Nobody's Girl

Hermione awoke to a strange feeling. She remembered feeling very hot and sick before passing out, but now she felt so very cold. She felt as if she were outside in a blizzard. But she was not outside. She was in Draco's bedroom, and even more shockingly, lying in his bed. To her great relief, he was not in the bed with her, and by the way the pillows and sheets around her were so neatly arranged, she was fairly certain that he hadn't been in the bed with her at any time.

She rose up and shivered as the covers slid from her shoulders. She jerked them back up around her neck, trying to gather what warmth she could. It was hard though, since the sheets seemed icy themselves and the air in the room was frigid. Before, she had barely noticed that his room was a bit cold, but now it hit her like a ton of bricks.

She opened the sheets a bit and peeked underneath. All her clothes were gone, but her body appeared untouched. She wondered what had happened, but somehow the idea of Draco having his way with her while she was unconscious seemed ridiculous. He avoided touching her, even though she was always being scrubbed by the servants, and she often caught him staring at her with a look of repulsion on his face.

The door creaked and her eyes darted to the source of the sound. Draco walked in, looking half-way angry and half-way worried. Suddenly she felt very vulnerable, knowing that under the sheets she was naked. What if he told her to get out of his room that instant? How mortifying that would be! She tried to look bold, but could feel the façade failing.

He walked right up to the bed. "You almost got me into a load of trouble!" he told her with furrowed brow, but there was something in his tone that told her not to be afraid.

"Me?! You're the one who hexed me!"

"And you're the one who was too weak to handle it!"

Hermione gaped at him. How could one person be so impossible? Was there no end to his arrogance? She still felt weak and tired from the sickness, so she refrained from continuing the argument. "I'm sleepy, and hungry, and cold," she said, drawing the covers ever tighter around her form.

Draco muttered something under his breath about "weak Mudbloods" and went over to the door. He spoke with some servants and then returned to his chair. Hermione nodded in and out of sleep. At one point she awoke to find Draco glaring at her. "Enjoying my bed?" he asked sourly.

"Not particularly, no." she answered.

"Oh really?" Draco asked with raised eyebrows, somewhat surprised.

"The sheets are like ice, and even the covers are cold. How can you stand it in here?"

"You're more than welcome to go back to your cell."

Hermione pretended to be asleep again.

A few minutes later she awoke again as the servants returned. They had with them heavy blankets, two trays of food, and some other objects that she couldn't name. They gathered around her and began to switch Draco's bed sheets for warm blankets. Draco stood and stepped in close, but couldn't get near enough to watch. He wondered why he wanted to watch at all.

With that business finished, they sat the two trays on the bed beside her and lifted the lids. A steaming hot meal was presented to her, and she thanked them all as if they had done it out of the kindness of their hearts rather than fear of loosing their jobs.

After she finished eating, they took the other objects, which were like jars, and opened them. Each had some sort of oil or lotion, and they worked each substance into a different area of her skin. One oil went in her hair, another was smoothed into her shoulders. They cleverly kept her covered the entire time, which somehow seemed to frustrate Draco.

As the oils seeped into her skin, she began to feel drowsy and warm. The covers seemed so much more comfortable and the pillows were noticeably softer. She quickly fell into a deep sleep.

Hours later her eyes drifted open and the room was dim. Only a few candles were lit and the room was colder than ever. The oils must have worn off. She wondered what time it was, and how long she'd been laying in the bed. She glanced around without moving, too tired still yet. Something caught her eye in the candle-light.

Draco was standing on the other side of the room, and she could see him through the large mirror facing the bed. Evidently he had just stepped out of the bath, for his hair was wet and hanging in his eyes in a manner that he would never allow in public. He was without his robes, wearing only black trousers. Hermione stared at him through the mirror, amazed at how beautiful he looked.

She had barely noticed what he looked like before. She had thought of him as nothing but a rich brat. His hair had been pushed back, no attention given to it at all, and his body had been covered in many layers of robes. But now, in the dim light, he looked like something out of a fairy tale.

She had seen very few males out of their robes. Only the other slaves on occasion with their near-skeletal, dirty forms peeking out from beneath especially hole-filled robes. Or sometimes she caught sight of the hideous, bulging, hairy belly of the merchant on extremely hot days in the streets.

She felt very tense, worried about where he was going to sleep since it was obviously nighttime. Would he crawl into bed with her? How would she handle that, especially with these strange, uncomfortable thoughts about his looks racing through her brain? It was so much easier when she just plain hated him. She still hated him, she decided, but there was nothing wrong with hating something beautiful. After all, he certainly didn't look beautiful at any other time.

She watched him pull on his robes and walk around the bed to her side, and she closed her eyes quickly. She would be mortified if he found out she had been watching him. Whatever she had thought about him for that minute was pointless. He was a Wizard, and she was a Mudblood. What's worse, he was her owner, and she was nothing more than another possession. She couldn't allow herself to feel anything for him, except for hate.

She heard his footsteps around the bed. Her whole body went rigid. What did he expect of her? Surely he wouldn't want to touch her. She hadn't been bathed since yesterday, unless he counted the tub of ice water. She was relieved when she felt his hand on her covered shoulder and heard him say "Wake up," in his usual surly tone. He was just the way she remembered him.

She opened her eyes slowly. "What is it?" she murmured.

"I'm going to sleep in a guest room down the hall. There will be servants in the room and outside the door, in case you get any ideas."

"Or in case I need something." Hermione said bluntly.

"Whatever," he muttered, turning to walk away from her. She stared at him until he was gone, and two servants walked in.

She pulled the covers tighter around herself and attempted to force the image of him standing in the mirror, shirtless and with dripping platinum hair, out of her mind. It was a hard thing for her to do, for she had never had any use for hormones before and they had suddenly (and unwillingly) come to life with all of the force and power that they would have had at age sixteen.

Still yet, she was devoted to her resolutions, and she refused to think of Draco in any way that didn't include resentment. He was everything that she hated about the world, all wrapped up into a pretty package. For all she knew, he had staged the whole thing, in an attempt to mess with her mind.

She mentally slapped herself, reminding herself of how cocky and rude he was. She would not succumb to his games. She was stronger and smarter than that. So she shoved him out of her mind and fell back to sleep, but she saw his face in her dreams.