My Life As A House-Elf

Chapter Two - The Manor

* * * *

Hermione sat on the pavement, holding the two pieces of her broken wand in hand. Her large, glazed eyes bordered on the edge of tears, panic-stricken and hopeless they seemed. Hermione wasn't used to being a House-elf. Saving them from a lifetime of enslavement, yes, but being one? It was a little too much to take in.

"What am I going to do?" she squeaked. She hopelessly tried to piece the wand together, holding the broken ends towards one another in hopes some sheer magnetic force (or divine miracle) would bind the broken wood and split unicorn hair together. Nothing happened, as expected. "What am I going to do?" she repeated, dropping the broken pieces and cupping her face in her hands.

Suddenly she was covered by an immensely large shadow.

"Well, well. What have we here?"

Hermione looked up, expecting the worst. A shadowy, tall, looming face peered down at here, looking quizzical indeed. The man's tattered cloak covered his enormous frame, and his hood covered half his face, making him look like an incredibly large, solid bed sheet. "A lost House-elf, eh?"

Hermione made no attempt to answer.

The man looked down to see the broken wand in her hands, raised his eyebrows, and glanced at the broken shards of glass nearby. He shook his head, tut-tuttering. "Oh dear, oh dear, what have you done? Your master probably fired you didn't he, after breaking his wand and those expensive goblin potion bottles? I can tell because you've got a fair amount of human clothing around you." It was then Hermione noticed she was still wearing her dress and cloak. "Well, well, you are in a lot of trouble."

Hermione's eyes glistened. She looked as if she were about to cry.

"Now, now, there's no need for that," the man - which by now Hermione was beginning to suspect was a half-giant - said gently. He picked up the broken wand and, to Hermione's dismay, threw it in a gutter. "I know precisely the place where you can find a new master. A House-elf without a family to serve is unfortunate indeed."

He started to walk away, glancing back for Hermione to follow. Lost, disoriented and in complete distress, she had no other choice but to follow, the painful, twisting feeling in her stomach telling her she knew exactly where they were going.

* * * *

"Fifty Galleons! Do I hear sixty Galleons? Fifty-five Galleons, then. Fifty-five I am bid! Sixty, sixty-five. Against you, madam. Sixty-five. Selling once. Selling twice. Sold to the lady in the third row, thank you, madam ..."

Hermione could hear the cries as she edged closer, her stomach churning even more, generating an even more sickly feeling in her throat.

"Lot 45, we have here a young male House-elf," the auctioneer used the edge of his cane to rattle the bars of the House-elf's cage. Lot 45 cringed and whimpered, edging towards the back of the cage, crouching in the shadows. "Still in good health, just enlisted service. Hard-working and loyal, and very dependant. Going at forty Galleons ..."

Hermione watched as wizards and witches, each even darker than the last, bid for this young House-elf's enslavement. She didn't feel rage like she used to, instead it was replaced by a sense of utter helplessness. As a House-elf, Hermione felt puny. She didn't like the feeling. Silently she wondered how long this spell lasted and when she would return to her human form.

"Going once. Going twice! Sold to the gentleman at the back, thank you sir ..."

"Oi! Olaf!" the giant yelled. His voice boomed across the alley, causing everyone to look back. The auctioneer smiled a rather greasy smile and replied, "Uric! Hah, what do you have there with you?"

Everyone craned to look at Hermione. She withered underneath all the stares, and blushed with humiliation at the sound of chuckles and laughs, as a few members of the crowd pointed to her ample amount of human clothing. "Just one of my House-elves," the giant boomed. "Do you have any more room for one more?"

"What's the matter, Uric? Not up to your standards?" The auctioneer guffawed.

The giant shook his head. "Nah, just can't pay the upkeep, that's all. Two House-elves is enough for me. Fired this one."

"Alright then." The auctioneer signalled to one of his equally unpleasant looking assistants. "Bring it up, then. And give it proper garments. House-elf garments."

The giant bent down to look at Hermione. "Now take care of yourself, y'hear?"

Hermione nodded. She was grabbed roughly by the shoulders and hauled backwards, and looking upwards she saw the auctioneer's greasy-looking assistant pulling her towards the podium. She glanced back at the giant. He gave a little wave, and disappeared in the midst of the crowd.

