My Life As A House-Elf

My Life As a House-Elf
Chapter Six: The Episodes of My Enslavement

* * * *

"I don't understand it," Hermione said, her voice crushed. She was staring down at her speckled, moss green hands, her expression etched in utter despair.

"Like I said, some curses work that way," Draco said from behind the dressing screen. His voice was slightly muffled as he held the hem of his robes in his mouth as he struggled with his pants. "Human by night, House-elf by day. No more different than your normal life, Granger. And you're a House-elf now. Act like one."

The day that followed didn't really agree to Hermione's standards. For one, she was forced to follow Draco around as he walked throughout Malfoy Manor, when she'd rather stay as far away from him as possible. He rushed through each room - library, Fountain Pavilion, drawing room, study - in a busy rush, collecting and dropping off items accordingly as if he were participating in a bizarre scavenger hunt. Hermione grumbled as she tagged along behind him, struggling to keep up with his heady pace.

Secondly, she had to follow his every command - ("Carry this, Hattie ... Fetch that, will you?") - and it was beginning to wreck her nerves.

"Can't you get it yourself?" Hermione snapped.

They were in the Ornamental Gardens. The Malfoys had a trained team of gardeners to keep every hedge clipped, every gravel path raked, every topiary bush in shape, every fishpond cleaned. The plots of carpet grass were lined with rock formations and miniature fountains, and bordered with flowering shrubs and willows, shining brilliantly underneath the summer sun. Clouds rolled lazily overhead like a herd of airborne sheep.

Draco was lounging underneath the canopy of a rose-covered gazebo, comfortably reading a book underneath the dappled sunlight. He lazily turned a glance in Hermione's direction. "Granger, I'm not going all the way to the Fountain Pavilion to get myself a meagre little book. That's what House-elves are for. Now, go, fetch." He waved his hand in a shooing motion, returning once more to the pages of his book.

"I'm not your dog," she interjected, crossing her arms.

Draco looked around. His eyes scanned the gardens, peering across the willow trees lining the pond, towards the gravel paths. "No, no. Of course not. But I think you'd better go," he suggested, his voice strangely calm. Hermione expected him to lose his temper and start flaring, but his cool tone only succeeded to aggravate her instead.

Hermione tried to look in the direction he was staring, but her weak House-elf eyesight didn't reveal much. "What? Why?"

"My Mother's on her way here."

Indeed, she was. Hermione could audibly hear Narcissa's vocal, musical chatter as she strolled down the paths. She was talking to Mrs. Parkinson. Hermione winced, ducked slightly, and made her way to the Manor. She didn't want to be anywhere near the gardens when Narcissa started shrieking about Mudbloods.

"Don't forget to bring my book," Draco called. He smiled, shifted into a more comfortable position, and traced the paragraph of the book he currently held in hand.

Oh, I'll fetch it for you, Hermione thought crossly. Torn in a million pieces, I will.

* * * *

Draco watched darkly as Hermione stormed towards the Manor. She trampled a few poor daises and ferns on her way as a way to release her irritation, and Draco winced. He sighed impatiently. Her stubbornness was starting to annoy him. The novelty of having Hermione Granger, the Mudblood wonder, as his personal servant was beginning to wear thin. He greatly considered replacing her - let the poor Mudblood fend for herself in the great House-elf-hostile wilderness - but after carelessly freeing his previous House-elf in a fit of rage, Draco was sure he wouldn't be getting anymore after losing another one. He merely sighed inwardly, resisted the urge to clout Hermione on the head with his book, and looked down at the page.

"Dark Sight -" the book read, "one of the most powerful spells in the Dark Arts. Allows the wizard to see past far distances, through walls, and sometimes, for those exceptionally skilled Dark Arts, into the minds of other people. Incantation as follows ..." the paragraph was soon followed by a line of strange symbols, that seemed to be scrawled with a broken quill in red ink, as if it were written in blood. The characters looked venomous. Draco traced the line with his finger, and followed it as he muttered, "Oculanmilucifurus." A bright flash of light passed through his eyes, and he was rendered blind for a few moments while the spell took effect.

