The pain radiated throughout the young girl's body, making her sides ache and her lungs scream for air. But not a sound escaped her. It was forbidden. Silence answered the order he had spoken, her eyes trained at his polished shoes. It was one thing to cross off her list.

The red head with no name, only known as "filth" or "wench" in the household, was released from her torture, the blonde haired man in front of her waiting for her to speak, to retaliate. She did nothing.

"Go, filth," Master spat at her. The woman rose, shakily, and hurriedly spun from her master, heading through the marble arch, pushing the white wood away from her carefully. She'd go back and clean her fingerprints from it, soon. Such filth like her was not allowed to touch it. A bow was all she left with as she departed, her long, tangled red hair flowing behind her. The home was as memorized as her scars. Every single line corresponded to every hallway or room she had cleaned.

As she spun around a corner, her limbs begging her to relax, to sit down, she ran into someone.

"I'm so sorry," she gasped, backing up quickly, lowering her eyes from the figure ahead of her. "I beg your forgiveness, Young Master."

The boy, perhaps her age, for she didn't know her age, was ruffled, but didn't seem to pay attention to her. In fact, he didn't even seem to acknowledge her. When she stood there, waiting for her punishment, he lifted his head to look at her.

"I ran into you," he stated.

"No, Young Master," the ginger girl insisted. "I wasn't paying attention. I'm terribly sorry-" Her voice was hoarse, from holding back her screams from earlier, and she felt her eyes tear up as she waited. The Young Master's punishment wouldn't be worse than his father's, but it would be close. It always was.

"Get back to whatever you were doing," Young Master said indifferently.

"Draco!" Master's voice drifted through the hall. The boy in question quickly left her, breezing down the hall effortlessly, like a silver prince. "What were you doing?"

She wasn't so far that she could close her eyes and hear silence. No, she would hear him, and his punishment as well.

"I ran into that girl you keep around," Young Master answered. "You seemed to give her enough torture-"

"You should have punished her. She's going to start to behave like the insolent brat she is."

It was a new insult, but the girl didn't so much as flinch. Her memory found the pale and scrub brush she had been assigned to and she began to scrub the ballroom. It was her largest room, always the same Friday, under the setting sun. She admired the way the light reflected against the white marble, sparkling from her hours and hours of work.

By sundown, she had finished, her only magical history drying the floor, though her clothes were soaked near the knees of the skirt and her fingers were pruning from being in the water for so long.

She rose, picking up the dirty watered bucket, and carried it with her to the side door – she was forbidden from using the front door – and trudged on towards the kitchens to begin her next task. There was a ball tomorrow, or so she was told. She was told the same every week, though none occurred besides when there were holidays. It was only July. There weren't holidays. None that she knew of, anyway.

"Where are you going, you insolent wench?" She froze at the voice, bowing her head as she faced her master.

"I was off to polish the silver, Master," she answered quietly. "I have finished the ballroom."

"I believe that can wait." Master was angry. Was it for what she did earlier? The question quickly disappeared as she felt her forearm slice open with a Divindo charm. Her dress was splashed with her own blood and she wondered if it would come out, unlike all the others she owned. "How dare you talk to my son-"

"Forgive me, Master," the red-head begged, dropping to her knees besides the pale. He raised his wand, about to take it to her face, when a voice interrupted her.

"Save the torturing for later, Lucius," a dark voice hissed into the darkness. Master listened, not lowering his wand, but neither attacking. "There are more important matters to attend to than to harm the help." The man appeared them, paper white, with glowing red eyes, just like the snake that slithered on the floor beside him. She spotted many men behind him, as well, in dark robes. Death Eaters, and the Dark Lord. My, she was lucky. Such an entourage. "I'm not doubting that she deserves it but..." He trailed off as he drank in the sight of the bleeding girl, refusing to cry out as a quick charm sliced her cheek open. She clenched her jaw and looked down, away from those men before her.

"My Lord, she needs to learn her place."

"She's strong," the Dark Lord answered the unspoken question as to why he was stopping them from hurting her. He, himself, had just cut her face not even seconds before with a flick of his own wand. "Not even a single peep. Lucius, how long have you had her?"

"Since she was a filthy child, my Lord," Lucius answered. "Dumped here by her two Mudblood parents."

