Chapter 6: Bishop's Pawn
For some reason the corridors of Hogwarts seemed a lot darker and scarier than usual, even for the middle of the night. Wishing desperately for Harry's Invisibility Cloak, Hermione made for the corridor with the fruit basket painting that led to the kitchens.
Even this late at night, the house-elves were still busy; or at least, some of them were. She spotted Dobby and Winky at once--- Dobby sitting on the hearth with a bottle of butterbeer, wearing one of his usual mismatched outfits and looking mutinous, Winky standing in front of him shaking one spindly finger at his nose.
"You is a bad house-elf, Dobby," she was saying sharply. "You is getting above yourself and forgetting what you owes to our kind Master Dumbledore, when he is even paying you for what house-elves is supposed to do for free---"
So, Winky had finally decided to accept Hogwarts was her new home. Hermione wondered how that had come about--- but maybe finding out that Bartemius Crouch, her old master, was dead at the hands of his son had been enough.
"I is doing what Professor Dumbledore wants," Dobby said sulkily, "but I is a free house-elf, Winky---"
"OOOH!" she squealed, raising that finger again.
Hermione decided it was time to interrupt. "Um--- excuse me---"
Both house-elves jumped and turned around. Then Dobby squealed and jumped to his feet, knocking the butterbeer aside (and earning a disgusted look from Winky, who went to clean it up) and darted over to give her a hug.
"It is Harry Potter's friend Herm-eye-knee!" the house-elf exclaimed, all the while knocking the breath out of her. "Herm-eye-knee, who is wanting all house-elves to be free like Dobby!"
"Erm---" said Hermione, finding it hard to talk without any air in her lungs. She wondered, a little ruefully, if she was destined to have her name mispronounced by half the people she knew; Viktor never had gotten it right. Well, it was better than "Wheezy", which was Dobby's name for Ron.
"Dobby is wondering when you would come to visit, and here you is!" the little creature said, letting go of her at last.
Winky, who had finally finished mopping up the spilled butterbeer, came over to her and curtsied, very formally, a gesture that never failed to make Hermione wince. "Is there anything we can get you, miss?" Winky was always a little bit cool toward Hermione; she was, after all, a "proper" house-elf, with very strict ideas of what was proper and especially what was not. Things like wages and benefits definitely fell into the latter category where Winky was concerned.
Dobby nodded enthusiastically. "We is always glad to help a friend of Harry Potter's, miss!"
Winky glared at him. "Good house-elves is always glad to help any humans they is supposed to," she said haughtily.
After the events of the night, the very last thing Hermione felt like doing (except, perhaps, having to face Lucius Malfoy again without a very nice supply of weapons magical and otherwise) was becoming a bone of contention in what looked suspiciously like a house-elf domestic dispute. "Er---" she said, trying to collect her thoughts--- "I don't suppose I could have a snack of some kind---"
Winky cheered up immensely at that. "Right away, missy!" she said brightly, and dashed off; before Hermione could even register the house-elf's departure, Winky was back, bearing a truly fine one-person midnight supper on a tray twice as big as she was.
"Here we is, missy!" said Winky happily, setting the tray down on the nearest table, while Dobby held out a chair for her.
"Oh, this is too much---" Hermione began; despite what... Professor Snape (it was hard to think about him without a little flutter in her stomach) had said about house-elves, she didn't like to take advantage.
"No, no, missy!" said Winky, then added, a little shyly, "Some of us was thinking that you weren't liking us, because you is coming down and trying to get us to---" she gave Dobby a nasty look--- "forget our place as good house-elves." She brightened up. "But now Winky knows you likes us, and we will tell the others---" she elbowed Dobby. "Won't we?"
"Er---" said Dobby, looking a little depressed that Hermione might have changed her mind about house-elf rights, "That's right, Herm-eye-knee!"
Hermione blinked in surprise; then, as there seemed nothing else sensible to do, she took the offered chair. The two house-elves stood next to her, waiting with looks of eager anticipation on their faces (even though Dobby hadn't helped with the food).
