Voldemort Ascendant

Chapter two: Sally-Ann Perks

Hermione slumped into one of the kitchen's rickety old chairs and gave a deep sigh. Her hands clenched and fidgeted in her lap; a somewhat nervous habit she'd developed since being forced into servitude. 'We've made two hundred loaves of bread, and we've got dough to make nearly one hundred and fifty more. Fifty are cooking in the ovens,' she muttered under her breath, and glanced at the large wood oven that dominated the south wall of the kitchen, confirming that there were, indeed, quite a few loaves of bread on the rise. 'Parvati's mopping the floors in and around the Astronomy Tower, Sally-Ann is dusting in the library. Derek is outside chopping wood to keep the ground floor fires going; Colin and Dennis are scrubbing bathrooms on the third and fourth floors respectively. Kevin . . .' Hermione sat up straight. 'Justin,' she called, and Justin looked up from the dishes he was washing.

'Hermione?' he responded, his voice a low singsong, and promptly returned to humming some random ditty.

'Where's Kevin?'

Justin shrugged. 'Consulting his Master-Plan-for-a-Grand-and-Thoroughly-Spectacular-Revolt-Against-He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named?' he suggested.

'Bah,' Hermione muttered, and made a mental note to sweep the Grand Hall later in the evening, seeing as Kevin was likely shirking his tasks once more. Realising that it was the last day of the month, she groaned loudly.

'Wouldn't mind some of that myself, if you know what I mean,' Justin called from across the kitchen, and sent a wink in Hermione's direction when she glanced up at him.

'Oh knock it off, Justin,' she responded, but grinned despite herself. 'Tomorrow's the first day of the new month.'

'Ah. Time to clean the green-house's?' Justin asked. Hermione gave a weary nod. 'Would you like me to help, then?'

Hermione shook her head. 'Sally-Ann offered to help me with it.'

'Alright, but if you change your mind . . . I've got no problems with standing at the bottom of the ladder whilst you walk that sassy posterior of yours up the ladder,' he replied, and gave Hermione a saucy look.

Hermione smiled and shook her head once more. What's left to be done? she asked herself, and peered around the kitchen. We've got this evening's meal prepared, it just needs to be cooked later in the afternoon. Justin's washing dishes, as always. The hall leading to the dungeon's could probably do with a sweep . . . Too late, she realised that she was making excuses to get herself near the dungeons. Don't think about him! she berated herself, and tried to focus on the day's chores. If you think about him, you won't be able to stop thinking about him, and then you'll fall behind in your tasks, and then we'll all be in more trouble than you know what to do with. She brought herself sharply to her feet and grabbed a mop and bucket. Might as well go mop the halls, she thought, and made her way to a sink. I wonder when those floors were last mopped? Stop it! Stop making excuses! Too late, you're thinking about him now. And why not? You've spent the last two years trying not think about him, and now you know he's alive . . . and that he's in pain . . . No! Don't do this to yourself!

'Stop it!' she hissed out-loud, and Justin gave her a startled look.

'I beg your pardon?' he asked innocently, and cocked one eyebrow jauntily skywards.

Ignoring him, Hermione grabbed her bucket and mop and quickly strode from the kitchens, making her way slowly towards the hallways leading to the old Slytherin rooms. She felt infinitely grateful when she realised just how dirty the floors were, and attacked them with a vengeance, making her way progressively downwards over the period of an hour, only stopping every so often as students or Death-Eater professors stalked past her. It had been made clear to the mudbloods from the beginning of their servitude that they were to always step aside whenever purebloods passed them, and that they were to always bow their heads respectfully in the presence of purebloods.

The halls steadily became darker and darker; and Hermione presumed that this darkness was the reason that no one had ever complained about the dirty floors in this area of the castle - she could only just make out her bucket in the darkness, never mind the filth on the floors. Hearing rushed footsteps, Hermione pressed herself back against a wall and lowered her head respectfully. Despite her utter contempt for the new order, she wasn't one to make trouble for herself. As the footsteps hurried past, she looked up curiously, and managed to make out the form of a retreating girl. She was just reaching for her mop, when once more she heard footsteps approaching.

