Challenge #51 The Hidden Room Challenge.
Title: As I Lose Myself
Rating: G
Characters: Hermione Granger, Draco Malfoy, Surprise Canon Character.
Author's Notes: I have to apologise in advance - this was edited after a very nice dinner and several large glasses of wine. Also, there was no way this was going to work as a 30 minute fic. Whether it becomes anything else remains to be seen.
As I Lose Myself
She shivered again, the feeling of being watched causing the tiny hairs on the back of her neck to stand uncomfortably to attention.
“Is this place haunted?”
She regretted the question the moment it was past her lips. Her companion seemed to note her discomfort and looked discomforted in turn.
“No, actually,” he offered, studying the wainscoting with interest. “There’s not been a violent death here since the thirteen hundreds. Except-” He didn’t need to finish the sentence. Details of Professor Burbage’s murder had come to light during the Malfoy trials. Hermione wasn’t sure, but she had a sneaking suspicion that Draco might have been present. She raised a hand to touch his arm then, remembering who and where she was, let it drop. He seemed to find the resolve to continue without her aid. “She had lived too fully to leave a ghost. Died for what she believed in, no matter how ignoble her death.”
“I’m sorry-” she began.
“I think we need some tea. Feel free to look around while I’m gone; just be careful of the books on the west wall. They shouldn’t be opened without someone else close by.”
He was out of the room before she could reply.
*
Stupid Hermione. How long had it taken to forge such a fragile alliance, only for her to jeopardise it with one careless comment? She only hoped that he was genuine in his offer to return with refreshments. It wouldn’t surprise her if the next conversation she had would be with a house elf kindly requesting that she leave. Such a shame; the Draco she had come to know during the last few months was someone she might become genuinely fond of, if she could manage not to scare him away.
Frowning, she trailed her fingers across the spines of the books in front of her and restarted her task. The Malfoy library was not as large as Hogwarts sprawling affair, but it was beautifully and lovingly stocked. While Hogwarts had books covering every subject under the sun, these books spoke of dedicated study and focussed passions. The majority of them were surprisingly innocent in subject; biographies, botanies and histories. There were some alarming looking books written in Latin, Persian or Nordic Runes, but for the most part they were small, English and obviously well read. It was like her own family’s library, just on a much larger scale and with a noted absence of Miss Read. Muggle had tried to convince her that there would be nothing there to help with their project on the magical origins of Muggle Morris dancing, and she was beginning to think that maybe he was right. . .
Still, if she had managed to offend him, this might be the only chance she had to ever see inside a private library on this scale. She would hope for his return and browse furiously in the interim.
*
The book was smallish, forest green and cloth-bound. That in itself was not something to grab her attention, but the title, The Water Babies, seemed so out of place. Perhaps it was a treatise on Mermish reproductive habits - that seemed more likely than the alternative. But no, there was the author, listed in tiny script beneath the title: Charles Kingsley. Fascinated, she reached for the book, only to find that she could not remove it from the shelf.
Looking up, she realised that this was the west wall that Draco had warned her about.
Hermione was suddenly aware that if the book didn’t wish to be removed from the shelf then it probably wasn’t a simple Muggle story book after all, but something that she wasn’t meant to see. But what, precisely? Was it hiding something else or had the book simply been charmed to resemble the most innocuous text that could be summoned from her subconscious?
Perhaps it was an original manuscript and the author was one of the few Wizards who had managed to write anything worth reading; she already knew of one other wizard with that surname, after all. She stoked the spine gently, hoping that Draco would return. The illustrations would be worth seeing, especially if they had been charmed to move. It had been a favourite story of hers for a long time, after her father had read a little to her each night. Bits of it were as clear in her mind as if he had just spoken them aloud. When she had grown too old for lullabies, it had been the poems within that had soothed her to sleep.
What was that one about the stream? How it grew dirty as it flew past the towns and the factories until finally it was washed clean by the sea? That little piece, so sad and hopeful, had always been her favourite.
