Sometime after posting up the first chapter, I got in a car accident… And my uncle suddenly passed away a few days later.
It's truly unfortunate how many of us neglect to cherish our loved ones and only at their death do we think to show our appreciation. Life is too short. And for those of you who have yet to experience a loss (or car accident, which I hope you never have to), I hope that it doesn't take that first one to make you realize what is truly important in your lives.
I've learned many things since then, and have a whole new appreciation for this thing we call life. I'm glad to be back!
Thank you to classicmovielover, Lizzy likes the hot guy, Kimiko16, and Cyera for dropping me reviews.
Chapter 2
Lives may be spared . . .
Hermione raised her wand. "Lumos."
A ray of light illuminated the dungeon path before her. The 'Head Girl' badge pinned to her robes glistened as she quickly paced down the chilly stone corridor. She had no intention of staying any longer than was needed. This had always been the most foreboding of places within the castle grounds.
After a swift, but thorough sweep she made her way back to the set of steps leading out of dungeons. There were no Slytherins lurking about tonight—how utterly disappointing. She had hoped to expel some of the frustration she'd accumulated since two nights ago, and in a constructive manner at that. But this came as no surprise for hardly any Slytherins returned this year and only two or three were sorted into the house, at most. There was only one inevitable account for their dwindled numbers—and Voldemort was behind it all.
Hermione shuddered at the name, but continued walking onwards. The lone sound of her pattering steps reminded her of the unwanted solitude.
"What am I supposed to do?" she asked herself as she mulled over the meaning of the very curious message, the warning that had compelled her to come back. She'd heard those words before, but in her third year it had been obvious what she needed to do—use the time turner to save Sirius and Buckbeak. But what was she supposed to do now that she no longer had the power to turn back time and make everything right again?
"Idiot," she said to herself. Even if she did have the Time Turner, it could only take her so far back, which wasn't far enough.
Hermione sighed, she felt more than displeased with herself. It was taking her much too long to put the pieces together (though only three days had passed since she'd received Dumbledore's letter). But, she reasoned, this was of an entirely dire matter, for the more days it took for her to find the answers, the more lives could be lost.
Feeling even more determined, her face contorted into a frown as she tried to fabricate different possible scenarios that justified her being at Hogwarts. Deep in concentration, she walked athwart the first-floor, straight towards the next flight of steps with her wand arm still extended, no longer paying much attention to her duties.
Hermione knew that an imminent attack on Hogwarts was out of the question. Firstly, Harry was nowhere near the school, which was reason enough. Secondly, the castle had become nearly impenetrable; she highly doubted that Voldemort himself could blast his way in when students were unable to walk one step past the barriers before finding themselves back at the castle's entrance (a surprise addition to the castle's improved defenses). Thirdly, there was nothing of value within the grounds that could prompt such assail, at least, that she knew of. And fourthly . . . she could go on, really. She switched tactics.
Perhaps had I chosen to stay, during the search I . . . Hermione shook her head confidently. No, she would never accidentally use the incorrect spell that would jeopardize their mission or lives in any way. She prided herself with perfection and wasn't fond of haphazard behavior.
Or, I get captured by a Death Eater and am tortured until . . . Again she shook her head of the thought. It was less feasible than the first. She'd choose death before the notion of betraying her friends ever crossed her mind.
Hermione generously replenished her lungs with air as her foot finally touched on the third floor. Upon the dismissal of several other scenarios, she grew increasingly doubtful of the late headmaster's judgment. But she reasoned he'd been spot on in the past, so it would probably be in everyone's best interest for her to have a little faith in him. It wouldn't be entirely ridiculous if she happened across a book that may hold the answers to all of their problems.
Her legs slowed as the thought suggested itself to her. Could it be possible that she had overlooked something in the library? Hermione's eyes widened. Of course, the restricted section!
She'd almost forgotten that she now had the privilege of waltzing in and out of the library's restricted section as she pleased. Hermione grinned, feeling quite euphoric for more reasons than one. She was nearly certain that Dumbledore had requested her return for that purpose—not because she would be a liability to the mission.
Never, she thought to herself assuredly.
She decided that that excursion would have to wait until tomorrow. She had a few more areas to patrol tonight and she could already feel the weight of her lids.
She let out a lethargic yawn all the while wondering what Harry and Ron were doing at the moment. She also hoped that the roll of parchment she'd left them—in which she'd written a list of all the spells that they could possibly need, or imagine (including their applications and proper wand movements) –was legible.
She climbed the stairs up to the fourth floor. Directing the wand light at all dark corners and stopping every now and then to inspect closed doors. A dozen or so doors later, she retired. She had reached the end of her designated patrol area.
"Finally," she said, as another yawn escaped her lips.
She had already begun walking back to the Heads' tower at a comfortable step when a faint sound brought her to a standstill. She tucked thick curls behind her ears to allow for better hearing, and then she listened intently.
Music, at this time of night?
It was coming from somewhere upstairs. Though it was where she was originally headed, Hermione wasn't pleased, as was apparent by the way she started up the stairs with a bit too much force. She reminded herself to have a talk with the Head Boy who had been designated to patrol the upper floors. But as she neared the source of the sound, all hints of sleep and irritation were swept away and replaced with curiosity.