Laughs echoed throughout the dark hallway. The elves haven't lit it yet, but they would in moments.

"She's a pretty one, isn't she?" The Dark Lord's wand made her rise without her permission and her eyes met the red ones. She didn't look away, even after the controlling Imperio curse was dropped. "What is your name, beautiful?"

"I have no name unless my Master permits it," the red head answered quietly. "I am no one, my Lord."

"And don't forget it," Lucius hissed.

"The girl's name, Lucius?" Voldemort snapped. Lucius cleared his throat, swallowing.

"Scarlett, my Lord," Lucius answered finally. The red-head girl's eyes turned to him in surprise. Scarlett? It was rather pretty. Prettier than she expected, at least. Her eyes were bright with the knowledge but clouded with confusion all at the same time. Why couldn't she have had a name? she wondered. But her Master was a servant under this Dark Lord, just as much as she was a servant under her master. Lucius Malfoy did the Dark Lord's bidding and was punished if he did wrong. The only difference was Lucius Malfoy was so much better than she. He was a pureblood, and she was nothing. She didn't even know what she was.

"Scarlett," the Dark Lord murmured, as if tasting it on his tongue. "Her last, Lucius? She's much too pretty to be a Mudblood."

Scarlett's gaze dropped to the Dark Lord's bare feet. She didn't remember ever seeing him – as she had only seen him from a distance – with shoes on. It was rather peculiar. She didn't own shoes either, but she figured it was for different reasons. Perhaps he didn't like shoes. Scarlett simply didn't own any.

"No surname was given on her papers, my Lord. She's showed no signs of magic. She's a filthy Muggle, my Lord. She is of no value and cannot be used for anything useful. I only keep her around because she is easy on the eyes."

There was an inquisitive throat sound before a papery hand grabbed her chin roughly, jerking her head upwards. The vibrant red of his eyes, especially now that he was closer to her, made her think of the bodies she had been ordered to clean up... the pieces she had been ordered to throw to the elves to dispose of. The blood on the floors that had taken hours upon hours to scrub out.

Her eyes moved away from his after a moment of him watching her and she stared to the marble ground. He tightened his grip and hissed, "Look at me." She obliged, not fighting a single second. "She's very beautiful, Lucius. A touch of Lily Evans, wouldn't you say? I'd look into her parentage. She could be useful."

Useful? She wasn't useful. She was a servant. She was broken, beaten, and withered. Detached from her body, somehow, yet fully there. How she could be of any use to the Dark Lord when all the magic she knew were basic household charms, was beyond her. She didn't dare question his judgement though. She had seen the torture others had gone under for just questioning something he had said. Asking for a repeat. Failing. She shivered to think of her as the person writhing on the floor.

"She's smart as well. Her thoughts tell me that much," the Dark Lord said as he released her chin. She swallowed, not lowering her gaze as he stepped back. "Look into her ancestry, Lucius. There is more to this girl that a simple dumping on the side of the road."

"Of course, my Lord."

There was silence a moment until Lucius barked, "Don't you have some cleaning to do?"

She gasped, grabbing the bucket quickly. "I'm terribly, Master. I'll be going-"

"Quickly and stop wasting our time."

She nodded, "Yes, Master," before she hurriedly walked off. The men in the entourage laughed at her leaving and she felt her cheeks redden with a shame she was used to feeling.

"Come, my faithful followers," the Dark Lord's voice echoed in the halls as she moved to the kitchens, just a flight below. The men kept laughing as she descended the steps so quickly, she almost forgot about the aches, until she reached level ground once more and her legs and arms hurt. "We have much to discuss," was left lingering in the shadows.

A woman was standing at the kitchen doors, wringing her hands together nervously, as though she shouldn't have been there. She wasn't supposed to.

"Does mistress require anything from the kitchens?" Scarlett, as she was now using the name as her own, if what her Master had said was true, asked. The dark haired woman with white streaks, spun around, seeing the bleeding girl standing there, her pale shaking from her strained muscled limbs.

"I was just looking for you," Narcissa Malfoy said kindly. By the far the kindest of the family, she rarely ordered the red-head around, unless Master was near by, and even then, Narcissa wasn't to talk to her. "I thought I heard Lucius torturing you earlier..." Her wand raised and Scarlett glanced to the ground, expecting something else, but instead, there was a soothingly warm sensation on her cheek. "There, it won't scar. I'm afraid if I did your arm, there would be too many questions."