'You there, mudblood!' a cold, scornful voice taunted.

Blast! Hermione thought to herself, and lowered her head further. How often does Malfoy bring girls down here for his trysts, anyway?

'My word, if it isn't Hermione Granger,' Draco said, his voice dripping with scorn. 'It has been a while, has it not?' Hermione remained still, hoping that he'd grow tired and leave her if she didn't respond to his taunts. 'So often I've seen you across the hall or down the far end of the hall way, but I honestly don't believe I've seen you up close for well over two years now. How do you find life as a servant, Granger? I trust you're treated well?'

'Well enough, Sir,' she replied softly, careful to keep her voice neutral.

'Well enough? Well enough?' Draco scowled and looked her slowly up and down. 'Look at you, you filthy mudblood . . . you're living a life of shame and degradation. Well enough my arse! Say something, you disgusting creature,' he demanded, and suddenly shoved her back against the wall.

Oh Light, not again, she thought desperately, and gasped in pain as her head hit the cold stone of the wall. She reached out blindly, trying to find her mop handle and wondering if she dared attack the headmaster's own son with it. In the end, she didn't need to.

'Miss Granger, you do have a knack for getting yourself into trouble. It seems that every time I turn around, you're being accosted by the male population of the school. Perhaps there is a shred of truth in Zabini's claims that you were seducing him?' Lucius Malfoy asked. His voice contained a morsel of amusement, and Hermione didn't know whether to feel relief or further alarm.

'Father!' Draco choked into the darkness.

'Son,' Lucius replied sardonically.

'She . . . I-'

Lucius cut his son off. His voice remained level and calm, though Hermione was sure she felt the temperature chill suddenly. 'Tell me, Draco . . . did I bring you up to molest the help in darkened hallways?'

'No, Father,' Draco replied. Shame had replaced the scorn in his voice.

'Then tell me, Draco, why it is that I find you here, in a darkened hallway, harassing the help? - No, do not answer just yet. Give yourself a few minutes to consider your response. Meet me in my office. I shall be with you anon.'

Draco turned tail and stalked away with all the dignity he could muster. Lucius, on the other hand, turned to face Hermione, and gently took her chin between his lean, perfect fingers. Hermione felt a shameful tremble wrack through her, and promptly closed her eyes. 'No, child, open your eyes. I find that open, clearly visible eyes are far more honest than those that are closed or turned aside, don't you?'

Hermione obediently opened her eyes, but said nothing.

'Much better,' he said softly. 'Now tell me, Miss Granger, what it is that has brought you and your rather formidable mop so close to the dungeons. Perhaps it has just occurred to you that in over two years of servitude, not one of you and your comrades has mopped these floors?'

Hermione's breath caught in her throat as one of Lucius's fine eyebrows arched towards his hairline.

'Well, girl?' he demanded, and his cold fingers tightened around her chin.

'Yes, Headmaster Malfoy,' she gasped out. By the light, please don't let him realise, she pleaded.

Lucius gave her a hard look, then finally released her. 'Indeed,' he said softly. 'I'm sure you'll be relieved to know, then, that I won't be requiring your services this close to the dungeons in future. Now take your mop and bucket, and leave.'

'Yes, Headmaster Malfoy,' she replied on a breath of air, and promptly picked up her bucket.

'Miss Granger,' he called to her retreating back. Hermione stopped, her shoulders hunching in anxiety. 'I certainly hope your presence here has nothing to do with certain rumours about my son's penchant for screams,' he suggested softly. Hermione bit her lip to smother a sharp gasp, and quickly shook her head in denial. 'Very good, then,' he said.

Hermione fled as quickly as dignity allowed her to.

***

A door opened, and light flooded through the small crack, illuminating a fraction of the otherwise pitch-black cell.