As I lose myself in the infinite main
Like a soul that has sinned and is pardoned again
She hadn’t even realised that she had murmured the words out loud until a suddenly click roused her from her reverie. The Water Babies was leaning from the shelf at an alarming angle and the shelf itself looked as if it was in danger of coming away from the wall. Her first thought was that she had somehow broken the broken the lovely library - had she pulled the book that hard?
Reaching up to try and rectify the damage, she felt the wood move beneath her fingers. The shelf seemed to slip and for an absurd moment she was certain that the whole bookcase was falling down towards her. Stepping back in fright, she realised that the whole thing was moving away from the wall, but outwards, not downward. It had opened into the room like a door.
No, she corrected herself. Not like a door, but a door. It was hinged down one side.
She could imagine many reasons for the Malfoys to have hidden rooms in their graceful home - and few of them good - but what she couldn’t understand is why this ones concealment should depend on a Victorian morality tale. She was certain that her initial assumption was correct and that it was a Muggle book.
How very odd.
Her wand - that she was pleased to realise had been gripped firmly in her hand since the moment she had heard the click - raised to a suitably defensive height, she gripped the edge of the bookcase and pulled.
*
The little room beyond was filled with bright sunshine and a confusion of mismatched furniture. It was obviously lived in and utterly unlike the rest of the Manor that she had seen so far. It wasn’t meant to be seen, and as such was free to be as comfortable and homelike as possible. There were more books in here, too. She might have stepped forward to explore their titles, had it not been for the narrow-shouldered man watching her from a chair beside the fireplace.
“I wondered if you might not find a way in here when so many Ministry searches have failed.” His voice was softer than she remembered, slightly hoarse, as if he had to strain his throat to be heard across the narrow chamber. “I told Draco it was foolish to bring you here. Where is he, by the way? You haven’t tied left him tied up somewhere?”
She blushed at the insinuation, then again at the truth. “I’m afraid I might have upset him earlier. He went to fetch tea some time ago.”
“Ah, I saw that much. I didn’t think he’d be so ill-mannered to leave you alone for so long.”
She remembered the feel of eyes following her through the stacks of books.
“That was you?”
He nodded. “Draco told me you were nothing like the awkward creature who used to plague me with questions. I wanted to see if he was correct.” There was no malice in his black eyes as he appraised her, but she felt herself shiver all the same. “You are nothing like I remember.”
She wasn’t certain if that was a compliment or, if it was, just how many edges it had, but she was unable to prevent the strange elation his words produced from swelling within her chest.
“Neither are you.”
Nor was he. There was none of his former restlessness, none of his former spite. If not for his dark eyes she might not have know him; he seemed younger, softer, free-er. Even his clothes were different, the swathes of black cloth replaced by a soft grey robe open over a white shirt and charcoal trousers.
“Lucius’,” he offered, noting her gaze. “They were unable to retrieve my belongings and I have no funds for anything new.” He shrugged. “It’s not as if I need to dress for my public.”
“You’re alive.” It bubbled out of her before she had the chance to stop it.
He smiled. “Ah, I’m glad you noticed. Although things might have proved easier had I been able to convince you I were a ghost.”
“But how?”
A noise behind them prevented him from answering. Draco’s voice called from somewhere in the library.
“Hermione? I’m sorry I was so long - Mother needed me for something. I have the tea . . . shit!”
In other circumstances the sound of a tea tray rattling in nervous Malfoy hands might have been humorous. His face was pale as he stared at them through the narrow opening in the bookcase.
I’ve never seen him use magic outside a classroom, she realised idly. Not once this whole year. Then, there was no elf to meet me at the gates. Professor Snape is wearing cast offs. Draco only has a wand for lessons. Suddenly there were too many questions, foremost of all whether she’d be allowed to remember any of this.
“Language, Draco,” Snape admonished gently, his soft, fractured voice bringing her back to the present. His dark eyes were still fixed upon her. “Give Miss Granger the tray while you run and get another cup. It would seem we have much to discuss, not least her dangerous taste in poetry.”
