Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
Elrin Danse is my own creation.
Deep in the MireChapter Four
At breakfast, Elrin was accosted by Xiomara Hooch who said that she was going shopping in Diagon Alley, and asked if she would like to come.
"Albus has given me a bag of galleons for you to spend on all the things that you need. I could help you if you would like me to"
Delighted, Elrin accepted: never needing an excuse to go shopping. As she caught the eye of the Headmaster over his porridge, she grinned and waved and who waved his spoon back at her, smiling. Before she left, she would go and thank him. In the corner of her eye, she was aware of Severus sitting beyond him who seemed to be concentrating very hard on talking to Poppy, but whose eyes kept shifting past her to Elrin. Realized that she was being surreptitiously observed, she knew that it was not a compliment. What on earth did he expect her to do at the breakfast table? She left early, to meet Xiomara at her rooms at 10 o'clock.
When she knocked on her door and was told to come in, Xiomara was ready with scarves and gloves.
"You'll need these, it's really bitter out."
When they were ready, Elrin made to go for the door.
"Where are you going?"
"Out."
"Yes, but not that way."
Floo Powder. Oh good grief. Of course, how did she think she was getting there? She was still back in the mindset of being in Borehamwood.
"You had better go first, so I can see what you are doing."
Panicking, she delayed, staring at the flames happily dancing in the fireplace.
"Supposing it doesn't work with me, I'm not a 'full witch'. Maybe it will fry me to a crisp, or – turn me green or something.
"You've been through it before."
"No I haven't."
"Think about it."
"Oh, - to the hospital wing?"
"Yes, when Severus scooped you up like a rag doll. That man works fast; I'll give him that. He was through the fire before you could say 'Quiddichmaniac'". They both laughed. She relaxed.
"I've been told that he is more accepting now about your Sorting."
"Sort of. At gunpoint."
She laughed, her wild laughter bending her double.
How wonderful to hear such laughter.
She gave Elrin the bowl of powder, shaking slightly still.
"Ok, a handful, and throw it in."
"Keep your elbows in"
"Diagon Alley" Elrin managed to pronounce clearly.
An inelegance way to travel she thought, dizzy and weird, but at least it was quick as she tumbled out of a fireplace. As she dusted herself down, Xiomara came through – much more gracefully. She just stepped through. The shop that they came through in was busy, full of animals, birds, bats, and rats – a whole minor menagerie making a racket as well as children pointing and squeaking alternatively with delight and revulsion. Should she have a pet? She didn't really think so, since she didn't know what her immediate future was likely to be – it wouldn't be fair on the animal. Given the choice, she would quite liked to have had a bat.
"Come on, we've got lots to do" said the Quidditch mistress, taking a hold of her arm.
"You need –another two robes at least, some clothes, a cloak black, err, scarf black, mittens black. That's for starters. Then there are quills, and plenty of parchment. Don't bother with ink – Severus makes it for all of us."
"I'd like a bit of make up too."
"Make-up spell. Easy. I'll show you went we get back. You don't need it anyway."
"What about a cauldron? And a wand? A broomstick?"
"From what Albus tells me, you need none of these."
Nothing at all? She felt disappointed. She would have liked to be a proper witch, not this half-witch business.
"Look," said Xiomara kindly, seeing her face. "You have other abilities. We all do, yours is just more – unusual."
What were they exactly?
Elrin was not wildly convinced, but she allowed her to manoeuvre her out of the shop and outside. There appeared to be hundreds of children of various ages shopping with and without parental supervision. It was chaos.
"It's not the best time in the world to do this – but it's all we've got" as she steered her left out of the shop.
She thought of Harry and his first visit, shopping with Hagrid. And an image of some other small boy with deep black hair, skinny and awkward and clutching a pile of books, just slithered into her mind. It startled her to receive such a strong image, but she pulled herself together and marched behind her companion, into shop after shop. Xiomara was a good guide, and soon they settled down for a good break at Fortesques – not for ice cream, because it was too cold, but for a good black coffee.
