What does it take to make a huge silent castle a home?
She still doesn't have a certain answer.
Maybe it's settling in, getting used to that you're the only two people in here.
Maybe it's their stuff spreading around the common room.
Or the way they can wish for food in the empty Great Hall and actually get what they wished for the next day.
Or how they know their way around with eyes closed. She was never able to do that before. Never paid much attention, when there were other people.
Maybe it's the familiarity of their bed in the dorm.
And his arms around her every night.
Or the everchanging sky in the astronomy tower they climb at nights.
Or possibly the way they can ask things from The Room. The walk-in closet it provides her.
The only thing they really lack is the freedom to leave, and other people.
And the more time goes by she thinks she can't even remember other people anymore.
They need to occupy their time somehow, only sex isn't enough past time for too long.
Especially for two people like them.
So they start to practice their skills, master spells they never dreamed of mastering at their age.
"Occlumency." She tells him one spring morning at the hall.
"No"
"Come on! Why not?"
"I can't teach it!"
"But you know it?"
"I'm an Occlumens."
She stares at him.
"You're…" She stutters, "but… you're… there's no way…"
He shrugs, slightly amused by her wordlessness.
"Mother taught me some, but I guess I'm a natural."
"How do you know?"
"They can't get in."
"Who?"
He studies her for a while, "Snape and Dumbledore… Voldemort."
Her eyes go wide, "You can keep them out?"
He nods.
She doesn't know why that makes her giggle.
And before long she's laughing so hard her eyes are watering, and he looks at her like she has lost her mind.
"You can keep Voldemort out? Who knows about this?"
"No one…" He mutters.
She's laughing harder.
"What's so funny?" He looks a little irritated.
"Do you know what kind of an asset that is?"
He doesn't answer, just studies her silently.
"The things you could tell him!"
"I'm not a good liar,"
He speaks so quietly she almost has to read the words from his lips.
He's shaking his head, "Not in front of him"
"That, we can work on!" She tells him brightly, "We could have our whole lives to practice! You teach me and I help you with lying!"
She can tell he doesn't believe her being able to teach him to lie.
But he agrees anyway.
.
.
.
It's hard, so much harder than she thought.
And the worst part isn't the exhaustion. It's the memories he makes her live through. The memories she can't block from him.
She tells him it's okay, that she wants to learn, but over and over again she's on her knees, on the floor crying.
The loneliness
The bullies
Ron's hurting words.
Being alone at Hogwarts because no one liked her.
The never-ending doubt she doesn't belong here, she doesn't deserve her magic.
And every time she snaps out of it, he's there on his knees holding her.
"I'm sorry," He whispers in a chocked voice.
They never talk about her memories outside of their practice, but she doesn't know how long she can take this anymore.
He seems to think the same, "Don't you think we should take a break of this?"
"No! Let's just try once more!"
Maybe it's the knowledge she's going to try only this once, or maybe she just suddenly got it, but this time she fights back.
And then it's his memories she watches.
A small blond boy receiving a broomstick, his eyes sparkling.
The same boy offering his hand to Harry Potter and being rejected.
The shame, the sorrow and the disappointment.
A little older boy by the lake in the summer, splashing water with his friends.
Her, punching the boy in the face.
And him staring after her as she marches away.
Her in her blue dress in the yule ball. Pansy trying to regain his attention.
Then the darkness.
His eyes following his father leaving the room. The knowledge he's going to do something bad.
The image of Cedric Diggory's body.
And him demanding his father to tell what's going on.
Lucius' hand raised.
The sound a palm makes as it contacts skin with force.
And shame, stronger than the pain.
Voldemort in a dim lit room, the snake at his feet.
The dread, the feeling it all got too real, his will to run away.
The mark burned to his skin. The demand for being worth the family name.
The look in his friends' eyes in the train. The overpowering feeling that none of them really understand.
Then the tower,
and darkness,
the certainty that now, it all ends.
And then her, leaning over the railing, eyes blazing, pulling him back to life.
Her in the flashing of the fireworks, smiling at him.
In his eyes she looks lively, fierce, happy,
beautiful…
And before she gets to process the feelings associated with that memory, she's whisked out.
She blinks, meets his eyes and prepares to be sorry that she let it go on for so long.
But he doesn't look angry, he looks proud.
"You did it!" He tells her.
That's when she realizes, she really did! That she can learn it after all!
And she laughs out loud, "I really did!"
They don't talk about the memories she saw when she was in his head…
But she lies awake the next night, listening to his steady breathing, going through what she saw. Thinking how very differently it all would have gone if Harry had shaken his hand. If she would have understood more.
if…
.
.
.
Time has little meaning when you have nowhere to be. But not knowing how long they have, also makes them savor the time spent here.
It's not like she doesn't miss the others.
Miss her parents,
her friends,
but day by day they become less real. A distant memory of a time she lived before.
And the only things real, are the corridors of the castle, the empty picture frames, the hum of silence..
But she doesn't mind.
Months go by and she stops to remember who he was before this.
Who she used to be...
The only reality is this. This place where he knows everything about her.
Where she has nothing to hide from him.
Where she knows everything about him.
Where he has nothing to hide from her.
She lies on the table in the great hall looking at the clouds in the magical ceiling.
The table used to be the teachers' table, but not here, now it's only a table.
"Do you think we should miss it more?" She asks, still looking at the clouds.
He lifts his head from the book he's been reading, sitting on the biggest chair, than once belonged to Dumbledore, legs up on the table, she's lying on.
