AN: I'm sorry about how long it took to post this. I have abandoned their
romance for a brief intramural which should be interesting to read. Emilia
doesn't demonstrate her clear-headedness in a panic situation…for instance,
this one, I have just given her.
"The fates have informed her…honestly, who creates the exam? She does," said Hermione, not bothering to keep her voice down.
So…the fates have informed that I foresee something interesting…think "Sirius Black" for a moment.
And something to browse about: have any of you seen Shrek? (That's an awesome movie, see it if you haven't). Anyway, you have to be quick to catch it, but look at the man who hands over the witch in the beginning. I don't know how many shillings he gets for her, I think twenty, but the man who walks away has black chin-length hair and a strong nose…and the first thing I think is Snape! "Dude, that is Snape!", I believe, were my exact words. However, should you catch him, tell me…
And remember: a good reader reads and reviews. SO TAKE THE HINT. REVIEW.
Chapter Eleven: Pain In Paradise
Emilia stood there silently, quietly cursing herself for letting him kiss her. "Severus?" she said to his back.
"What?" he answered, a bit more snappishly than he wanted. He turned his head to the side—as if what she had to say had meaning to him. Emilia reached out her hand, but pulled it back quickly.
She swallowed hard; noticing that what she was trying to say was so hard to do. "D-Do—" she started, but was cut off when he whirled around completely. His black eyes were very large, she noticed. And for once, they carried a glint—a small glimmer, even.
She shifted, and put her hand on her arm nervously. Her cheeks felt hot, for some fairly odd reason, and Emilia wished she hadn't said anything. "N-Never mind, Severus," she said, turning around. Her heart felt like a string had wrapped around it and pulled tight, while her stomach churned relentlessly. Emilia felt like she was going to be sick.
She had to admit, she hadn't felt this flighty or this confused in nearly five years. Emilia wasn't completely naïve; she just wasn't used to public affection. She had this stubborn streak in her that was pure and extremely secretive. Emilia felt that public affection was for the birds, and that this sort of outward emotion should be held for private.
But that were alone. That, she supposed most avidly, was her problem.
It was embarrassment and guilt that was doing this to her. Severus stood there, looking at her, waiting for her to say something else so he wouldn't have to leave so soon. Emilia had never been so self-conscious. It was the way he looked at her, like she was going to be judged. Judged for what, she didn't know.
He stepped forward almost awkwardly, and held out his hand, like he was going to comfort her. Finally, he stopped, and took in an audible breath. "I'm sorry, Emilia," he said quietly. "I overstepped my boundaries. I didn't realize you would have been so uncomfortable." He looked very guilty. And, she knew that he was serious. The dry ridicule that often hung in his stinging words was absent.
Emilia studied his face and felt her stomach worsen. Imagine what he was thinking! He was either thinking she was a weak person, or that she didn't care for him the same way that he did for her—which was a huge step on his part to take, to do this. It took a lot of guts to do that and risk rejection or being scoffed at. She could think of what she could have done—she could have made a scene, right here, in front of Dumbledore's office. Severus had just risked about everything and anything he stood for, and she could see quite clearly that he was regretting it.
"Don't say that," she said softly. She couldn't stand watching him look like that. She almost wanted him to know how she truly felt, but in the back of her mind, she knew that it would never work. Emilia was setting herself up for even worse feeling than she felt now. There was no way…simply no way. Her and Severus…she was simply out of her mind…
Although, she realized she was sounding extremely sappy and straightened herself up. It was quite Un-Black-like to sit there and say such sappy things. They never did such a thing. It was like watching a Malfoy cry. She took a step back, and felt her hands fall to her sides.
Emilia didn't want the moment to end, but she knew that standing there in silence was making anything she said have less meaning. She knew that this couldn't drag out until she figured something out to say—something that was what she was and not what should be.
What she wanted to do was have him not stare at her in the way he was. He was looking at her in such a way that it made her feel uncomfortable. Not anything perverse, just that he was looking at her in such a way that made her feel guilty.
She clenched her fist into a tight ball, until her fingernails dug into her palm. The nearby clock rung half-past the hour, inviting Severus to say something simple to escape this harsh situation—
"I'm…sorry," she said at last. Maybe this would make up for the awkwardness. There was nothing else she could say to make any difference. Too much time had passed to say anything meaningful.