'You there,' a coarse voice demanded from the doorway. 'Here's your daily scraps, mooncalf.' A platter of food was casually thrust through the doorway, followed by a jug of water. Noticing a distinct lack of response, Travers opened the door further, allowing the light to spread through the room. The figure lying curled into a ball at the far side of the room didn't move. 'Oi!' he called, and stepped into the room. Still, the figure failed to respond. Curious now, Travers crossed the room and poked the boy with the toy of his heavy black boot, then kicked the boy in the ribs. Wrinkling his nose in disgust, he spat and gave a sarcastic chuckle. 'Hope of the wizarding world indeed,' he muttered. 'Waste of scraps, if you ask me.' Turning, he noticed that the dementors were gathering around the doorway, peering eagerly into the room with their sightless faces. 'Back off, back off,' he mumbled, and shoved his way through them, slamming the cell door firmly behind him. 'The master says you're to leave the boy be, and that's what you'll do, else it's on my head. Light knows what he'd do to me if you lot had your creepy-smoochy way with him, but I'm not one to find out. Go on, bugger off, the lottaya. Why they keep 'im alive, I don't know, but keeping him alive's my business so mind you don't break him too badly.'

Reluctantly, the dementors moved off, drifting towards other cells and rooms along the long, dark hall, and Travers rumbled his way back towards the old common room, occasionally kicking doors, belching, and being generally obnoxious.

Back in the cell, Harry twitched and flung an arm up in an effort to defend himself against phantom-blows. 'No more,' he whispered, his voice a harsh rasp. 'Light spare me, no more.'

Though his voice faded, their voices - their screams and hideous wails - grew louder and louder. The roar had once been far away, but now it was everywhere, coming from the walls, from the floor, from the roof, slowly infiltrating his entire being until their screams echoed through his veins and were pumped through his body by his own heart.

Save us, Harry! Why won't you save us!

It hurts . . . oh god it hurts.

He couldn't even save Dumbledore, and he loved Dumbledore . . . maybe he doesn't care about us . . . .

'Dumbledore,' Harry muttered into the darkness. 'I couldn't save Dumbledore.'

He could see it, replaying over and over in his mind, like a pensieve that he couldn't escape. The Dark Lord, marching across the grounds of Hogwarts, surrounded by an army of dementors, Death-Eaters, Vampires and Boggarts . . . and hanging from his hand-

Harry felt bile rising in his throat.

-hanging from his hand, a head, familiar yet unfamiliar in its present condition. A head with long white hair and a long white beard.

In his cell, Harry sat up and retched violently.

'I couldn't save Dumbledore,' he sobbed, wiping the back of his hand across his mouth. 'I couldn't save him.'

***

Sally-Ann supported the ladder that Hermione was precariously perched upon. 'Fair go, Hermione, you're sloshing water all over me from up there!' she complained, though good-naturedly.

'Sorry!' Hermione called down. 'I hate to say it, but Parvati's right. It's just cruelty on their behalf when they make us clean these windows without charms or wands of any description. All it would take is the simplest charm . . . Flitwick's first year students could have worked charms to clean these windows.'

Sally-Ann nodded and stomped her feet, trying to force blood to return to her feet. 'How many more, Hermione? I'm freezing to death down here!'

Hermione looked around her at the surrounding greenhouses. 'This is the last greenhouse, but we still need to clean the roof and far side,' she replied, and slowly lowered herself down the ladder. 'I loathe cleaning these windows, and I really think it's just perverse of them to make us clean them. We clean them today, it'll snow tonight, and that just ruins all the work we've put in,' she said, chafing her hands together. 'Not to mention how cold it is out here, and the snow drifts make it so dangerous to climb the ladders.'

'In all honesty, I'm never warm these days,' Sally-Ann replied. 'Oh, except when I'm with-' Sally-Ann suddenly bit her tongue and looked as if she were about to choke.

Hermione's eyes opened. 'Except when you're with . . .?' she prompted.

'No one,' Sally-Ann whispered, but the look on her face expressed her own dismay at her lame response.

Hermione smiled as Sally-Ann's face turned a delicate crimson shade. 'It's not Justin, is it?' Hermione ribbed, and Sally-Ann grimaced.

