Nobody's Girl

Draco stuffed his hands into the pockets of his robes and walked sullenly down the hall. His father had called him to his chambers to "have a talk with him", which could usually be translated to "give him a long-winded lecture". He was beginning to wonder why he still respected the man, or if he did at all.

His father was sitting behind an old-fashioned yet elaborate desk. An oil lamp was on one end and a stack of parchment on the other. His hands were folded in his lap. "How are you this evening, Draco? Getting along will with the Mudblood?"

Draco gave a nod for an answer. "What did you need to talk about?" he asked somewhat uneasily.

"We will be having a dinner party this evening. Some very important people will be there. It will be a wonderful chance for you to mingle with more upper-class Wizards and Witches."

Draco rolled his eyes. He detested his father's dinner parties.

"You are no longer a child, Draco, and I now expect you not to behave as one."

"All right. I'll have my best robes prepared and be in the dining hall this evening for your party," Draco replied almost mechanically.

His father's eyes softened a tad. "I've begun to worry about you, son. You're eighteen years old and you never go out of the house. What few relationships you've had with girls have lasted less than a week."

Draco began to shift from one foot to the other, obviously not liking where the conversation was going. "I'm aware of how old I am, father. And I'm also aware that I'm somewhat... picky... as to who I choose to form relationships with, but I can't force myself to care for people when I don't."

Lucius sighed and nodded. "Just try to be more sociable tonight," he told him before waving him out.

Draco stalked down the hallway far more irritated than before. Who was his father to try and dictate his relationships? It was none of his business! Eyes downcast, Draco continued to walk toward his room until he collided with something, or rather, someone. He fell back onto the ground, cursing loudly and rubbing the back of his head. "What the hell?!" he yelled, looking forward and seeing a pair of white-sock covered feet right in his face.

Suddenly the feet wiggled away and the owner of them sat up. It was Hermione! Both of them shared a gasp as they realized just who they had ran into. "Why in bloody hell are you running around in the hall?!" he screamed, standing up.

"You may be able to get away with using me for whatever you want, but your servants won't!" she cried back, casting a quick glance behind her.

Two large male servants burst through the door to the stair well and headed toward her, only to stop dead in their tracks at the sight of Draco.

Draco stared at them curiously, then stepped around between them and Hermione. "Just what is going on here?"

"They attacked me!" Hermione yelled out, pointing at them furiously.

In response the two servants dropped the wooden staffs they'd been carrying and bowed regretfully. Draco glared at them. "Explain yourselves!" he commanded.

"We were not aware that she was your personal slave," one of them said in a shaking voice.

"He's lying! I told him who I was!" Hermione screeched from behind Draco. She looked like she was verging on hysteria. Clearly she had not expected the attack and was shaken up considerably.

"Forgive us, Mr. Malfoy, but we did not believe her."

The other servant chimed in, "We thought she was a new servant. We thought we would... scare her."

"Only scare her?" Draco asked, glancing back at Hermione in the corner of his eye. Her brown robe, that she had been so protective of, was ripped all the way down the front. Luckily for her, the bra was still intact.

"Yes, that's all we intended!" one of them cried desperately.

"Her robe ripped when she ran away, I still had hold of it when she broke free!" the other said.

Draco turned his head to Hermione. "Is this true?"

"Of course not! They ripped it themselves!"

Draco turned back to the terrified servants. "This is uncalled for. Laying your dirty hands on my personal slave is punishable by death!"

"The Mudblood is lying, sir!" one of them screamed.

"How could you believe a Muggle-born over us, who have at least half pure lineage?!"

Draco had never looked so furious. In a moment he was before them and had kicked them both so violently that they were huddled on the ground, blood coming from their mouths. "You will be disposed of before the sun sets this evening," he told them icily.

He walked back over to a stunned Hermione and held out his hand. She took it slowly and he pulled her to her feet. "I apologize for their actions. Trust that it won't happen again."