"Not the Leaky Cauldron?" she enquired.
"Dull place, and too many people I know. I prefer to get out of the school mind-set when I can. It's a bit – parochial."
Elrin smiled at the thought of her own idea of parochial, but supposed it was just the same here. While they were drinking, she examined her purchases: a good heavy black scarf and cut-off mittens for outdoors, more robes, more clothes, a thick winter cloak.
How could this all be possible? What star was she under that she had arrived here? Of course, she could be locked up under drugs, dreaming all this.
She gazed around on all the people milling up and down the alleyways with their cobbled streets and archaic shops in the fading winter sunshine. In particular, she would have loved to have gone to meet Mr. Ollivander and tried wand after wand, until with a gasp of triumph – a wand had chosen her, and she would learn and learn until the knowledge burst out of her.
Oh, to be eleven again, here of course, not there.
"What house are you in Xiomara?"
"Slytherin of course. Did you not know?"
Elrin shook her head, pleased. She should have guessed, because she had style, which a lot of the other staff did not. Except Severus Snape of course. So, one could be human and be Slytherin then? She wondered how she could articulate this to her companion.
"Xiomara – "
And was stopped by one small boy, fair-haired, running up to them shouting.
"Madam Hooch …"
"Jeremy. How nice to see you." She interrupted, and tilted her head at him. He collected his wits and stood straight.
"Sorry."
"Don't be sorry, just calm down. Now, this is Madam Danse, a member of the staff."
"How do you do Madam Danse." He recited, face flushed from his run.
Turning to Elrin, she said, "This is Jeremy Honeycutt. Second year."
"How do you do Jeremy."
"Yes, Jeremy, " Xiomara said, all attention. "What is it you want?"
For a second, she thought the boy wanted to say how much he was pleased to see his Quidditch teacher, in fact, was sure of it.
"I – just wanted to ask about the junior team, whether I can be the Keeper. Please," he added, more desperately.
"I have been making up the list, and yes, you are to be the Keeper. But you are on trial only." She added, a kindly maliciousness in her voice.
"Thank you Madam Hooch! Thank you!" He leapt up and down, and then controlled himself again, and rushed off.
Xiomara smiled after the boy. "He's good too. He may make the school team, certainly as reserve. Right, back to you. There is one place we need to go yet. Leave these here – Fortesque will look after them for a knut or two. The sun was beginning to get very low now, and the lights in the shops beamed out in the growing dusk. They wended their way through many alleys before coming to one shop.
"Not Gladrags then?"
"Not on your life. It's alright for everyday wear, and it is a little more expensive, but worth it, really.
Elrin didn't care. She hadn't had so much money before, and was gladly enjoying it.
"If you think I have enough"
"Enough and plenty to spare."
"Goody. What is it I'm getting?"
"Dress for the Valentine Day Ball. You need something special. You don't want to wear your normal clothes. Elrin thought that her robes were beautiful enough, but Xiomara had the bit between her teeth. So they looked through a variety of things until Elrin spotted something that made her feel as if it were made for her, and they both agreed.
"Shoes too. Must have shoes." And both dived into the shoe department and fell upon the only pair that existed there as all the others shrank into insignificance. It was so wonderful to have a female companion for shopping. She had never had it before. It was such glorious fun, sneering at this, and getting excited over that: mirroring her own misgivings and reassuring her about the complementary. Elrin had not had such fun – since – since she could remember.
"Not of course, said her escort, "that there is anyone to tart up for, but Albus expects us to look our best – while we keep our sharp eyes on the little buggers.." and they giggled all the way back home as it got dark.
Home?
Sunday evening competed with Saturday as the highlight of the weekend. She could feel the invasion of the students, like a mass exodus in reverse. Slamming doors, shouts, feet thumping down corridors, shouts of correction from staff. She had spent most of the day walking round outside, in her new winter cloak, scarf and mittens, cold and excited. Not excited for anything in particular, just being there, seeing the scenery and gaping at the architecture of the school from the outside. It was on such a grand scale and everything demonstrated its best profile in the January sunshine. If she had been an artist, she would have grabbed her paints immediately. It was an oasis of security and strength.