"Thank you, Mistress. That is very kind of you," Scarlett admitted, swallowing. The blood was still smeared across her cheek, but nothing painful. All the pain was on the small gash in her arm that was still steadily streaming her life juice.

"You should get back to work. There is much to do," Narcissa told her gently. "If you need me, my dear, I'll be in the library."

Scarlett nodded to herself, though they both knew the young girl wouldn't seek the Malfoy wife out. "You are most kind, Mistress. Do you require anything?"

"No," the woman said quietly, stepping back. "I'll leave you to your work."

The woman disappeared without another word, though she did give the young girl one last look, before heading up the stairs to the library Scarlett hadn't been in in months. As she pushed the kitchen doors open, elves rushed to her side and took the pale, cleaning it for her. Another elf insisted he treat her wound, but she waved him off.

"Thank you for the offer," Scarlett said quietly, "but I'm fine."

"Miss will get an infection, Miss," the small elf insisted. His wide blue eyes made Scarlett think of her closest friend, Dobby, before she sighed. Dobby had been freed, a fate she wished she would be given, but she had nowhere to go. Neither had he, but the last she heard, he was in Hogwarts, working for money in their kitchens. Perhaps she could... no. Asking her Mistress for such a thing would be a heinous act. Mistress could do nothing against Master. It was simply how the family worked, especially in these times.

She had only been treated like the family once, when there were Aurors searching the house. She had even been given her own bedroom, a bath and fresh soaps, and fancy clothes with ribbons and soft silks she had only ever dreamed about. It had been three summers prior to this one, and she wouldn't forget it. She posed as a Muggle charity case the Malfoy's had taken in off the streets. The Aurors never questioned it, especially when Scarlett had smiled and insisted it was true – she was told she would have been beaten if she had ruined it. Scarlett, wearing the perfect dress, had never felt so clean in her life. Never felt so happy.

A deep burgundy liquid in her small dress, torn and tattered, wet from her work and stained from previous works, was washed by the elf that was working on her wound. He snapped his fingers and wash clothes scrubbed against the fabric, soaking the blood stain thoroughly and hopefully preventing the stain from setting too much.

She winced at the pressure of the elf's light touch, but relaxed carefully into a seat. Her limbs were sore from all the work she had done, and the torture, but there was always more. She would have dropped years ago, she believed, if she would have no help from the elves. No one to tend to her wounds or keep her from going unconscious when the pain was unbearable. No one to sneak her meals every once in a while.

Once her wound was tended, she moved carefully to the silver, grabbing a clean rag, before she began to polish. It wasn't a tedious job, just a weary one. Her silver, well not hers, her Master's silver would never stay clean. She sometimes wondered if Master charmed them to dirty. Then she realized, why would he? He hardly ever came down here in the first place, and he certainly wouldn't go out of his way.

Her mind, as she stared into her slowly clearing reflection, drifted towards her newly acquainted name. Scarlett. She briefly wondered how it was spelled, but quickly threw that thought away. She couldn't read, nor write, so spelling her name was futile. She had been abandoned by whoever had named her at the front gates of the Malfoy Manor, destined to live a life of servitude from the beginning. Perhaps they thought that since the Malfoy's were rich, they would raise their daughter well.

Lucius refused, and Narcissa only just convinced him to let her remain. She had been pretty much ignored, doing small duties she could manage, until she turned ten. On what the elves called her tenth birthday, Scarlett had requested to see the outside world. The elves hesitated, of course, but took her to the edge of the walls early in the morning before anyone was awake.

She had marveled how low they were, yet how high they seemed. She could have easily climbed them, run away from this home and never returned. She hadn't. She hadn't even tried to, until that sunrise. Master and Mistress had gone to bed and she wandered out to the garden, walking with as quick abandon to her legs would carry her. She had found the weakest, lowest point in the wall, and began to climb. Her nicest dress was on her back, her hands were bleeding from her earlier chores, and she was weak from no meals that day, but she made it to the top. And then she dropped to the other side.