"Hm, what have we here?" the auctioneer sneered repulsively down at Hermione, examining her as if she were an insect, not unlike a certain Lucius Malfoy. That's the second time I've been peered at disgustedly, Hermione thought, frowning. And I certainly don't think it will be the last. But unlike Lucius Malfoy, the auctioneer wasn't as adept at hiding his antipathy.

"What are you frowning at?" He gave Hermione a severe nudge with his cane. It was enough for her to want to gouge his eyes out, but she wisely did nothing. "I don't like the ones with spirit. The sooner I get rid of you, the better." He scowled.

Same here, Hermione wanted to say. But she wasn't exactly looking forward to being nudged again.

He turned to address the crowd, auctioning off another House-elf (Lot 46) while the assistants seized Hermione's old robes and presented her with a pillowcase instead. She burned with indignation. As soon as I'm back to my human self, she thought to herself furiously, I'm going to do something about this.

"Time is money. Hurry up, elf," the auctioneer muttered threateningly at Hermione, directing his cane towards an empty, open cage.

Hermione stared. There's no way I'm going in there.

"Well?" the auctioneer's face was purple with rage. "Get in!"

A brief moment of hesitation. Swallowing her disgust and her pride, Hermione stepped forward, cursing auctions, rich families and obnoxious people all at once. The auctioneer, aggravated, gave Hermione a harsh kick in the back for good measure. She landed face-first in the cage.

The sickening feeling in her gut increased. She wished all sorts of impressive curses upon the auctioneer's head, but wisely kept her mouth shut. From all her research on House-elves, she learned that they take abuse quite patiently. She didn't want anyone to know she was actually Hermione Granger, a witch. Knockturn Alley wasn't any place to declare yourself a Mudblood.

"This one, as you, I am certain, have all observed, is a fine specimen donated by my kind friend Uric Fidus, recently released from duty. As you can see, she's looks likely to work hard and certainly seems to be quite energetic." The auctioneer tapped the top of the cage with his cane, scowling at Hermione who crouched inside.

"Going at thirty-five Galleons."

Oh come on, Hermione thought. I'm bound to be worth more than that.

"Do I have forty? Forty Galleons, madam."

Hermione peered from the bars of the cage to watch the spectacle of her enslavement. She scanned to crowd. So these are the people who I'm probably going to be enslaved to for the rest of my life. She shuddered. If I don't set the spell right. I have to find that Barquel madman before the spell becomes permanent ...

Suddenly she caught sight of something that caused her to freeze. Draco Malfoy was there. With Lucius Malfoy. So I was right, Hermione thought grimly. They have come to buy more House-elves. And Draco was pointing. Right towards her.

Lucius bent over to say something to his son, looking straight towards Hermione. Draco nodded solemnly in reply. Casting another look at Hermione, Lucius gave a faint scowl, and raised a gloved hand.

"Fifty Galleons! Fifty Galleons from a very gracious Mr. Malfoy, thank you very much sir ..." the auctioneer smiled nervously, his usual harsh voice suddenly going oily and melting. Those around Lucius glanced around them, and, very slowly, started shifting and edging away as if the air around him had suddenly gotten very cold.

A superior looking man, nearer towards the podium, didn't look as perturbed as everyone else when Lucius Malfoy's name was mentioned. Everybody supposed he was foreign. He looked large enough to fill an entire wardrobe, and looked like he was wearing an entire wardrobe, and he raised a fleshy hand into the air.

"Sixty Galleons from Monsieur Thenardier, all the way from France. Yes, do I hear seventy?"

Hermione watched as Lucius bent down once more to address his son, this time in sceptical enquiry. Draco looked up, with a scowl as equally faint and subtle as his father's, and nodded firmly. As if to stress his point, he pointed once more directly towards Hermione.

Though he obviously radiated sheer disapproval, Lucius Malfoy raised his hand and cried, "Ninety."

The auctioneer nearly fell off his post. Ninety Galleons for a House-elf? He dabbed his forehead with a handkerchief, eyes glittering with greed. He didn't bother waiting. "Sold! Sold to a very generous Mr. Malfoy, thank you very much sir, if I must say you are looking quite excellent today ..."