Emilia's mind whirled. There was, of course, one thing she could do. But would it help either of them to have a relationship? He was a cold- hearted man, a former death eater that harbored more secrets than even she probably did. And she, on the other hand, was the offspring of the worst killers in the Reign of Terror Voldemort ran—not to mention cold-hearted herself. There was really no way for it to work…their relationship would bring more pain than it was worth…
It was her new age, she supposed, that was making her feel this way. She should have known that this was coming. And yet there was something more, that little something that didn't go away—
—even after all this time she had known him, the little something never went away. Perhaps it was there when she was her normal age, just didn't wake from its dormancy until now—
"I've got to go," she said quickly, turning away. Where was this stupid feeling of awkwardness coming from? She'd never experienced it before, or if she did, she forgot where it came from. Her legs were walking even before she knew where they were taking her. She only knew that they were taking her away, but that didn't help their situation any better. If anything, it made all the matters worse. Severus had made his move, and now that he saw how she acted, he would never do so again. Did Emilia even want him to do that again? Yes…perhaps… Emilia was even more perplexed about that…why did Severus kiss her? Why did he risk everything, when he knew exactly what was going to become of it? It's not like the outcome was any different than what he expected…in fact, it was probably worse now because she dragged it out.
In fact, Emilia didn't even think that Severus really knew how she felt. Before, when the situation was anew, she felt that maybe he thought into what happened, and saw that perhaps she wanted to be kissed. Now, the look on Severus's face, the look of utmost guilt, like one with their hand caught in a cookie jar, was far too much for her. She didn't even think twice that he wouldn't say anymore about this. This entire act would probably be dropped like a sack of bricks. He, of all people, would be expected to harbor his feelings for anything. That would be why he came off as such an insolent man, sarcastic and ruthless. She, on the other hand, realizing with growing dread in the pit of her stomach, was exactly like him in that aspect. She could never show her feelings. Emilia was never one for outward affection, except anger, which was formed in such a way that it ended up being extreme sarcasm.
But Severus was different. He brought such a rise out of her, that maybe she thought it was nothing more than extreme dislike. But what was that she told Minerva that one time…it was nothing more than a passionate dislike. Passionate…
Emilia didn't think she was ready for such a commitment as this. This entire situation was ridiculous, and she was reading far too much into that than she should. Maybe it was all in her imagination that Severus liked her. Maybe he never even kissed her, and that it was the wind on her lips of him moving away at the last second to see what she would do, like a test. Once again, she chided herself, she was assuming too much.
As she rounded the corner, she felt her stomach drop. Normally, a staircase was supposed to be positioned there, but there was no staircase to be seen. In fact, it was a complete dead end, if anything. Emilia got this sick sort of sense that something was very, very wrong here.
She backed up a bit, and frowned. Hogwarts was usually known for the fact that everything moved, but would an entire staircase get up and move? The pictures on the wall were empty, like they fled. Emilia had never noticed the pictures to be like this; she had always assumed that at least one of them would stay and guard the particular hallway. It was eerie and quiet. And Emilia realized that it wasn't even midnight yet. Where were all the pictures?
She backed up and turned around the corner to find it deserted. Of course, she never expected that Severus would have stood there, but the castle was creepy after hours. She would give anything to see someone, just so that she wasn't going out of her mind.
"Emilia, something the matter?" a voice said, and a hand touched her shoulder. She positively screamed, and jumped a foot into the air. Whirling around, she was breathing rather quickly.
"Don't do that!" she screeched, as she backed away from the transparent figure. It was Sir Nicholas de Mimpsy-Porpington, or rather his better-known name as Nearly Headless Nick.
"I'm sorry, Emilia, my dear," he apologized. "Didn't mean to frighten you. Still have my tricks, eh?" said Nearly Headless Nick, smiling lopsidedly. He was floating a foot off the ground, his white- pearly skin illuminating what was a dark hallway.
She took a deep breath. "Just a bit jumpy, Nick," she said, clutching her chest. Her heart was beating nearly out of its ribcages. "The pictures around the corner and the staircase have fled, though," she said suddenly. "Do you know what happened?"
Nearly Headless Nick shook his head vigorously. "Haven't a clue, Emilia. I was just on my way to there myself. All the pictures there are gone, did you say?" He put his transparent hand on his chin in thought. "I've only know pictures to flee when they are under extreme situations or are being attacked. Was there any sign of struggle?"