She didn't stop there, she had run, as fast as her feet would take her. Her legs physically hurt from moving so much, carrying her so far. And yet she wasn't stopped. She made it through a thicket of trees, the Manor long gone behind her, before she came to a halt to breathe. She felt safe. Her heart no longer felt constricted. She felt alive. As she stared at the quaint town around her, she saw that her world wasn't dark, dreary, cold. It wasn't spiteful or mean. People were laughing, arms linked. Couples, men, women, or children were heading home for the day.

It was peaceful. She made to step onto the sidewalk, making anywhere her destination, when a hand grabbed her shoulder, fingers tightening roughly.

Scarlett had frozen, a whimper leaving her.

"What is this?"

"I was curious," Scarlett had said as an excuse. Her eyes lifted to meet her Master's before they lowered again. "I'm so sorry, sir."

"Filthy waste, if you ask me. Why we keep you blows my mind. You, however, work more diligently than the elves-"

"I'm sorry," Scarlett repeated, tears in her eyes. "I never meant to go far! I just wanted to see! I hear stories of the outside and-"

"Stories from who?" Scarlett had been silent, staring at her master's shoes. "Who?" he demanded, growling.

"Whispers in the hall," Scarlett had whimpered as his fingers tightened. He didn't want to cause a scene so the people around them heard. "I was curious. I'm sorry-"

"Sorry doesn't mean you are forgiven," Lucius had spat. "Come. You'll be punished for this."

A voice brought Scarlett from her memories and she glanced up towards the door to see it being pushed open. An elf rushed forward, to see what was being requested, but the blonde boy barely spared the squeaking thing a glance. He had a dark haired girl, who wasn't the prettiest of sorts, behind him, being pulled.

"Are you sure?"

"No one's down here except for the filthy elves," Young Master insisted to the girl. "They're forbidden from ratting you out." Young Master's eyes darted around the kitchen until they spotted Scarlett. "You, girl!" Scarlett immediately dropped her gaze from them. "I'm talking to you."

"May I be of assistance, Young Master?" Scarlett asked softly, setting the silver down and curtsying towards the pair.

"You say nothing to my father about this, do you hear?"

"Of course, Young Master," Scarlett promised, curtsying once more. She could keep it verbally, but Lucius could enter her mind as quickly as she could recite the three reasons for cleaning. Pride, presitge, and principle.

"She won't tell," Young Master told the girl, lounging on a stool. As he sat, it transfigured into a rather comfortable looking chair. Scarlett's jaw dropped at the display of magic, but she quickly masked it and picked up the silver, returning to her task.

"I never knew your father had a human servant, Draco," the woman remarked.

"Yes, well, Father hides her when we have company. His friends won't be as nice to her as others would," Draco remarked dryly. Scarlett felt her lip being gnawed between her own teeth and felt her cheeks burn. Yes, well, she wasn't always as hidden as she hoped.

"That's wrong," the woman snapped. "Why doesn't she go to Hogwarts?"

"Slave girl!" Young Master barked suddenly. Scarlett dropped the silver platter once more, rushing over to his side and bowing.

"Yes?"

"Do you go to Hogwarts?"

She bit her lip, "I don't understand your question, Young Master."

"The Wizarding School," the girl pressed. Scarlett's eyes flickered towards her. "Hogwarts."

"No, Miss, Young Master, I do not attend this school."

"Do you have magic?" Draco pressed.

Scarlett frowned, before masking it. "I'm able to do some cleaning spells, Young Master. I do not need to know much else."

"What's your name?" the woman asked, her tone curious, and a hint of gentle to it. Scarlett lowered her eyes from them both.

"Master does not permit a name, Miss. I do not go by a name."

"You must have something on your birth certificate," the pugsy looking dark haired woman insisted.

Scarlett bit her lip, "Well... Master says my name was Scarlett, but I do not go by that now, Miss."

"Then what do you go by?" the woman pressed.

"Nothing, Miss. I am just a servant."

Scarlett clenched her hands tightly in front of her as Young Master looked her over. Yes, she was certainly just a slave, she thought. There was nothing special about her.

"Are you Muggleborn?" Young Master asked.

"Master says I am, sir," Scarlett responded. "The Dark Lord says I am not."

There was silence a moment and Scarlett hurriedly moved away from them, catching sight of the clock. "I must return to my chores, if Young Master and Miss wish nothing-"

A flick of the woman's wand made the silver gleam. Scarlett paused, staring at the silver in disbelief. She had never seen it so bright before.

