My Life As A House-Elf

My Life As A House-Elf -
Chapter Eight: The Letter

* * * *

Draco sat bolt upright in his bed, the sound of an inhuman, guttaral scream lingering in his head as the remnants of the nightmare were shattered. His eyes shot open and violently scanned the area, the cold, freezing darkness of his room hitting him like a wave. It took him several moments to calm down. When he did, his heart still raced - he had never felt so tense, or he thought, so cold. He reached uncertainly for the linen blankets.

It was then he noticed two huge eyes staring at him from the shadows. He let out an alarmed cry, and then wished he hadn´t.

It was only Hermione. She was perched on the edge of his bed, looking at him with mixed emotions, her House-elf eyes huge and unblinking, seemingly resembling vast, clear millponds of liquid chocolate.

There was fear in those eyes. And slight traces of confusion. And what was that ... concern?

"What happened?" she asked, her voice barely a whisper. Draco simply stared.

Her voice was utterly devoid of hostility. Was she ... worried?

He coughed into his fist. "Nothing," he replied, and, to his mortification, he heard his voice emerge slightly shaky and throaty. "Nothing happened. Nightmare, that´s all." He straightened the strands of hair that had fallen unspectacularly over his forehead, dampened with sweat.

Hermione refused to believe it was any ordinary nightmare. She had watched, as he tossed and turned in his bed, his weak cries steadily growing in volume, before that scream, the inhuman, guttural cry that seemed to defy all aspects of sound ... Hermione has never heard such fear, or such despair in any human voice. She stared sceptically at him, head cocked to one side. "You´re crying," she stated simply, her voice soft.

Draco reached uncertainly towards his face, his fingers brushing against the moist remnants of a few tears. He decided not to answer. He swept away the tears, licking away whatever stray droplets had fallen onto his lips. He drew his hand away and reached out uncertainly for the sheets.

"You frightened me," Hermione continued, her voice hurt, as if he had done something unspeakable. Draco stared. He peered into those eyes and tried to find any trace of mockery, but withdrew, surprised to see that she had been completely honest. Her voice shook slightly when she spoke.

"I what?" he asked, raising and eyebrow. "Frightened you?" he attempted humour to shatter the tense, alien atmosphere. "I´m not that ugly when I sleep now, am I? My Mother told me I always looked like Cupid when I slept." He gave a quick, nervous laugh that betrayed his uneasiness. He disguised it as a cough.

The frowning creases on Hermione´s face vanished as she lifted her eyebrows. "You sounded as if you were being murdered, Cupid." She leapt from the edge of the bed, onto the ground below, her light, elfin feet barely making any sound.

It was then Draco remarked, "You´re still a House-elf."

"Yes, it took you some time to notice," Hermione replied dryly from the shadows of the room. The familiar traces of hostility were back in her voice. Draco grinned and spoke to the darkness.

"Oh, there isn´t much difference between both your forms, actually. Why haven´t you transformed yet? I heard you were scheduled for midnight, and it´s ..." he peered hesitantly into the darkness. "What time is it?"

Hermione´s disembodied voice snorted. "Half-past one," she said quietly, and sighed. "It´s been bothering me all night! I just don´t understand it. Why haven´t I changed yet?"

Draco prepared a rather cutting reply, but Hermione was completely hidden in the darkness of the room. He preferred to see the person he was about to nerve. "Where are you, by the way?"

There was the sound of something light landing upon soft fabric. "I´m sitting on the couch. Can´t you see me?" Hermione stressed the question, as if she were emphasizing Draco´s poor eyesight. Her large House-elf eyes penetrated the gloom, and she could see him peering through the darkness, unable to see further than the edge of his bed.

"It´s too dark," he answered. "Open the drapes."

She rolled her eyes and was planning to say, "Open them yourself," when a small spark went off inside her head, and lit up the gloom like a flame. "Of course," she breathed. "The drapes!" And she rushed off towards the covered windows, reaching her tiny hands towards the curtains and flung them open.

"Yes, the drapes," Draco said, his voice slow as if he were talking to a slow child. "They cover the windows. And they´re what´s making the room so bloody dark in the first place."

