Chapter 5: Lost in Oblivion
"Wow..." she breathes. Her voice trails quietly in the air, picked up by the branches as they carry the last of her breath up higher into the night. A few stars wink in the sky, seeming to have a conversation with the crescent moon.
She approaches the translucently pale, yellow dome slowly, both in caution and in awe. The relaxed face, the slowly heaving chest, the bed of petals and deep green leaves make the man seem like an innocent boy, accidentally having fallen asleep after having passed the hours by, playing. His lightning scar seems to harmonize with the surroundings, simply personalizing it, rather than bringing memories of an unpleasant past. The frame of withered and weary bark would seem foreboding, had it not been for the lively and rich brown colour, almost golden from the softly luminescent cage.
Her large hazel eyes reflect the scene in wonder, widening with every step she takes, but closing with a sigh every time she holds herself back, afraid to ruin such a serene moment. Her bare feet welcome the dark green grass, overgrown and wild, making a flat carpet for the visitor with every step she took.
Finally, she reaches the dome, taking the chance and putting her hand against it. It is as smooth as glass, as warm and cozy as a hearth. She relaxes, and any lingering tension in her body ebbs and flows out of her body like the tide with the moon.
Suddenly, a wind blows and the grass flies up, pricking her ankles and blowing her curly hair into a knotted mess around her face. She throws up her hands shielding her features. The dazing spell is broken. Her eyes are alert, becoming panicked as they see the grey-black smoke tickling in from the edges of the dome, working their way to the sleeping boy.
No! Harry! she seems to yell, though nothing is heard in the dome. Wake up! Please!
She shakes her head in all directions, letting her eyes lead it as she searches for a way to save him. And that is when she sees it. A piercingly bright, but overwhelmingly frail and thin hair-like strand, branching from over his heart, leading off the bed down the side of the tall wooden frame, to a small brown heap, a little ways away from the edge of the cage.
She does not know what that book is. She does not know the name, nor author, nor the exact contents. But she knows it is the key. She knows that it is the only solution.
She bangs against the dome that separates her from the now horrifying scene. The grass dies as the smoke brushes over it. The already withered wood seems to fall apart as it passes over, inching its way to the sleeping boy. Her fingers scratch, claw and push. Her eyes leak tears and she yells.
She screams. She shrieks. She cries.
"Harry! HARRY!-"
"HARRY!" Hermione bolts up in her bed. Her hands clutch the bed sheet and her eyes dart to every corner of the room, trying to identify her surroundings. Her heart beats faster, roaring in her ears, her left hand grasping her shirt in an attempt to keep it from coming straight out of her body. Her breathing is the only sound in the room, loud and heavy, a marathon in its own right.
Slowly, her eyes identify the large window and the neat desk. She is nearly startled again when she sees the eye peering back from beyond the dresser table, in the mirror. But this is a familiar scene. It is her home. She can be calm.
With a final deep breath heaving all her body and exhaling all the worry, her back slouches and calms. It was just a dream.
She glances at the alarm clock, glaring 5 AM in annoyingly bright red characters. She sighs, Might as well.
Hermione climbs out of bed, and starts her morning routine.
***
She tightens the bow in her hair, and pats down the black knee-length black dress. With one last check to make sure her white stockings do not have any runs, the woman heads to the main room.
To the untrained eye, the one that does not know of her prowess, nor of her circumstance, this would appear to be Penny Rosary, the Halfblood maid-servant. With her welcomingly short stature at 4'11, and the long pin-straight brown hair tied into a neat, high ponytail, she appears every part the sweet little maiden. The rounded face, with excellent use of blush make her cherubic complexion all the more innocent. She wears a simple black maid outfit, complete with a doily-lace design apron tied with a large bow in the back. Her dark blue eyes, with large black pupils seem uncannily all-knowing, but very obviously unsuspecting.
With one last once over, she picks up her small red bag (with its Undetectable Extension Charm, of course) and heads towards a small door at the back of her living room, behind her sofas. With one small incantation, green fire tickles the bricked alcove behind that inconspicuous door. Her eyes reflect the neon colours a moment longer before she rests her hand on the edge of door frame. She glances back at her living, closing her eyes and allowing the indulgence of a single sigh.
With the burst of green, the flames die down and all is quiet.
***
"And just where do you think you're going?"
The maid quickly turns around. There is no point in being startled, and much less in showing an emotional response of fear. That would make her guilty, and give her reason to be punished. Besides, it would be pathetic for her not to be able to cover up emotions if she is to do this job properly for the Order.
"Why, nothing, Master McNair. I simply noticed there were a few more rooms that I may have missed dusting. This is such significantly sized manor for such a man indeed. Is there anything wrong with that?" She smiles a Barbie-doll smile, her voice oozing sweetness with every word she speaks. Her subtle sarcasm is undoubtedly lost on the man.
Walden McNair's expression, with the secretive smile and disparaging eyes, speak of arrogance in a knowing manner, though his proudly puffed out his chest gave away how little he actually received compliments. "Well now, are you supposed to go in there? I thought I've told you not to," his eyes narrowed, leering at the petite girl, "Perhaps I should punish you?"
His gaze drifts down her bodice before making its way up to rest on her bust. Well used to Death Eaters' unwelcome and unsettling advances, she does her usual.
She takes a step forward, looking up at the taller man from beneath her lashes, piercing his eyes with hers. The smile in her lips speaks of seductive secrets, while her leaning forward brings her chest closer to his. The man becomes engrossed in her look, unable to deviate his eyes from hers. They become wide in surprise and shock, his mouth opening and repeatedly licking his lips.
The mature and sultry gaze she gives him is unlike what he expected on the face of this virtuously childlike girl, and he loses himself in the confusion between the purity and stabbing honesty in her eyes and the playfully, naughtily smiling, deeply full lips.