"What?"
"The past," She voices her thoughts, "The people. I don't know, everything."
She turns her head to look at him.
He too turns his eyes to the clouds and shrugs.
"Well, not me. You maybe,"
That's right. His life was complicated and miserable back there.
Should she miss hers more?
"They feel so distant here. Almost like I've dreamed them."
He nods, he knows what she means.
Of course, he does.
"What if we get back and won't remember anything about this? What if this feels like a dream then?"
He puts his legs down and leans closer to her, "We've been through this."
Yes, they have… many…many times… and over and over again.
And the conclusion is always the same: if that happens, the solution is always that they can't help it.
She's writing a diary… but what if she can't take it with her?
That's about the only thing she fears here anymore… that they'll suddenly wake up back in the real world and she won't remember this… won't remember him.
Because she can't lose him!
And he can't lose her!
She feels like he's the only one who ever got her! Who really understood who she was!
And she…
She's the only one who really knows him! Who really understands what he is and what he has gone through.
Funny how she used to fear they'll be stuck here forever, and now she fears they won't be.
"I can't help you if I don't remember you!" She sits up on the table.
"There's really nothing we can do about it!" He sounds frustrated.
If there only was a way to ensure they had access to these memories.
She turns to him triumphantly.
"I know! There is a way to make sure we remember!"
She gets up and kisses him happily, "Come on!"
In the potions lab she pulls out the smallest vials she can find and as she works, she explains her idea to him.
"We can store some of our memories, put them in one of these vials, make it into a necklace and carry it with us! That's how the memories won't get separated from us!"
Only after, does she realize she assumed he wants to remember her too.
But he doesn't protest, just looks at her curiously and seems to agree it's a good idea.
So she finds no reason to question him.
.
.
.
She used to have ambitions, plans on how her life should go after school. What she was going to do.
Now, there are no career options to think about.
But it's not like them to sit idly by, waiting for time to pass.
So as time goes by, they start to do spell research. Do a little tests and document everything they find out.
It becomes kind of their job, and it's not the worst job to have!
Actually, she thinks she would have never found such a job on her own.
Or such a partner.
But now that she has them, she couldn't think of a job better suited for her.
And the best part of it: Her partner who can almost read her thoughts.
And so goes life.
A life she never knew she wanted,
with the last person she could ever imagine.
But what a life it is!
What a beautiful life.
.
.
.
It's summer.
The water in the lake is clearer, the air in the Astronomy tower mellow and the wind warm.
She wears summer dresses and puts flowers in her hair.
And he rolls up his sleeves and laughs at her flowers.
She makes him wear muggle summer clothes the Room provides them. Forces his feet into flipflops and musses his hair.
"It's summer, you ought to relax!"
"I look ridiculous!" He complains
But doesn't put on his robes anymore,
or his black shoes.
She takes the credit! But doesn't tell that to him!
After weeks of trying they finally manage to grow grass on the floor of the great hall and now it smells like summer too!
She's starting to think, that if someone put them here, they did them a favor!
Until she wakes up one night.
And hears it.
In the ever-humming silence,
a ticking sound in the distance.
Tick tock
Tick tock
She sits up to listen.
Tick tock
It's almost too quiet to hear.
A silent echo of a clock.
And she's sure, it wasn't there before.
All the months they've been here, she has heard no ticking!
"Draco," She shakes him gently.
He groans and turns his back to her.
"Draco!" She shakes a little more.
"What!?" He snaps sleepily.
"Do you hear that?"
He listens for a while and then sits up too.
"Is it a clock?"
"How can it be? I've never heard that before."
He shakes his head "Neither have I."
They sit in silence for a moment.
A thousand scenarios flash in her mind, each worse than the last.
"We need to go see." He starts to get up, and she follows him.
As they exit the common room, the ticking echoes louder. But it's still somewhere far above them.
Just like that their home has turned from a harbor to something strange and threatening.
He takes her hand in his as they walk up the stairs.
Tick tock.
Like their time was running low… like a bomb, ready to explode… like a timer, counting down their last minutes.
She grips his hand tighter.
At least they're together.
The sound makes the corridors feel foreign. They're so used to their own steps being the only sound, it almost feels like it's not their castle anymore.
Like someone has invaded their private reality.
Tick tock.
The more stairs they climb the closer the sound gets.
it's allaround them, echoing in each corridor and hall and classroom.
She doesn't want to know what it is, does not want to face what it means.
They're in the third floor, in the corridor that once hid Fluffy, protecting the Philosophers stone.
In front of the first door, she ever opened with magic.
And the ticking rings in her ears.
"It comes from here." He says certainly.
Then, before she understands what he's doing, he pulls her behind him and opens the door.
When nothing attacks them, she peaks over his shoulder.
Only then realizing he moved her out of the way before opening the door in case of an attack.
They enter the room, and she steps from behind him, still holding his hand.
It's a clock.
Almost the size of the whole wall.
A Round clock with golden rims.
The ticking bangs her eardrums as they stare at it.
There are no numbers, only lines marking the hours.
And two hands, like arrows pointing the time.
She thinks of the clock in Mrs. Weasley's kitchen.
She's almost certain this clock doesn't point only time.
Because the hands,
pointing to somewhere where number three should be,
the other red and gold, and the other green and silver,
must represent them.
"What does it mean?" He asks frowning.
She shakes her head.
She has no idea, but somehow, she feels it can't be good.
And as he looks at her, she can see he knows that too.