My Life As A House-Elf

My Life As a House-Elf

Chapter Three - The Dinner

[A/N: Wow! Eight reviews overnight ... I never expected such a good response! To those who reviewed, thank you graciously, I appreciate your comments. I look forward to hearing more from you. ::grin:: And to those who haven´t reviewed, here´s the third chapter ... tell me what you think! :)]

* * * *

Hermione panicked. She did it quite well.

First, she walked in random circles, wearing down a circular track in the lavish, wine-coloured carpet. She was playing with her hands, muttering to herself. "I must find that idiot Barquel," she muttered, "undo this wretched spell -" (which, by now, showed no signs of wearing off) -"return to Diagon Alley, get myself a new wand, and promise to never, ever go to Knockturn Alley without the company of a reliable adult. Now how in Hades am I going to get out of here?"

She took a deep breath to settle down. I have to stay CALM, she told herself. Keep a cool head. Where´s the first place I should look for information about wizards? Or evil, mad sorcerers, the Malfoys must know loads ...

She took this opportunity to scrutinize the room.

It was vast.

But `vast´ was probably an understatement. The ceilings above stretched far into infinity, disappearing into shadows. A chandelier of gold and crystal hung unlit high above, which would probably look brilliant, Hermione thought, if it was lit at night. Brilliantly detailed tapestries of dragons and twisting serpents sloped gently from the walls like drapes, falling to the luxurious, carpet-lined floor with much ceremony, and intricately carved antique furniture of glossy pine and polished mahogany sat in various places, beautifully placed.

And, in the middle of it all was a lavishly vast four-poster bed, draped over with silk sheets and down-filled throw cushions and pillows, canopied and curtained with velvet. It did look a little messy though.

And there ... in the corner, Hermione spotted precisely what she was looking for.

A bookshelf.

Perfect.

It was large and imposing, yet it looked beautiful enough to be in a museum. Books lined the shelves, some worn, some fresh from the press, paperback or hardcover. Maybe there´s something in there, Hermione thought, which could aid her.

She took a few tentative steps towards the bookshelf, examining the possible titles. She scrunched up her face in slight irritation and confusion. All the books seemed to be written in some unrecognisable foreign tongue.

I didn´t know Malfoy spoke a different language, Hermione thought, not exactly welcoming the fact that Malfoy knew more than she did. Before she could lay a finger on any one of the hardcover volumes, the bathroom door unlocked itself.

Hermione´s panic rose in a heart-jolting crescendo. Hastily, she gathered up the cloak, just as soon as Draco emerged from the bath, dressed in very elegant riding robes. He shot a glance at Hermione, and stared as if he were registering her existence for the fist time. "What?" he asked, while towelling down his hair. "You haven´t put away that wretched thing yet? And why isn´t the fireplace lit? Didn´t I give you a direct order to see to it? It´s freezing in here."

It´s the middle of summer, Hermione wanted to say, but then she noticed it was, indeed, freezing. Draco´s room always seemed to be in perpeptual winter, condsidering the cavernous ceiling. In a moment of pure absurdity, Hermione had the strong desire to knock her head against the nearby chest of drawers in guilt.

Why would I want to do that?She asked herself. That´s silly. The desire was banished in an instant.

"Well?" Draco asked, his eyebrows raising in astonishment. "Aren´t you going to knock your head against a chest of drawers in guilt or something? Or at least handle fire? Oh, and get away from that bookshelf. It´s off-limits to everyone but me and my Father."

Hermione stepped away from the bookshelf. She fidgeted uncomfortably under Draco´s scrutinizing gaze. Did he suspect something? If he knew he had a Mudblood and not a House-elf in his room, he would tell Lucius, and Lucius would probably do something very unpleasant.

Hermione swallowed. She edged closer to the fireplace and knocked her head against the wall. "Bad, Her- uh, Hattie. Bad Hattie. Hattie is so sorry, Master," - she retched inwardly at the sound of this word, "- Hattie will be good. Hattie is new, that´s all."

"Hattie, eh? I knew you weren´t trained," Draco muttered knowingly, rolling his eyes. "What a bargain for ninety Galleons. No matter," he reached for a bell and prompty rang it. An instant later, there was a knock at the door and House-elf poked her head in. "Master Draco?" she squeaked.

