Mistress of
Shadows
Chapter One: To Scrawl a Story of Death
Written by Elluxion
This one is for all the mothers out there -- especially mine. Happy Mothers' Day!
Title: Mistress of Shadows
Written by: Elluxion
Date: 11th May
Genre: Drama/Romance (with tinges of action/adventure and horror)
Shippings: Draco/Hermione
Summary: Before she knows what she's doing, Ghealdan Jorj draws Hermione into the darkest of all darkness: to raise Ghealdan's dead lover. When Draco is entrapped, it turns into a deadly web: and there's no way to tell who's the spider pulling the threads.
Notes: This might be a TAD confuzzling, but things shall straighten out pretty quickly. ;) Chapter One is unnaturally long but the chapters will shorten. Hope you like! Onwards! Onegai, review!
"Maybe."
She rasped the word again, tearing down the corridor, not trying to dissemble the exhaustion and terror on her face. He peered at her, blinked as if he'd never met the girl before. Her dark eyes played over the aged walls, eyes that were once so lighthearted, but now burdened by things she should not have seen. Draco only wished he could have shielded her gaze—always unwavering, though—from some of the magic they'd encountered. But somehow, he knew he didn't want to, either. It had happened too fast, too soon, and against her will, but experiences they'd both shared had turned her from a girl to a woman.
He didn't bother to answer her, but simply loped down the corridor faster, his longer strides and almost effortless gait putting him in front. The cloak Ghealdan had given her to don flapped behind Hermione as she ran, intricately embroidered with a tangle of creeping vines, Irish green, the same shade of Ghealdan's eyes and his Killamery Cross. The clasp that held the cloak together bit into her throat, leaving in its path a red welt, but Hermione didn't seem to notice.
They were in the Labyrinth, in the wild maze of stone corridors, running from the Heart of the Labyrinth where they'd faced down an Amphisbaena, a serpent-like creature with heads on either end, tongues flicking, wet with blood—their blood. Behind them were ghostly apparitions, not unlike the Hogwarts ghosts, but draped in hoods and cloaks as if death was tolling. The Shades' ridiculously pallid skin, so white it bordered on blue, flashed at him every time he turned around to mark their progress. If they thought it would frighten him, they were dead wrong. It would take much more than that to rattle Draco Malfoy.
They were swooping with unbelievable speed now, after them, and with every length of corridor they dashed through, the Shades seemed to gain on them a few feet or so. Hermione's caramel ringlets flashed with a glossy sheen as Draco led her into a hallway off the corridor—and scowled as he realized he'd led them to a dead end. Hermione stumbled and he grabbed at her to keep her from falling, setting her back on her feet. His glower deepened, although now with almost feverish concern at the blood soaking her robes. Concern that perhaps went further than a friend's usual distress. Draco did not want to think about the protectiveness he now felt while battling alongside Hermione, the fear that had gripped him when she was wounded. Childish infatuations had to wait. If they were childish infatuations. It was absurd to think that he loved the girl. Damn.
Hermione's Bracelet of Clairvoyance humming against her right wrist beamed a thin streak of light ahead of them. It was an exquisite thing, fine chains interlocked together, off which hung emerald teardrops, flaming crescent moons of topaz, and serene sapphire stars alternating with each other. It was an ancient magical artifact, one that helped Hermione at Dreamwalking, at dreaming of the past, the present, and most importantly, the future. The Bracelet did not only serve as a gateway to Dreamwalking—it had mystical purposes that they could only hazard guesses at.
The Bracelet was not the only artifact they had in possession, and though Hermione was the Child of Lydian, the heir of the Bracelet of Clairvoyance, she was not the only Child present. The Illumine Sword pulsed gently while strapped to Draco's back—Draco being the Child of Denair; he was the only one who could touch the Sword without going mad by the darkness of its history. For now, though, he left the Sword where it was, drawing his wand instead and sending a simple Stunner whirling at one of the more petite Shades fringing the group.
The spell hit the Shade square in the shoulder; it—or he or she—propelled backwards a trifle before righting itself imperiously and sweeping back to join the group. Draco could almost feel the weight of the eerie phantom's gaze resting on him, radiating cool fury. He gritted his teeth. Stunners hadn't worked on the Amphisbaena. A well-aimed one had severed the serpent-like body into half, and the two… pieces… simply melded back into each other as if nothing had happened! There was no reason why Stunning Spells would work on Shades, now. Rules were different on the plane of the dead.