Emilia thought for a moment. "I wasn't really paying attention too well, just looked about. The staircase is gone, and the pictures are empty. That's all I noticed before I was wary of traveling down there. I came back to look for—" She paused. She was going to say, "to look for Severus." Emilia shook her head mentally. She needed to stop thinking like that…and at that moment, the gargoyle flew open, a distraught Severus and Dumbledore running quickly out.
"What's the matter, Headmaster?" Nearly Headless Nick exclaimed, floating over to them with ease. Emilia was not far behind him, the gold on her dress glimmering mockingly in the dimly lit hallway.
He looked at them, and Emilia noticed that he looked older than she'd ever seen him, weary and distressed, his sparking blue eyes clouded in a mist of confusion. "Emilia, Nicholas, Hogwarts may be under an attack."
Emilia's stomach fell through the floor and her entire body went numb. She clasped her hands over her mouth and gasped audibly. Hogwarts was probably the safest place in the entire wizarding world, because of Albus Dumbledore. If it were under an attack, then they'd all be in very big trouble…
"There's someone from the inside," he continued softly, his fists clenched. "I need to alert the Heads of houses immediately, and get all the students in the Great Hall as soon as possible. They say pictures are one thousand words…and the pictures are missing. Which means that this is very serious, and under any circumstances, you are not to mention this to any of the students. I don't need a panic rush," he said firmly. "Emilia, you alert Ravenclaw; Nicholas, you alert Gryffindor; and you, Severus, you get your house there quickly. I shall attend to Hufflepuff." Nearly Headless Nick and Severus set out at once, and Dumbledore caught Emilia's arm. "Please, Emilia, send Minerva to me and take responsibility for her house…our Head Girl and Boy need to be alerted and all the teachers need to do a throughout search."
She nodded. Such planning and swiftness these people acted on, like they expected to be attack at any moment in time…Emilia felt her legs go wobbly before she was on her way, the momentum of her breathtaking run helping her to work quickly. The halls seemed to get longer with each stride, and her breath was soon becoming harder to take. Why wasn't she getting anywhere?
Finally, completely breathless, she reached Minerva door. She banged on his heavily; feeling the day's actions tired her down. If she was so young, she chided herself, why now was she so damn tired?
"Minerva!" She said, still rapping on the door anxiously. Her body decided to finally wake up, and her adrenaline kicked in, at teenager speed. She finally got the "second lap" of awareness she needed for right now.
"Wha—" she said, yawning, as she opened the door. Her hair was in a tight bun, with loose wisps of stray hair sticking out in odd places. She looked like she'd just woken up.
Emilia, as tactful as she is, breathed in and said, "Hogwarts is under an attack, and Dumbledore needs you right now!" She looked up at the older woman, and took a quick heave of air.
Minerva's eyes widened and she grabbed her day robes, which were hung up on a hook next to the door. She covered up her nightgown quickly and flew out of her room, her robes trailing behind her.
"Don't worry about Gryffindor," she said to Minerva, she rounded the corner to go to the Tower. "You need to get to Dumbledore quickly."
Minerva gave a quick glance behind, and nodded. "All right, then," she said, and turned to go the other way. She walked two or three steps to the right and stopped, lifting her wand. She tapped her wand on the wall next to the picture of Harris the Horrible and disappeared into the secret passage.
Emilia walked quickly to the Tower, and saw that the Fat Lady was gone, her picture barren and Emilia's options severely shortened. How was she going to get into the Tower? She reached over and pried the picture, willing it to give. The only thing that accomplished was that her hands were marked from the metal.
"Damn it," she swore under her breath, not wanting this to happen. It was going on about midnight, and she hoped with all her might that someone would still be awake in there. She raised her fists and rained a hailstorm of pounds on the picture frame.
After five minutes of pounding, she got slightly inclined to be frustrated. "Open up," she said through her clenched teeth, trying again to pry it open manually. She thought to try "Alohomora", but that might be too easy. She furrowed her brow in thought.
"What the hell…" she said, and lifted her wand. "Alohomora!" she screamed, pointed her wand with a grand spray of sparks and swirls. The picture frame did not budge. She was running out of ideas.
"This is a bloody emergency," she said with a whine, kicking the painting. "Open up, god damn it!" Her patience was wearing thin. That's it, she supposed, lifting her wand again. She would blow away the picture frame. The damn castle was under attack; she needed those people out now.
