Thanks to my beta, AllShadesofGrey, for looking this over.

Prologue

"No! P-please! I'll do what you say!"

Hermione Grindelwald twirled her wand in her hand as she regarded the trembling man coldly. His name was Jonny Nuhaka, and he was a Quidditch player, though she had no interest in such a trivial activity such as Quidditch. Her father had found him snooping around in his private headquarters and sent him down there for Hermione to 'play' with him.

Hermione was all too aware of the shady man standing in the corner, taking notes of her every move. He seemed to always be there whenever she was given someone to punish, but he never spoke to her. Whenever she tried to show some sign of conversing with him, he simply got up and walked away. Her father never answered any of her questions about him, either, and she had learned long ago to stop asking.

"Will you?" she asked, glancing down at him with a thoughtful, albeit menacing expression on her face. She almost admired the man. He had gone through more rounds of the Cruciatus than all her other victims had before. The Cruciatus, she knew, was not about stamina. It was about willpower. "Well, what are you waiting for?"

"It was Dumbledore," Nuhaka blurted out. "Dumbledore decoded a secret code that was left on the floor of Hogwarts. He sent me to see if I could get in." He added in a softer voice, "He'll come here if I don't go back."

A secret code was left on the floor of Hogwarts? Did that mean there was a spy there? Why wasn't it her? Her father knew how much she wanted to go to Hogwarts. The spy was obviously careless, leaving something so important on the floor. Why would Grindelwald chose them over her? She felt a surge of anger go through her, but quickly calmed herself. It would not do to lose her temper here; there would be plenty of time to punch pillows and scream to her heart's content in her bedroom later.

"You're lying."

Nuhaka's head whipped up to hers, his brown eyes dull and his lip quivering slightly. She had seen him in the newspaper once, and he looked nothing like he did now. Jonny Nuhaka was a vibrant man who was the idol of boys and girls alike all over the world for his elegant flying skills. He was not this broken man, dirty and soiled, lying on the cold marble floor.

"I-I'm lying?" Nuhaka shook his head. "I'm not."

He seemed so sure that he was telling the truth, but Hermione had seen better actors than him in the past. Noticing the man in the corner tapping his foot impatiently, she sent another Cruciatus at the man. He writhed around, and his screams filled the room. After all these years, she still had the urge to close her eyes. It felt sowrong to watch, even though it was her that was causing him pain in the first place.

Hermione took a deep breath, and risked another glance at the man in the corner. Unlike her, he was watching in pure satisfaction, his eyes following Nuhaka's every movement. He was just like Grindelwald in every way, and Hermione shuddered. All his minions were exact replicas of him; they were as sadistic and insane as him. She looked down at her hands. They were rough and calloused from all the fighting and dueling she had gone through. Would she become just like him, a miniature version of him that he brainwashed?

"You are. Dumbledore would've never let you come here by yourself," Hermione herself had never met the man, but she knew him almost as well as she knew herself. She knew that he was her father's greatest enemy. She knew that he was a transfiguration teacher at Hogwarts. She also knew that even though her father declined it steadily, Albus Dumbledore was the most powerful wizard on earth. And her father did not like that one bit.

"You decoded this message by yourself, didn't you?" she asked, her voice steady. Nuhaka did not meet her eyes, and that action was as good as a confession. "Dumbledore doesn't even know of this place. He doesn't even know of the code." She probed his mind and he let her. He had no mental barriers. "You burned the code after you read it."

"No, Dumbledore doesn't know." Nuhaka replied hoarsely. Hermione's eyes flicked over to the man in the corner, who jotted something down. She seemed to have done a good enough job, because he raised his eyes to meet hers, gave her a quick nod, and then disappeared down the hallway.

And then she was left with her broken victim.

She crouched down next to him, but he beat her to speaking. "You're going to kill me, aren't you?" Hermione was amazed that his voice was steady, considering how much he was trembling. Whether it was from the after effects of the cruciatus or because of the freezing temperature in the room, she didn't know.

"Yes." Hermione said, reaching a hand over to brush a strand of hair out of his face. There were no video cameras in the room that she was aware of. Her father wouldn't send someone to watch her if he could just record her. Nuhaka looked shocked, and looked as if he was contemplating whether or not to attack her. She frowned and retracted her hand immediately. "Why did you do it?"