Nevertheless, the Shade seemed a hair breathless, a tad weaker from Draco's spell. Another attempt wouldn't hurt. He raised his wand, aimed it at the leader this time. "Stupefy!"
For all the difference it made, Draco might as well have not tried the attack after all. The hex went through the Shade, whistling through this… creature's robes as if nothing inhibited it at all. Hermione drew ragged breath next to him, chilled by the sight—Draco was not feeling too comfortable, himself. Even the Bloody Baron would have felt the effects of that—after finding the Illumine Sword, Draco's magical capacity had doubled, not unlike Hermione, and every blow that came out of that wand of his was much more forceful than when he was still schooling at Hogwarts.
"It won't work," Hermione murmured next to him almost inaudibly, clearly weakened by the long, gaping wound she had acquired at the Amphisbaena's bite. "It's not powerful enough." She could feel her mouth tighten in annoyance and her heart drum with trepidation. Had they gone so far only to be defeated by five insubstantial Shades—ghosts that weren't quite ghosts?
She nearly choked as the leader of the Shades, the one that the Stunner had gone through, made as if to pull back its hood. Hermione did not allow herself to pull her gaze away, but keeping it steadfast and trained on the shadows swallowing the Shade's face made her feel like the bottom of her stomach was missing entirely.
When the hood dropped back, brilliantly colored blue eyes locked on Hermione's own chocolate ones, set against a forlorn, wan face, and shaded with eyelashes that stood out starkly against their backdrop of alabaster. Her lips were pale pink in the extreme, and compressed into a grim line. She looked solid, real, and her skin just a few shades shy of the vampiress Echidna Islet's.
The leader motioned for the other Shades to draw their hoods back. The two flanking her were men, one with a shock of raven hair, the other with an obstinate jaw and unremarkable light blue eyes. One of the Shades that hung back was a tall, sinewy woman, with a hard face that spared no mercy, coupled with steely gray eyes no different from Draco's who stared—glared, perhaps—fixedly at them all.
And the final Shade, the one Draco had Stunned the first time, let her hood fall liquidly off her face. She had a petal-like touch of youngness, almost an agelessness of sorts, with astoundingly luxurious dark hair spilling over her neck. Olive skin—strangely unchanging from the time when she was alive—was stretched tightly against fragile cheekbones and an elegantly poised nose. Calm bronze eyes emphasized the imperial, stately mask she wore.
Hermione wasn't sure what to feel. Tethys LeFrienze, one of those involved in the circle Ghealdan had pulled together, was a Raincaster, and had once assisted Ginny with healing. A woman who rarely showed emotion and a murderess on the run from the Ministry of Magic. But once you knew Tethys, got under the cold cover, she had a maternal side to her, possessed a more caring touch. A friend, certainly, one she treasured—but a Shade? Yet she couldn't help smiling at Tethys, if a touch quaveringly. Tethys was a beautiful woman. She didn't deserve death. Gods, Hermione wished she could open her mouth and say something. As it was, pain and exhaustion were already drawing a red veil over her eyes.
Draco made a strangled noise next to her, trembling faintly; she could feel him tensed, leaning shoulder to shoulder with her, watching his aunt, Lucius's younger sister. "Tethys?!"
Tethys locked her eyes on Draco and flicked them to the leading Shade, the one with the striking blue eyes. The Shade, looking as unperturbed and eternal as Tethys did, noted the recognition dawning on their faces before speaking.
Travelers to the Labyrinth. An unusual occurrence. I am addressed as Maighhan.
Hermione grunted in added pain. Maighhan's lips remained pressed together, and sound did not emit from her—her voice echoed in her thoughts, invading her mind, pushing aside other contemplations, the almost harsh tone blinding her. She struggled for control, fought to find thoughts that belonged to herself, taking a few moments to do so.
Humans. They dabble in what is not good for them—raising the dead, indeed! Maighhan glanced from one startled face to the other. Do not play with forces beyond your plane, she murmured a tad more gently. The two of you are barely more than a young man and woman. It is sad that you have chosen this path. I wonder why?
"I was coerced. I certainly did not—" Hermione coughed thickly; Draco's frown deepened as he moved closer to catch her lest she fell, "did not do this of my own free will!"