"Er--- won't the two of you sit down?" she asked, and, at Dobby's grateful look and Winky's horrified one, "I'd very much like it if you would."
"Well, if miss wants---" said Winky dubiously, and perched herself on the edge of a chair, looking faintly horrified at her own daring. Hermione, feeling much relieved now that the house-elf wasn't regarding her with that anxious gaze, took a spoonful of soup, which was, as she'd expected, delicious.
"Herm-eye-knee is as great and good a witch as her friend Harry Potter is a wizard!" said Dobby enthusiastically, seating himself with no trace of Winky's reluctance. He eyed her keenly. "But what is Herm-eye-knee doing up at this hour, when all the other students is snug in their beds?"
Hermione blanched--- then decided that this was the perfect opportunity to start fine-tuning her "discretion." "I was working on an experiment with Professor Snape," she explained, proud of the steadiness in her voice, "and it took longer than we thought."
Winky clucked disapprovingly. "Professor Snape should not be keeping you out so late, miss," she said. "It isn't seemly--- and this a holiday!" She looked most upset.
Dobby regarded her curiously. "And what is you staying here for, Herm-eye-knee?" he asked. "Your name isn't down on the list---"
Winky gave a squeak and hopped to her feet. "Oh! Miss's bed isn't being made up, because the other house-elves isn't knowing that miss is here!" she exclaimed. "Winky must go make miss's bed for her---" She started to dash off.
"Er--- aren't there other house-elves doing those chores tonight?" Hermione asked. In her trips to the kitchen last year trying to persuade the elves to stand up for themselves, she'd learned a good bit about their duty rosters.
"Yes, miss, but they isn't knowing---"
"Well, wouldn't they be hurt if you did their job for them, instead of just letting them know?" Hermione said over Winky's protest.
The house-elf looked startled, then bobbed slightly. "Miss is right," she said at last. "Winky will let the others know, and then come back." and the little elf dashed off.
Hermione finished the rest of her meal in between answering the occasional questions which punctuated Dobby's rather random monologue. She wanted very much to ask if he knew anything about the ancestry of his kind that Snape had hinted at, but had a shrewd suspicion that it would rather offend the elves.
She was just--- in defiance of manners, but she didn't think that breach of courtesy would matter during a kitchen raid--- mopping up the last of her soup with the cheesy crust of her croque-monsieur, when Winky came scurrying back into the kitchen. "Your room is all in readiness, miss!" she said happily. "I is telling the others to get it ready spit-spot for you!"
Hermione blinked at the anxious look on the elf's face. It was very hard to imagine Winky as anything nearly as nasty as goblins. She'd have to get those books from... Professor Snape... and soon.
"Er, thanks," she said, getting to her feet; Dobby hopped out of his chair as well.
"Is miss wanting anything else?" Winky asked anxiously. "Winky can get it for you---"
"Oh, goodness, no," Hermione said hastily, then, remembering the house-elf's earlier concern, added, "Everything was delicious, thanks--- but really, it's time I turned in---"
By the time she finally snuck out of the kitchen, several minutes and assorted exhortations later, she had all but resolved to head straight to the library--- as a prefect, she had after-hours privileges--- and look up some of those books on house-elves.
But the thought of those dark and empty corridors was more than she could bear--- especially now that the caloric overload had joined forces with the shock to leave her trembly and yawning. She decided the house-elves could wait until tomorrow, and headed for Gryffindor tower with all the haste she could muster.
The Fat Lady raised her eyebrow at Hermione's arrival. "Getting in a little late, aren't we, dear?" she asked reprovingly. "And you a prefect!" The picture looked at her more keenly. "And I thought you weren't staying this holiday---"
Hermione shook her head wearily. "If you want to call Professor McGonagall," she said, "be my guest."
But the Fat Lady was now regarding her with something more like concern. "No, dear," she said gently. "I think you'd best go up to bed--- and Professor McGonagall will likely know all about whatever's kept you up by morning, with or without my help." She swung aside to admit Hermione. "Now, go on up and get some rest, love."
