Beggars Can't Be Choosers
by Verity
Chapter FiveSeptember 6, 1997
Eyes like ice.
They are a soft grey; their owner's hair is sparkling silver gilt. She leans against the wall of a dark, dank cell that contrasts oddly with her colouring. Her skin is deathly pale, her eyes huge in her thin, worn face; it is hard to tell where her gown begins or ends, flowing in smooth folds across her skin. The dress itself is the colour of a winter afternoon's sky – blue so pale it is white.
The Lamp-Bearer can't be more than twenty.
Her face is blank and unfeeling as she looks upon the Man-Who-Stoppers-Death. "What do you want of me?" she asks in a voice hoarse with disuse.
The Man slides further into the cell, shuts the door behind him. "I've come to get you out. I couldn't leave you."
"You couldn't, could you?" She nods her head, fixes those huge, empty eyes on him. "I won't go with you."
"No! Lamp-Bearer, I knew you would say this. You can't die because of some misguided notion of chivalry!" the Man says, sounding desperate. As if he knows the futility of his words.
The Lamp-Bearer laughs. Laughter leads to a few moments of coughing that wrack her emaciated body. When she recovers, she closes her eyes. "I've kept my secrets well. My silence means your freedom, love. Don't begrudge it."
"I can't leave you," Less conviction in the Man's voice this time.
"Go. They'll be changing guard in a few minutes. What are you standing there for?"
"I love you, Lamp-Bearer." The Man goes to the door.
After he is gone, she slides to the floor, places her cheek along the cool. "What I've lost," she whispers. "What I've lost, for the sake of her…"
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Hermione opened her eyes to find Harry sitting beside her, broom in hand. She laughed. "Hey, what are you doing up here at this hour?" she inquired laughingly, her eyes on his hair, alight with the purples and oranges of the sunrise's radiant glow.
"Quidditch practice in half an hour," her friend moaned. "Oh - did I interrupt your meditation?"
She shook her head, looked up at him. "No. I was almost done anyway."
There were shadows beneath his eyes. Harry noticed her looking. "Another nightmare," he explained. "They keep coming. I wanted to talk to you about them."
"Harry!" His brilliant emerald eyes were as worried as she knew hers must be. "How long have you held off telling me?"
Her friend lowered his head. "Since Wednesday. You were sick, after all. But," he held up a hand to ward off her reproaches, "I tried telling Ginny. Bad idea."
Hermione sighed. "Didn't you know?" At the look of confusion he gave her, she elaborated, leaning against the stone wall. "She still has nightmares. About Riddle."
"Oh."
"'Oh' might be a bit light for waking up screaming every night for a year, but it'll suffice."
Harry, clutching his Firebolt forlornly, looked as if he might cry. "Why is it that I can't even confide in my girlfriend without bollixing everything up? Why?"
She patted him awkwardly on the back; warily, for she was familiar with the dangerous ground they were treading on. "Harry, it's not your fault – no one could blame your for not knowing-"
"You wouldn't." His voice managed to convey both animosity and abject misery.
Hermione withdrew, pushed open her window. "If you're going to be like that, I'll just go in."
"Hermione…" Harry sighed, running his hands through his messy black hair. "I'm sorry. Ginny's never understood me like you do."
"Then why are you dating her?"
"Because you told me we could never be more than friends. Because she is my friend, and I wanted her to be happy."
It wasn't her fault if her laughter was rather bitter. "Is that a reason to date anyone? She loves you, Harry. Don't you understand that? You haven't even given her a chance to know you, not really. I don't want to talk about this. Tell me about the dream and go to practice."
"All right!" he exclaimed. "I'm walking down a hallway and Malfoy grabs me, pulls me down another hallway that didn't exist before. I try to squirm out of his grip, but I can't. He isn't looking at me. He's just staring straight ahead, muttering under his breath, 'Luck. Luck.'"
"I'll tell Dumbledore," she said, sliding over the windowsill. "Have a nice practice."
Once she had heard him take off on his broom, Hermione waved her hand absently at the window. It shut and locked on its own.
Oh, I'll tell Dumbledore, Hermione thought to herself, as she sat down before her vanity, undid the ribbon she had tied her braid with, and began to brush her hair. I've been meaning to thank him for keying the locking charms to me anyway…
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"Mother," the Headmaster said to her from behind his desk. "It must have been her. He didn't mention his scar hurting?"
"No," Hermione said, shaking her head. She was seated in the chair across from him. "But- mother sent me a past-vision- of a Malfoy, I think. I've seen her before in visions. Mother called her Lamp-Bearer."
"Lamp-Bearer…" Dumbledore seemed lost in thought as he absently stroked his white beard, his glasses sliding down his nose just a bit. "The name sounds familiar. Katherina led the Sibyll before you in her vows, you know, and I seem to recall her Name being something to do with a lamp…"
"You didn't know her?" she asked curiously. "I thought- we all knew each other-"
"No – or Voldemort would have known you. Katherina had her apprentices, and I mine- you, dear," he clarified. Her puzzlement must have shown on her face. "No, never Riddle, nor Margaret Trelawney – a fool is she to claim the title. But Voldemort knows she is useless; she started teaching here in his third year. He won't harm her. Mother's only spoken through her twice."
"Never to her. I know." Hermione looked out the window, at the sunset of Saturday eve. "There was something about Lamp-Bearer, though… she was talking with Snape."
"How did you know she was a Malfoy?" Dumbledore inquired, leaning forward, his elbows on his desk and his fingers steepled.
"Her eyes- they were grey- like ice." She shivered. "So lonely."
"Hmm." The Headmaster bowed his head over his hands. "Curious indeed."
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Thanks to everyone for your reviews!
Verity