Everyone has a choice, lass. It depends on whether which one you make. Maighhan flashed a bitter, half-smile at the ex-Gryffindor. I assume I know your identities. The girl is one of the Children of ancient lore, isn't it? The one who wields the Bracelet of Clairvoyance that once belonged to Kydeane Lydian. The Erilis, I puzzle out. And the boy—with that sword, unmistakably the Child of Tomas Denair. The gatekeeper, and the one who is entrusted with the duty of warding the girl. I must remark that you're not doing a perfect job, lad—this with a quick glance thrown at the blood that saturated Hermione's cloak and dress—but it is hard not to get injured while on the plane of the dead. There are no other Children? Perhaps of Aeri, Tifa, Colerain, Rhuarc?
"There are no others," Draco offered, motioning at Hermione to keep silent, masking the amazement on his face with composure. "I wasn't even aware of the possibility of other Children."
I knew Tomas and Kydeane, Maighhan said softly, floating closer, electric blue eyes fixed on Hermione and Draco. They came here, Erilis and her Defender, Tomas with the Illumine Sword that he had forged by himself, Kydeane with her soothsaying and the Bracelet—simply to learn about necromancy. Both faced down the Amphisbaena and won.
"Tomas Denair and Kydeane Lydian lived nearly five thousand years ago," Draco said coolly, ice coating his gray eyes. "You mean to tell me that you've been here for five thousand years?"
Five thousand years? Has it been that long? Maighhan asked musingly. Her voice took on a wistful tone. I can remember it clearly as yesterday. I was the youngest Shade then, having just departed from the plane of the living. Petite Kydeane, with the Bracelet tinkling on her wrist, wreathed in beauty and courage. Handsome Tomas who didn't even bat an eyelid at horrors of the Labyrinth. He took my breath away, me being the foolish young maiden I was. It was because of Tomas that I didn't kill them straightaway, and even helped them find their way out. Their love for each other was more than beautiful to see. They wouldn't let anything lay a finger on the other.
"How do we return to the plane of the living?" Hermione asked wearily, leaning heavily now on Draco. The blood was drying on her robes, caking into blackness, but she'd torn a hastily healed wound; fresh scarlet was seeping through her dress and cloak. She did not see it, but worry sharpened Draco's eyes.
You cannot return until you seek out the Shade you mean to raise.
"We seek Amlyne Marleine. I gathered that she doesn't reside in the Labyrinth. Could you tell—"
You must search for Amlyne Marleine by yourselves. When you find her, the Bracelet will return you to the dimension of the living. You must exit the Labyrinth, and pick another door out of the five you were faced with at first. And then, unexpectedly, Maighhan's eyes darkening to imperceptible blackness—I do not kill by nature. I apologize.
Draco swore as he drew the sword; in one smooth motion it had darted into the throat of the sable-haired male. With a rattling groan and a soft explosion, the Shade poofed itself into dust, fragments of ash that the wind netted and carried away. Another whirl, and he was facing the remaining male Shade, fending off Maighhan's and the Shade's orbs of crackling power with random lightning beams, orbs of his own, and strokes of the Sword.
Hermione gasped in shock; she could feel an invisible sort of chain twining around her chest, tugging and tightening, drawing all breath from her lungs. As the chain heaved, she tottered forth out of the dead end into the main hallway, no breath left to even call out Draco's name, to bat at her Defender's attention. Tethys loomed before her like an ice floe before an oncoming ship, bronze eyes unwavering on hers.
Do not speak, she admonished Hermione, and though the words vibrated inwardly, it was nowhere near as strident as Maighhan's voice. Play along, Hermione Granger. Cynicial will follow me.
Warily, Hermione stopped straining against the Raincaster's hold on her. Abruptly Tethys released her; she inhaled sharply, simply enjoying the sensation of the sharp tang of the nippy night air. Cynicial, the hard-faced Shade, was indeed shadowing Tethys guardedly, her ice blue eyes distrusting and suspicious. Almost without thinking, Hermione drew power from the Ether, adrenaline already beginning to pound through her.
