Chapter Nineteen
Marshalling her courage, she approached one of the walls. Lowering herself to kneel before one of the chained skeletons, she merely looked it over in examination for a moment. This. The smell was coming from this—from them. They were too large to be the house elves; average size for a fully-grown human, though.
But what was . . . ? Unable to help herself, she reached up tracing her fingers across the poor soul's cheekbone.
The skull lulled to one side at the pressure, granting Hermione a different view of its features. A gasp tore out of her and she fell backward at the sight of elongated canines.
"Vampire blood," she wagered in a breathless murmur as she stared into the empty eye-sockets. "I'm smelling vampire blood." In a strange, disconnected way, she considered that it made sense that vampires would smell sweet to one another, alluring, even. It was distinctive yet hard to describe. It would be perfect for finding one of your own when no one else knew your kind even existed.
She only guessed that she hadn't detected it until now because she was still so 'new.' Or perhaps because she'd been underfed and tired? Maybe it was even that she wasn't in a close enough part of the house combined with those other factors.
Hermione collected herself—her attempt at sorting things logically a coping mechanism, really—and climbed to her feet.
A trail of light against the wall startled her and she spun on her heel, teeth bared on instinct.
Lucius Malfoy stood at the foot of the steps, his illuminated wand held out before him. His grey eyes were enormous as he gaped about the uncovered chamber.
Hermione actually thought he was turning a bit green. He wasn't looking at her. He didn't even seem to notice any other living—well, any other functioning—person was in the room with him. It was so dark, though, that even with his light charm, she wondered how much of this horror he could actually see.
"What the devil is this place?" His question was barely audible even against the hollow silence of the chamber.
Swallowing hard, she shook her head. "Maxima," she whispered.
That non-sequitur response finally jarred him from his shock. Snapping his gaze to lock on hers, he asked, "What?"
"Lumos Maxima," the young woman clarified, gesturing about her. "You'll need stronger light to see this as I do."
Lucius stepped into the room more completely, a frown gracing his lips. He could recall her flinching and shielding her face the last times he'd done so. That made him wonder, however, if the source of her discomfort had been a burst of light when it was supposed to be dark out, or if the spark of the lumos charm was more akin to sunlight than a candle or lantern. True, she did not experience discomfort at the actual sun being on her, but perhaps the reaction was a defense mechanism.
He was thinking entirely too much on this, but then he supposed that he simply did not really want to see this room as she did.
Instead, he shrugged, offering the first reason that had come to mind. "The light charms hurt your eyes, Miss Granger."
She was taken aback by his statement. Surely, his curiosity at whatever his family had been up to should outweigh any concern for her. She didn't believe for a moment that he could actually be considerate of her. For the sake of her own sanity, she ignored entirely that he'd let her feed from him that second time.
"I'll be fine," she said, lifting a hand to shield her eyes preemptively . . . and perhaps a little to hide the incredulous expression on her face.
"If you insist," the words tumbled out exasperated. "Lumos Maxima!"
The entire room sprang into sickeningly real greys and dull, muddy browns, streaked and marred by splashes of deep, old red. Darker than blood should be, nearly black save for where the light from his wand glistened off the dried splatter here and there.