He looked up. "This," he directed a hand in Hermione´s direction, "is the new House-elf. She hasn´t been trained and has absolutely no idea how to be of service. Teach her. I want her to be ready by the time I´m back from riding." With that as a final note, he grabbed a pair of boots, a riding crop and promptly exited the room. Hermione was glad to see him leave.

The House-elf stared at Hermione. "Hello," she managed to say. "What´s your name?"

"Hattie," Hermione answered, wondering where she ever came up with that name.

"My name is Topsy," the other said shyly. "I am supposed to teach you on how to serve Master Draco." (Hermione retched again.) "First," Topsy continued, "the bookcase there is not for House-elves."

"I know. Malfoy told me."

Topsy frowned in puzzlement, then looked astonished. "We are supposed to call him: Master Draco," Topsy said She said it in the same tone of voice someone would use when saying, "You´re not supposed to stick a your tongue in a toaster."

"Master Malfoy is Master Draco´s father," Topsy continued. "And Mistress Malfoy is the Lady of the House. House-elves are not to call them by any other name."

Hermione rolled her eyes. Great, she thought. Master Draco. He´s anything but my master! He´s my worst enemy. He´s my arch nemsis. He´s demon spawn that has crawled from the deepest, darkest pits of Hades. He´s anything but my Master.

But instead of saying all these things, she nodded as if she understood and agreed completely.

"Come," Topsy said, heading towards the fireplace. "Here is how House-elves set the fireplace."

I´d rather set fire to Malfoy´s bed,Hermione thought with much irony.

* * * *

Throughout the rest of the day, Hermione very reluctantly learnt what she was required to learn ... where laundry went, how to dust, what to touch and what not to.

Cleaning up Draco´s bed was something Hermione wanted to do least of all. She´d rather swallow broken glass. As she shifted through the pillows and straightened the bed sheets, Hermione secretly hoped she would find a teddy bear, or a security blanket, or frilly pink pyjamas, or something discreetly embarrassing that she could use as blackmail material when she got back to being human. She half expected to find - she shuddered at the thought - woman´s lingerie, a hot red bra or some black lace panties. Nothing. Draco hid his secrets well.

All she found was a day-old copy of the Daily Prophet with Harry Potter´s face on the front page, doodled on with marker in all its insulting detail. Harry had some of his teeth scribbled out, and the lightning bolt-shaped scar on his forehead had morphed itself into a rather interesting tattoo, reading, `Potter Stinks´.

Sighing, Hermione dumped it into the wastepaper basket.

"Now Hattie is ready," Topsy said, beaming from ear to pointy ear. "Hattie is ready to serve her family."

"Topsy," Hermione said suddenly, frowning slightly, engaged in thought. "Have you ever thought of ... working for wages?"

Topsy´s face turned white, as if Hermione just mentioned something quite unmentionable. "We must not speak of such things!" she squeaked. "House-elves work because we are required to. We serve our family. We receive food, and shelter in return. Wages!" Topsy said the word like it was taboo, and shuddered.

"Well, Topsy, there´s a House-elf that works in Hogwarts ... his name is Dobby, and he works for wages -"

"Oh, Dobby," Topsy sobbed. "He was Master Malfoy´s personal House-elf ... he was such a rebel! Oh, bad Dobby! Topsy knew Dobby would end up in trouble!"

"But Topsy," Hermione struggled, "he´s very happy! He´s not forced to wear rags, he wears clothes, and -"

Topsy started to sob uncontrollably again. "Clothes!" she wailed in anguish. Then, turning to Hermione, she asked, "How does Hattie know this?"

Hermione had no answer at first. Then, after a while, she said, "W-well, Dobby is a very famous House-elf, and I plan to follow in his footsteps when I´m freed -"

More sobbing. Topsy looked at Hermione in true concern. With a strangled cry, she said, "Topsy thought Hattie was such a nice House-elf!" She left the room in tears.

Well, Hermione thought. That certainly didn´t go very well.

* * * *

Draco wasn´t looking forward to dinner tonight.

Especially tonight. They had guests over, and that meant dress robes.

Secondly, it was the Parkinsons they were having over. Responding to Pansy Parkinson´s battering eyelashes and suggestive little smiles got tiresome after a while. If he could continue riding till they left, even if it meant riding till midnight, he would. But courtesy, good manners and his parents forbid him to miss this dinner.