When seated at the High Table on the left of the Head at the end, she could see all the various sizes and shapes of youngsters in their rows along the tables, excitedly chattering while they awaited the Winter Feast to begin. About them, the Great Hall looked magnificent, and the glow from the rows and rows of candles spread warmth and allure to all around, and above them the night sky reflected was pure indigo. Earlier, Severus had come up behind her, bent down close to her ear and said that he expected her to watch the Slytherin table, but also to have her eye out for Gryffindor as well. She thought she had better do her duty and continued to be fascinated by all the different houses, with the ghosts parading and remembered her sorting, and wasn't sure if she was embarrassed or proud. The two emotions stood side by side, neither one of them giving ground to the other. Thinking about it made her very uneasy. Dumbledore then stood as Minerva brought the room to attention.
"Welcome to Hogwarts for our second term of the year. "Now before we make utter pigs of ourselves, I have a couple of announcements. As you know, Professor Swage who was teaching Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher has taken a posting at the Ministry, and so I have the great pleasure to welcome back for the rest of the year someone who has my complete confidence, and incidentally, the governoring body's confidence," his voice emphasising his words carefully, his glasses flashing in the candlelight. "Professor Lupin, who has been with us before." Loud clapping as he stood up, especially from the Gryffindor table.
"And to introduce a new member of staff – Madam Danse, who is our researcher." She received applause, but perhaps benefiting from their obvious enthusiasm for the knowledge or reputation of the DADA teacher. So that was who he was; he certainly looked more presentable than he presumably had years ago, but he still had a slight scruffy look about him that some men had, regardless of their dress, which she found rather attractive. She liked the look of his face too, a gentle, reserved, human face. Severus did not look pleased at his presence, but neither did he appear as angry as she might have expected.
"Now let the feast begin!" cried the Headmaster, clapping his hands. Gloriously fattening foods appeared immediately in front of them on silver platters. The dinner of course ended with engorged students dragging themselves off to their dormitories, still chattering and pushing and larking about in their tiredness. It seemed as if a giant creature had invaded the quiet place. Not an alien one, because it lived there so many months in the year. But now, in a few short hours, it seemed as if it had always been like that: full and bustling with a myriad energies into one great being: All order and chaos, all secrets and candour. Wizards of all ages meeting with the energy of the building, as it took them back into its bosom for the second term.
The next day, she had a problem with knowing how to be useful, so she thought she would do a little research on her own in the library. Asking for Madam Pince's help, she found several books nearly ready to fall apart and settled down to read what she could on Phoenixes and their language. She was not looking forward to that night, but at least she had made an effort at preparation.
At five to seven, Elrin, having asked directions of one of the Prefects, approached Severus' door nervously. She would have preferred to run away, but made herself knock.
"Enter."
Inside, she was surprised at the size of the room. She had expected something smaller, and there was a fire in the grate, warming the figure writing in one of the armchairs. He took one glance at her, scribbled some more, and then stood up.
"Follow me."
As he walked, he stripped off his outer robe to reveal his frock coat, threw it on a bench and led her into a side room which was filled with rows upon rows of floating things in jars, presumably body parts: human, animal, insect and vegetable life she noted swiftly, not really wanting to peer too closely. He grabbed a heavy chair from the side and dragged it to the middle. It was chilly in there, obviously to keep the temperature down for preservation purposes.
"Sit down," he commanded.
Elrin sat, wondering what he wanted her to do.
"Put your arms on the arms of the chair." He sounded like a physician. She did as she was told. Then looked up to see him with a wand in his hand, pointing it at her.
"Incarcertorium" he murmured softly. Ropes appeared from nowhere, binding her hands, waist and feet to the chair. She couldn't move at all.
What?
She looked at him aghast– at his frighteningly easy manner: at the leisurely indulgence he projected, standing there.
"Did you really think that I would let you get your hands on my papers – just like that?" he purred.