"Reducto!" she yelled, hoping that the magic in the picture frame was not so strong. Otherwise she would have to find another way…
The picture shook tremendously, but did not give way. Emilia huffed, the sigh making her long hair take flight in the breath. If time would not age her, then this would.
Finally, finally, the picture opened. A very tired George Weasley stepped out, who looked like he'd be disturbed from reading or studying (and Emilia laughed inwardly at this; the Weasley twins never studied).
"What is it, Professor?" he said, a smile playing his face.
She gave him a cold look, and his smile faded right away. "I need to get inside, now," she said, pushing by him and running into the maroon Common Room. "Weasley, take the boys' dorm, wake them up, and get them down here now," she barked, running up the spiral staircase to the girls' dormitory.
"Why couldn't I wake up the girls?" she heard him yell, and go up the other side. Emilia started down the hallway, banging on doors and opening them up, waking up the all the years quickly.
"Girls, get downstairs, now!" she cried, and they must have understood the urgency in her voice, because they got up quickly and were in the hall. Murmurs of "what's going on?" were heard, but Emilia didn't take time to her them all.
She banged on the door that led to the four Gryffindor Prefects and commanded them to take order downstairs now. She pushed her way through them all and made her way down the spiral staircase, nearly out of breath but wide awake with adrenaline pumping through her veins. What if the perpetrator was in the Common Room now…?
Potter! Her minded screamed, and she made her way through the crowd quickly. Her group, this group, was probably the most in danger. They, being Gryffindor and the ones terrorized by the relentless Slytherins, were probably even worse off than the Hufflepuffs or the Ravenclaws.
Most of the Slytherins, she knew, disliked the Gryffindors for their common blood and their Muggle parentage. They looked down on this, and most of them—she knew only too well—become Death Eaters and stand by the side of Lord Voldemort.
However much the Slytherins were tied to perfect heritage (more like inbreeding, she thought sarcastically) they also took it upon themselves to rid the rest of the Wizarding race who aren't born of pure blood. Gryffindors had the most amounts of Muggle-borns—those born without Wizarding heritage—than any other house in the school.
And they had Potter. For nearly 15 years, that Potter boy had managed to escape the wrath of Voldemort. He is the Boy Who Lived. He is also Voldemort's worst enemy. Emilia should like to think that if he were going to head anywhere, her first guess would be nearly all of the Gryffindors, who were not only mostly Muggle-born, but also those who weren't simply Muggle-born adored those who are, and that was even worse.
So, with the sinking feeling of dread settling into her stomach, she pushed her way through the girls, hearing the shouts of the Prefects directing them what to do. She stepped into the Common Room to see it full of the boys and those making it down the stairs groggily, yet most of them knew something was wrong, and the tension in the room was nearly unbearable.
She walked into the middle of the room, and found herself at everyone's height. She sighed with frustration, the hissing escaping through her teeth, and climbed up onto the nearest chair, a plush maroon seat in front of the fireplace. "Gryffindors, listen up!" she yelled through the crowd, which to her dismay, did not change their volume.
She took in a deep breath and boomed with all her might, "May I have your attention please?" That quieted the room. "I want you all to walk down to the Great Hall in an orderly fashion! I want you all quiet and organized! And I expect nothing less!"
There was a murmur of question that rose through the crowd, and she breathed in heartily to continue. "Prefects, I want you to make absolutely sure that there is order, and if there is any scuffling, I want harsh point deduction! This is serious, and I'm probably right in assuming Professor Dumbledore will explain the situation to all of you when we get there." The Gryffindors were probably her best house to deal with, but she didn't need Fred and George Weasley's antics. Not now—she needed to establish order here, and she did not need anything else contrary.
They filed out though the portrait hole two at a time, the silence that was evoked among them taking effect, to her happiness. The silence however was eerie and somewhat disturbing, but Emilia put that out of her mind quickly and escorted them quickly. Down the hall, she saw one of the teachers examining something on the floor, and she longed to be doing anything else but escorting children to the Great Hall. She figured that Dumbledore would surely put the Head Boy and Girl in charge, and leave her free to search whatever was left. She was the blessed Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, for goodness' sakes.
The front two Prefects, Hermione Granger and Katie Bell, opened the Great Hall doors to feel the whoosh of silent, stagnant air. Emilia peered inside, and saw it completely empty. The feeling of uneasiness settled in her stomach:
Where was everyone?