"House-elf," he muttered as he entered his bedroom. "Get my dress robes out. And prepare yourself, we´re having guests over for dinner." He removed his riding boots and dropped them unceremoniously upon the carpet, stripping off his jacket after that. Hermione rushed to pick up the discarded garments, sighing inwardly. Draco was wise enough not to actually give her the garments directly, thus freeing her from service.

"By the way," he said, heading towards the bathroom, "what´s your name?"

Hermione swallowed. "Hattie."

"Hattie, sir," Draco muttered irritably, locking the bathroom door behind him.

It seems every time I´m with Malfoy, Hermione thought with much irony, he´s always in the bathroom. Splashing water could be heard audibly behind the door. Hermione´s face twisted in annoyance, realizing that Draco never once thanked her, or acknowledged the splendid job she did cleaning up his room.

She sulked as she headed for the wardrobe to retrieve Draco´s dress robes.

He had quite a few, Hermione thought, staring at the sheer, immense quantity of BLACK Draco had in his wardrobe. Sure, there were a few shades of brown, maroon here, and a hint of navy blue there, but all the rest was BLACK. Wincing, Hermione selected a black robe, one that had silver-lined cuffs and hints of decorative silver thread. All her Gryffindorian morals stopped her from tearing a hole in the back, wrinkling it, or spoling it in any way. She sighed.

* * * *

When Draco emerged from the bathroom, he was wearing nothing save for a fluffy white towel wrapped around his waist. He seemed unfazed by this.

Hermione blushed furiously, gave a little squeak, and hid behind the bed. She felt the blood rush to her face, feeling her cheeks turn pink and very heated indeed in the space of a few seconds.

... Malfoy naked from the waist up. Malfoy wearing nothing but a towel. Malfoy with his sleek, blond hair hanging loosely across his face, surrounded by steam clouds smelling of sweet lavender. The image would stick in Hermione´s mind forever.

"Hattie!" he yelled. This surprised Hermione. Did he call all his House-elves by name? How ... strangely decent. "Where are my dress robes?"

"On your bed, s-sir."

"Oh. I see. And where are you?"

"B-behind the bed, sir."

He approached to look, much to Hermione´s despair. "What are you doing down there?"

"Um." Hermione thought quickly. "Dusting."

He snorted. "You´re one peculiar House-elf, you know." He headed off, picking up his robes, and disappeared behind a dressing screen. Presently, the white towel draped itself upon the screen.

Hermione breathed normally once more. That was bizarrely infuriating.

When Draco emerged, his hair was smoothed back, and, to Hermione´s relief, he was fully clothed.

"Well, come along, Hattie," he muttered. "My parents wouldn´t want me late."

There, Hermione thought. There was the sneer. When he said, `parents´.

* * * *

Dinner has never looked so lavish. Or so expensive.

The Dining Room was spectacular in all its grandeur, which was precisely the image the Malfoys wanted to project. A dining table long enough to fit in a tennis court stretched from end to another, lined with an assortment of different delicacies served on golden plates and platters. Along its immense length were candelabras spaced apart, made from the purest silver, burning twisting stalks of wax. And, overlooking everything was an extravagant, brilliantly sparkling chandelier, and a tapestry of the Malfoy´s family crest hanging upon the wall.

The real Malfoys stood underneath this all, looking unperturbed.

Lucius looked majestic and terrifyingly apathetic. Narcissa looked beautiful and regal, her dress, makeup and hair flattering as usual. The Parkinsons, on the other hand, tried their best to look indifferent and aloof while admiring the surroundings and being intimidated by Lucius. They didn´t seem to be doing very well.

When Draco entered the Dining Room, with Hermione trailing behind, many different things happened, one after the other.

First of all, Lucius muttered, "Late, Draco."

Pansy Parkinson, who had been sitting closest to the door, grinned wildly and squealed, "Draco!" like a five year-old would cry, "Ice-cream!"

And Narcissa Malfoy, who had, at first, been sitting quietly and politely like any decent hostess, suddenly erupted into violent screaming fits, knocking her chair over, and shrieking at the top of her lungs, "MUDBLOOD! I SMELL MUDBLOOD! THERE´S A MUDBLOOD IN THIS ROOM!"

* * * *