"Why did I do what?"

"Come here, by yourself," Hermione said. "If you had come here with Dumbledore, it would've given him a huge problem." Him, she had said. Not us. Based on the look on Nuhaka's face, he noticed, but he didn't comment on it.

He looked as though he was deciding whether or not to tell her, and then finally sighed and said, "My wife." Hermione looked at him, but didn't speak, so he continued. "She always says how I'm a good for nothing husband. That I can only play Quidditch. She told me she wanted someone who could prove himself."

"So you decided to prove yourself by defeating Grindelwald," Hermione said flatly, the idea sounding absurd even to her own ears. If someone like him could've beaten Grindelwald, her father would've already been dead years ago. "That was stupid."

"It was," Nuhaka swallowed. "You're not like the others, are you?" When Hermione didn't respond, he pressed on. "You're not as cruel. I-I…can you tell my wife what happened to me? So she knows that I tried, at least?"

Whoever Nuhaka's wife was, she clearly did not deserve this man. Hermione glanced at him sadly, but kept tone as robotic as she possibly could. "I make no promises."

They both knew that she wasn't going to do it, but neither of them said anything about it. Instead, Nuhaka just nodded and Hermione said as if she were talking about the weather, "I'm going to kill you now."

"I know." Nuhaka said. He rolled over from his side on to his back and closed his eyes momentarily and taking a deep breath before opening his eyes again. "But do you have to?"

He was lucky that she was there instead of Grindelwald himself. Grindelwald would've had him back writhing around under the Cruciatus. He hated his victims talking back to him. He usually tortured them until they could not do anything but agree with whatever he said.

Hermione, however, just shrugged. "Of course I have to. I don't have a choice."

"Everyone has a choice." Nuhaka said, eyeing her cautiously. There was a spark of hope beginning to form in his eyes when he saw that she wasn't as excited to murder him as he originally thought. She couldn't let him build on that hope. Not when that hope was not going to lead anywhere.

"Not me," Hermione whispered. She never did have a choice. Ever since she was born, she had been thrust in to the claws of evil. Grindelwald had trained her to be as ruthless as he was, except the fact that he never seemed to be able to get rid of her conscious, the part of her that was still sane to say that these people didn't deserve this. She went along, because Grindelwald could do things to her that no one else could do. "I never had a choice."

Nuhaka looked at her, and a look of pity seemed to flash through his eyes. He was on the floor, about to die, and he pitied her. "All right," he said, his voice stronger than before. There was a look in his eyes as well, a new fire that burned in them. Hermione was startled by the sudden change in his demeanor, wondering what she could've said that made him change so much. "Kill me now."

Hermione merely raised an eyebrow at him.

"Can I ask you to do me a favor, though?" Nuhaka looked at her, his brown eyes shining with unshed tears. "Can you make it quick?"

"Of course," Hermione reverted back to her professional voice, placing her wand against his forehead. "I have no interest in dragging it out any more than you want to." She did not want to cut out his insides and take out his organs one by one. He wanted a quick death, and she owed him that.

"Thank you," Nuhaka whispered, and then placed his hands around her wand. "You are brave."

Hermione uttered the two unforgivable words, and then there was a flash of green light. Nuhaka's hands fell to his sides, his eyes open but unseeing. Strangely, there was a look of bliss on his face. Carefully, Hermione closed his eyes and closed her eyes.

You are brave? She was not brave. She was a coward. She couldn't even go against her father, and instead took innocent lives in an attempt to keep hers. If she were really brave, she would let herself be killed.

Her father would send people for the body soon, and she did not want to watch them burn Nuhaka's body like they burned everyone else's. She placed her hand into his, and then said, "It's you who's brave."

Hermione glanced down at the man who had sacrificed his life for his wife, who had wandered in to a lion's den to please her. Hermione hoped that his wife could at least see the man Nuhaka was, even if it was too late. Slipping her hand quickly out of his, she took one last glance at him before she whirled out of the room.

ஐ

"What took you so long?"

"I got held up," Hermione said nonchalantly, looking her father straight in the eye. Looking away would make him suspicious, and that she definitely did not need. The last time he had probed around in her brain was not an experience she wanted to remember.