Hermione didn´t answer. All her attention was being focused on the moon, and the bright shafts of moonlight streaming into the room, lighting up everything in their path in dashes of silver. Hermione stood in the moon´s gaze as if it were a spotlight, feeling the familiar sparkling, electric energy dancing upon her skin. In her transformation she became faintly aware of Draco´s soft chuckle, "How so very Swan Lake," and her slowly-shortening pillowcase. Very soon, she stood upon her own two feet, a flimsy white curtain wrapped around herself.

"Malfoy, hand me a robe," she ordered, keeping hold of the curtain as she straightened the folds to cover whatever was necessary. When she received no answer, she looked up, to see him with a faint smirk resting on his lips.

"What?" she asked indignantly.

"That curtain looks very flattering on you, Granger," he said mockingly, the smirk creeping even wider. "Very chic. And considering you´re most probably going to marry that Weasley boy one day, you´ll probably have to get used to wearing improper, frumpy clothing every day of your life ..."

"Shut up, Malfoy," Hermione replied scathingly. "And leave Ron out of this."

"I could donate a few pillowcases, if you like."

"Just get me a robe before I strangle you!" her voice was nearly a shriek.

Draco shook his head, chuckling softly, and swung off the left side of is bed, heading towards the wardrobe. He flung the doors open. Nestled amongst the vast myriad of black clothing was a slender dress of silvery blue, stolen off Narcissa. Draco wondered why he ever bothered. I've never bothered to get Pansy anything before, he thought, almost wistfully. Oh well ...

He tossed the dress towards Hermione. She caught it, stared, and said with a trace of suspicion, "I never thought you keep women´s clothing in your wardrobe, Malfoy." She ducked behind the drapes, and used it as some sort of screen as she changed. "Although you seemed the type."

"I also have one in fuchsia," Draco answered bemusedly. "And there´s a lot of things you don´t know about me."

Hermione tried to interpret this, before she seemed to suddenly realize something. "Since you gave me this dress," she questioned cautiously, "doesn´t that mean you´ve freed me from your service?"

Draco considered this. "Do you feel any different than before?"

"Besides the fact I´m more human than before, no," Hermione admitted.

"There you go, then. I´m giving you the dress when you are human. Not House-elf. As soon as the sun rises, the dress is no longer yours, and you are still in my service."

"That didn´t make much sense. And it´s not exactly comforting."

Draco grinned. "No. It isn´t supposed to be."

Hermione emerged from behind the curtain, stepping uncertainly into the moon´s spotlight. She glanced doubtfully at her bare shoulders and the liquid fabric draping from her waist, a faint frown painted upon her face. "Where did you get this, anyway? Previous girlfriend?"

When she received no answer, she glanced up. Draco was staring her in a way an art enthusiast would gaze at a painting. Mouthslightly open, eyes agape. Hermione frowned, not liking the feeling that accompanied that gaze. Coupled with the soft feel of the rustling fabric, she felt dances of electricity curling up her skin.

"What?" she asked irritably. She´d seen that look on boys´ faces when Lavender decided to wear a very flattering, very transparent, buttercup-yellow blouse to Hogsmeade one afternoon. It had been a very educational day.

"Um, nothing," Draco muttered, his voice restrained. He reached uncertainly for his collar. "That dress ... ah ... the moonlight is very ..." He seemed to find this statement satisfactory and stopped there. Draco swiftly regained his composure, and continued nonchalantly, "I´m just tired. Nightmares can be very tiring."

Hermione blinked, trying to interpret his words. "Tell me about it."

To her surprise, he gave her a sideways glance and smiled back at her. "Oh, it was absolutely petrifying," he said with relish. He threw himself back onto his bed and reclined into the pillows. "It involves blood, gore, facing imminent death, and Quidditch. Are you sure you want to listen to it?" he challenged. "Your brain might spontaneously combust just listening."

Hermione sat upon the velvet couch and crossed her arms. "Really. Try me."

"If you insist," he smirked, savouring every moment. "It started with me, being the glorious Seeker that I am, majestically chasing down the Golden Snitch ..."

