By Niels van Eekelen
TelltaleProd@Hotmail.com
www.TelltaleProductions.tk
--Chapter Three--
The Monster of Loch Leigh
For a minute, Hermione sat there beside her parents' camping bed, unsure of what to do. Her parents were light sleepers, and a scream like the one Hermione had heard should have been more than enough to wake them. If they hadn't noticed anything out of the ordinary ... But no, Hermione was certain that the cry hadn't been part of her dream. She'd pinched.
There was only one thing, in Hermione's mind, that could explain why her parents hadn't heard the cry. Magic. Whatever creature had produced it (for the longer Hermione thought about it, the more inhuman the cry seemed) it must have been magical.
And that meant the castle. The Castle of Despair. Had something that You-Know-Who had left behind escaped? A shiver ran down Hermione's spine at the thought, but she couldn't just sit there and not know.
Quickly, Hermione put on her shoes, and put on her coat over her pyjamas. It was only three o'clock in the morning, she saw on her watch. She could go and check on Mr McNuggett, or whoever was at the castle tonight, and be back safely before her parents even knew she was gone. Hermione hesitated for a moment, and then dug up her wand from the bottom of her suitcase and put it in her coat. She knew that she wasn't allowed to use the wand over the holidays, but Hermione just felt safer, having it at hand.
Silently, Hermione slipped out of the tent. It was a cloudy night, but fortunately the moon and the stars gave enough light to see by ... barely. It sure made the castle on the lakeshore look more menacing. The Castle of Despair ... brrr. Just the name gave Hermione the creeps. She set out towards the building at a fast pace. If she was going to do this, Hermione'd rather get it over with.
It didn't take Hermione long to reach the castle, but it seemed like forever. Getting to the hall where she had seen Mr McNuggett and the bolted door was harder. The hallways were like a labyrinth without a guide, and whole parts of them were swallowed in deep shadows. Hermione half-expected one of Peeves the poltergeist's relatives to jump around every corner.
Several times, Hermione almost went back to the tent and the nice security of having her parents nearby. After all, what did it all matter? All she'd heard was a single cry, no matter how weird and inhuman it'd sounded. But she went on.
Finally, Hermione found to hall, and when she saw it, she gasped. The bolt had been shoved aside, and the heavy wooden door was swung wide open. Terrified, Hermione looked all around her. She'd read The Monster Book of Monsters from cover to cover. (The book had bitten her fingers four times, and it had almost got her nose once, when she'd leaned in too far at the part about vampires.) Hermione could imagine all too well what kind of terrible things could have escaped from that room.
But all Hermione saw was Mr McNuggett, lying crumpled on the floor not far from the door. Forgetting all about the danger, Hermione rushed towards him. 'Mr McNuggett!' she cried. 'Mr McNuggett!' She looked over the man's still form quickly, then carefully, but she couldn't find any sign of injury. As a matter of fact, Hermione realised all of a sudden, Mr McNuggett was breathing evenly ... He was sleeping!
Hermione huffed indignantly and shook the man. And here she had been so worried, and he didn't appear hurt at all! Then again, the door was open. 'Mr McNuggett!' she called again. 'Sir, wake up!'
Finally, the man stirred. 'Huh? Lassie? Calm down, will ye? No reason tae be upset. None at all. Dinnae matter.'
'But Mr McNuggett, what happened? Were you attacked? How did the door get open?'
'None o' that matters, lassie,' Mr McNuggett complained. 'It's all nae use, 't is.'
'Please, sir,' Hermione insisted, 'tell me!' She was having a really bad feeling about this. 'Were you attacked? I heard a cry ...'
'Och, nae I wasn't attacked. I opened the door meself, I did. No use in guarding it. It was gonna escape sooner or later.'
'It? Sir, what was in that room?'
Mr McNuggett made an annoyed gesture. 'A Scottish banshee. We confined it tae that room, but what's the use o' guardin' it? It'd break free soon enough ... I'm so tired, what's it matter if I go tae sleep ... Leave me alone now, lassie.' He turned to his other side and went back to sleep.
