Enslavement

Chapter 2

Malfoy Manor

Harry had never seen a house so huge. It wasn't even a house, it was a huge mansion! Black, wrought iron gates had greeted them at the mouth of the estate, and a smooth stoned pathway lead them towards the majestic manor itself, flanked on either sides by a hedge delicate lilies and narcissuses and a slew of other colours of flowers. The edifice looming towards them was so vast that Harry couldn't fit it all in one frame of vision and see either side of it; it seemed like one continuous wall of grey stone and tall mullioned windows stretching left and right.

Upon arrival, the massive oak doors which rivalled the size of the Great Hall's back at Hogwarts opened without a hint of a whine, and Malfoy swept through with his head held as high as ever. Harry half expected the doors to slam in their faces and deny them access, but they went through without incident into the interior. If Harry thought the outside with its large dark grey slates of stone and decorative vines was stunning, he didn't know what to think about the inside.

He wondered how Ron and Hermione were taking this. Turning to them, he noticed a similar small gleam of amazement in their eyes. They glanced at each other, but their expressions betrayed very little, all too hesitate to experience, to communicate, even, for a reason they did not know.

There was white, silver, and just grand space. The foyer itself was four times Harry's room. A sea of white tiles stretched in every direction. On the far end side there was a little compartment similar to that of a changing room, only bigger. They proceeded forward and neared two massive staircases, undulating white carpet and dark wood banisters lining its path in a spiralling shape, nearly meeting at the top as they disappeared into the second floor. If one were to imagine having a place to stay in heaven, it would be this.

Malfoy lead them down a long corridor after turning sharply just before the impressive stairwells, lined with portraits of similarly looking men, characterized by the patented Malfoy platinum-blond hair and smirk. Though some of them had less conceited expressions they stared almost balefully strictly down at them.

Not so surprisingly, as they strode past the portraits there was more hostility in just about every portrait towards Hermione than anyone else, and it wasn't because she was a right mess, considering they had all three of them spent months in not too hospitable captivity without a single bath. The portraits were clearly itching to scream, "Mudblood in my father's house!"

But showing the burning vigour that she still possessed even through the many torturing sessions, the grime, rolling in their own shit, and being fed an excuse of a "breakfast" and "dinner" every day, Hermione held her head up high and walked onward in all her dirty, Mudblood glory, sparing not a second glance to the portraits. Harry had never been so tempted to smile as much as he was then. He smiled inwardly though. They weren't totally defeated.

He looked over at Ron to see what his friend thought of it but Ron hadn't processed anything to the like and was studying the Manor in blatant awe. His ignorance was astounding most of the time, at others downright annoying.

Malfoy then opened a mahogany door carved with the obligatory Malfoy family crest bordered by more detailed and flourishing carving artistry. He held the door open for them, his blank face. Once they were in, they didn't know whether to sit down on the bed, on the two comfy-looking red armchairs facing the hearth, or just simply kneel. As if that were simple. So they resolved to rather stand in the middle of the room side by side facing the tall wardrobe with uncertain expressions and nervous shuffling.

Harry noticed an ornate polished wooden clock resting atop the fireplace reading a few minutes to one o'clock.

Meanwhile Malfoy went about making himself comfortable while they stood. He grabbed the chair at an escritoire sitting next to a large arcing mullioned window streaming in luxurious sunlight from the outside. He then sat in front of them, propping himself up perfectly, and studied them quietly. He frowned slightly upon seeing their dirty feet plunged into the fabric of the soft crimson carpet, but he didn't dwell on it any longer.

Ron, Harry and Hermione just stood there in front of him, all now secretly seething at this display of superiority. Trust Malfoy to milk the moment for all it was worth, taking his sweet time to address them so that he could affirm their inferiority and just to be downright arrogant as he was such an expert in being. It took just about all of Harry's will power to push away his annoyance at Malfoy's arrogance. It reminded him of the normal things that used to be before things went horribly awry, before the captivity and torture, when that arrogance was a daily constant in a world where all was still fine. They were all trying to fight the temptation to look down at their feet and looked at Malfoy straight in the eye. But then he spoke.

