Nobody's Girl

Hermione blinked curiously at the servant as she attached a pair of cuffs to her hands. The servant was a very small-framed girl who looked as if a fairly strong breeze could knock her over, and she was alone. That explained the cuffs. Perhaps Draco thought Hermione could too easily overpower the servant, and didn't want to risk an escape attempt. So Hermione made no objection as the tiny woman led her down the steps from the attic and to a musky-smelling room at the end of the hall.

It was the laundry room, as far as Hermione could tell, with piles of clothing in all corners. Some were crumpled and obviously dirty, while others were laying strung across the floor, apparently waiting to be folded. The servant pointed to a huge pile. "Those are Draco's robes. He wants you to fold them very neatly and take them to his room."

Hermione nodded and sat down on the floor to begin her work. She wondered why such a silly task would be given to her, but decided that it wasn't worth her time think about.

After about an hour, Hermione began to feel tired. The work was easy, but very time-consuming and extremely boring. The pile looked gigantic and she thought she would never finish. Surely there was some sort of spell that would fold the laundry with speed and care. But she had no wand, and no idea how to do magic.

She remembered a time, years ago, when she had been pulled out of her cage on the street by a snooty Witch who planned to make a sport of seeing how many rocks she could send flying at Hermione's head. After the second blow, Hermione had become furious and suddenly the rocks began flying back toward the Witch. Hermione had no idea how she had done it, but she supposed that her dormant magical abilities had manifested themselves out of sheer rage.

Now she sat, staring at the pile of laundry with the most desperate concentration she could muster. If she wanted to finish before the end of the week, she would have to have a little help. She didn't want to spend day after day folding Draco's laundry.

After ten minutes of migraine-inducing concentration, an article of clothing lifted slowly into the air and began to fold itself somewhat awkwardly. Within the next half hour, ten to twelve pieces at a time were folding themselves perfectly and stacking themselves in the corner.

Hermione stood amidst them, focusing all of her energy on the magic she was somehow creating. It was the first time in her life that she had used magic by will. She began to wonder if she could use it for other things too. If Draco ever made another attempt on her again, she would find out. But that would be a last resort. On the rare occasion that a Mudblood was seen using magic, they were tortured mercilessly before put to death. It was a terrible risk, and Hermione kept a constant eye on the heavily locked door, ready to drop the clothes at a moment's notice.

Another half hour and all the clothes were finished. Hermione smiled to herself, feeling strong and powerful now that her first attempt at magic had been successful, even without a wand. She began carrying the clothes, small stacks at a time, to Draco's room down the hall. He was not in his room, so the task was smooth and uneventful. She was happy for that too.

Finally she waved to the nearest watchful servant and signaled that she was ready to return to her room. She climbed the steps back to the attic and flopped down on her small (yet better than a cot) bed. There were three different rooms in the attic. One was hers, and the other two were locked tightly, and probably charmed as well. She supposed they were storage rooms, but a light coming from one of the doors caught her attention and made her wonder.

She got up from her bed and crept across the narrow hall to the door. It was open, just a crack, and light was seeping into the dark, dank hallway. She carefully peered in, dying to quench her curiosity. What she saw was what she least expected.

The room was obviously not a storage room. The walls were bright red, candles were lit everywhere, and a huge bed sat in the center of the room. In the bed was Draco, with someone else that Hermione didn't recognize. It was a beautiful young Witch, probably around seventeen, with long blonde hair.

The Witch was positioned on her knees, her arms were bound to some sort of shackles that hung from the ceiling. Draco was behind her, making love to her and moving his hands all about her body. Hermione instinctively thought that Draco was raping her, but upon seeing the girl's expression of rapture, she knew that this was not the case.

Hermione wanted to turn away, to go straight back to her room, close the door, and pretend she never saw a thing. But she couldn't. For some reason she couldn't stop watching. Draco looked like some sort of angel that had descended from heaven, and the Witch looked as if she was in heaven.

