Update (6th February, 2014):

Dear readers, I would like to preface this story by warning you that some content may be upsetting or disturbing in regards to topics such as abuse, rape, and non-consensual sex. There is no suicide or self-harm in this story. Though it is intended as a drama and ultimately a love story, I did write the majority of it when I was quite young, and I did not have much of an understanding of what I was really writing about and how it might affect other people. I just wanted to share this story. It's dark, it's not realistic, it's not always well-written (though it improves along with my age!), and it's certainly not logical. But if you read it I hope you enjoy it. Only love.

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

Hermione stared down at the letter in disbelief. The owl had arrived several minutes earlier, but she was still staring at the words written before her, somehow hoping that they would change.

Number 0012,

You are required immediately at the Malfoy household.

If you do not report for servitude within one hour of this letter we will forcibly remove you.

It had no sender's name, but that was expected. Why would they grace a mudblood like her with such manners? It had already been twenty minutes and Hermione knew she had better start packing what little belongings she had before someone turned up for her. The letter said an hour, but you could never guess what those sick bastards would do. Anything for a torture these days.

And that's how it had been for the last two years. The war was over, and the enemy had won. Voldemort had killed Harry during the summer before their sixth year when he had stupidly ran away from his aunt's house. Hermione had known that the death of Sirius had affected him but she thought he was old enough for some sense…obviously not.

He had doomed them all. Upon returning to platform nine and three quarters, Hermione had found it crawling with Death Eaters just waiting for them, and they had all walked right into their trap like tiny ants about to be squashed beneath their feet. So many people had died that day - Hermione shivered at the memories that never ceased to erupt from within her - and others had been taken away to become slaves. She would never forget what the Death Eater had said to her.

'You're our property now.'

And that's how it had been ever since. Along with hundreds of other young witches from around the world, Hermione had spent the past few years living in this disgusting camp. She'd had it easy really - almost every day they would watch in horror as one of their friends was dragged off by the Death Eaters, simply to be used for their pleasure. So far Hermione had made it under the radar, and spent all her time carving wands out of the trees they were forced to cut down from the surrounding forests.

As they had been told on their first day, the more wands that the Death Eaters had, the more muggles they could torture. Hermione hated herself for what she was forced to do…she hadn't heard from her parents since that day at the station and had no idea if they were still alive. In some ways she almost wished that they were dead. It was a better alternative.

Every night she and the girls that she stayed with would sit by the tiny fire and tell stories of their times at school and home, as if wishing for it hard enough would make it real. Lavender Brown was there too and there wasn't a single night that Hermione hadn't lied awake listening to her best friend cry herself to sleep.

Most nights went by this way, but if they were unlucky the Death Eaters would choose their little camp for some fun. Drunk and high off their own power, the men would laugh to each other as they preyed on the girls one by one. Hermione had been forced to kiss so many disgusting, old men that she couldn't keep track anymore. Their beards would sting like wire being scratched across her soft cheeks and their tongues would push inside her mouth like giant worms, wiggling about for their reward. She had had scabby hands crawling beneath her clothes, feeling her breasts and creeping into her underwear. She was lucky though. Lavender had been made to do much worse.

'Hermione, what are you doing?'

Lavender had appeared suddenly in the doorway of their tent, cracking through Hermione's thoughts. She dropped the pile of wood that she had been holding and hurried forwards to snatch the letter from her friends hands.

'I have to go, Lavender,' Hermione said quietly, 'I've been chosen.'

'Oh, God. The Malfoys!' Lavender scrunched the letter in her hand and hugged Hermione tightly.

'I have to go.' Hermione whispered, a tear running down her cheek.

'Will you come back?' Lavender stepped back and Hermione saw that the other girl had tears on her own face. She shook her head.

'I don't know.'

The truth was she did know. No girl that had been taken had ever returned. If Hermione was going into slavery for the Malfoys, who were one of the most powerful families around and infamous for their hatred of mudblood, she doubted she would even last til the end of the day.