It's clearly a piano. But, that composition . . . it's unlike anything I've ever heard before.
Hermione wondered who would be up at this hour playing the piano, and quite skillfully at that. Though, now that she thought about it, she couldn't recall Hogwarts ever having a piano anywhere on the upper levels. She was sure of it—given that Gryffindor tower was located on the 7th floor; she had spent many a day up there.
It sounds . . . almost magical. Hermione's footsteps quickened as the notes escalated. She was close, she could hear it—she could feel it. Curiosity drove her faster, though it didn't take away from her initial objective—to send whoever it was back to their respective dorm.
The music had guided Hermione to the seventh floor where it no longer came from one obvious direction, but from all around her. Was someone playing a trick on her? Frustrated, and not knowing what to do next, she was left to stare at the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy. Hang on . . . It seems to be coming more from . . . She tilted her head. Yes, yes it is! There!
Upon judging one side of the passageway to be slightly louder the other, she walked in that direction. But before she could take her fifth step, the sound had become more pronounced at the other end. Again, she followed. And once more back the other way, as the source was redistributed.
Then the music stopped.
She placed her hands on her hips. Either she truly was going crazy, or this had to be some clever, petty joke. Hermione groaned at the brick wall in front of her, and then took a step back as she noticed traces of a door forming before her, and finally, a knob. Her brows crinkled.
The Room of Requirement?
She took in a gulp of air, unconsciously brushing her fingers across the badge on her chest and reached for the knob. As quietly as she could, she turned it and pushed the door open; she wanted to give whatever prankster in there a good scare for making her feel like a lunatic.
"It's way past," Hermione stared at an empty piano bench, "curfew?"
She stepped inside the quaint room and looked around. The wall to her left was of an integral shelf with books galore. Several portrait paintings of renowned pianists were hung about and a couple of equally dusty tables with upturned chairs occupied a corner to her right. Towards the back, two large windows draped with white-laced curtains allowed her a view of the starry night sky. And the most pronounced feature of the room, which jumped out to Hermione causing quite an outbreak of shivers all over her body, was that it was absolutely and utterly . . .
"Empty." Her eyes flitted about the room a few more times. "I couldn't have imagined that, could I?"
She walked to the aged piano set at an angle in the center of the room. It was of a dark mahogany with intricate carvings wrapped around the legs, budding up towards its sides like ferns. Even its music rack was of a similar elaborate design. She circled it once, before deciding to take a seat, her back facing the corner where the bookshelf and door met.
Beautiful, thought Hermione as she dotingly caressed the black and white keys with her fingers, then froze.
Someone was behind her. Impulsively, she slipped a hand under her robes for her wand, but didn't make a move to take it out. Her whole body tensed, not so much out of fear, but because she'd been caught unawares. Good to know I haven't gone barking mad.
"Do you play?"
It was a male voice. Young. Unrecognizable, but definitely a student.
"I'm sure you're aware that students are prohibited from gallivanting around the castle at this hour," she informed him, still very tense.
He chuckled, or something like that. "You . . . sound a lot like McGonagall."
He says that like it's a bad thing . . . Hermione humphed and after deciding that he couldn't be much of a threat, she loosened the grip on her wand before finally turning to meet the voice's keeper.
She was right, naturally. He looked just about her age, a bit taller than Ron, except with better posture. Hair—the same shade as Harry's, just, well-groomed. And his eyes were brown like hers, but darker and conveying just as much surprise as hers. The boy was handsome, Hermione gave him that. But it bothered her that she didn't recognize him at all. One with a face like that would surely have been the talk of the school at one point or another. Then again, she thought, she never paid much attention to such talk.
He was leaning against a ladder at the far end of the bookshelf, an amused smirk ghosting his face. It was no wonder she hadn't noticed him when she came in, he'd been hidden behind the open door.
"I don't believe I've ever seen you around before," she said, eyeing him curiously. She looked for his house crest, but he wasn't wearing his robes. All she was certain of was that he didn't belong to Gryffindor. And Hufflepuffs rarely went a toe out of line, so she was sure that he didn't belong there either.
"Perhaps, for good reason," he raised a brow at her, then turned to the shelf to replace a book.
A Ravenclaw, perhaps?
"What house are you from?" Hermione asked, though it came out more like a command.
He placed a finger to his lips and teasingly replied, "It's a secret."
Irked that he dared taunt her, she demanded, "What's your name?"
"Secret." He sent her a smirk over his shoulder before slipping out of the room.
"Wait!" Hermione called after him. She hoped he would at least answer this last question which, she would later on come to realize, made her look like a complete idiot. "What's the title of that piece you were playing earlier?"
He laughed, not without a hint of mockery. "Gryffindors—all brawn and no brains."
And with that he faded into the darkness as the vein on Hermione's temple pumped with increasing ferocity. "Slytherin."
I know, I know... no such thing as a Heads' Tower, but I've always wanted to write one in, soooo there it is.