She remained silent. She needed to get her heartbeat down first.
How did one play this? What could she say to convince him? Nothing probably. He seemed beyond reason.
He leant down to her level, leaning his hands on the arms of the chair besides hers, scrutinizing her close up: eyes like black stars attempting to infiltrate their way into hers.
"You are blocking my reading, Lady. I don't know how you are doing it, but you have been holding something back – right from the beginning: something I don't feel comfortable with and I want to know what it is."
So he couldn't read her, well – good.
He straightened up again, circling her, tapping his wand on one of his hands.
"I don't have anything of importance to hide."
"A little - Veritaserum will soon establish what is important and what is not."
She froze.
"You wouldn't. Isn't that - illegal?"
"Restricted." he leered, smiling an eerie, unpleasant smile while reaching for a tiny crystal jar from amongst his bottles. Then he put it on a small table in front of her.
"Three drops should do it."
"Under Dumbledore's nose? You wouldn't dare."
"And what would you know about what I dare and what I dare not?" he said, raising one eyebrow. "A little Memory Charm for you, a little deception there."
Then his voice changed from one of easy sensuality to bitterness. "You don't know what kind of person you are up against."
"A former Death Eater I understand."
Former please: former.
"Two points for Slytherin," he teased: then abruptly sneered. "A nasty species – one that will do anything to preserve what they hold dear, and I mean anything Lady."
She noticed that she was sweating slightly in the cool room. He looked pleased.
"Those papers – must be dynamite if you are prepared to do this."
"Ten points for Slytherin " he said, appreciatively. "We're doing well, aren't we?"
She thought she would change to another tack.
"I understand your need to protect them considering the dangers of V – V…
Odd. How is it difficult to name him? Was it in this world, not as simple? Her respect for Harry grew. She forced herself, determined not to be outdone by an eleven year old. "Voldemort"
"What do you understand? What do you know of the dangers? Have you ever been near this danger?" he leaned into her. "Have you any idea whatsoever of the strength of the foul darkness which threatens us?
"No, no I don't." she said ashamed.
"You have been cosy at home."
Hardly cosy. But yes, blind and dull-witted. Doing nothing with her life. Just existing.
He went on. "Snug and protected – not seeing anything. So what are you doing here?"
She let out a breath. "I don't know."
As if he would believe her: like pigs flying. Do pigs fly here?
He inhaled suddenly: took the potion bottle, opened it and shook it with his hand. He then moved towards her, putting his thumb about an inch from her mouth, which had suddenly became very dry. She kept her eyes locked onto his, as if they were the only piece of sanity in an insane world. His thumb stayed steady and she waited for the clear liquid to touch her lips that were slightly parted. Was he going to smear it on her mouth? If she put out her tongue, she could lick it. Then he would find out the feelings he evoked in her every time he was near and then he would trample on them. Between her vulnerability and his intent lay a whole world. He would have to force the drug on her: there was no way that she would make it easy for him.
What was that Renaissance guy's name who believed in the ends justifying the means?
She felt the tightness of the ropes around her and her eyes flicked to the closed door. Then, quickly, she made a jerky movement with both hands, restricted though they were. No incantation came out of her: nothing happened. And he laughed, a deep, eerie laugh, full of unimaginable obsessions and encounters. Not that freezing him would have her helped much, but maybe she could have found a way to get free.
"Careful, my hand might have moved in the wrong direction. " He wiped his hands thoroughly on a handkerchief from his pocket, and then turned to kneel before her on the floor.
Puzzled, she watched as he smiled unpleasantly, looking up at her and then she nearly choked as he put his hands on her thighs. Slowly, slowly, he began to push the material of her skirt up.
Merciful heavens – this man will do anything.
Steadily, he worked the folds – keeping his eyes tight on hers – the skirt had a lot of material and he took his time, while she started to breath heavily.
Machiavelli, that's the name. Central library. Top shelf, on the right. Cover a bit torn.
What was worse, she realized that her knickers were suddenly wet, her body betraying her once again. She closed her eyes in case he could read her desire, although any minute he would find out anyway.