"What else are your chores?"

"I dust the portraits, Miss," Scarlett admitted. "I must be going-"

"Sit," Young Master ordered sharply. Scarlett winced, but obliged. It was better than disobeying, anyway. "How old are you?" he inquired as she sat across from the pair, her chair only a stool, but she didn't mind. She had been on her feet all day. She had been on her feet all year.

Scarlett hesitated. "I don't know, Young Master."

"No idea?" the woman asked.

"I've been here eighteen years, Miss," she admitted.

"Pansy, when do you need to be home?" Draco asked suddenly.

"Fifteen minutes," the woman, Pansy, waved off the blonde. "Your friends, Scarlett. Do you talk to them often? See them?"

Scarlett hesitated, staring at this Pansy in confusion. "I do not have friends, Miss. I do not leave the Manor."

"You've never left?"

"Never met anyone."

"So you have left," Draco pressed.

Scarlett bit her lip. "Master forbade me to spoke about it-"

"Speak now."

Scarlett lowered her eyes, wringing her pruny, worn hands together. "I tried to escape when I was ten. I made it to the village. I wasn't escaping though. I just wanted to see what there was out there. I heard things from Mistress, what she was telling her friends. It sounded amazing. It was amazing. Master caught me at the treeline, in the village. It was the only time I have left, Young Master."

He didn't seem pleased with the answer.

"Why not escape?" Pansy said suddenly. "Run away."

"Master says he will kill me if I try," she responded. "I am happy here, Miss. There is all I need."

"Your clothes are layered in your own blood," Pansy snapped. "You're filthy. You're shaking. You look like you're starving. You don't look happy."

Scarlett shrugged, "One does not need much to be happy."

"You're miserable," Pansy continued. "When was the last time you had a proper meal? Meat, dairy, vegetables-"

"This morning, Miss."

"And what was in it?"

"Turkey, an apple, breads. The usual, Miss." Pansy pursed her lips, not pleased in the slightest. Why they cared worried Scarlett. Was she going to tell Master? Make it seem as though she was complaining? Scarlett hastily spoke before the other woman could speak. "It is more than enough, Miss."

"And you're working hab-"

"Pansy, leave her alone. Don't turn into a Gryffindor on me." Pansy sniffed at Young Master's obvious insult, though what a Gryffindor was, Scarlett didn't know. Sounded dangerous, though. There were footsteps in the hall and an elf rushed to Scarlett's side.

"Master approaches, Missy!" he hissed. Scarlett quickly got to her feet, grabbing her skirts as she sprinted across the room, leaving Draco and Pansy to their own devices. She got on the ground, a rag in her hands, and began to scrub.

Pansy disappeared in the fireplace with a flourish and then Young Master was standing there, the plush chairs gone, and watching the red-haired girl closely. She scrubbed furiously, praying Master would be merciful. He never was.

"Wench," Master spat. "Disrespecting the Dark Lord!"

Scarlett gasped in pain as a swift kick was pressed into her ribs. She felt her eyes water with tears, but did nothing. Said nothing.

"He will make a mockery of this family for weeks!"

"Forgive me, Master," Scarlett murmured. She tucked a dirty piece of red hair behind her ear as she released her tight grip on her rag, and stared at her master's finely polished boots. As hard as the dragon hide from which they were made, it was no surprise if she would have a broken rib.

"Such filth-"

"I'd be careful, father. She's still recovering from my round of torture," Young Master's voice sounded through the kitchen. Lucius stepped back from the girl, looking at his son through narrowed eyes. Scarlett shakily reached for the rag and began to scrub once more. Tears were to be saved for when she was alone, in her room, no one to punish her or to tease her or to laugh. In her room, she was queen. In the palace, she was the maid.

"Is she, now?" She wondered why Young Master was saving her from her father's wrath, but didn't dare question it. She paused in her scrubbing as Lucius tapped his cane to her neck, forcing her to look up. There was no hint of sympathy in his eyes. "What did he do to you?"

"I-" Scarlett swallowed, shaking her head as she lowered her eyes. "He does all that you do, and perhaps more, Master. He wants me to submit to the pain before he leaves me be."

