The House of Control

The Rules of The House

Hermione took a steadying breath as she stepped out of Mother and Father's office, feeling the weight of their questions lingering in her mind. The guard waiting outside said nothing as he led her through winding hallways. Hermione's curiosity was buzzing, questions tumbling over each other as she tried to process what little she had learned.

They passed through a narrow doorway into a smaller building just off the main house. It was bustling with activity: maids and butlers hurried through the halls, their movements precise and orderly. Hermione took it all in, her gaze darting from the polished floors to the spotless walls. Everything here felt meticulously maintained.

The guard brought her to a stop before a stern-looking woman with neatly pinned dark hair and an air of quiet authority. She wore a perfectly pressed uniform, with not a thread out of place. This was clearly a woman who knew every rule—and expected everyone else to follow them, too.

"Mistress Isabell," the guard said, inclining his head. "Mother and Father's orders. This one needs training."

Mistress Isabell looked Hermione up and down, her expression unreadable. She didn't offer a greeting, nor did she ask any questions. Instead, she merely gave a curt nod and turned, motioning for Hermione to follow her deeper into the house.

Hermione opened her mouth, desperate to ask about where she was going or what they were going to do, but something about Mistress Isabell's silence held her back. They arrived at a small, dimly lit room lined with shelves of neatly folded uniforms, each one starched and pressed to perfection. Isabell selected an outfit—a crisp, plain black dress with a white collar, simple but unmistakably the attire of a maid—and handed it to Hermione.

"Change," Isabell instructed, her voice quiet but firm. She pointed to a small curtain tucked into the corner of the room.

"Um—what exactly am I supposed to—?" Hermione started, but Isabell didn't answer, simply pointing to the curtain once more. Hermione felt her frustration rising. She wasn't used to this kind of treatment. But as she glanced at Isabell's steady gaze, she realized there was no point in arguing. Sighing, she stepped behind the curtain and changed into the uniform.

When she emerged, Hermione felt her cheeks flush with embarrassment. The dress was plain, and she felt stripped of her usual confidence in the unfamiliar outfit. She let out a quiet "eep," before catching herself. But before she could fully adjust, Isabell took her by the shoulders and turned her around, nudging her firmly out of the room and toward a line of other maids.

"Get in line," Isabell said simply, giving her a gentle but insistent push. Hermione fell into line, her thoughts racing.

The other maids stood perfectly straight, their hands clasped in front of them, their eyes fixed ahead. Hermione glanced around, her curiosity simmering as she studied their expressions. Every face was calm and expressionless, a mask that showed no trace of individuality.

"Now," Mistress Isabell's voice cut through the quiet, "today we will cover the basics. You are here to serve and to obey. There is no room for error or delay. You will be expected to carry out every task with perfection."

Hermione stiffened, feeling the weight of Isabell's words. This was like nothing she'd ever encountered before. She'd learned a great deal at Hogwarts, but this was... something else entirely.

The morning began with lessons in the essentials of serving. They were shown how to set a table with painstaking attention to detail: each utensil, each glass, each napkin had a precise placement, and even the slightest deviation was corrected immediately. Hermione's fingers moved slowly at first, trying to mimic the fluid, confident motions of the other maids, but her every instinct fought against the strange rules and rituals.