The Shattered Dragon

Chapter 2: The Black Doors

She was roused from her sleep by a knock on the door.

"H-Hermione? Mr. Malfoy wants to see you now."

The girl at the door was young, no more than twenty, her dark hair pulled into a messy topknot. She wore black satin pants and a matching robe, far more demure than Hermione had expected to see.

"What's your name?" Hermione asked, following her through the corridors to Draco's office.

"Sarah. Sarah Bonefield," she answered with a bright smile. "Halfblood from Surrey." They reached a large pair of black lacquer doors and Sarah held her arm out. "Here you go, love. By the way, my room is just across from yours, if you ever need anything or you can't sleep..."

"How about an escape plan?" Hermione said with a laugh.

Sarah's brow furrowed, her head tilted to the side, pondering such a question. Finally she shook her head.

"What is there to escape to?"

Beyond the imposing doors was Draco's private suite; spacious with dark, upholstered walls and heavy ebony furniture. Even with its tall, ceilings with ornate crown moulding it felt like a cave, oppressive, dense. She stood in the front room: something of a study with wall to wall book cases, fireplace,a comfortable looking black leather sofa and overstuffed chairs, while he finished writing something with a long raven quill, signing his name with a dramatic flourish and folding the parchment in quarters.

"Is your room to your liking?" He asked, making his way to the small wet bar across the room. Again, he was barefoot and she found it strangely grounding for someone like him.

Hermione caught a glimpse of the bedroom through the doorway beside his desk, the sheets a white jumbled mess piled on an ebony four poster. He poured two firewhiskeys into crystal glasses and handed her one.

"Why are you doing this?" she asked, taking the drink and setting it on the table.

He shrugged, sitting in one of the chairs, propping his feet up on the antique coffeetable. Still not answering, he pulled out a silver cigarette case and lit a smoke, exhaling slowly over her head.

"You're so good at everything else, I figured you'd make a good prostitute."

"Bullshit."

"Well how about we just pretend that's the reason then since you'll always be suspicious of any explanation I have to offer. Maybe I just didn't want to see a schoolmate rot in prison thanks to my father's greed."

"A schoolmate you hated," she said.

He laughed then, sipping his drink. "Whatever you say, little sparrow."

After a few moments of quiet he crushed out the cigarette and smiled.

"Now then...on to your...orientation."

"My what?"

"You'll see the healer tomorrow. Theo said you vomited after apparating from the jail. Its not even twenty kilometers from here. I suspect you're malnourished, dehydrated, iron deficient. Do you even menstruate anymore?"

Hermione picked up her firewhiskey and downed it in one gulp, grimacing at the burn sliding down her throat.

"I assume you're not a virgin," he continued.

"Not that it's any of your business."

"Actually love, it's almost exactly my business. A virgin in the stable would make me a small fortune. Keep up, won't you? As I'm sure you've gathered, this isn't some pox riddled glory hole establishment. I cater to a distinct clientele."