She laughs a joyful laugh, (in her mind only, no doubt), and decides to play with him a little further. Biting the bottom corner of pouty lower lip she draws his gaze to them, watching him mimic the movement with his own lips like a puppy being hypnotized by the enticing bone. She breaks eye contact for only a second, this time returning his look with a different flavour. She turns the full force of her profoundly blue eyes to him, the striking innocence contrasts the depth of secrets stunning him further, his eyes falling dazed and being lulled adrift into her trance.
So adrift, that he does not, indeed, notice her hand moving ever-so slightly at her side. Suddenly with a slight jump, he stands ramrod straight, his legs clenched tightly together. He looks up above her head, past it in shock. His hands snapped to his lower back, but were almost forcefully pushed forward to his sides, trying to remain unaffected.
"Well yes, um... Don't do it again," he says distractedly. With his eyes still locked on the wall behind Penny, he hurriedly walk-jogs in the opposite direction, his legs and butt tightly clenched all the while.
Aaah, Incontinence Spells... One of the world's wonders... And with that one wandless, unspoken spell, Hermione Granger-no, Penny Rosary, is able to throw off suspicion, keep her dignity and make her "Master," whoever the poor, unfortunate soul might be, lose his in the process. Usually, being so distracted by their sudden, irregular bowel movements, they forget all about their thoughts of punishment and of the hidden seductress-like woman in their mist.
She chuckles softly to herself, still smiling as she looks around the hallway. No one, a sigh of relief. She tries to open the mahogany door, fully aware that it is probably locked. With the lightest touch-not even fully gripping the ornate, semi-tarnished silver handle-the door mournfully creaks open.
Her eyes narrow. Something doesn't feel right.
Beyond that always-so secretly kept door was a dark hallway, with only a staircase leading to God-knows-where beyond its curve. It would be only mildly suspicious, had it not been for the darkness of it; the walls, flooring and ceiling all having been painted black.
"Lumos," she whispers, swiftly whisking down the stairs, with the practiced ease of secrecy. The very bottom of the stairs are already bathed in the soft glow of lit candlelight, coming from somewhere to the left, hidden due to the L-shape of the stairs.
Though her feet make no noise, she stills, listening for any signs of life present in the next room. For some reason, her chest begins to feel heavy, weighed down by some sort of anxious anticipation. Her breathing, already soundless, becomes even more cautiously controlled. The weight in her heart seemed to inch down her legs, a creeping worm that left her feet suddenly feeling like sandbags.
After what felt like hours, though only a few seconds, she fights the gravity of her limbs. Lifting one foot with all the noise of stagnant air, she places one in front of the other, her back propped tightly against the flat, black wall, becoming bathed by that same light.
She gulps, allowing her eyes to close for a moment before finally witnessing the scene that awaits her, beckoning softly, with that innocent little glow.
***
The man took a knee, his platinum-blond hair still radiant in the dungeon-like low lighting. You could mistake his pose for humble deference, if not for his chin, still picked up slightly with characteristic pride, despite his bowing his head.
"Yes, yes... Welcome Drrrraco," says the inhuman man, his slippery voice rolling his Rs automatically with his Parseltongue roots.
"Is there anything, I can do My Lord?" Draco looks up at the Dark Puppeteer of the world, though he remains kneeling. His left hand positions itself over his heart and his head once again bows after reaffirming his allegiance with the oath-like question.
"Well, well, it is getting... difficult for me Draco. Spies are all around us now, aren't they?"-his eyes wander the room for a moment before he takes his mischievously malicious half smile and looks belittlingly at his follower-"It needs to be moved, somewhere safe and within my reach." The grey of his long fingers meets platinum, glinting in the small white-blue light coming from above as he lightly pets the man's head.
Every fibre in the Death Eater's body wishes to run-not out of fear, but utter revulsion. Draco's eyes close and his nostrils flare imperceptibly with the slight inhale he takes to subdue his disgust. From afar it would appear as he is enjoying the caressing gesture.
"I need you to take it for me," that slimy, scaly hand slides very softly, tenderly, across the pale white cheek, stroking its way down to his chin. Leaning the flat of his bare foot against the bowed man's knees, the Dark Lord bends closer to him forcibly guiding his chin to face him. He cups that angled and proudly held chin like a lover, seemingly taming and caging the defiant beast within his follower with his soft touch. Red meets silver with a distance of only 8 inches.
The icy feeling of his undead skin, even through his clothes and particularly on his face, nauseates him, but dutifully, the Death Eater returns the look with a little pride, but full devotional.
"Yes, My Lord."
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, or any related characters, places and intellectual property. All rights are to JK Rowling.
A/N: *Hides behind the nonexistent curtain, smiling all the while* hehe, is it wrong i got some pleasure out of writing a cliffy ;) Did anyone else notice the twisted Black Butler (Kuroshitsuji) reference in the chapter? I couldn't stop smiling like a maniac when I wrote it.
However...
Woohoo! I got the chance to write up chapter 5 :) Working on chapter 6 as we speak. BUT... I probably won't be able to upload next week because my weekend is PACKED, I'm leaving on a vacation next week and I have summer school ending this week. *Hides behind the nonexistent curtain again* Sorry! I'll try my best though!
In other news, you may have noticed that I added chapter titles. To be quite honest, I always thought I would add titles but somehow I got so caught up in writing this fic, I forgot all about them. So, here you are! ^_^
Also, I drew a pic of what I imagine Hermione to look like. I know it isn't great, but I tried my best. Check out the beginning of chapter 3 (on the app) or the sidebar of chapter 3 (on the website) to see her :)
Let me know what you think, and especially if you have any tips on how I could improve my drawing or writing please let me know :D
Hope to see you next week!
-Phoenixriser