"Pity, I'd make you suffer even more," Lucius murmured.

The red-head lowered her gaze further, knowing he wasn't lying. He would. He had.

"What have you left to do?" Master demanded. "You look as though you haven't done a thing."

"I have to dust the paintings, Master," Scarlett spoke honestly. "I'm terribly sorry for not finishing, I-"

"Being in my way earlier certainly took a lot of time to punish, father," Draco interrupted coolly. Scarlett's breath caught as she stopped speaking. "The girl didn't know what was up or down when I was done."

Lucius' lips twitched in obvious pride, though nothing his boy talked of was prideful. "It's amazing she recovered so quickly."

"Elves," Draco said airily, as an explanation. Lucius didn't seem happy with this but let out a huff of air. He cast a spell that made Scarlett's stomach burn and her lungs clench tightly together. She fell forward, hiding her contorted face into the dirty floor, her back arching and her hands pulling at her hair.

"I sense pain..." The spell fell immediately.

"My Lord, you're in the kitchens!"

"Yes, I sensed pain and I was wondering where my most faithful had gone. You must not have gotten my summons." The Dark Lord's black robes contrasted the white marble flooring and swished with every step he too. "It was the most delicious sensation... Torturing the girl again, Lucius?"

"My son was, my Lord."

The Dark Lord's eyes flickered over everyone, before resting on Draco Malfoy. "Is that true, Draco?"

"Yes, she got in my way earlier."

"Hmm.." There was a moment of silence. "Her parentage, Lucius?"

"Nothing, my Lord."

"I suppose she better be disposed of then."

Scarlett's heart caught in her throat and she dropped her gaze to the floor. Lucius pulled out a wand and was about to use it to end her life, but Draco spoke quickly. "My father hasn't even looked into her past, my Lord. Perhaps she could still be of use."

"Is that true, Lucius?" the Dark Lord hissed, Lucius' wand lowering.

"There is simply no place to start, my Lord. She has no background."

"I can find it, my Lord," Draco spoke quickly. "My father doesn't know where to start. The magical registry in the library ought to find her."

There was a sickening smile that came from the Dark Lord. "You've grown fond of her."

"No, my Lord, but I hate to see a secret weapon we could have go to waste," Draco answered.

"I wouldn't blame you, Draco," the Dark Lord admitted. "She's rather pretty. I admit to wandering down here in hopes to find her, myself. You have that effect, my dear." My dear? Was he talking to her? "Yes, I am," the Dark Lord spoke as though she could hear her thoughts. "Now, Draco, I expect results in the morning. Take her with you. Perhaps she knows something..." As Scarlett stood quickly, an elf snatching the rag from beside her feet, the Dark Lord's lip curled. "You should take better care of your pets, Lucius."

"No need, my Lord. She will have nothing in her history."

"You seem to truly believe that, Lucius," the Dark Lord remarked. "Now, Draco."

"Yes, my Lord." Young Master bowed before beckoning the red-haired girl to follow. She did so, bowing slightly to the two men older than her, and rushed away.

She didn't know what to say as they walked in silence. Finally, as they reached the library, she whispered, "Thank you."

He paused, glancing at her. "Yes, well, we have work to do. Come." He pushed the doors open to the magnificent library beyond. Books lined the walls, shelves, and tables littered everywhere. She hadn't been in here in months, but already it looked nothing like she remembered. Dust was absent, the elves working hard through the night to get every spec. Light flooded in from the windows along the back wall, over looking the garden, from the setting sun. That was where Draco took her.

As Scarlett was asked to sit by the window, she stared out into the garden. Flowers of every color she had ever seen in the paintings around the manor were in the petals, layered in the green shrubbery. She would have loved fresh air.

A large book being slammed onto the ground caused her to jump, glancing up to see Draco staring at her. He didn't apologize for making her jump, but instead opened the book and sat across from her.

"Because the Dark Lord finds potential in you, we have to find it. If not, he will kill you without a second glance."

Scarlett nodded, understanding. As he read through the pages, she could do nothing but watch. She wanted to ask him why he had lied to his father at her expense, but it wasn't in her place. She had no right to ask questions of him. When Master died, he would take Lucius's place, and then his children and their children.