Effortlessly, he could see into Hermione's mind. She was thinking of him. Quite a lot, he realized, and her thoughts also seemed to involve sharp objects and explosive jinxes. She does have quite an imagination, he thought, smiling. And I always thought she was such a nice, well-behaved Gryffindor. He spent quite a while eavesdropping on Hermione's vicious thoughts of revenge, amusing himself.

Suddenly, to Draco's surprise, Hermione's thoughts abruptly changed tracks. But I must pity the poor boy, she thought with faint disgust. He's all alone in this huge, cold Manor, surrounded by easily bullied House-elves, almost nonexistent parents, empty halls, and has an extremely dull person for a girlfriend. No wonder he's so touchy. I wish I could help him some way ... her last through trailed whimsically, as if she were thinking over it.

Draco's slight surprise made him lose control of the spell. Rocking slightly, his vision slowly came into focus. Hermione's vivid thoughts faded away into the sounds of the garden ... a robin chirped in the rose bushes, the breeze whispered through the rustling tree branches overhead. A frog croaked from the lake nearby. Draco was left alone, once more, with nothing but his silent thoughts to muse over. He came to realize, with increasing wonder, how true Hermione's words rang. He was alone. The Manor wasn't his house, but his prison. He felt strangely disturbed, as if it was his privacy that someone had unrightfully violated.

As he tried to cast his concentration once more onto his studies, his thoughts kept on straying from the Dark incantations to Hermione's words, that seemed to ring stronger than any shadowy spell.

* * * *

Hermione made her way past the hallways, the portrait galleries, up the Grand Staircase and through the Main Hall, ignoring, if she could, the splendor around her.

The Malfoys definitely knew how to decorate. All their decor was designed to impress and intimidate those who needed to be impressed and intimidated. The favourite building materials consisted mainly of pine, mahogany, ebony and massive amounts of marble, with frivolous touches of gold leaf, jade, ivory and crystal. Every room had its own ensemble, colour scheme or decoration theme, and as Hermione made her way through the furnished hallways and corridors, she felt increasing awe and jealousy.

That statue must've cost a few thousand Galleons, Hermione thought, staring at a marble statue of a unicorn, which changed positions every five minutes, the authentic horn on its forehead glimmering in the sunlight. Or perhaps hundreds of thousands. Where do the Malfoys get all their money?

"Excuse me..."

Hermione turned around, startled. She stared momentarily into two huge eyes just like hers, only more jumpy and more anxious. It was Topsy.

"Is Hattie doing anything right now?" Topsy asked, twisting the hem of her tea-towel robe doubtfully. "We need help in the Grand Gallery."

Hermione thought of Draco. He'd probably want his book straight away, still waiting down in the gardens for it to be delivered. "No. I'm not doing anything."

Topsy gave her a relieved smile. "Oh, good. There is something stuck in the Gallery chimney. We need to get it unstuck. Master Malfoy wants it done now."

Probably a stork's nest, Hermione thought, following Topsy down the hallway. She barely walked a few steps when she noticed a bruise on Topsy's head.

"Topsy ... how did you get that?" Hermione pointed to the rather spectacular bruise upon her companion's head. "You didn't bump against something, did you?"

Topsy looked down guiltily. "No, Hattie. Topsy had been bad. Topsy had brought Master Malfoy chamomile tea instead of Earl Grey tea yesterday, and Master Malfoy punished Topsy with his cane."

Hermione narrowed her eyes. "Who, Lucius?"

Topsy's face turned as white as a bed sheet. "Please, Hattie, we call him Master Malfoy. We do not -"

"He hit you. With his cane."

"Topsy had been very bad, Hattie, Topsy deserved it ..."