To be continued . . .
Rating: G
Characters: Hermione Granger, Draco Malfoy, Surprise Canon Character.
Author's Notes: I have to apologise in advance - this was edited after a very nice dinner and several large glasses of wine. Also, there was no way this was going to work as a 30 minute fic. Whether it becomes anything else remains to be seen.
As I Lose Myself
She shivered again, the feeling of being watched causing the tiny hairs on the back of her neck to stand uncomfortably to attention.
“Is this place haunted?”
She regretted the question the moment it was past her lips. Her companion seemed to note her discomfort and looked discomforted in turn.
“No, actually,” he offered, studying the wainscoting with interest. “There’s not been a violent death here since the thirteen hundreds. Except-” He didn’t need to finish the sentence. Details of Professor Burbage’s murder had come to light during the Malfoy trials. Hermione wasn’t sure, but she had a sneaking suspicion that Draco might have been present. She raised a hand to touch his arm then, remembering who and where she was, let it drop. He seemed to find the resolve to continue without her aid. “She had lived too fully to leave a ghost. Died for what she believed in, no matter how ignoble her death.”
“I’m sorry-” she began.
“I think we need some tea. Feel free to look around while I’m gone; just be careful of the books on the west wall. They shouldn’t be opened without someone else close by.”
He was out of the room before she could reply.
*
Stupid Hermione. How long had it taken to forge such a fragile alliance, only for her to jeopardise it with one careless comment? She only hoped that he was genuine in his offer to return with refreshments. It wouldn’t surprise her if the next conversation she had would be with a house elf kindly requesting that she leave. Such a shame; the Draco she had come to know during the last few months was someone she might become genuinely fond of, if she could manage not to scare him away.
Frowning, she trailed her fingers across the spines of the books in front of her and restarted her task. The Malfoy library was not as large as Hogwarts sprawling affair, but it was beautifully and lovingly stocked. While Hogwarts had books covering every subject under the sun, these books spoke of dedicated study and focussed passions. The majority of them were surprisingly innocent in subject; biographies, botanies and histories. There were some alarming looking books written in Latin, Persian or Nordic Runes, but for the most part they were small, English and obviously well read. It was like her own family’s library, just on a much larger scale and with a noted absence of Miss Read. Muggle had tried to convince her that there would be nothing there to help with their project on the magical origins of Muggle Morris dancing, and she was beginning to think that maybe he was right. . .
Still, if she had managed to offend him, this might be the only chance she had to ever see inside a private library on this scale. She would hope for his return and browse furiously in the interim.
*
The book was smallish, forest green and cloth-bound. That in itself was not something to grab her attention, but the title, The Water Babies, seemed so out of place. Perhaps it was a treatise on Mermish reproductive habits - that seemed more likely than the alternative. But no, there was the author, listed in tiny script beneath the title: Charles Kingsley. Fascinated, she reached for the book, only to find that she could not remove it from the shelf.
Looking up, she realised that this was the west wall that Draco had warned her about.
Hermione was suddenly aware that if the book didn’t wish to be removed from the shelf then it probably wasn’t a simple Muggle story book after all, but something that she wasn’t meant to see. But what, precisely? Was it hiding something else or had the book simply been charmed to resemble the most innocuous text that could be summoned from her subconscious?
Perhaps it was an original manuscript and the author was one of the few Wizards who had managed to write anything worth reading; she already knew of one other wizard with that surname, after all. She stoked the spine gently, hoping that Draco would return. The illustrations would be worth seeing, especially if they had been charmed to move. It had been a favourite story of hers for a long time, after her father had read a little to her each night. Bits of it were as clear in her mind as if he had just spoken them aloud. When she had grown too old for lullabies, it had been the poems within that had soothed her to sleep.
What was that one about the stream? How it grew dirty as it flew past the towns and the factories until finally it was washed clean by the sea? That little piece, so sad and hopeful, had always been her favourite.
