew he was dead when she saw him fall. He wouldn't have fallen otherwise. What will happen to me? she distantly wondered as she heard Voldemort's laugh echo in her head.

Suddenly, someone was jerking her head back by her brown hair.

"This one's still alive," someone behind a dark mask had said. He sounded like someone she knew....

"Of course she's still alive, you dolt!" an oddly familiar voice yelled. "She was kneeling!"

"Right," the first voice, the one who held her hair, muttered. "What do I do with her?" he called.

"Take her to the Dark Lord. He'll know what to do with her."

Her captor pulled Hermione up by her hair roughly, causing the girl to cry out in pain.

"Wait!" a third voice called. "Give her to me," he requested.

She felt someone else grab her and lead her away.

"Don't talk," this third person ordered quietly. "If you don't talk, you might live."

"Then kill me now," Hermione requested. Why live for the torture she knew they'd put her through? She was a Mudblood, why would this Death Eater care about what happened to her? And if this man truly did care, then why was he taking her to the one who would surely order her death?

"Milord," the person who held Hermione said respectfully, bowing.

"Who is this?" Voldemort asked.

"A Mudblood student of Dumbledore's," my captor answered. "Also a friend to Harry Potter." Was he trying to get her killed??? "Also the best student in the school," he finished. "She would be an asset to our cause, Milord. If, of course, she can be turned."

"Would you wish to take on this responsibility, or shall I give her to someone else to break?"

"Milord, I have been faithful to from the time before I became your follower. I request that I may have the pleasure in killing her soul."

"Granted, Draco. Now get the filthy thing out of my sight."

Draco? Draco Malfoy?

Draco pulled her up and led Hermione away from Voldemort.

"Get your hands off of me," she spat.

"No," he answered. "Not until I have an assurance from you that you will not try to escape me and I will not have that until I return home, with you."

"What do you want with me?" she demanded.

"To break you," he replied. "To turn you into the evil Slytherin I know is inside of you. I want to see you break, kill, and I want revenge."

"For what?" the girl asked. Hermione knew this was Draco Malfoy now; there was no doubt in her mind.

"For every bad grade I've gotten because of you, for every slash and cut and bruise you have caused me because I couldn't be better than you. I want revenge because you were better than me, and I can't take being second to a filthy Mudblood. I will break you, bitch. I will make you scream, kill, and I'll make sure you enjoy it. You will become what you have hated most, and you will laugh at the thought that Harry Potter couldn't save you."

Hermione was afraid, needless to say. She had no idea what her future would hold, especially now that it lay in the palm of Draco Malfoy's hands. Hermione was his now, his pet, his slave, his property. She was ashamed that she couldn't get herself out of this and almost wished that her parents had learned of the horrors she faced every year and took her out of Hogwarts. Hermione wished that she had never lived to see this day. Why did Harry and Ron have to save her from that stupid troll?

Draco took them to a mansion, Hermione could only assume this is where he's grown up. The building itself was a slate gray and the windows all had curtains hanging from them. All were closed off to the world. All of them blocked off the view to the inside of the mansion.

The door opened before they reached it.

"Elf!" Draco snapped. He shoved Hermione towards the first one that appeared. "Take her and clean her up. Then put her in proper clothes. I want to impress my parents when they see her."

"Is the missus to be put in slave's garments?" the elf asked. "Or is she to be placed in the clothes of the Mistress?"

The blonde man looked thoughtful for a moment. "Slave's," he answered. The elf nodded and took her by the hand to lead her away.

The house elf led Hermione through the kitchen and down the stairs to what looked like a basement. There were mats for beds along the wall and chains on the walls. What looked like a bucket for waist sat on one side of the room, across from a small fireplace. There were rags of clothing piled in a corner and the house elves waiting for work.

"What is this?" one of the elves asked. There had to be thirty of them!

"A slave for Young Master Draco," the elf guiding her answered. "He requests we clean her and dress her properly.

They sat the Gryffindor down on a stool and set to work instantly, healing her injuries and washing her body. Hermione didn't understand any of this....

They took her clothes from her and brought her the rags.