Pointedly ignoring Tethys—who had apparently given rein to her facial expressions; she was scowling freely at Cynicial—Hermione raised her wand to the face of the female Shade. As the strength of the Ether infused her, her senses sharpened to a point where it was almost painful. Heightened by the bond that connected her—the Erilis—and Draco, her Defender, she could sense Draco's heavy breathing, his fatigue, his anxiety, could pick out the loosened threads of his thoughts. She could feel Tethys's fury, annoyance and well-disguised fear. Faintly, Maighhan's mounting worry made itself known, and Cynicial's suspicion and mistrust raged along with the blue-eyed male Shade's thirst for victory. She could almost feel the moonbeams cascading so freely and wildly over the Labyrinth, could hear the whisper of the other guardians of the Labyrinth though thick stone walls separated them. And far, far away was the Amphisbaena, the very pulse of evil itself.
The Ether was the web of magic all wizards and witches drew from through a conduit, their wands, but Hermione could draw raw power and channel much more strongly than most, had the ability to summon the elements to help her—wandless and even without the Bracelet. But even magic had a price tag. Nausea attacked her vaguely, peeking around the corner of the power she was in possession of. Draco's Illumine Sword unsettled her, magical vibrations tugging at the threads of the tapestry of the Ether.
She willed to her the elements of water and air splashed with fire. Her right hand rose, almost of its own accord, as did her wand hand. She sketched ancient symbols, like an artist at her easel; silver burned them into the air. Mistily, caught almost unaware, Hermione felt the words bubble in her throat, then—
"Petrificus Totalus!"
Purple light clawed at the air in its eagerness to get to Cynicial, mauve that crackled and snapped; the hair on Hermione's arms stood, tingling. Simultaneously the Freezing Charm shot from the Bracelet clasped around her wrist, or at least a type of it. Hermione was not familiar with the way ice actually manifested and caged Cynicial instead of the simple immobility her earlier Freezing Charms had presented to her adversaries. She wasn't surprised, however. The Bracelet tended to erupt with a more archaic form of the hex she required, and Hermione didn't complain—magic was richer, back then.
The Body-Bind successfully halted Cynicial, if only for a few seconds; the Freezing Charm did the rest of the work. Without pausing to think, Hermione reached under her cloak, feeling for the belt strapped tightly to her waist. She felt the cotton material of her dress before her fingers landed on leather and finally the coolness of one of her knife blades enveloped her fingers.
Still driven by instinct and reflex, Hermione's throwing knife was a blurry whistle against the night air as it penetrated Cynicial's heart. The Shade's hate yanked sharply at the Ether and Hermione winced; Cynicial's eyes hardened even further, fixed unflinchingly at Hermione, before falling away into dust that swirled down the corridor. She bent and retrieved the knife, wiping away the oddly thick dust by the hem of her robes.
Hermione?
Tethys's voice was far from plaintive, and yet wore a certain coat of wistfulness. Hermione could feel a tiny smile tug at her lips even as the drawn power from the Ether left her in a nauseating rush, reducing her to swallowing bitter bile back down her throat. Tethys's usual cool, emotionless mask was now tinged with a sort of melancholic longing. It suited her, emphasizing her delicate cheekbones and softening her eyes from a resolute bronze to a gentler shade of mahogany.
Could you kill me?
"What?" The adrenaline from the earlier attack on Cynicial was threatening to leave Hermione, and she could still remember when the Amphisbaena reared up and tore through her dress, leaving in its wake tattered material and skin and searing fire. Purposefully ignoring the wound, she adjusted her cloak so that the clasp rested on her right shoulder, where it belonged. Then the full meaning of what Tethys had said hit her and Hermione's gaze flickered up to search Tethys's. "What do you mean, kill you?"
I wish I could heal that for you. Tethys glanced at the drying blood she had glimpsed before Hermione swung the cloak around. You will find Amlyne—her voice wavered very slightly at the mention of her cousin—on the fourth doorway from the right. There you will face your fears and a succession of creatures; not dissimilar to the Labyrinth, but different enough for you to be cautious. More than cautious. Do you understand? Be very careful, and trust no one!
Hermione nodded mutely. The moon shifted from its perch behind a wisp of a cloud, and the light fell onto Tethys's face, picking out the unconventional beauty and coloring—the bronze eyes, the brown hair, the olive skin, the rosebud mouth—that was only made attractive by the regality she wore.
Out of the corner of Hermione's eye, Maighhan was snatching confused glances at them both, Erilis and Shade, not fighting, but chatting away idly. Evidently Tethys had noticed them as well. Both witch and Shade opened their stances at the same time to weave the illusion of a battle.