'By the light, no. Justin is such a . . . I don't know. Such a comedian. Definitely not my type,' Sally-Ann responded with a shy smile.

'And just who is your type, then?' Hermione asked, grabbing a soapy rag and climbing back up the ladder.

'Someone intense,' Sally-Ann offered.

'Intense?' Hermione questioned, and started to clean a plate of glass. 'Who among the serving boys is intense? Obviously not Justin, he's a born clown . . . although I think we should give him credit for maintaining his humour over the past two years,' Hermione suggested, and Sally-Ann nodded her agreement. 'Derek Midgeon is rather sombre, but of course he's younger than you . . . unless you don't mind younger boys?' Sally-Ann wrinkled her nose in distaste, which Hermione took to be a negative. 'Kevin?'

'Kevin's nice enough, but no, it's not him,' Sally-Ann said coyly.

Hermione frowned and paused from washing the window. 'Well who else is there? There really aren't that many of us serving anymore . . . it's not Justin or Kevin or Derek, Colin is Derek's age, and Dennis is even younger . . . there's no one else, surely?'

Sally-Ann studiously peered into the bucket of soapy water. 'No other servants like us, no,' she replied softly.

Hermione frowned in thought. 'You haven't managed to sneak someone in from outside, have you? By the light, the danger involved in doing such a thing . . . it'd be an instant death sentence if you were discovered -'

Sally-Ann shook her head and studied her toes. 'It's not someone from outside,' she whispered, and her face was steadily stained a dark beetroot shade.

'Oh Sally-Ann,' Hermione said softly. 'You wouldn't . . .?'

Sally-Ann fidgeted. 'Please don't judge me, Hermione,' she said quickly. 'It's really not as bad as it seems, I swear. They're not all evil, really! You can't possibly think that they're all evil, not someone as sensible as you, surely?'

Hermione lowered herself from the ladder once more. 'Well I guess I hadn't truly thought of it that way, no,' Hermione admitted. 'I mean, plenty of them hiss at me in the hallways, but then there's those that ignore me . . . once or twice a couple have even stopped and told the other's to leave me be.' Like Lucius Malfoy a voice in her head tormented. She ignored it.

'That's just what Edward's like! He's only ever been kind to me.' Sally-Ann's voice was pleading, and she gave Hermione a furtive look. 'Please don't tell anyone . . . they'd kill me and torture him for sleeping with a mudblood. And the other mudbloods . . . I don't think they'd understand.'

'Is it love?' Hermione asked softly. Sally-Ann shrugged, and Hermione wrapped her arms around herself and shuffled her feet a little. 'I won't tell anyone, Sally. But I don't think I need to tell you how much danger you're putting both yourself and Edward in. Is he really worth such a risk?' Was Harry worth the risk you took when you mopped near the dungeons yesterday? another voice taunted. She ignored that voice, too.

'What risk?' Sally-Ann asked defensively. 'I'm a servant in my former school. The only reason they even kept us alive was to shame us and because the house-elves refused to serve the Dark-Lord. I don't have any family left, and I don't have any hope of ever leaving here alive - I have nothing to lose, and everything to gain.'

Hermione shook her head. 'But what about Edward? As a student, he has a future. And what about when he graduates at the end of the year? What then? You don't think he'd take you with him, do you?' Hermione tried to keep her voice gentle and kind, but nonetheless, Sally-Ann looked miserable.

'He could never take me with him. He can't even tell his friends about me, for fear of discovery. We have to meet down in the old Slytherin rooms - in the dungeons! - just so we can find some privacy. It's so awful down there . . . the dementors, the screams. The gaoler down there is so horrid! But at least the dementors don't seem to care what we're doing, provided we keep to one of the rooms off the old common room. Edward gives the Death-Eater down there a few gold knuts, and he leads us to an empty cell-'

Hermione felt a jolt blaze through her body. When she spoke, her voice was a furtive whisper. 'You meet in the dungeons?' she asked.

It wasn't much, but it was a start.