Grindelwald raised an eyebrow, but said nothing. Instead he handed her a necklaces with a small flower at the end, and Hermione put it on without saying anything. It looked like a tracking device.

"That's so I know where you are at all times," Grindelwald said smoothly, causing Hermione to scowl mentally. Of course he would want to know where she was; he liked having complete control over her, after all. She was but a mere puppet to him.

"You know where I am at all times," she replied, refraining from adding, 'Are you too lazy to look through the house for me?' Somehow, she doubted he would take it well. Being his daughter, he was more lenient with her snarky comments, but she had found out when she was young what happened when she pushed his boundaries.

"I do," her father said. "But this will save me the trouble of having to find you." Hermione almost snorted, but stopped herself before she did. He paused for a little, and then said, "I have a new mission for you."

"Mission?" Hermione repeated, watching a slow smirk appear on his face. He clearly wanted to her to ask, and she didn't want to, but her curiosity won out in the end. "What type of mission?"

"Your mission," Grindelwald told her, "is to spy on Albus Dumbledore. I trust that you know who that is, no?" There was an underlying anger in his voice, and his eyes hardened.

"Yes," Hermione nodded. Albus Dumbledore, the only man who Grindlewald truly feared, the only man who could a stop to her father's evil and twisted ways.

"Albus Dumbledore resides in Hogwarts," Grindlewald continued, "and he is the transfiguration teacher there."

"If it's in Hogwarts," Hermione tried hopefully. "Does this mean that I can—?"

"No." His voice was cold. "You absolutely may not." Hermione's expression immediately fell, but her father didn't notice. "Do you take me as a fool? What would I gain, sending you right under the nose of Dumbledore? No, you will be placed quite far away from him."

Hermione was thoroughly confused. "How am I supposed to spy on him, then?" She asked, trying to sound nonchalant even though just the thought of meeting Dumbledore excited her. She had heard so much about how exceptional he was, and she wanted to see it in real life.

"You will be relying on your ear," Grindelwald said. "There's quite an amount of gossip swirling around. It is pathetic how people spend so much time spreading gossip." A look of disgust appeared on his face.

"I see." Hermione didn't see the advantages of this. Surely, no matter how famous Dumbledore was, she could find out all her father wanted just by listening. However, she shoved that thought out of her mind and said, "And where will I be situated?"

"At the Malfoy Manor." This didn't ring any bells in her head, but then again her father had never educated her on the outside world. "Brutus and Irma Malfoy. Both pureblood. They have two sons, Gabriel and Abraxas. Abraxas is the same age as you," his eyes glinted slightly. "I expect you not to do anything about that."

She wasn't going to. She had no interest in dawdling around with some rich purebloods, anyway. That was not part of her mission, and she was going to avoid contact with anyone who she was not ordered to come in contact with.

"Your mission begins tomorrow," he instructed, making sure that she was listening carefully. "You will live there for one year under the name of Hermione Granger. You are a mudblood whose parents died just a week ago. You are going to be working there as a slave." Hermione wanted to groan; slaves had to work, which mean she had a year's work of labor to do. "And you will report to me every week. Any questions?"

Hermione shook her head, itching to take her wand out to feel the familiar piece of wood in her hand. It was her comfort. However, she had no doubt that Grindelwald would take it as a threat and blow her over to the next room. She kept her hands where they were and her wand remained in her pocket.

"Good." Grindelwald's eyes glinted dangerously, and at that moment, Hermione saw the dark wizard that the world knew and feared. He kept it hidden for most of the time, but when it reappeared, Hermione was reminded of why people were so scared of him. "Do not disappoint me."

ஐ

Hermione closed her trunk carefully, putting on the nasty rags that all of the servants had to wear. The situation was ridiculous, really. She had never expected that her father, of all people, would be asking her to spy. It seemed like a dirty trick that was below him. 'But then again,' Hermione thought viciously, 'he's already at the very bottom.'

She had met the other two servants earlier in the day. Lavender Brown had given Hermione a major headache with her constant blabbering, but Hermione found her minimally likable. Lavender talked about all the things Hermione never had time to worry about, like different brands of makeup and jewelry. Though Hermione couldn't follow what she was saying, she was glad that someone seemed to be enjoying this situation.