"Let's get a few things straightened out before anything else," Malfoy said in a voice that commanded the regal air off the room. "Your rooms are along this corridor. You can--" Malfoy broke in speech. His eyes widened and darted left and right, nostrils flaring, as though debating something his head. Harry thought Malfoy just realized he couldn't just give his three new slaves such a liberty as choice, so he had to personally assign them their rooms, just to remind them who the boss was and let them get used to the idea of his young authority upon them.

"This will be Potter's room," he decided, the authority in his voice in growing pains; it wasn't yet fully formed. "Opposite it--" he went on, as he indicated the door, "--will be Weasley's room, and next to that will be... Granger's room."

In addition to realizing that Malfoy had just used Hermione's name instead of "Mudblood", they noted the many changes that had occurred in the Slytherin: he was sitting somewhat regally and aristocratically in his chair, not quite filling it but nearly there, an angle to his body that Harry would not associate with Malfoy but rather his father Lucius. Because if Harry were to be honest with himself, Lucius had a presence, a gravity borne of a nature seemingly innately elegant. And now Harry could see a little of him in Malfoy. Was this maturity or just Malfoy being a copycat?

Harry banished these thoughts in favour of looking around the room. Just before Malfoy resumed speaking he caught sight of another door opposite the headboard, mostly probably a bathroom.

"You will be served by a house-elf named Tibby," Malfoy continued. "She will show you around and outside the Manor so you can be familiar with it since you're to stay here for a considerable amount of time."

The air became wary and uncomfortable as soon as these words left Malfoy's lips. Harry almost had the energy to glare at Malfoy right then.

"You are to be up and ready by nine o'clock everyday for breakfast in the dining room. Lunch is at two o'clock and dinner at seven."

Malfoy smirked a little at the slightly indignant and mostly incredulous looks on their faces, miffed about the strict order of their future days here.

Malfoy exhaled importantly again. "You're also to be collared."

There was instant reaction after these words. Harry's, Ron's, and Hermione's necks stiffened, their bodies tensed, and their eyes sharpened, but they said nothing. Wrought tight lines wrung their faces in anxiety.

"This is to smother your magic," explained Malfoy, and Harry's jaw tightened, "and, of course, to prove that you are Malfoy property. Oh, and to show that you're slaves." He nearly laughed out loud here when they all winced simultaneously and glared at him. Malfoy evidently couldn't help a face of triumph and satisfaction as his lips curved upwards before behaving himself again.

"Now this here is important..." And his features suddenly turned cold.

Despite themselves they watched Malfoy raptly.

"You will find shortly that slaves aren't granted such... luxuries as you three will enjoy. But when we have guests I expect you to behave like any other properly trained slave in any other household. In that event, you are to kneel beside each other in a line, hands in your laps and heads bowed."

There was no denying Malfoy was genuinely serious on this point. His stern expression told them he was interested neither in their reactions nor any indication of theirs that they agreed to obey, but rather that their obedience was nonnegotiable. Simply, he expected it.

Harry didn't fully believe his ears but he thought what Malfoy said was most likely true. From the tales that Neville and the others brought when they came to Hogwarts from their owners' places for a short visit, he could surmise that conditions of their enslavement were much harsher than what it seemed they would receive at the manor. Harry didn't want to feel even a little grateful for that but he couldn't help it, much to his dismay, and also couldn't help inwardly rejoicing their luck either. And through of all of that, they were still together.

"I have no interests of any nature in the three of you." Malfoy gave them a grimacing once-over. "So it would work in everyone's best interest not to cross each other's lines: that means I don't disturb you and you don't disturb me. Most of the time we'll be in separate parts of the manor so that possibility will be few and far between. So I don't have any sexual interests in you unlike my fellow masters have in their slaves, so you don't have to worry about me hunting you down and demanding that kind of service from you. You can thank my Occlumency skills for that relief since the Dark Lord won't know how I have been treating you.