"There's something about you, Scarlett," Draco said smoothly. "You may be a Mudblood, you may not be. Though to be as happy with your life as you are, something's going on with you. Maybe you don't realize it. Pansy's a halfblood, and she's not the prettiest of girls in the world. You're quite pretty. Hell, even a Mudblood could be pretty, I suppose. Look at Brown."

"Brown?" Scarlett asked, confused. "How is a color pretty?"

He glanced at her, frowning. "Lavender Brown."

She grimaced, "That doesn't sound very pretty. I didn't know a purple could be brown."

His lips twitched in obvious amusement. "Lavender Brown is a girl. That's her name."

"Oh," she muttered. Her cheeks flamed in embarrassment and she glanced at her folded hands in her lap. She wasn't very good at talking to others. She had never had much of a conversation before. Just that with Narcissa in the hallways, the elves for chores-

"You're funny."

"I don't mean to be."

"Exactly."

He flipped a page before spinning the book around to show her. "Found you." She leaned forward in her seat, spotting the delicately written letters. They meant nothing to her. "What has my mother told you about yourself?

"I was abandoned here," Scarlett answered quietly. "That's all she knows. Young Master cannot tell Master. Mistress is forbidden to speak to me."

He pursed his lips, "Don't you see what's on this page?"

"I can't read," she answered simply, glancing at the book again. "I don't know what it says."

"Scarlett Lillian Prince," he read aloud, turning the book towards him once more. "Date of birth, August 13, 1979. Parents are unlisted, though you come from the Prince family."

"Is that a bad thing?"

"No," he answered. "You're turning eighteen this August. And the Prince family... They're very well known purebloods. If you are related to them, then you are not a Mudblood."

"And that's good," Scarlett murmured.

"Very good."

She swallowed. "What would happen if I was related to them?"

"They don't have any children that are my father's age," Draco spoke. "Or older, to have produced a child our age. The last Prince was a female by the name of Eileen, and she left the Wizarding World when she married a Muggle. You couldn't possibly be from that side, then." He flipped through pages upon pages in the thick, old book. "No one my father's age that I see, anyway, nor any Prince males that survived to adulthood other than what we know already. The registry, however, knew what you looked like. Auburn hair, black eyes."

She bit her lip, staring at him a moment. "What happens to me, though?"

"You live," he admitted. "We find family of yours."

"And if there is no family?"

"Something will be worked out."

She swallowed, frowning. "I don't know anyone in this world... I know the elves, your family... That's all, really..." She glanced away, out the windows. "Others, I suppose, if you can call it knowing them." Her mind flashed to the painful memories she had kept far away. They surfaced, and she hastily moved on. "I'm still a servant, anyway-"

"If you are related to these Prince family ancestors," Draco said slowly. "You'd no longer be a servant."

She was silent, processing this. "Why not?"

"The Dark Lord believes all those that should be forced into labor are beneath us. If you're related to them, why, you're just as good as me."

She found it hard to believe. "Why aren't my parents listed?"

"They weren't identified by the Ministry. Charms must have been placed around you when you were a baby," Young Master clarified. "Which, even if it were removed today, would make them still untraceable."

Scarlett nodded carefully, "So, you can't track my parentage then, Young Master?"

"Draco," he corrected. "And not right now... We have found it, just not the specific link you have. Leave, go to your room. I have much to discuss with the Dark Lord about the things we've found."

He had found them, not her. She, however, obeyed, but instead of going to her bedroom, went back tot he kitchen to pick up a few things to help finish her chores.

She didn't finish them until three in the morning, the house completely asleep, except for that snake that the Dark Lord kept. The creature never did sleep for long, or rather, never was too far away.

Scarlett's room was the same temperature as it had been all summer. The unbearably cold weather gave her goosebumps as soon as she entered. The single cot, lumpy from its extensive years of use, sat in the corner, opposite of the barred window with cracked glass. A chair sat beside the window, three dirty gowns, and the one she was wearing joining them, resting on the seat. She donned her night dress, much too small for her, and huddled on her cot, the frayed blanket no longer covering her body. She wasn't seven years old. She hadn't been for a while. She supposed it was better than nothing, as it kept the harsh, cold breeze from the broken window from freezing her to the bone.

Thinking of what Young Master had told her, she slid into a restful sleep, the best she had received in nearly a year.