Chapter One:

Master

The Autumn air was chilly in Wiltshire, England. No one stayed out unless they had to.

Hermione Granger had no choice. She wore gray, raggy shorts and tank top. She was freezing. The chains around her wrists and ankles were cold against her skin. It didn't help that she was barefoot.

The guard beside her opened a gate to a huge mansion. In front of her was a large yard of bright green grass. Hermione was shaking. She turned to look at the guard in the face.

"Please, let me wear...a sweater, at least." She was freezing.

The guard snarled. "Shut up, Mudblood!"

Hermione closed her eyes. She wished she had never been captured by the Anti-Mudblood Agency. It took her and other muggle-borns hostage and sold them to people. She was just about to meet her master.

Hermione sighed. She did not want to do this.

"Follow me," the guard said. "And don't say a word unless spoken to."

He took a hold of her arm and led her up the long concrete path, her feet burning in the cold.

They finally made it to the front. There was a long, round concrete way with a fountain in the middle.

They walked up to the door. The guard knocked hard with the large, black knocker. After a few seconds, the large double-doors opened and there stood a house elf who wore rags, much like Hermione.

"H-hello," it said in a squeaky voice. "Visitors for the master?"

"I've brought his slave," the guard said.

"Right this way," the elf said. It stepped out of the way.

The doorman tightened his grip on Hermione's arm. They walked through the doorway.

Hermione looked around. The place was beautiful. The walls and floors were tannish dirtish yellow with beautiful patterns. There were vases of gold. It was beautiful. They walked through large rooms and finally made it to the largest.

There were red rugs on the floor, black leather couches and chairs, and book shelves on the sides of the room. There were two sets of stairs on each side of the room. They led to the second part of the room: Walkways and rails of bookshelves of the upper walls.

There was at the front of the room a large fireplace.

One the couches in the middle of the room was a blond man and woman. He was holding a wine glass filled with red wine. She was sitting in his lap, her white shirt half-unbuttoned.

"No, you're hot," she said, and giggled.

The man sipped his wine and reached over to put it on the coffee table. The woman grinned and leaned in to kiss him, but didn't get to.

"Ahem," the guard cleared his throat.

The woman jumped up and started frantically buttoning her shirt. The man jumped up and tied his open robes. He had silk black pajama pants and a silk black robe.

He turned around to look at the guard.

Hermione gasped. The blonde man was, who else? Draco Malfoy.

He scowled in horror. "SHE is the slave you sent for me?"

"Yes," Hermione's guard replied.

"But...but...this cannot be possible! You couldn't have sent me this mudblood!"

"But you did request one."

"But not GRANGER!" Draco protested. "I don't want her near me!"

"Sorry," the guard said. "No refunds."

Draco growled in frustration.

"Um," the woman said. "Maybe I should go."

"Yeah, I guess." Draco clearly did not want her to go.

"Bye," she said, putting on her feather fur coat. "See ya later." She walked past Hermione and the guard. She gave a dirty look on the way.

Hermione gave a dirty look back.

She did not want to be here. Draco was her school rival. They were nineteen now, and hadn't seen each other in over two years. Hermione was almost twenty.

"Now, I must take my leave," the guard said. "Enjoy your slave." He turned and left the room.

It was now just Hermione and Draco.

He snarled. "Your first job is...scrub the kitchen floors."

"What if I don't want to?"

Draco smirked. "You don't want to know the kind of punishment you'll get."

Hermione huffed. "Fine, whatever."

"SQUEAKY!" Draco yelled. "What a stupid name," he mumbled.

POP! A house elf appeared beside Hermione.

"Squeaky is here for the master," the small house elf said. It was the same one who had answered the door for Hermione. "Master Malfoy called?"

"Show Mudblood, here, to the kitchen. And show her the cleaning supplies...anything that makes her scrub on her hands and knees."

"Squeaky will do," the house elf said. She turned to Hermione. "Right this way."

The kitchen was smaller than Hermione thought it would be. Everything was old-fashioned looking.

"The bucket and spounge is in the corner over there," Squeaky said. "All Hermione has to do is fill it up with water and soap."

Twenty minutes later, Hermione was on her hands and knees scrubbing the floors with the spounge. She looked over at Squeaky, who was preparing dinner.

"How do you do this everyday?" Hermione asked.

"Squeaky must. For the master."

Hermione grinned for the first time since she had been captured. "You're brave."

"Squeaky thanks you for the compliment."

Hermione turned back to her work, not even wanting to think about what would Draco would do if she didn't do it right.