Lavender was muggleborn, Hermione found out quickly, and her parents had abandoned her when she was ten, when financial issues got the best of the Brown family. She had jumped from house to house over the years, serving as a slave. They had all eventually kicked her out when her constant chattering had become increasingly annoying. Lavender then decided to serve a pureblooded family.

"After all," Lavender had reasoned to an amused Hermione. "They're purebloods. They must be used to talking."

Hermione doubted that was the case. Even if they did talk a lot, they wouldn't talk to slaves. Purebloods would never lower themselves that low, but she didn't feel like pointing it out. She didn't want to scare away her only female acquaintance there. However, part of her thought that the girl was a little cuckoo in the head.

Of course she couldn't let herself seem too attached, or else her father would have his say in the matter.

The other slave went by the name of Harry Potter, and the boy would tell as much about his background as Hermione would. He had shaggy dark hair, piercing green eyes and lopsided glasses. He looked tired, though he brushed Hermione off when she asked. Harry had mentioned accidentally that his parents had died when he was very young. After he realized what he had said, he had clamped up and turned his back firmly on Hermione. She understood it as a dismissal. The two of them had not spoken since, nor did Hermione really want to. There were just some people you couldn't win over, and she wasn't even going to try with Harry.

The three of them had divided the tasks between them. They still had to respond when they were called, of course, but they had decided to set a schedule to follow. Lavender, being the earliest to rise, would get the morning shift. That was fine with Hermione, as she had seen her fair share of pureblooded wizards over the years, and she knew that they weren't the happiest campers in the morning. Lavender, though, seemed to be happy to take the morning jobs. She claimed that there were fewer jobs to be done in the morning. Hermione had simply rolled her eyes, but didn't say anything. She certainly wasn't volunteering to serve cranky wizards.

Harry had volunteered for the afternoon shift, and Hermione had glowered at him. She did not want the evening shift. She knew, from her father's last minute education on the Malfoy family, that they held large parties, most of them happening in the evening. That was exactly what she needed; more wizards to laugh and sneer at her. The last time she attended a party, she had exploded a witch's wine glass in her face, and her enraged husband had tracked Hermione down, torturing her for ten minutes straight until her father found her. Harry, however, had refused to budge, and Hermione eventually gave up. She would force Harry to switch later. Nothing too serious, of course, but she could show some sparks, couldn't she? She was Grindelwald's daughter, after all.

She had asked Lavender what happened at her shift after the girl had bustled back, but all she got was a whole bunch of squealing and chattering about how handsome the Malfoy boys were and how lucky she was to be working in the Manor. Hermione had looked at her in disgust and tuned the girl out for the rest of the conversation. Lavender certainly needed to sort out her priorities. This wasn't a place where she could fangirl over her masters.

She passed Harry on her way to the kitchen, as he was going back to his room after finishing his chores. She had asked him as well how it was, but she didn't really expect the answer to be anything better than Lavender's. It turned out she was correct; Harry had simply shrugged, and said, "I cleaned the house and served them lunch," leaving a very pissed Hermione behind him. 'There's no one useful in the house, is there?' she fumed madly.

It seemed like she was all by herself here. While she hadn't been expecting to make any friends, she had hoped that there was going to be someone reasonable to talk to. Hermione didn't want to talk to Lavender about the Malfoy sons, and she didn't really think that Harry would talk to her even if she wanted to.

Hermione sighed, picked up the glass of firewhiskey, and took her first step into the dining room. The room was even fancier than the kitchen, if possible. A large table greeted her, and four people sat around it. All four of them shared the same features; blue-gray eyes and nearly white hair. All of them wore clean black robes. Hermione noted absentmindedly that Lavender was correct about the Malfoy sons being handsome, but she would never admit it to the girl. All four of them looked up when she entered, and eight eyes seemed to pierce holes through her body.

"I—er-brought firewhiskey," she stuttered slightly, holding up the bottle. Did she sound intimidated enough? Her father had never sent her to acting lessons because she had never been in a situation where she needed to act. Most of the time, all she had to do was cast one or two spells, and that was it.

The eldest Malfoy, who Hermione assumed was the head of the household, Brutus Malfoy, cleared his throat impatiently and glared at her. Hermione shrunk back slightly for the act, though she wasn't particularly scared of him. "Master."