Anything, Hermione—Tethys's voice was a cool, bitter hiss as she formed an orb in her hands. Anger fuelled Tethys's considerable power, but the Shade had aimed above Hermione's head; it whizzed by, singeing her hair, but did no damage—Is better than what I have now. We are all haunted by memories, memories I wish to think nothing of! I will be sent to the plane of reincarnation—Hermione sent a burst of sparkles, impressive-looking but did no harm, at Tethys, who dodged them easily—and although my life will be cursed, the life after that will not. One last thing… when you return to the plane of the living… promise me you will never get yourself involved in necromancy again. Promise me you will slay Amlyne, then put all this behind you forever. Do not feel malice and greed, Hermione. Do not end up in the Labyrinth.
"I promise," Hermione whispered, clenching both fists, fighting with her sorrow. "Thank you."
You were one of my few friends, Hermione. I will not forget you or Draco.
Hermione tucked the throwing knife she had picked up back into her weapons belt and unsheathed another. She tested the weight in her hand; it was suitably heavy and tapered to a sharp point, more slender than most throwing knives, and yet her best—the one that killed with hardly a sound or pain. It veiled history, judging from the unusual ruby-encrusted hilt, although Hermione never did find out what. It quivered with the force of her throw even while it trapped itself in Tethys's throat.
Wordlessly she watched, proffering a silent prayer as Tethys frayed into dust from hem of her robes to crown of her hair. Tethys's gaze never wavered, not even when Hermione's blade had penetrated. The breeze snatched up the powdery dust eagerly, eddying it down the hallway and beyond. The knife landed onto the floor with a strangely melodic chime; Hermione flipped it upwards by nestling her foot under the blade and tossing it into the air; one of those nifty tricks Sirius took great pleasure in teaching her.
Draco had managed to decapitate the male Shade that had shadowed Maighhan but was sparring with her now. Maighhan's rapier crackled sharply, and Hermione could sense it through the pane that separated her from the Ether—it was formed of an odd mixture of water and earth. Hovering uncertainly behind the Shade, whose cloak flapped and hissed as she darted and ducked with surprising agility and ease, Hermione tried to catch Draco's gaze.
It wasn't long before he distinguished her standing here, and one flash of those gray eyes warned her to stay out of it—common sense really, they swapped and traded places too quickly for her to focus on a target.
Still the witch watched, fear cascading icily over her whenever Maighhan's blade taunted Draco. Movement behind Draco that was not his own caught at her eye piercingly—a male Shade, his cheeks sunken and eyes almost wild, loomed at the boy's back, a dagger clenched in one hand. He was not part of the original group of Shades.
Once more not speaking, responding to instinct, Hermione hurled the ruby knife at the Shade, and it struck squarely in the middle of his chest. Without a word save an ominous rustle of his cloak, the Shade shattered into powder.
Hermione bristled, Gryffindor pride and honor flaming within her. The thought of sneaking up on someone's back—! Wasn't it bad enough that humans were barbaric and low-minded? Did ghosts from another realm have to be like that, too?
"Bastard!"
Startled, Draco glanced over fleetingly, eyes gilded with amusement. Hermione scowled at him and he hastily returned to the battle. Moving now with urgency, Draco jabbed at Maighhan, and the Shade howled, a shrill scream that emitted from her and did not echo in their heads, as he brought the sword sweeping down her back, ripping robe and dress and finally skin. As Maighhan feinted at him for the last time, her movements off-balance and a beat slow, Draco twirled and rammed the Illumine Sword home, through her chest and piercing through her back.
There was a half-smile on Maighhan's face. The murmur lifted from her lips like a firefly rising from a leaf. Thank you.
"She's gone to a better place than the Labyrinth," Hermione explained, trying to adopt a light tone at Draco's furrowed brow. They stood for a few moments, silent and contemplative, Draco with his head tilted back to watch the moon's passage against a navy sky, Hermione staring at the scattered dust in the wind thoughtfully as if it held the answers to all their questions. Finally she shrugged—and gasped, God, the movement hurt— breaking the stillness, and said, "Accio knife." It flew to her, hilt first, and she tucked it fondly back into her belt.