As I lose myself in the infinite main
Like a soul that has sinned and is pardoned again
She hadn’t even realised that she had murmured the words out loud until a suddenly click roused her from her reverie. The Water Babies was leaning from the shelf at an alarming angle and the shelf itself looked as if it was in danger of coming away from the wall. Her first thought was that she had somehow broken the broken the lovely library - had she pulled the book that hard?
Reaching up to try and rectify the damage, she felt the wood move beneath her fingers. The shelf seemed to slip and for an absurd moment she was certain that the whole bookcase was falling down towards her. Stepping back in fright, she realised that the whole thing was moving away from the wall, but outwards, not downward. It had opened into the room like a door.
No, she corrected herself. Not like a door, but a door. It was hinged down one side.
She could imagine many reasons for the Malfoys to have hidden rooms in their graceful home - and few of them good - but what she couldn’t understand is why this ones concealment should depend on a Victorian morality tale. She was certain that her initial assumption was correct and that it was a Muggle book.
How very odd.
Her wand - that she was pleased to realise had been gripped firmly in her hand since the moment she had heard the click - raised to a suitably defensive height, she gripped the edge of the bookcase and pulled.
*
The little room beyond was filled with bright sunshine and a confusion of mismatched furniture. It was obviously lived in and utterly unlike the rest of the Manor that she had seen so far. It wasn’t meant to be seen, and as such was free to be as comfortable and homelike as possible. There were more books in here, too. She might have stepped forward to explore their titles, had it not been for the narrow-shouldered man watching her from a chair beside the fireplace.
“I wondered if you might not find a way in here when so many Ministry searches have failed.” His voice was softer than she remembered, slightly hoarse, as if he had to strain his throat to be heard across the narrow chamber. “I told Draco it was foolish to bring you here. Where is he, by the way? You haven’t tied left him tied up somewhere?”
She blushed at the insinuation, then again at the truth. “I’m afraid I might have upset him earlier. He went to fetch tea some time ago.”
“Ah, I saw that much. I didn’t think he’d be so ill-mannered to leave you alone for so long.”
She remembered the feel of eyes following her through the stacks of books.
“That was you?”
He nodded. “Draco told me you were nothing like the awkward creature who used to plague me with questions. I wanted to see if he was correct.” There was no malice in his black eyes as he appraised her, but she felt herself shiver all the same. “You are nothing like I remember.”
She wasn’t certain if that was a compliment or, if it was, just how many edges it had, but she was unable to prevent the strange elation his words produced from swelling within her chest.
“Neither are you.”
Nor was he. There was none of his former restlessness, none of his former spite. If not for his dark eyes she might not have know him; he seemed younger, softer, free-er. Even his clothes were different, the swathes of black cloth replaced by a soft grey robe open over a white shirt and charcoal trousers.
“Lucius’,” he offered, noting her gaze. “They were unable to retrieve my belongings and I have no funds for anything new.” He shrugged. “It’s not as if I need to dress for my public.”
“You’re alive.” It bubbled out of her before she had the chance to stop it.
He smiled. “Ah, I’m glad you noticed. Although things might have proved easier had I been able to convince you I were a ghost.”
“But how?”
A noise behind them prevented him from answering. Draco’s voice called from somewhere in the library.
“Hermione? I’m sorry I was so long - Mother needed me for something. I have the tea . . . shit!”
In other circumstances the sound of a tea tray rattling in nervous Malfoy hands might have been humorous. His face was pale as he stared at them through the narrow opening in the bookcase.
I’ve never seen him use magic outside a classroom, she realised idly. Not once this whole year. Then, there was no elf to meet me at the gates. Professor Snape is wearing cast offs. Draco only has a wand for lessons. Suddenly there were too many questions, foremost of all whether she’d be allowed to remember any of this.
“Language, Draco,” Snape admonished gently, his soft, fractured voice bringing her back to the present. His dark eyes were still fixed upon her. “Give Miss Granger the tray while you run and get another cup. It would seem we have much to discuss, not least her dangerous taste in poetry.”
To be continued . . .