Hermione sat very still, very frightened. She understood now why the Ministry of Magic hadn't been able to clear the entire castle of dark magic, even why Mr McNuggett had acted so apathetic and for that matter, why the castle was called the Castle of Despair. The Scottish banshee wasn't actually related to its more common Irish namesake. The only reason they were called the same was because both their powers lay in their voices. According to the Encyclopaedia Abracadabria, 'the Scottish banshee, incorrectly named, is a creature of pure black magic, the voice of which saps the will and joi de vivre out of a person. Anyone who hears the cry of a Scottish banshee will experience dreadful hallucinations which encourage him or her to give up everything. Wizards and witches are vulnerable to the Scottish banshee over much greater distances, but up close, no one is safe. It is possible to temporarily subdue a Scottish banshee, but only the greatest wizards can expel it from its home against its will.'
Ignoring Mr McNuggett, who was softly beginning to snore, Hermione slowly moved towards the open door. Maybe ... maybe the banshee was still in there ... Maybe she could just close the door again and everything would be fine.
The door was just ahead, but it was pitch black inside, and Hermione couldn't see a thing. She took a small step inside, just to take a peek--
--and everything was spinning. Just as suddenly as it had begun, the room stopped moving. Hermione stared deeply into the crystal ball before her, but as she expected, all she saw was a crystal ball.
'Oh, this is terrible,' Professor Trelawney murmurred on the other side of the ball. They were in Professor Trelawney's attic classroom, and everywhere around them Hogwarts students of every year and house were sitting in pairs, staring into crystal balls. 'This is so terrible. Hermione, child, I see that you are going to die. And there's nothing you can do.'
A lump of ice formed in Hermione's stomach. She still couldn't see anything in the crystal ball but her own distorted reflection. She tried to say, 'I don't believe ...'
As one, Harry and Ron gasped loudly. 'Hermione!' Ron exclaimed. 'I saw you die, and there wasn't anything anyone could do to stop it.'
'That's right,' Harry agreed. 'There's not even any use in fighting it.'
The whole classroom was looking at Hermione now, and it seemed that they'd all seen the same. 'It doesn't matter.' 'She's gonna die.' 'There's no use.' 'Serves you right, Mudblood!' called Malfoy. 'Might as well lie down and die now, what's it matter?'
With a gasp, Hermione opened her eyes. Her heart was pounding, and she looked around her, wildly terrified. She was back in the Castle of Despair. Apparently, she had taken a reflexive step back, and had moved out of the room in which the banshee had been imprisoned. She hugged herself, feeling suddenly cold.
The Scottish banshee must really be a terrible creature, Hermione thought, if just the echo of its imprisonment could cause her such a vivid waking dream. (Hermione knew that it was only the creature's echo, because she had seen nothing to indicate that the banshee was still in its prison.) At least she understood how the banshee worked better now. It made people see visions or dreams like hers, and then fed of the despair they caused. If You-Know-Who had entrusted the protection of his base to the banshee, the sound of the banshee's voice from up close was probably enough to make people want to lie down and never get up.
Hermione felt like doing that herself, but she reminded herself that A, it had only been a dream, and B, she didn't believe in any of Professor Trelawney's predictions anyway. Aside from lying down and giving up, Hermione also really wanted to get out of the castle. The banshee was still around somewhere.
But then again, the banshee was still around somewhere, and come morning, Mr McHommer would be giving another group of tourists a tour of the castle. They wouldn't stand a chance. Hermione didn't want to run into the banshee, but at least she would know what she was up against, and nobody else would. Mr McNuggett must have had a way to contact the Ministry, but under the influence of the banshee, he wouldn't have used it. 'You can't let those people get into danger,' Harry's voice sounded through Hermione's head, and, 'How cool would it be if you could help Dad and the Ministry catch that thing!' said Ron's voice. But Hermione wasn't even allowed to use magic. She took out her wand for a moment and looked at it, but then put it back in her coat resolutely. The Ministry of Magic knew what it was about, it would deal with the situation, and that would be the end of it.