"The fates have informed her…honestly, who creates the exam? She does," said Hermione, not bothering to keep her voice down.
So…the fates have informed that I foresee something interesting…think "Sirius Black" for a moment.
And something to browse about: have any of you seen Shrek? (That's an awesome movie, see it if you haven't). Anyway, you have to be quick to catch it, but look at the man who hands over the witch in the beginning. I don't know how many shillings he gets for her, I think twenty, but the man who walks away has black chin-length hair and a strong nose…and the first thing I think is Snape! "Dude, that is Snape!", I believe, were my exact words. However, should you catch him, tell me…
And remember: a good reader reads and reviews. SO TAKE THE HINT. REVIEW.
Chapter Eleven: Pain In Paradise
Emilia stood there silently, quietly cursing herself for letting him kiss her. "Severus?" she said to his back.
"What?" he answered, a bit more snappishly than he wanted. He turned his head to the side—as if what she had to say had meaning to him. Emilia reached out her hand, but pulled it back quickly.
She swallowed hard; noticing that what she was trying to say was so hard to do. "D-Do—" she started, but was cut off when he whirled around completely. His black eyes were very large, she noticed. And for once, they carried a glint—a small glimmer, even.
She shifted, and put her hand on her arm nervously. Her cheeks felt hot, for some fairly odd reason, and Emilia wished she hadn't said anything. "N-Never mind, Severus," she said, turning around. Her heart felt like a string had wrapped around it and pulled tight, while her stomach churned relentlessly. Emilia felt like she was going to be sick.
She had to admit, she hadn't felt this flighty or this confused in nearly five years. Emilia wasn't completely naïve; she just wasn't used to public affection. She had this stubborn streak in her that was pure and extremely secretive. Emilia felt that public affection was for the birds, and that this sort of outward emotion should be held for private.
But that were alone. That, she supposed most avidly, was her problem.
It was embarrassment and guilt that was doing this to her. Severus stood there, looking at her, waiting for her to say something else so he wouldn't have to leave so soon. Emilia had never been so self-conscious. It was the way he looked at her, like she was going to be judged. Judged for what, she didn't know.
He stepped forward almost awkwardly, and held out his hand, like he was going to comfort her. Finally, he stopped, and took in an audible breath. "I'm sorry, Emilia," he said quietly. "I overstepped my boundaries. I didn't realize you would have been so uncomfortable." He looked very guilty. And, she knew that he was serious. The dry ridicule that often hung in his stinging words was absent.
Emilia studied his face and felt her stomach worsen. Imagine what he was thinking! He was either thinking she was a weak person, or that she didn't care for him the same way that he did for her—which was a huge step on his part to take, to do this. It took a lot of guts to do that and risk rejection or being scoffed at. She could think of what she could have done—she could have made a scene, right here, in front of Dumbledore's office. Severus had just risked about everything and anything he stood for, and she could see quite clearly that he was regretting it.
"Don't say that," she said softly. She couldn't stand watching him look like that. She almost wanted him to know how she truly felt, but in the back of her mind, she knew that it would never work. Emilia was setting herself up for even worse feeling than she felt now. There was no way…simply no way. Her and Severus…she was simply out of her mind…
Although, she realized she was sounding extremely sappy and straightened herself up. It was quite Un-Black-like to sit there and say such sappy things. They never did such a thing. It was like watching a Malfoy cry. She took a step back, and felt her hands fall to her sides.
Emilia didn't want the moment to end, but she knew that standing there in silence was making anything she said have less meaning. She knew that this couldn't drag out until she figured something out to say—something that was what she was and not what should be.
What she wanted to do was have him not stare at her in the way he was. He was looking at her in such a way that it made her feel uncomfortable. Not anything perverse, just that he was looking at her in such a way that made her feel guilty.
She clenched her fist into a tight ball, until her fingernails dug into her palm. The nearby clock rung half-past the hour, inviting Severus to say something simple to escape this harsh situation—
"I'm…sorry," she said at last. Maybe this would make up for the awkwardness. There was nothing else she could say to make any difference. Too much time had passed to say anything meaningful.