The crowd moved away exceptionally quickly when Lucius moved forward to collect his elf. Draco looked into the cage, and smiled, his eyes cold and stormy, his smile not at all comforting. Hermione cringed.

The auctioneer continued on his shameless flattery. Lucius ignored him and hoisted the cage, signalling for Draco to follow. Meanwhile, inside the cage, the sickening feeling in Hermione's gut began to escalate. She clutched her stomach, willing herself to remain calm. The swinging feeling of the cage as Lucius began to walk didn't help much either.

I'm going to work for the Malfoys, Hermione thought, pale with repulsion. I think I'm going to be sick.

She leaned out from the bars of the cage, and, rather unceremoniously, threw up all over Lucius Malfoy's magnificent black boots.

* * * *

"That was bold of you," Draco Malfoy commented, unlocking the door to Hermione's cage, "to go on throwing up all over my Father's boots. What a way to set a first impression."

Hermione burned with embarrassment. "I didn't mean to," she said, although it did feel quite refreshing. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be," Draco said, smirking, taking off his boots. They were in Draco Malfoy's room, a few hours after returning from Knockturn Alley. Hermione had spent a rather uncomfortable carriage journey strapped to the roof. "I think he deserved it."

Hermione was speechless. What did Malfoy just say?

"Well, don't just stand there," he said scornfully. "Pick up the boots, get my cloak, and see to the fireplace. Weren't you trained at all?"

Hermione stammered an apology and hurriedly rushed to do the said duties, in a state of dazed shock. What am I doing? Hermione thought, taking the cloak from Draco's shoulders and hanging it up. I've been turned into a House-elf, had my wand broken, auctioned off like produce, and I'm in Malfoy Manor, in Draco Malfoy's room, playing nurse. One more surprise and I swear I'll have a heart attack.

The doors burst open.

There, that did it. Hermione paused to clutch her heart and gasped.

"Draco, you're back!" it was Narcissa Malfoy.

Hermione, though paralysed with near heart failure, was observant enough to notice that Narcissa was exceptionally, if outstandingly, pretty. She didn't look at all bad, open and smiling like that. Narcissa's blond tresses hung beautifully over her face and stood pinned up on her head like a crown, adorned with small jewels. The dress she was wearing looked expensive and exceptional, making her look regal and lovely all at once. Hermione found herself aching with jealousy.

"Mother, I've been gone for only a few hours," Draco drawled, hiding his irritation well.

"Oh, but sweetie, I missed you all the same. Is that the new House-elf?" she glanced at Hermione.

"Yes. Father bought it for -"

"Wait," Narcissa interjected. Her face twisted in a concentrated scowl. To Hermione's surprise, she looked around the room, sniffing subtly as if she had a cold, or she was detecting something. "I smell Mudblood," she muttered.

The sheer transformation of Narcissa's face startled Hermione. Narcissa looked pretty before, but now she looked as if she smelled something foul, her perfect features contorted unpleasantly.

"Don't be silly, Mother," Draco drawled, unfazed. "There's no one in this room except you and me."

And me, Hermione thought meekly, trying her hardest not to be noticed.

"I can smell it!" Narcissa insisted. "There's Mudblood stench in this room."

"You need to get some rest, Mother," Draco sighed, gently taking her to the door. "Why don't you take a walk in the fountain pavillion."

"Maybe you're right, dear," Narcissa said, suddenly sounding tired. "Oh, and tell that elf to wash your cloak. You might have brushed against some filthy Muggle-born creature while you were in Knockturn Alley. Goodbye, dear." She kissed him on the forehead.

Draco clicked the door shut, rolled his eyes in exasperation, and threw himself upon his bed. Hermione stood stunned and speechless by the cloak stand.

Draco was first to break the silence. "That was Narcissa, by the way," he muttered. He got up and headed towards his wardrobe, picking up a few choice clothes and thick, fluffy towel and headed for the bathroom.

"She's your Mistress whom you should obey without question," Draco continued. "She can probably smell the trace of Mudblood filth on my cloak when I ran into that Hermione Granger, so you'd better wash it before she starts accusing me of fraternising with the Enemy."

He entered the bathroom and locked the door behind him. Presently the sound of gushing water could be heard soon after.

"Merp," Hermione muttered, and panicked.

* * * *