She blinked, wondering what had come over him. "Thank you," she said with unease, "but... you don't have to kill them. I'm sure they've learned their lesson."

He immediately released her hand and stepped away. "I believe I can deal with my own servants. You just concentrate on being a good slave."

She frowned at him as he walked away. "Aren't you going to put me back in my cell? Or do slaves normally wander the halls freely?"

He turned around again. "You're so eager to go back?"

"Just trying to be a good slave," she said with a tiny smile.

Draco smiled back, and it seemed almost genuine again, as it had that day in the dungeon. "Actually, it may be best to assign you another room."

"Why?"

"In the basement, it may be easy for you to be confused as a servant. I'll give you a room upstairs, near the attic. You'll still be guarded, but you won't be in contact with as many servants. How does that sound?"

Hermione nodded. "I suppose so."

Draco called for some servants and gave them instructions for preparing a new room for Hermione. They dashed away in a flurry, as he told them to have it ready within the hour. During the wait, he casually mentioned the dinner party to Hermione.

"I've never even seen a dinner party before," she said wistfully.

"From your room upstairs, you could probably walk a few steps to the inner balcony and see the whole thing, if you wanted."

Hermione's eyes lit up. "Really?! But... why are you telling me this?"

Draco shrugged. "Trying to make conversation I guess. This has to be the longest hour I've ever lived through." He looked up at a clock on the wall. "Time's up. They better have the room ready."

As if on cue, two servants appeared. "It's prepared," they said.

"Good, take Hermione to her new room, and give her a new robe," Draco said quickly, and continued down the hall without another word.

Later on that evening, the dinner party began and Draco walked down the stairs to the main hall, clad in his finest silk black robes. He politely nodded to his father's guests, shook hands with a few, and even kissed the cheeks of the most influential of Witches.

Eventually he made his way to a window, where he sat on the cushioned window-seat and stared out at the moonlit grounds of the Malfoy estate, trying to forget the scene surrounding him. How he hated the crowds.

Hermione had heard the commotion downstairs and had crept to the inner balcony that hung far, far above the heads of the guests. She squatted down and peered out between the wooden posts. She was amazed by all the glittering emerald robes and the beautiful jewels worn by the elite Witches. The long tables were covered in exquisite looking dishes, candles were lit everywhere and suspended in mid air. Servants rushed around silently, offering drinks and treats to the guests. Wizards chuckled and clinked their glasses. It was a scene that most Mudbloods would never live to see.

Her eyes darted around, trying to point out Draco in the vast crowd. Finally she found him, sitting by the window and looking utterly depressed. The look on his face was so... sad. Hermione continued to stare at him. She watched as the guests walked back and forth by him, and how he never even shifted his gaze. Something seemed very wrong.

Suddenly it hit her. In a room full of people, Draco was completely alone. Of all the Wizards and Witches in the dining hall, none of them seemed to even notice him. But how could that be? He was rich, handsome, and powerful. Why did he distance himself from them? Why was he so lonely?

Finally he looked up and his eyes landed right upon her. Her first instinct was to duck and try to hide, but she froze. The strange smile he wore told her that he expected her to be there. He held her gaze for a long time, until one of the servants approached and offered him a drink. He took one, and after the servant had walked away, he held it up as if he were toasting to her. After a moment he drank, and handed the empty glass to the next servant that walked past.

Throughout the rest of the evening, he would look up at her every now and then, assumingly to see if she were still there. Hermione wondered why he did so for a while, until an idea came to her. Was it possible that he told her how to watch the dinner party, and even switched her rooms, for this purpose? Was he comforted by the fact that she was there? Perhaps he didn't feel quite so alone if he knew he could look up and see a warm, familiar face staring back at him.

She knew he would never admit that, but entertaining the idea of it made her feel good inside, somehow. It felt as if she were special, as if she were the star of the party, even if she wasn't even there, and even if only one person could see her.

And the night wore on, and even though Draco and Hermione were three floors apart and no one else even noticed they were there, neither of them felt alone.