"Gryffindors never quite lose their arrogance, do they?" Draco asked teasingly, a bit of his old malicious mischief blazing his silver eyes, referring to her swearing at the Shade behind him. Hermione stuck her tongue out at him almost involuntarily before realizing how childish she was being and hurriedly retracting it, but unable to call for a suitable answer. Draco chuckled, a low, pleased laugh before falling into his usual quick, steady step, leading her onwards.
Twenty paces ahead of them, shrouded in darkness, was a thick, ironclad door, crisscrossed with indentations that looked as if someone had hacked away at it in frustration. In a way, Draco mused uneasily, it was probably several someones. Whatever obstacle the door presented, it wasn't one that was easy to overcome.
He paused suddenly, and Hermione plowed into him. Almost without thinking, he steadied her, but his mind was somewhere else. There was something off about this whole thing. It was too easy. The Amphisbaena would not let them go from the Labyrinth just like that, not after all the horrors they had faced. There would be something waiting, another distraction and hindrance—
It struck him: the roughly hewn stones that made up the walls were fleeced with a fine, powdery substance that glimmered gray in the starbeams and moonlight. It… repelled Draco, somehow. Like the door, it was not as it seemed at one glance. If he had been the Draco he was a few years—no, months—back, he probably would have dismissed it with a glance, thinking that it was simply dust collected by the fingers of time. But now that he was the Erilis's Defender, he was more wary, and astute, and the weirdness of the whole thing was setting off noiseless alarms in his head. And once again like the door that barred their way out, it seemed to speak the unspeakable, skillfully pulling together threads to scrawl a story of death.
"Isn't it just dirt?" Hermione asked tiredly.
"Have you noticed," Draco said slowly, "that although the Labyrinth gives the impression of—of oldness, of stones and ancient formalities and mythological creatures, there is never a speck of dirt or dust on the floor or walls?"
"Not particularly. But now that you've mentioned it... yes."
"It's spread very thinly here. Further down it's much thicker. I seem to have seen it before," Draco said waspishly, irritation grasping him momentarily. "I just can't place it right now."
"Then don't try," Hermione returned simply. "Can you recall the name?"
"I think it's called Kaltina Dust. Pretty name, but I can't remember what the—" Good grief, Draco had a colorful vocabulary, only it was decorated with all the wrong colors—"thing means, but it's—serious, that's what I recall."
"Well, no help for it." Hermione hoped feverishly that her panic didn't show in her face. "It's either that or we move in with the Shades."
"Hermione?"
"Yes?"
"Promise me you'll be careful."
"I will if you do," she responded sincerely, and ventured another step.
Instantly images flashed past her eyes in sickening lurches. Hermione gasped tremulously, recognizing the scene instantly for what it was. Half screaming, half sobbing, she fell to her knees, crumpling as if she simply lacked the willpower to stand. Gagging, leaning forth, she retched, trying not to see. Trying not to glimpse the torn, mangled body, the dull gray scales gleaming blue under the harsh moonlight that filtered through the stained glass dome, the sound of ripping flesh and breaking bone…
She could remember every millisecond, every frayed breath she had taken, and the hysteria that had claimed her at the time. Chained to the wall and unable to do anything but watch as the life of one of her best friends was taken away from her, torn violently and easily like fragile parchment paper. How long had it been when Ginny died? Hermione hadn't even a chance to mourn yet. Why punish her like this? Why land her in the very scene where Ginny had been—eaten? Why remind her that by merely being Ginny's friend, she had damned the girl to certain death—?
Someone grabbed her roughly, one hand closing on her shoulder, the other gripping her arm, and hauled her upwards, unmindful of the sobs wracking her body. They dragged her onwards, closer to Ginny's body; Hermione slammed her eyes shut, turning her face away from the coppery tang of fresh blood that saturated the air. Fifteen steps, she and her unknown assailant took, before that someone reared back and slapped her hard.
She jerked back, unwilling to open her eyes even yet. It took another slap, and a series of shaking her so ferociously that her teeth rattled somewhere in the region of her throat, before she could register the voice speaking and the words that Draco was repeating over and over again. "It's not real, Hermione, it's not real. It's the past. It's over."
Her eyes flew open then, and she writhed under Draco's touch, stepping away from him as if stung. "Did you see?" Her voice was hoarse; even to herself, it was unrecognizable. "Tell me now, Draco Malfoy, did you see? The Hydra, you, me, Echidna, Tethys, Deneb, Ginny—" Her voice splintered into cracked shards, but she went on recklessly. "Ginny, on the floor, dead! Dead, her body blood and bones and flesh—"
"Hermione… Hermione! Hermione, listen! Stop it and listen to me!" Draco slapped her again, hit her hard. Some of the dull fuzziness in her brain seemed to seep away at the moment. Draco was striking her?