Hermione climbed through the picture, feeling a new set of worries add themselves to her mind. Whatever was she going to tell Professor McGonagall--- if nothing else, her Head of House would undoubtedly want to know why she'd changed her mind about staying---
Well, she could only hope that the Headmaster would explain everything. And if worst came to worst, she supposed she could always insist to Professor McGonagall that they speak with him.... Which thought brought her to the upper floors of the girls' side of Gryffindor Tower.
Instead of dormitories, the prefects and Sixth Form students had single rooms--- or double, if they chose to share, which Hermione most emphatically didn't. And she was never more grateful for that fact than tonight, when she could slip undisturbed into her private little turret bedroom and lock the door on the world.
The house-elves had, as promised, made up the bed; but suddenly the idea of stretching out on clean sheets after lying in Malfoy's dungeon made her skin crawl.
A bath. That was what she needed. And fortunately, she didn't have to go all the way out to the prefects' bath to get one.
Her lip twisted in something that wasn't very like a smile--- under the circumstances, the thought wasn't a pleasant one--- as she remembered the lecture Professor McGonagall had given the new prefects at the beginning of the year regarding one of the "normally unspoken purposes of Hogwarts". "Witches and wizards are a rare breed indeed," she'd said dryly. "And one of the roles that Hogwarts plays is to encourage--- er--- the preservation of the species."
In other words, the older students at least were encouraged to form relationships of the sort that would lead to marriage once they'd graduated. Which meant that, although there were certain rules on the books regarding public displays of affection and involvement among students, the prefects were required to interpret those rules liberally, with an emphasis on safety and physical and mental health rather than "virtue". It also meant that there were any number of interesting little nooks and crannies in the building--- the Founders Four had apparently had that idea first.
And one of those little nooks was an intimate bathing room at the top of the tower next to Gryffindor's.
There was a little accessway that led between Gryffindor Tower and that room--- it had its own password, which was only given to the prefects and students sixteen and over (Hermione supposed that the Headmaster thought that the prefects would be mature enough to handle the complications of such an involvement). Hermione had never used it--- never wanted to, not having anyone she felt that way about since Viktor's mother had sent her packing. And, after tonight, she wasn't certain she'd felt "that way" about Viktor, either--- their explorations hadn't made her feel anything like---
She chopped off that line of thought in a hurry, telling herself she was far too tired to analyze anything important tonight. But the little bathing-chamber (as with the prefects' bath; it would be an injustice to call it merely a "bathroom") would be a good place to get clean in private. The school was nearly deserted this year--- more so than usual: so many people hd stayed last year for the Christmas ball that nearly everyone was anxious to get home this year, or their parents were anxious for them to. When the list had gone round, there hadn't been more than a handful of names on it.
She padded up the winding stairs and through the door; it had its own locking system, but she reinforced it with a couple of hexes of her own, and made certain the "in-use" marker was flashing, before she turned to look at the bathing-chamber.
It was a small room, almost cozy, most of its space taken up by the deep round bathtub in the center, with a dozen spouts along the edges. Unlike the prefects' bath, it wasn't done in the white marble which Hermione had always privately considered ostentatious, but in warm reddish terra cotta that absorbed rather than reflected the glow of the huge thick candles set on sconces at different levels around the walls.
The huge fireplace opposite the tub was cold, but her Fumos Charm took care of that. She hung her dressing-gown and pajamas (she was still dressed in her school robes) on a rack at the far end and began to explore. A good rummage through the bathing condiments would be just the thing to calm her down.
The cupboards boasted heaps of thick Turkish towels, bath sponges and washcloths--- though that wasn't all they held. As a prefect, Hermione was pleased to note that one of the cupboards was stocked with various types of anti-conception potions and instructions for the Contraceptus Charm--- but right now, that wasn't anything she wanted to think about needing. She closed that door hastily and resumed her rummage.