"Please don't do this," she whispered, hardly getting the words out. He ploughed on. Then something inside her broke: she didn't care. She turned her head and waited with her skirt hitched high and her thighs now exposed to the cool air and his hot hands.
Let him get on with it.
Then he paused. Slowly he stood up and pulled her skirt down, almost carefully. She still felt the imprint of his hands on her, burning and clear as if they were still there. Then, with an abrupt movement, he turned to go out of the door, his silhouette crisp against the outer light. Something in it made her ache with longing. Then realized that he was taking the light with him. Those bottles and those shadows were beginning to look as if they would take over the room.
Oh help. Oh help.
"Please leave me a light." She knew she sounded frantic. "I beg of you." The chances were he wouldn't, but she had to try.
He paused in the doorway.
"I'm afraid of the dark."
"And so you should be" he snapped, thrusting his wand towards a candle on a shelf.
"Incendium"
"Thank you." Sweat was pouring down her back, her hair plastered to her cheeks and clinging to her lips. And he left her like that. Then a further horror invaded her.
What if he left her here all night? What if she wanted to go to the loo? Funny, how something like that could be more frightening than the threat of a truth drug.
She sat waiting. How long was he going to keep her there for? Surely Dumbledore would make a search for her if she didn't turn up for meals? The thoughts rattled round her brain. He had bluffed, but it had worked – she was completely shaken from it. Perhaps because she knew he could do whatever was in his unscrupulous, inscrutable mind, and it had brought home to her the deadly forces that were loose abroad. It seemed like hours, waiting here, her arms and legs sore. She couldn't really tell the time. She was getting cold, very cold. He was going to kill her if he left her here any longer. She thought of home, but that was no comfort, there was nothing there for her. A while after that, he returned and stood over her, waiting. Then a strange thing happened – a strange sensation of being utterly, utterly safe flooded over her, like a balm, like a warm summer night. Everything seemed clear.
"Give me the potion." He stared at her, as if not sure of what she said. "Give me the potion. I really don't have anything to hide. It is my own decision. I accept it freely. Even if you have kept me prisoner." If he was going to expose her innermost thoughts, so be it.
He stooped down to her and looked into her eyes for what seemed a long time.
"Finite Incantatem" he said quietly, and the ropes disappeared immediately.
She waited for him to get the bottle, but he motioned her out of the door. She stood still in his office, cold from the other room, her robe wrapped tightly round her. It was warm in here and she shuddered by the fire. He sat down at his desk and began to write with a large black quill. She waited.
"Go." He said, ignoring her, intent on the scroll on his desk.
"The Potion?"
"Go, before I do dispense it to you. See me here, tomorrow at 8.00pm.
The nib scratched on the parchment in the silence, speaking as he wrote. "And do not forget that I am still watching you."
Disorientated, she went out of the door, not looking back. It seemed that she had been dismissed. Out into the draughty corridors she fumbled her way back towards her room. His attention, though negative, had kept her going. She could not think at all, just automatically went in what she hoped was the right direction. Just before she got there, a transparent jelly-like substance hovered in front of her.
"Hello, he said seductively, what's a tasty dish like you doing out at a late hour like this? Little goings on eh? Tut tut. "
"Go away Peeves." She was in no mood for silly games, and moved to go around him. Peeves re-routed. So she would have to go through him. Unfortunately, he was chillier than she imagined and retreated as if burnt by ice.
Before she knew it, another transparent figure had swooped down. The Bloody Baron swirled his cloak gallantly to shield her and merely glared at his ghostly companion.
"Alright, alright, I'm going, I was just being friendly." said Peeves, pouting and lurched away into the gloom, muttering.
"There my dear, all gone." The Baron's unexpected kindness cut through her like the sword that was swinging round his waist. "Can't having one of our own unprotected can we?"
Our own. What a joke.
She did not have the stamina to thank him, but rushed past him to her room, flung herself onto her bed, a mess of need and anger and despair and sobbed until she was exhausted and finally fell asleep.