* * * *

"You died?" Hermione said, crossing her legs.

"Well, if you consider being torn apart by a mad Hippogriff and falling to your doom as simply dying, then yes," Draco answered, slightly disappointed by Hermione´s lack of enthusiasm.

"Well, it doesn´t seem so horrible," Hermione said, uncrossing her legs. She held her hands forward and twined her fingers together, slightly amused by the look on Draco´s face.

I was murdered!" he protested.

"Precisely my point."

"Well, glaze over my misery all you want, Granger," Draco said, with a dismissive wave of his hand, "I´m going back to sleep. Good morning." And he promptly fell back into his pillows.

Hermione glanced at the wooden grandfather clock across the room, and saw the intricately carved hands point at a painted 2 o´clock. She sighed, combed her fingers through her hair tiredly, and, after a while of silence, she turned back towards Draco.

"You know, Malfoy," she mentioned, "dreaming about your death isn´t exactly a good sign. I know I read in one of my books - I can´t remember which one - if you have a particularly vivid, and very straightforward, uncomplicated dream of dying, it´s an omen. Something´s hunting you down. And I can´t seem to remember what."

She received no answer. Hermione peered closer at his unmoving form, and saw, to her bemusement, he had indeed fallen asleep. He was breathing softly, encased in white linen sheets. His face was half-hidden by soft strands of hair.

Hermione remarked to herself, in subtle laughter, that he did really look like Cupid when he slept. Not a young, cherubic cupid with tiny golden wings and hair in golden ringlets, but the sleeping figure of Cupid, the Greek god of love, swathed in acres worth of feathery wings.

Hermione caught herself. What am I saying? she thought, mortified and amused at the same time. I´m complimenting Malfoy. I´m comparing him to Greek deities. Maybe my brain did spontaneously combust while listening to his nightmare ...

She shuddered slightly. Draco´s nightmare. She was absolutely sure it meant something. The scream he woke up with ... it was too terrible and too real to accompany any ordinary nightmare.

Brushing the matter off for the moment, she tentatively crept across the room and made her way towards Draco´s forbidden bookshelf. Tucked in amongst the hardcover titles on display were rolls of parchment, a small jar of ink, and a bundle of quills tied together. Hermione smiled. As a House-elf, she couldn´t reach them, or approach the bookshelf either, under the burden of a direct order. This was the chance she was waiting for. She gently lifted the bundles off their perch, brought them to a nearby mahogany desk, and whipped out one of the quills. She began to write:

To The Ministry of Magic -
The Department of Lost Peoples,

Dear Sir/Madam,

My name is Hermione Granger, and I am being illegally held in Malfoy Manor.
A wizard named Barquel performed a prohibited form of magic in Knockturn Alley and transfigured me into a House-elf. Helpless in my form, I was auctioned off in a grotesque and crude manner to the Malfoys, who are now holding me in their custody.
Please come and retrive me. This is a matter of the utmost urgency. I wish to be restored to my original form as soon as possible, and request you respond immediately.

I await your reply.
Yours sincerely,

Hermione Granger.

She signed it quickly, the quill skimming hastily over the parchment. Casting a nervous glance at the still-sleeping Draco, Hermione folded the parchment and looked around the room, her gaze searching.

Finally she slipped it underneath a carpet. Draco wouldn´t find it there. She would return and post it later when she had the opportunity, Hermione morosely thought, replacing the quills and ink and parchment back in their place on the bookshelf once the letter was safely tucked away.

She cast a sad glance at Draco, who peacefully slept on. She wondered if he would have any more nightmares. For some reason, she hated the idea. She didn´t want him to wake up screaming again. The mere thought was horrible.

Before she could think of anything else, Hermione made her way to Draco´s bedside, and sat on the edge of the bed, watching as the sheets serenely rose and fell to Draco´s breathing. She stayed there, a faint smile dancing across her lips.

The sun rose steadily over the platinum clouds. As the thin shafts of watery light streamed across the horizon and into the window, the moonlight faded, chased away by the arrival of dawn.

* * * *