The taps around the bath, like the ones downstairs, held different kinds of bubble bath--- though some of these were rather... strong. She hastily turned off a very silky flood of bright red patchouli bubbles that wanted to cling most alarmingly to her skin, and settled on a more diffident spill of purple-blue plumeria froth for her bath.
It didn't take very long for the tub to fill; she turned off the tap and reached for the fastening at the neck of her robe.
And froze, as a flash of memory--- Lucius Malfoy's eyes glinted lewdly as his spell stripped away her clothing--- ripped through her mind, shattering the sense of safety she'd begun to weave for herself. She shuddered violently, feeling suddenly vulnerable, exposed, despite the privacy and safety of this place.
For a moment, she couldn't move, could only huddle into herself and shake. Then reason intruded; she clenched her fists tightly, forced herself to take deep calming breaths. Is this any way for a Gryffindor to act? Some bravery! And--- memory of Snape's silky voice, but kindly now, safe thought--- How can you hope to reach the eighth square if you can't even bring yourself to take a bath?
That thought steadied her, and she unfastened her robe determinedly, drew it over her head, and made herself walk, naked, to the wall and hang it on the hook next to her dressing-gown.
It felt like there were eyes on her, everywhere. Her back tingled, and she wanted to run. But she made herself walk back to the tub, straight-backed, not hiding, not trying to cover herself--- there's no one here, you IDIOT!--- and slipped in to the water.
The foamy bubbles wrapped around her, not clinging, but covering modestly, and she buried herself in the mounds of foam, then slid under the water to wet her hair in the flowery bubbles.
She surfaced, leaned back against the edge of the tub, and concentrated, hard, on making the shameful slimy feel of her skin slough away in the clean hot water. I'm all right. I haven't done anything to be ashamed of--- it's Lucius Malfoy who shouldn't be able to look in his mirror tomorrow, right?
Mr. Malfoy... and Professor Snape?
That thought startled her a little, and she forced herself to turn it over in her mind.
It would be nice to hate him--- just to put all the shame and the queasiness she felt onto his shoulders. It would be easy and simple and she wouldn't have to think about the confused tangle of emotions that his voice called up in her every time he spoke.
Easy--- but not fair. Not right. And he--- her mind forced the fact on her--- had been more than fair to her tonight. Hadn't taken the easy path. He could have hurt her, very badly. Could have let Malfoy do it. Could have done a thousand other things. He certainly hadn't had to take such care of her when they came back to Hogwarts. Hadn't had to offer her the chance to become a queen--- when that was exactly what she needed.
No, she couldn't hate him. But what exactly she could feel for him... she wasn't sure. She had begun to like him, before this horrible night, of that she was certain. The mind lurking behind those glittering eyes was quite familiar to her in the way it seemed to work. And he had liked her--- Slytherin could use a mind like yours.... There had been something there, the sort of fondness she felt for and from so many of her other teachers.... But what that fondness would become after tonight, she had no idea....
A memory floated up, of cuddling into his lap, of hands that were gentle without being seductive, of feeling quite suddenly safe. And that feeling blended over into the memory of safety that the seduction in those hands had offered in place of terror and pain....
The water lapping against her skin felt unaccountably sensual, warm and caressing. She moved a little in the water, remembering warm hands and pleasure....
Her own hands moved, of their own accord, up into her hair--- innocent, innocent, yes?--- then, guiltily, down her neck and under the deep hot water....
Could I do it to myself? Just have it for myself, just... feel good?
One hand moved lightly to a breast, just barely touching... cupping... stroking---
FLASH. Long wonderful fingers on her body--- Lucius Mafoy's sneering face--- Snape's dark and glittering eyes as his hands excited her---
She jerked her hand away, as if burned. Well, she had been.
Was this what it would be like for her... every time? Was she never going to feel... anything... without thinking of tonight?
Shivering violently, she sunk herself under the water, which felt suddenly cold.
She drained the tub, started to refill it, and--- determinedly--- got out and went to the cupboards for a sponge.
It took a long time, soaking in the hot water, scrubbing her body impersonally clean, before she
felt anything like herself again.