"That was Kaltina Dust!" Hermione began to attend, chasing after the knowledge Draco was dangling like catnip before her face. "Kaltina Dust, Granger, are you listening to me?!"
"I'm listening," she threw out, fumbling for something she could hold on to, a tiny bit of reality. The wall presented itself and she slumped against it.
"Kaltina Dust. It came from the Shades, after they died and crumbled into dust… this was where the wind swept them, did you notice? They would stick to the walls and wait for the victim, useful even after destruction." Draco's voice was hardened, bitter. Hermione had never heard him so hostile before, so cold and deadly furious. It was like a wake-up call. "Those who walk into Kaltina Dust will be forced to relive their worst memory, the most horrible moment in their lives."
"What did you see?" Hermione asked fearfully, reaching out for, now, at the rationality she had been so famous for back at Hogwarts. "You don't—" Draco's voice tailed off. His next words were clipped. "My mother, after she was murdered. Like Ginny. Bits and pieces. But her eyes were open, staring at me, asking me why—" he broke off somberly. Hermione peered at him. Draco was taking it better than she thought—then again, this was a boy raised on the Dark side.
"I've found that the best way to deal with it was not to think about it," Draco said briefly, surveying the girl before him. Hermione didn't have the—experience he was in possession of. Hesitating, and yet knowing that he should do something, he took her hand awkwardly for a few moments before turning back to the door in front of them.
She seemed thankful for the gesture, the wildness in her eyes taming itself back into the composure he remembered and silently admired. Hermione joined him at the door, almost snarling at the forbidding dark iron, her eyes nearly ink black in the shadows. He watched patiently, waiting for her to come to the conclusions he did, preferring that to telling her straight off.
Hermione gently ran her fingers over the door, near chest-level, lighted by the slant of the moonlight. Nearly an inch thick of dust came off and she made a noise as if of revulsion. Then, her eyes narrowing, she leaned close and ran her fingers over the exit again.
"There are carved words here," she announced, and squinted to look closer. "I can't see a damned thing. Lumos!" she instructed her Bracelet, which glittered even more furiously than before. She held her wrist closer to the words, wiping the grime away almost absently now.
'I do not exist within the darkness or the light.'
"I do not exist within the darkness or the light?" Hermione exhaled impatiently. Draco leaned against the wall, mindful of the filth on the door, his expression thoughtful. The Kaltina Dust had melted away once they had traversed the corridor. There was a heartbeat's silence, before Hermione whispered again, "I do not exist within the darkness or the light. It's a riddle, Draco. And I don't know if I have an ounce of logic left in me."
"What is there besides darkness and light? There's nothing—everything is either light or dark," Draco pointed out quietly. "Unless twilight—because that's a mixture of both?" A skip, then he grasped at what he had just said. He turned astounded eyes at Hermione's face, which was quickly being overtaken by a look of revelation and breathless euphoria. She turned to the door, speaking to it directly.
"Shadow."
Absolutely nothing proceeded to happen.
When the door didn't budge, the flushed fever in Hermione's cheeks faded a trifle. "It's not the right answer, is it?" she fretted. "It's not the right answer—"
"Shadows exist within both," Draco said simply, addressing the door. There was a long creak as it inched open, surrendering to them, the notches and nicks in the metal silhouetted by the blinding light that drenched them both, flooding from the open doorway, preventing them from seeing what was beyond. Tensed apprehension dashed away the earlier look of elation on Hermione's face.
Draco nodded. When the doorway was sufficiently big enough, Hermione instinctively felt for his hand, which he tightened over hers. And they stepped through.
This chapter is un-beta-ed, because G's having major exams these year and I certainly don't want to bother her. *hints that you should send her positive vibes* So any mistakes here are mine alone. Now press that violet review button down there, and do tell me what you think! Compliments will be given a dust bunny of a color of your choice and a nice comfy sofa by the fire; constructive criticsm will get another dust bunny and a cup of hot/iced chocolate, depending on your mood, not to mention many grateful cookies. Flames will have the door shut painfully in their faces. =P