Hermione decided to go straight back to her parents. It took her some time to find her way through the castle. Not, this time, because she got lost--she'd memorised the path she'd taken on her way in--but Hermione jumped at every sound and gave shadowy areas a wide berth. Hermione had often wondered why the Sorting hat had placed her in Gryffindor back when she had first arrived on the Hogwarts Express. Gryffindors were supposed to be brave, and Hermione didn't feel particularly brave, especially now. It would have made more sense if she'd been put in Ravenclaw, where the children who liked learning and studying traditionally went. (Not that Hermione was complaining, mind you. If the Sorting Hat hadn't put her in Gryffindor, she'd have never become friends with Harry and Ron.)
Hermione was almost outside when she saw it. She was in the front hall, facing the hole that once had held the gate, when she heard a noice. It wasn't the wind. It wasn't a mouse or another animal. It was a low, unearthly moan, and it was coming from above. Stiff with fright, Hermione turned her head as quietly as she could. There, on the second-floor balcony, it was floating by. It looked just as the Encyclopaedia Abracadabria described it, a cloud of fog, lit from within by an eery green light. The banshee's only clearly distinguishable features were three dark pools like a skull's eyes and nose, and the gaping mouth that sang its moaning song.
Hermione turned and ran out of the Hogwarts library. She'd spent countless hours going through the ancient volumes on those dusty shelves in the library, but suddenly the place had lost all sense of security to her. The attacks that had held the entire school in terror all year--Hermione knew what was behind them. It was a Basilisk, a monstrous snake with a lethal stare ... but as long as she didn't look at it directly ... Hermione looked into the small pocket mirror she had in her hand--
--And Penelope Clearwater looked back at her. The Ravenclaw Prefect shook her head sadly. 'Do you believe this mirror will save you, Hermione?' she asked. 'It didn't help us the first time, did it? It's no use ... there's no escape.'
'No essscape,' hissed a voice almost too soft for Hermione to hear. Instantly, she knew that it was the Basilisk, which made no sense, since only Harry understood Parseltongue, the language of snakes. Hermione jumped around, but saw nothing.
The sound of sobbing made her look back into the mirror. Ron's younger sister Ginny Weasley's reflection looked back at her, and she was crying her eyes out. 'I'm so sorry,' Ginny cried. 'There isn't anything I can do, there's nothing anyone can do!'
At the sound of laughter, Hermione jumped around again. (Why did everyone and everything keep appearing directly behind her?) Moaning Myrtle, the ghost that haunted one of the girls' bathroom at Hogwarts, pointed a finger at Hermione. Hermione was startled by Myrtle's laughter, she'd never seen the ghost anything else than despairing.
'Myrtle, what is it?' she asked. 'What's so funny?'
'It's just,' Moaning Myrtle gasped between laughs, 'It's just ... I've never seen anyone ... anyone more doomed than I am!'
'Doomed ...' hissed the Basilisk, right behind Hermione. She jumped around--
--and gasped when she stumbled over her own feet and fell the the cold stone floor of the Castle of Despair. It slowly dawned on Hermione that she'd been standing there, looking at the balcony for at least ten minutes, frozen to the ground. The banshee was long gone, it had never even noticed her, but it was still difficult to look away from the balcony.
Having seen the banshee, something settled in Hermione. Rules and Ministry or not, there was absulotely no way that she was going to allow unwitting Muggles to run into that thing, not if she could help it. In her head, Ron and Harry cheered her on enthusiastically, and Hermione recalled again the odd sort of pride she had felt that time late in the last school year, when Ron had commented that she was loosening up so much about rules and stuff. She just hoped that the Ministry of Magic would appreciate it as much as Ron did, but somehow she doubted that.
Story written by Niels van Eekelen. © Copyright 2004 Telltale Productions.
Harry Potter and the world of muggles, witches and wizards © Copyright 2004 J.K. Rowling, used with gratitude if not permission.