Hermione found herself wishing she were that Witch, wishing that they could trade places for an instant, but upon realizing what she was thinking, she pulled herself away from the door. How could she think something like that? Draco was a cruel bastard who used her for what he wanted and then tossed her aside. She convinced herself that she didn't want him.

Still yet, she wanted to see what happened next, so she crept back over to the door and peeked in. She felt dirty and ashamed, but she couldn't help herself. She had never seen people actually making love before. Her first experience in the whole business had been the night Draco had raped her.

Suddenly Draco's eyes shifted and landed right upon the crack in the door, where Hermione's red-flushed face was staring in. She gasped almost silently and dashed to her room. She closed the door and thrust herself into the bed. She laid facing the wall. What could she do? Draco had seen her watching them! How embarrassing!

Minutes passed and finally Hermione heard footsteps down the hall of the attic. They were soft and delicate, undoubtedly those of the Witch. Then more footsteps came across the hall, and stopped at her door. She knew it was Draco, and silently prayed into her pillow that he wouldn't come in. She couldn't face him now!

Sure enough, the door opened and Draco walked in. He stood over her bed for a moment before saying "I know you're awake."

She ignored him. Maybe he would just go away.

He sat down on the edge of her bed. "I know you saw us."

She kept still, trying to not even breath. She didn't want to talk about it. Why couldn't he just pretend it didn't happen? Did he have no shame at all?

"How did you finish the laundry so quickly? I thought it'd take you all day."

She rolled over suddenly. "So that's why you gave me that awful job?! To distract me while you used the attic for your illicit affairs?!"

Draco looked down at her unsmiling. "When I gave you this room, I forgot that the room across the hall was the one I had fixed up for..." he paused, trying to find the right phrase for it.

"For your sexual romps with the local Witches?" Hermione asked cynically.

"It's not something that happens often. In fact... it had been quite a while since the last time," he said uneasily. His face had a very slight pink tint to it, surprising Hermione that someone like him could actually blush.

"Well, it certainly seemed like you knew what you were doing," Hermione said without thinking, then quickly rolled back over to face the wall.

Draco smiled slightly behind her. "Aren't you going to ask me who she was?"

"Why would I? Your personal relations are none of my business."

"She's the daughter of one of my father's friends," he answered anyway, "I normally don't socialize much with them, but every now and then I get the urge, you know?"

Hermione was blushing furiously against her pillow. "None of my business," she repeated.

She felt him shift on the bed and she became tense. Surely he wouldn't try something on her right after that scene in the other room! She felt his hand land lightly on her shoulder. He leaned in, his face so close that his lips nearly brushed her ear as he spoke. "Don't you ever get the urge?" he whispered.

Hermione shuddered and scooted closer to the wall. Draco leaned closer still. "It turned you on, didn't it? Watching us. You know, all you have to do is ask, and I'll take you into that room. No one will ever know, as long as you keep your damn mouth shut this time."

Hermione reached behind her and shoved his face away. "I'm not yet desperate enough to beg you for sex," she said acidly.

Draco laughed, standing up. "As you could see from the gorgeous blonde who just left my bed with a grin on her face, neither am I. I'll leave you to your... well, I'll leave you to whatever the hell it is you do up here all day."

Hermione refused to face him. She heard him walk out, shutting the door behind him. She listened as he walked down the stairs. She breathed a sigh of relief and rolled over in bed. What a horrible day it had been. She wondered if she'd ever recover from such a shocking sight.

Even worse was the fact that she couldn't get the images out of her mind. Draco was a creep, but he was a sexy creep, and despite her best efforts she couldn't deny this. But why had he gone to so much trouble to keep her from being in the attic today? Why didn't he want her to see him with the blonde? She found it more logical for him to want her to see, so that he could further gloat and brag on himself. Or maybe he had some other trick up his sleeve, one that she couldn't foresee.

Regardless of his plans, Hermione told herself that she wouldn't cave in to him. She would find a way to escape and forget all about him. But even as she made these plans, she knew, somewhere in the catacombs of her heart, that forgetting Draco Malfoy would be a very difficult task.