Emilia's mind whirled. There was, of course, one thing she could do. But would it help either of them to have a relationship? He was a cold- hearted man, a former death eater that harbored more secrets than even she probably did. And she, on the other hand, was the offspring of the worst killers in the Reign of Terror Voldemort ran—not to mention cold-hearted herself. There was really no way for it to work…their relationship would bring more pain than it was worth…
It was her new age, she supposed, that was making her feel this way. She should have known that this was coming. And yet there was something more, that little something that didn't go away—
—even after all this time she had known him, the little something never went away. Perhaps it was there when she was her normal age, just didn't wake from its dormancy until now—
"I've got to go," she said quickly, turning away. Where was this stupid feeling of awkwardness coming from? She'd never experienced it before, or if she did, she forgot where it came from. Her legs were walking even before she knew where they were taking her. She only knew that they were taking her away, but that didn't help their situation any better. If anything, it made all the matters worse. Severus had made his move, and now that he saw how she acted, he would never do so again. Did Emilia even want him to do that again? Yes…perhaps… Emilia was even more perplexed about that…why did Severus kiss her? Why did he risk everything, when he knew exactly what was going to become of it? It's not like the outcome was any different than what he expected…in fact, it was probably worse now because she dragged it out.
In fact, Emilia didn't even think that Severus really knew how she felt. Before, when the situation was anew, she felt that maybe he thought into what happened, and saw that perhaps she wanted to be kissed. Now, the look on Severus's face, the look of utmost guilt, like one with their hand caught in a cookie jar, was far too much for her. She didn't even think twice that he wouldn't say anymore about this. This entire act would probably be dropped like a sack of bricks. He, of all people, would be expected to harbor his feelings for anything. That would be why he came off as such an insolent man, sarcastic and ruthless. She, on the other hand, realizing with growing dread in the pit of her stomach, was exactly like him in that aspect. She could never show her feelings. Emilia was never one for outward affection, except anger, which was formed in such a way that it ended up being extreme sarcasm.
But Severus was different. He brought such a rise out of her, that maybe she thought it was nothing more than extreme dislike. But what was that she told Minerva that one time…it was nothing more than a passionate dislike. Passionate…
Emilia didn't think she was ready for such a commitment as this. This entire situation was ridiculous, and she was reading far too much into that than she should. Maybe it was all in her imagination that Severus liked her. Maybe he never even kissed her, and that it was the wind on her lips of him moving away at the last second to see what she would do, like a test. Once again, she chided herself, she was assuming too much.
As she rounded the corner, she felt her stomach drop. Normally, a staircase was supposed to be positioned there, but there was no staircase to be seen. In fact, it was a complete dead end, if anything. Emilia got this sick sort of sense that something was very, very wrong here.
She backed up a bit, and frowned. Hogwarts was usually known for the fact that everything moved, but would an entire staircase get up and move? The pictures on the wall were empty, like they fled. Emilia had never noticed the pictures to be like this; she had always assumed that at least one of them would stay and guard the particular hallway. It was eerie and quiet. And Emilia realized that it wasn't even midnight yet. Where were all the pictures?
She backed up and turned around the corner to find it deserted. Of course, she never expected that Severus would have stood there, but the castle was creepy after hours. She would give anything to see someone, just so that she wasn't going out of her mind.
"Emilia, something the matter?" a voice said, and a hand touched her shoulder. She positively screamed, and jumped a foot into the air. Whirling around, she was breathing rather quickly.
"Don't do that!" she screeched, as she backed away from the transparent figure. It was Sir Nicholas de Mimpsy-Porpington, or rather his better-known name as Nearly Headless Nick.
"I'm sorry, Emilia, my dear," he apologized. "Didn't mean to frighten you. Still have my tricks, eh?" said Nearly Headless Nick, smiling lopsidedly. He was floating a foot off the ground, his white- pearly skin illuminating what was a dark hallway.
She took a deep breath. "Just a bit jumpy, Nick," she said, clutching her chest. Her heart was beating nearly out of its ribcages. "The pictures around the corner and the staircase have fled, though," she said suddenly. "Do you know what happened?"
Nearly Headless Nick shook his head vigorously. "Haven't a clue, Emilia. I was just on my way to there myself. All the pictures there are gone, did you say?" He put his transparent hand on his chin in thought. "I've only know pictures to flee when they are under extreme situations or are being attacked. Was there any sign of struggle?"