The shirt they gave her looked like it could have been a tank top at one time, but it had only one strap to hold it up. It didn't cover much; in fact, all it covered was the girl's chest and hung in taters about her abdomen. The skirt they gave her to go with it wasn't any better. It was short, dirty, and had holes everywhere. Hermione wanted to get away from these creatures and this place, but she didn't see any way out of it. She didn't even have her wand....

"ELF!" she heard echoing around the room. One of the elves disappeared and was gone only seconds before returning.

"Master Malfoy wishes to see the slave," she informed the others.

She took Hermione's hand again and led her away from what could possibly be her only friends in the days to come. She led Hermione up the stairs and through the kitchen, down a long hall and finally stopped at a large dark colored door. The light was so bad around here, Hermione couldn't see if it was brown or possibly black.

The elf knocked briefly and then opened the door. She led the way in, and Hermione saw Draco leaning against an ornate desk. It looked expensive, as did everything else in this stupid place.

He raised an eyebrow as the elf left, locking the door and Hermione with her fate. What is going to happen to me?

"You clean up nicely, Mudblood," he complemented. Hermione wanted to spit on his face.

"Here's what you're supposed to be doing," he said. "You're supposed to kneel at my feet and say 'Thank you, Master.' Why don't you try it?"

"Never," she whispered.

"What?" he asked, smiling.

"Never," Hermione repeated, almost shouting the word. "I will never serve you!"

The smile on his face grew. "Oh you're going to be fun," he laughed.

Like lightning, he had his hand on her throat and was choking her. Hermione tried to pry his hand away from her throat, but he was stronger than she was. Hermione couldn't breathe, no matter how hard she tried to get in air.

Her vision had grown fuzzy around the edges and the pain in her chest was beginning to lessen. Hermione thought she might just get out of this, if he killed her, she would never have to serve him.

That was when he let her go. Hermione dropped to her hands and knees, gasping for breath.

"How do you like it down there?" he demanded, yanking her head back by pulling her brown hair roughly. She wanted to cry out in pain, but a small part of her remembered that he wanted to hear just that. Hermione kept her mouth shut.

"Now what are you supposed to say?" he whispered in her ear.

"Go to hell," the Gryffindor answered in a harsh breath. She was still trying to get her breathing under control, and it was very hard to talk to him, have her head held back like that, and be on her knees all at the same time.

He backhanded her across her left cheekbone. Hermione flew into the desk and hit her head on the corner.

She held her head where it had made contact and found the wetness of blood on her forehead.

"Don't you dare get blood on this carpet, slave," he spat.

He grabbed her by the arm and roughly pulled her up. He then dragged Hermione out of the room and walked to the kitchen. He opened the door that led to the basement and threw her in. She fell down the stairs, hitting each one hard, until finally coming to rest down at the bottom in a bloody heap.

Lying there, on the dirt floor, Hermione finally broke down in sobs. She had been strong long enough, making it thus far without a single tear, but she could no longer contain the grief and agony that was building up inside of her. She would never see her family again, never see her friends, and never know anything remotely resembling her former life.

The house elves surrounded her sobbing form and muttered the healing spells that would save her life--and theirs. They alone knew the temper of Draco Malfoy, and they feared it far above anything Lucius or Narcissa could throw at them. Draco Malfoy was the dream Death Eater. He was ruthless, cold, unforgiving, and he had a heart of steel. There was nothing that could penetrate his high solid walls, nothing at all. And if he wanted something, he got it, no matter what the cost was. That meant that if he wanted Hermione, he would kill anyone who stood in his way, even if that was Voldemort himself.

When she was healed, the house elves guided her to the straw mats that served as beds to the slaves of Malfoy Manor. They even chained her to the wall, knowing that was what the Master wanted--and that he liked it.

Hermione sat against the wall, her arms locked above her head, long into the night. What she wouldn't give just to have her arms down! Surely they could chain her up without her feeling like her arms would fall off if they were up a second longer!

Her fingers grew numb and the tingling in her arms had ceased by the time she finally fell asleep, her head hanging in front of her body, chin resting against her chest.