Hermione stared at him. "Excuse me?"

The only other lady in the room, who Hermione assumed was Irma Malfoy, stared at her disapprovingly. Her sons, though, reacted differently. The older one, who Lavender had called Gabriel during all her squealing, was smirking at her, but he wasn't looking at her eyes. He was looking below her face. Hermione resisted the urge to cross her hands over her chest. She wouldn't acknowledge him. She wouldn't let him win.

The other son, who Lavender had mentioned as Abraxas, had a blank look on his face. He seemed to want to be there as much as Hermione herself did, and was now giving her a calculating glance. She didn't seem to pass his test, as he soon looked away, bored. Hermione felt a sting of rejection, which she brushed away quickly. She didn't have to pass his test. Why did it matter what he thought of her? Hermione glared at the back of his blond head and wished she could set his hair on fire.

'Abraxas is the same age as you,' Grindlewald's voice echoed in her head. 'I expect you not to do anything about that.' Oh, she wasn't going to go near him with a ten foot pole.

"I brought firewhiskey, Master," Lord Malfoy said, glaring daggers at Hermione. However, he seemed harmless enough, and though Hermione knew she mightregret it later, she did her best to plaster an innocent expression on her face and said,

"There's no need to call me Master."

Lord Malfoy's face flipped into a nasty snarl. Abraxas, however, had looked at her again, and if she wasn't mistaken, Hermione could see the corners of his mouth slightly twitch. Oh well, she had upset one to entertain one. Not too shabby of a start.

"Just pour the damn thing," Lord Malfoy had said, finally getting his temper in check. "You're lucky I don't have my wand with me," He muttered darkly. Hermione, unfazed by his threat, hurried to fill each glass with liquid. Lady Malfoy had looked like she wanted to slap Hermione when she got over to her side of the table, but she managed to restrain herself. Gabriel, however, was a different matter. When she reached for Gabriel's glass, she felt a hand trailing up her leg. Hermione had turned to glare at Gabriel's grinning face, though it seemed like the only other person who had noticed was Abraxas, though he wasn't helping her any time soon. Hermione gave Gabriel her best death glare and moved as far away from him as possible, though not before seeing the smirk that appeared on his face. She frowned. She was a slave. He was a pureblood. The two of them simply didn't mix, nor did Hermione want them to.

The dinner proved to be very boring, and Hermione couldn't be happier when Lord Malfoy had decided to dismiss her. He still hadn't gotten over her stunt in the beginning, and was glowering darkly at her as she took the empty bottle and walked towards the kitchens. Hermione was really starting to regret her big mouth. She was certain that he would punish her as soon as he had his wand back in his hand. When he didn't though, he was just another annoying man. A wealthy and powerful man for sure, but just a man.

And Hermione really doubt that there was anything he could do to her that Grindelwald didn't already do, on a much bigger scale.

As Hermione was heading down the stairs, she heard Abraxas drawl slowly,

"Mother, Father, would it be alright if Tom came over next week?"

Hermione rolled her eyes when she was safely in the kitchen. Just another wizard to add to this lovely mix of purebloods.

Her father had said it would only be one year. She could handle one year. She had lived with her father her whole life. She had endured twenty round of the Cruciatus curse straight and managed to get up and walk away. She could endure living with some purebloods.

But even Hermione couldn't prepare herself for what would happen.

ஐ

Hermione found a huge mess near Gabriel's section of the table when she came back afterwards. According to Lavender, who she had conversed with before the girl went to bed, they were all neat eaters. Hermione felt her anger bubble inside of her; the prick had done it to spite her.

Hermione took out her wand she had received from the Malfoy's. It was charmed to be restricted to certain simple spells. However, she was grateful for it; had she not had it, she would've made the mistake of accidentally pulling out her real wand she had stashed in her pocket. And though Hermione knew that Lord Malfoy had let her retort slide at dinner, he wouldn't be as lenient if he found that Hermione possessed the magical piece of wood.

She had been fairly surprised that her father hadn't taken away her wand and insisted that she mastered wandless magic in a day's time. He had made her learn nonverbal spells in an hour, and when she pointed out that it took him a month's time to learn so, he simply cursed her. She didn't open her mouth again during that lesson, and when she finally learned how to do so after one hour and ten minutes, he had taken her to his room and had her endure ten rounds of Crucio, each time to emphasize the minutes she had wasted.