Emilia thought for a moment. "I wasn't really paying attention too well, just looked about. The staircase is gone, and the pictures are empty. That's all I noticed before I was wary of traveling down there. I came back to look for—" She paused. She was going to say, "to look for Severus." Emilia shook her head mentally. She needed to stop thinking like that…and at that moment, the gargoyle flew open, a distraught Severus and Dumbledore running quickly out.
"What's the matter, Headmaster?" Nearly Headless Nick exclaimed, floating over to them with ease. Emilia was not far behind him, the gold on her dress glimmering mockingly in the dimly lit hallway.
He looked at them, and Emilia noticed that he looked older than she'd ever seen him, weary and distressed, his sparking blue eyes clouded in a mist of confusion. "Emilia, Nicholas, Hogwarts may be under an attack."
Emilia's stomach fell through the floor and her entire body went numb. She clasped her hands over her mouth and gasped audibly. Hogwarts was probably the safest place in the entire wizarding world, because of Albus Dumbledore. If it were under an attack, then they'd all be in very big trouble…
"There's someone from the inside," he continued softly, his fists clenched. "I need to alert the Heads of houses immediately, and get all the students in the Great Hall as soon as possible. They say pictures are one thousand words…and the pictures are missing. Which means that this is very serious, and under any circumstances, you are not to mention this to any of the students. I don't need a panic rush," he said firmly. "Emilia, you alert Ravenclaw; Nicholas, you alert Gryffindor; and you, Severus, you get your house there quickly. I shall attend to Hufflepuff." Nearly Headless Nick and Severus set out at once, and Dumbledore caught Emilia's arm. "Please, Emilia, send Minerva to me and take responsibility for her house…our Head Girl and Boy need to be alerted and all the teachers need to do a throughout search."
She nodded. Such planning and swiftness these people acted on, like they expected to be attack at any moment in time…Emilia felt her legs go wobbly before she was on her way, the momentum of her breathtaking run helping her to work quickly. The halls seemed to get longer with each stride, and her breath was soon becoming harder to take. Why wasn't she getting anywhere?
Finally, completely breathless, she reached Minerva door. She banged on his heavily; feeling the day's actions tired her down. If she was so young, she chided herself, why now was she so damn tired?
"Minerva!" She said, still rapping on the door anxiously. Her body decided to finally wake up, and her adrenaline kicked in, at teenager speed. She finally got the "second lap" of awareness she needed for right now.
"Wha—" she said, yawning, as she opened the door. Her hair was in a tight bun, with loose wisps of stray hair sticking out in odd places. She looked like she'd just woken up.
Emilia, as tactful as she is, breathed in and said, "Hogwarts is under an attack, and Dumbledore needs you right now!" She looked up at the older woman, and took a quick heave of air.
Minerva's eyes widened and she grabbed her day robes, which were hung up on a hook next to the door. She covered up her nightgown quickly and flew out of her room, her robes trailing behind her.
"Don't worry about Gryffindor," she said to Minerva, she rounded the corner to go to the Tower. "You need to get to Dumbledore quickly."
Minerva gave a quick glance behind, and nodded. "All right, then," she said, and turned to go the other way. She walked two or three steps to the right and stopped, lifting her wand. She tapped her wand on the wall next to the picture of Harris the Horrible and disappeared into the secret passage.
Emilia walked quickly to the Tower, and saw that the Fat Lady was gone, her picture barren and Emilia's options severely shortened. How was she going to get into the Tower? She reached over and pried the picture, willing it to give. The only thing that accomplished was that her hands were marked from the metal.
"Damn it," she swore under her breath, not wanting this to happen. It was going on about midnight, and she hoped with all her might that someone would still be awake in there. She raised her fists and rained a hailstorm of pounds on the picture frame.
After five minutes of pounding, she got slightly inclined to be frustrated. "Open up," she said through her clenched teeth, trying again to pry it open manually. She thought to try "Alohomora", but that might be too easy. She furrowed her brow in thought.
"What the hell…" she said, and lifted her wand. "Alohomora!" she screamed, pointed her wand with a grand spray of sparks and swirls. The picture frame did not budge. She was running out of ideas.
"This is a bloody emergency," she said with a whine, kicking the painting. "Open up, god damn it!" Her patience was wearing thin. That's it, she supposed, lifting her wand again. She would blow away the picture frame. The damn castle was under attack; she needed those people out now.