"But know this: I have no control if we have guests. If they request any favours from any of you.. or all of you... be it you serving them or me sexually--" He grimaced again, forcing himself to continue. "--then you or I don't have any choice and you will have to comply and be convincing in that act. So that means not too far down the line you're going to have to practice that probably amongst yourselves." Another grimace twisted Draco's pale features.

The three of them looked down at their laps and blushed to the tips of their hair. Indignation was a distant pulse at the back of Harry's mind for all that they had heard involving sex, but they had expected this a long time ago, or rather had vaguely accepted its inexorability. Harry was starting to dislike these "events" from the very beginning.

"Lastly," Malfoy was saying, "you are to ignore my mother. Don't interact with her at all." Malfoy glared intently at them before he continued. "All in all, don't draw attention to yourselves. Don't do anything stupid. Just... exist."

Harry knew - in fact he could see that Malfoy took great pleasure in saying this, but he couldn't help not obliging Malfoy's relish at their expense when he glared heatedly at him, cheeks turned pink. Malfoy failed in hiding his smirk as he stood up, dusted himself off before eyeing them meaningfully one last time and then sweeping out of the room, leaving behind a screaming silence that descended upon them as soon as the door clicked shut.

Harry, Ron, and Hermione again fought against a barrier of some kind that prevented them from looking at one another for longer than a moment.

But finally, after all those months, they took a good look at each other.

Ron's hair was flat at the back and looked like a narrow piece of cardboard where he rested his head. And having grown thinner due to their inadequate diet, he looked taller - a whole head taller than Harry. Even Hermione seemed taller than him since her hair, now dappled with dirt and being the frizziest it has ever been, as well as tangled almost beyond repair, gave her a few centimetres over Harry. Measly and slight even before captivity, Harry looked even more pitiable than before: thinner, seemingly shorter, with hallowed cheeks and a glazed, lime patina to his eyes in the stead of that piercing green before it.

Their clothes were tattered, sticky, and pasty with some or other kind of dirt. They had no shoes. The loss of shoes was something different entirely on its own for some reason. Shoes were just a different type of wear, and losing them crossed a certain and deeper barrier of security, worse than the loss of Harry's glasses had been. Yes, losing their shoes and being barefoot was crossed a line or some sort. Even smelling horridly wasn't as enigmatically profound and more severe an indignity.

They had grime streaks all over their faces, their fingernails were black, and they reeked something foul. But they didn't pay attention to anything other than their faces, where all the truths were displayed. Being here, at this point in time far removed from the situation back at Hogwarts, made it feel different, like a rebirth, their ability to face each other further compounding this feeling. Out of nowhere, Hermione flung her arms around the both of them and suffocated them.

Surprising themselves, Harry's and Ron's arms followed suit on their own accord and grabbed on the closest warm thing. Hermione unloaded bucket-loads of tears on them whilst they sobbed silently, all in their fierce chokehold. Soon after, even in her state Hermione had to allow them to part because their mingled stenches were overbearing. She pulled out with a face shining with tears, which didn't look too good with all the dirt now all moist and smudged. Harry and Ron quickly dried their eyes before facing anybody.

The aura that enveloped them now felt freer; they were free of the strange bonds that held them emotionally apart. It was so easy to stray into any direction back in the small dungeon, so easy to ignore everyone and wander off into your own world, isolating yourself. Now it felt like a reunion, a renewing of their friendship and a new strengthening of it.

Each started making their way into their own direction, having shared a tender moment and feeling enough and overwhelmed with everything. Harry went to the window, Ron went to the dresser to the mirror, and Hermione went over to the tall book stand.

The outside was beautiful and vast. This Malfoy estate stretched over a large piece of land, Harry thought. There were a few large beds of artistically placed and coloured flowers, and to the left, Harry could see part of another smooth stone walkway similar to that which they had walked on upon approaching the mansion.