"Looks like someone went all out for you."

Hermione whirled around, pointing the restricted wand at the speaker, though she knew it wouldn't be any good. The wand couldn't fire any useful spells anyways, and Hermione was never happier to see it was Harry leaning against the doorway. She had thought for a second that it had been Gabriel coming to gloat while she wiped up his mess, and she wasn't sure she could refrain herself from cursing him if that had happened.

"Hi Harry," Hermione said when he didn't do anything else but stand there and watch. "What are you doing still awake? Lavender went to sleep already." She turned back to her work, thinking he would leave. He didn't.

"I know," Harry said, standing next to her and pulled out his own restricted wand. "The girl sleeps like a dying elephant. Loud when she's awake, loud when she's asleep." It seemed like Harry had the pleasure of being on the receiving end of one of Lavender's rants. "Some people just never change."

Hermione grinned, and then her eyes snapped towards Harry. He was next to her, mimicking her hand movements. "Harry, why are you helping me?" she asked suspiciously as she watched the boy waving around his wand, cleaning up the firewhiskey spill that Hermione was sure Gabriel intentionally caused.

Harry shrugged and said simply, "Why shouldn't I help you?" She found that she didn't have a counter argument to that, nor did she want to find one. It was as if he had forgotten that he hadn't been talking to her just earlier that day, but Hermione decided to keep quiet about that.

After spending so much time with her father, Hermione and learned to be naturally suspicious of everything. Everyone, she reasoned, had their own secret agendas, planning out everything they wanted to do.

Hermione kept Harry in her vision while she worked her way around the table. There was something about him that seemed off, and she wasn't willing to forget his behavior earlier, either. Harry had a motive, she knew, that would get him to have a sudden mood change.

But as they talked some more, both remaining silent about their background, she discovered that maybe there were some people in the world that didn't have secret agendas. That their actions were straightforward instead of containing as many twists as a complicated maze.

Afterwards, as Hermione lay in bed reflecting her day, she decided that it hadn't been as bad as she had originally thought it'd be.

ஐ

The next few days passed without many incidents. Hermione gradually grew closer with her fellow slaves. Lavender's lovesick blabbering only grew over time, though it was obvious that neither Gabriel nor Abraxas were at all interested in consorting with slaves. Abraxas didn't seem to be interested in anyone at all, and while Gabriel leered at her occasionally, he seemed to shut himself in his room a lot as well.

Hermione, meanwhile, found and perfected a way to tune Lavender out when she was ranting. She liked listening to her; she had never had a chance to talk with a fellow girl as there were very little women among her father's minions. However, Hermione drew the line when Lavender started talking with boys. She simply was not interested, and she could definitely live a nice and healthy life without knowing how 'Gabriel's eyes glitters when the sun hits it,' or how 'Abraxas tosses his hair when he walks.'

Hermione had read Hogwarts, A History, a book that she had persuaded her father to let her bring, enough times to memorize a majority of the book, and she found out if she recited it line by line, she could often block out Lavender's obsessing. The girl was nice to talk to when she talked about anything other than Abraxas and Gabriel, but Hermione soon found out that unfortunately, that rarely happened.

As for Lord Malfoy, he hadn't forgotten about her little dinner stunt. As soon as he had his wand again, she was under the Cruciatus Curse. Thus began the string of Cruciatus Curses that he placed on her. He called her to his study when he was bored, and cursed her for fun. Gabriel often came to watch, sitting on the sofa next to where she lay, leering at her the whole time. Lady Malfoy was rarely present, which Hermione was thankful for, and Abraxas never wasted his time. Even though she barely felt the pain anymore, it was still embarrassing nonetheless to be wriggling on the floor like a worm.

Abraxas himself was a complicated mystery. He wasn't cruel to her as his parents were—Hermione found out quite quickly that Lady Malfoy could hold her own Unforgivables—nor as perverted as his older brother. He seemed out of place, almost, in this family of purebloods. He rarely spoke; instead, he simply looked around with that calculating glance. However, Hermione liked him the best, as he hadn't showed any cruel nor disgusting intentions towards her, though he never showed any kindness to her either. She was just there, and Hermione was content with that.