"Reducto!" she yelled, hoping that the magic in the picture frame was not so strong. Otherwise she would have to find another way…
The picture shook tremendously, but did not give way. Emilia huffed, the sigh making her long hair take flight in the breath. If time would not age her, then this would.
Finally, finally, the picture opened. A very tired George Weasley stepped out, who looked like he'd be disturbed from reading or studying (and Emilia laughed inwardly at this; the Weasley twins never studied).
"What is it, Professor?" he said, a smile playing his face.
She gave him a cold look, and his smile faded right away. "I need to get inside, now," she said, pushing by him and running into the maroon Common Room. "Weasley, take the boys' dorm, wake them up, and get them down here now," she barked, running up the spiral staircase to the girls' dormitory.
"Why couldn't I wake up the girls?" she heard him yell, and go up the other side. Emilia started down the hallway, banging on doors and opening them up, waking up the all the years quickly.
"Girls, get downstairs, now!" she cried, and they must have understood the urgency in her voice, because they got up quickly and were in the hall. Murmurs of "what's going on?" were heard, but Emilia didn't take time to her them all.
She banged on the door that led to the four Gryffindor Prefects and commanded them to take order downstairs now. She pushed her way through them all and made her way down the spiral staircase, nearly out of breath but wide awake with adrenaline pumping through her veins. What if the perpetrator was in the Common Room now…?
Potter! Her minded screamed, and she made her way through the crowd quickly. Her group, this group, was probably the most in danger. They, being Gryffindor and the ones terrorized by the relentless Slytherins, were probably even worse off than the Hufflepuffs or the Ravenclaws.
Most of the Slytherins, she knew, disliked the Gryffindors for their common blood and their Muggle parentage. They looked down on this, and most of them—she knew only too well—become Death Eaters and stand by the side of Lord Voldemort.
However much the Slytherins were tied to perfect heritage (more like inbreeding, she thought sarcastically) they also took it upon themselves to rid the rest of the Wizarding race who aren't born of pure blood. Gryffindors had the most amounts of Muggle-borns—those born without Wizarding heritage—than any other house in the school.
And they had Potter. For nearly 15 years, that Potter boy had managed to escape the wrath of Voldemort. He is the Boy Who Lived. He is also Voldemort's worst enemy. Emilia should like to think that if he were going to head anywhere, her first guess would be nearly all of the Gryffindors, who were not only mostly Muggle-born, but also those who weren't simply Muggle-born adored those who are, and that was even worse.
So, with the sinking feeling of dread settling into her stomach, she pushed her way through the girls, hearing the shouts of the Prefects directing them what to do. She stepped into the Common Room to see it full of the boys and those making it down the stairs groggily, yet most of them knew something was wrong, and the tension in the room was nearly unbearable.
She walked into the middle of the room, and found herself at everyone's height. She sighed with frustration, the hissing escaping through her teeth, and climbed up onto the nearest chair, a plush maroon seat in front of the fireplace. "Gryffindors, listen up!" she yelled through the crowd, which to her dismay, did not change their volume.
She took in a deep breath and boomed with all her might, "May I have your attention please?" That quieted the room. "I want you all to walk down to the Great Hall in an orderly fashion! I want you all quiet and organized! And I expect nothing less!"
There was a murmur of question that rose through the crowd, and she breathed in heartily to continue. "Prefects, I want you to make absolutely sure that there is order, and if there is any scuffling, I want harsh point deduction! This is serious, and I'm probably right in assuming Professor Dumbledore will explain the situation to all of you when we get there." The Gryffindors were probably her best house to deal with, but she didn't need Fred and George Weasley's antics. Not now—she needed to establish order here, and she did not need anything else contrary.
They filed out though the portrait hole two at a time, the silence that was evoked among them taking effect, to her happiness. The silence however was eerie and somewhat disturbing, but Emilia put that out of her mind quickly and escorted them quickly. Down the hall, she saw one of the teachers examining something on the floor, and she longed to be doing anything else but escorting children to the Great Hall. She figured that Dumbledore would surely put the Head Boy and Girl in charge, and leave her free to search whatever was left. She was the blessed Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, for goodness' sakes.
The front two Prefects, Hermione Granger and Katie Bell, opened the Great Hall doors to feel the whoosh of silent, stagnant air. Emilia peered inside, and saw it completely empty. The feeling of uneasiness settled in her stomach:
Where was everyone?