"You certainly did not!" Hermione stopped in her tracks, and stared Topsy directly in the eye. "Anyone could've made that mistake, Topsy, anyone. You don't deserve to be punished so severely for confusing different types of tea -"

"After Topsy was punished," she sniffed, close to tears, "Topsy knocked her head against a pillar. Topsy knew she had been very bad, Topsy had to punish herself ..."

Hermione stared, gaping in disbelief. "Why would you want to do that?" she gasped breathlessly.

Topsy sniffled, dabbing her eyes with the tea towel. They continued walking. "Topsy had been very bad," she repeated. "Oh, friend Hattie, let us not be reminded of awful times. Now Topsy must serve Master Malfoy better and be an improved House-elf..."

Hermione was so stunned by this she uttered nothing for the next five seconds. Before she could launch herself into a speech about justice and freedom, Topsy muttered, "We're here," and scurried in through a pair of massive, twin oak doors.

They were in a huge Gallery. A beautiful, swan-shaped chandelier hovered above their heads, reflected perfectly in the black and white marble floor. The walls were lined with golden suits of armour, and the pillars were draped with red fabric, and dozens of paintings hung upon the walls, stretching right up to the painted mural on the ceiling. Lucius Malfoy stood in the centre of it all, looking very grand indeed.

A team of House-elves was struggling with ropes and hooks to free something from the chimney. Another team of House-elves was bustling around with brushes and dustpans, sweeping up the soot and ashes that were scattered in the struggle.

"Where have you been?" Lucius demanded impatiently, staring disdainfully down at Topsy. "You've been late enough." He gave her a harsh kick in the side, sending her sprawling across the marble floor. "Don't do it again."

Hermione stared in seething rage as Topsy miserably picked herself up from the floor, whimpering as she joined the others at the chimney. Eyes blazing, Hermione glared at Lucius. "It isn't her fault!" she insisted angrily.

Lucius shot her a wintry stare. "And, pray tell, whose is it?"

Hermione paused for a moment. "It was my fault. I- it was I. I delayed her." Trembling ever so slightly, she raised her chin an inch, trying to stare defiantly at Lucius from a height of three feet.

Lucius narrowed his eyes. "You're that new House-elf aren't you?" he asked. Before Hermione could answer, he continued, "Yes, yes. I believe so. I'll remind Draco to punish you accordingly for your impudence. It's about time the boy takes the responsibility of punishing his own elves instead of carelessly setting them free. Now go join the rest at the chimney."

Hermione did her best to look stormy as she trudged towards the fireplace. Topsy was holding onto one rope, crying, "Heave!" with the others as they pulled.

"Here," a young male House-elf handed Hermione a rope. "Don't forget to pull when we say, 'Heave'."

"Right," Hermione muttered, staring at the rope. As the elves prepared themselves for the next pull, she brushed off any feelings of uncertainty, braced herself, and ...

"Heave!"

After a few strenuous tugs, whatever was stuck in the flue was suddenly wrenched free, under the combined effort of about a dozen House-elves. Soot and dust flew everywhere. The House-elves, panicked, scattered to escape the dust-cloud, leaving tiny footprints in the ash-strewn marble.

"Stop!" Lucius' order rang through the Gallery like thunder. "Bring the thing out."

The House-elves paused in their tracks, before five of original team tentatively scuttled towards the fireplace, where a huge black lump lay rather unattractively in the charred logs and mounds of dust. It didn't look like a stork's nest, it looked too ... solid. Against the burnt blackness of the fireplace, the thing looked like a burnt black rock, covered in scorched cloth.

The House-elves pulled the ropes, sliding the black bundle across the marble floor. It wasn't distinguishable at first. But then, it began to unfurl as it approached closer towards Lucius, unfolding like a rather unattractive flower. Hermione stifled a scream.

It was a human carcass. She stared in increasing horror as the House-elves dragged out the charred remains of what was once human across the floor, its blackened face in perpetual terror, mummified in layers of ash.

* * * *