His mind was surprisingly blank. He turned around and saw Hermione paging through some book with a disapproving shake of her head. Ron was exploring the contents of the various drawers of the dressing table. Harry turned around and sat down on the edge of the bed. This instigated some conformity upon Ron and Hermione, since they had to talk sooner or later, a different kind of interaction from a group hug. Ron turned around in the chair, his brown feet leaving the emerald footstool, and Hermione swivelled her head and languidly shut the book she had been skimming over. As though to delay her joining them she stopped by the wardrobe and opened and closed, finding it empty.

Harry, his arms folded, stared at the floor at his dirty feet. When last had they spoke? Hermione finally approached and sat down on the bed. Ron looked awkward for a few moments but finally stood up and joined them. No one spoke. They had all departed from a surreal nothingness in their mind, and now it was time to face reality.

Just when the tension was growing quite uncomfortable, and Harry was about to open his mouth, there was a sudden--

POP!

"Tibby is to serve--" The creature's eyes bulged impossibly.

The three Gryffindors, so startled that they had thrown their arms and feet up, looked on at the impeccably kept house-elf - as impeccable as a house-elf could get - through their cage of protective limbs. The elf stared fixedly at Harry. He, Ron, and Hermione began unravelling their arms and feet and flustered embarrassedly after such an overreaction. But they kept their eyes on the elf standing in front of them.

It was still starry-eyed. Then, finally, it said, rather dazedly and reverently, "Tibby is to serve the three slaves by order of Miss 'Cissa."

Hermione's eyebrows creased for a split second at the word 'serve', never mind the elf was not short of stating their inferior statuses as slaves; evidently that S.P.E.W. passion hadn't left her system totally just yet, even throughout all they had experienced. This went to show that they were still the same people inside. Hermione looked rather impressed by the neatness of the elf, however.

Harry cleared his throat. "Hi, Tibby," he greeted.

The elf stared at him pointedly some more. "Harry Potter is..." Her huge eyes danced around in their sockets as she possibly struggled to find words to express what she wanted to say. The three of them waited for her to finish what she was saying but nothing seemed forthcoming.

"Tibby." And her eyes shot to Harry again. "This is Ron and this is Hermione," Harry said, throwing thumbs at his two companions.

Tibby shook her head, apparently to clear it. "Tibby is to see to it the three elves are clean and fed," she said firmly, as they met her serious expression for the first time.

Hermione's face sung of hope and wonder at these words. "Yes, Merlin, we need a bath."

Now only Ron was the one left to talk. He didn't, however, but his stomach growled at the mention of food.

The house-elf, wearing a teacloth with a large green Malfoy emblem emblazoned on the front, nodded her big head.

"Yes, the three slaves need to bathe."

Whether this was said as reiteration, fact, or disparagement, they didn't know. Judging by her very slightly recoiled head, suggesting she found them repulsive, they swayed towards disparagement. And why did she keep saying the 'three slaves'? It was downright irritating!

"Would Slave Ron Weasley and Slave Hermione Granger go to their rooms now. S-s-slave Harry Potter can take his bath in there." The elf feebly pointed at the door Harry had spotted earlier.

They could sort of figure why Tibby stuttered when referring to Harry. They looked at each other, and agreed silently to talk after a good shower. This might have been to stall or genuinely just to get a bath needed very direly.

"Thank you, Tibby," Hermione said, giving her a grateful smile.

Tibby's eyes shifted to Hermione at the words. They shifted to Harry again. Then she--

POP!

The three of them were left to blink at the space Tibby previously occupied.

The tension was back somewhat.

"We... should - start getting to our baths," Ron said, his first words since leaving Hogwarts.

This new voice spurred Harry and Hermione into action. They nodded. Ron and Hermione stood up. The three looked at each other again, and finally smiled together. Ron and Hermione left the room, leaving him alone in an unfamiliar setting. He needed to get clean, really needed to get clean. He read the clock on top of the fireplace as he crossed the room. It read five minutes past one o'clock. It would be lunch in about an hour. He headed to the bathroom.

A mini-spa, more like, he soon discovered.