Abraxas seemed to love flying, as Hermione would often see him circling the Malfoy's own Quidditch pitch. He brightened her day immensely, as she found that watching him fly would make her cleaning go much faster.

Harry, Hermione found out, was also a flying freak, and he would often watch the younger Malfoy with envy. Hermione herself couldn't find what they thought was so interesting about flying. Why risk falling off and killing yourself? What was so exciting about that? When she had voiced her opinion to Harry, he had stared at her like she had grown two heads, and then turned into Lavender, ranting about Quidditch and different types of brooms. Hermione had sighed and followed the green streak in the sky, wishing that she could get on a broom as easily as Abraxas could, and just fly away.

She had contemplated going to Antarctica once, to live with the penguins. She glanced down sorrowfully at the necklace. She couldn't go anywhere with that tracking device on her; her father would find her no matter where she hid.

Hermione sighed to herself, and then continued mopping the floor. Harry had been given the task of running to the nearest market to grab some fresh meat, a task originally meant for Lavender. However, the girl had fallen ill, and after some convincing from Hermione, a very irritated boy had headed out of the house. While usually Hermione would jump on any opportunity to go out of the house, she wasn't feeling up to it today. Someone had to take care of Lavender, and Hermione knew that she and Harry weren't on the best of terms. Harry wasn't as patient as Hermione was, and he had told Lavender to shut up at least three times in the past few days, wounding the girl more than a slap would have. Hermione had gotten close enough to Lavender to know that after her looks, Lavender prided her talking skills. The girl had studiously ignored Harry, and he had done the exact same. Hermione had become a messenger between them, and sometimes she just wanted to slap them both and tell them to stop annoying her.

After Harry had left, Hermione had fed Lavender some medicine and left the girl to rest. She had gone up to the fourth floor to clean the dusty windows when she saw Abraxas circling around the pitch, doing his daily training. Though Hermione would never admit it to Harry, and much less to Lavender, she enjoyed the time where she could just watch him. It was the way he seemed to lean fluently to one side, and then change to the other. It helped calm her. It also made her forget who she was, where she was, and why she was there. Flying, even if she was just watching, made her feel free.

Abraxas's flying was smooth too, compared to Harry's. Harry had told her cheekily his flying style, which led him to fall off his broom or get injured almost every time he mounted one. Hermione had snorted when he offered to teach her one day. She declined, ignoring the look of mock hurt that had arisen on his face, and then left him to his flying daydreams.

Hermione whistled as she wiped the windows. One year might pass faster than she originally thought it would, she mused happily to herself. Then she could get the hell out of the Manor and curse her father for making her come. Not that she could curse him, even if she wanted to, but it was a nice thought.

She used to spend her time daydreaming all different types of scenarios where her father would die, and she would be the one who would kill him. Then, one day, her father suddenly used legilimency on her. He had not been pleased to discover images of him being staked to the ground while she held garlic over his head. Hermione had learned occlumency after that, but she found that she could never keep him out completely. She now kept her daydreams to a minimum.

Hermione wiped her forehead off, gathering her stuff to prepare to go downstairs. Harry was a fast walker, and she was sure he would be back soon. She wanted to get him back for dumping a bucket of cold water on her head the last time she had been assigned to go to the market. She had only been given one piece of rag to wear, and it took her fifteen minutes standing there, dripping wet, for her wand to finally cast a drying spell. It had nearly exploded in the process. Harry had stood there laughing his head off the entire time.

She glanced one last time at Abraxas, and she immediately noticed there was something wrong. Hermione had watched him enough times to know how he usually flew. And she knew for a fact that Abraxas did not fly like he was being jerked off his broom. That was Harry's style, though Hermione doubted that even Harry would ride like that.

Before she had time to process it, though, she saw his broom charging towards the ground before throwing him off. He was tossed to the ground and skidded a couple of feet before finally stopping. The broom itself took up in the air again, jerking up and down before flying away, but Hermione's eyes were trained towards the ground. The figure did not stir.

Hermione dropped her equipment and clambered downstairs. None of the other Malfoys were home at the moment, so there was no one else to rescue him. Hermione pulled open the front door, ignoring as the cold winds bit at her legs, and ran towards the crumpled heap on the ground.