He followed the voice, it seemed quiet and far away, but as soon as he
turned the corner there was the source of the song, washing a window. It
was a girl, a young one, probably only eight or nine, and while she
scrubbed she hummed a low, sorrowful sounding tune. He vaguely recognised
it, as though he had heard it once very long ago, but only in the
background of something much more important. The girl kneeled down to wet
the rag she was using, and as she came up she started actually singing the
song.
"There is a castle on a cloud, I like to go there in my sleep, Aren't any floors for me to sweep, Not in my castle on a cloud."
There was something odd about this girl, he decided firmly. There was something terrible bitter sweet about her on a whole. She didn't hold any particular airs, and since she was facing the other way (washing the same spot over and over) he could not see her face. Her clothes were simple, her hair a dull brownish blonde, and she was unhealthily skinny, and yet. There was that something that he couldn't quite put his finger on.
"There is a room that's full of toys, There are a hundred boys and girls, Nobody shouts or talks too loud, Not in my castle on a cloud."
He had never seen her before-but that was understandable as there were at least a thousand students at Hogwarts-but something about her seemed so familiar. He knew this would drive him mad until he found out, but then another thought hit him. Why on earth was she washing windows? Didn't they have house elves for that? Wasn't Granger always going on about their rights? What would she say of she knew that there was actual child labour going on in the school, she would probably quit right then and there. No, he reminded himself, she wouldn't because the school could be crumbling down and she would risk her life to get her homework. Another thing nagging at him was that she was washing the same patch of grimy glass again and again, and it was doing nothing. The window was still slightly foggy with dust and everything old, not one speck had changed.
"There is a lady all in white, Holds me and sings a lullaby, She's nice to hear and she's soft to touch, She says, "Cosette, I love you very much."
Now her shoulder were shaking with suppressed tears, her other hand that had hung limply by her side now shook slightly. He wanted to comfort her, which was odd because being in Slytherin, that just wasn't the type of thing you did, on the rare occasion some one did cry, you let them do it while pretending they weren't, and once they had finished you let them become part of the world again. Most people his away from others, were they didn't think others could find them. Perhaps that was what this girl was doing, seeking solace in solitude as a Slytherin would have done. Perhaps she was washing and singing because she didn't want to think about what was going on in her life right now. But even as he elaborated his story he knew it was just that, a story. Based on some fragment of truth, a myth based on what he knew. He didn't want to leave her alone, she was just a child, but he had a feeling that she would not want him to be there, to see what he was seeing
"I know a place where no one's lost, I know a place where no one cries, Crying at all is not allowed, Not in my castle on a cloud."
Despite the rules of her castle, though, when she turned around, the rag falling from her hand, her eyes were streaming tears, tears that seemed to flicker in the almost non-existent light. She reached out for Draco, her whole body screaming of exhaustion. Eyeing warily, He took her hand, looking down at her face to see if it would betray some of her secrets, but she was looking ahead, pointing with one hand towards a small door he had not noticed before. She looked up at him, blinking slowly. Her mouth opened as if to speak, but after a moment she closed it, and turned ahead again, and with a slight pull on his hand, started walking towards the other side of the room, but after only a few steps He noticed how she did not walk that well, but limped, favouring one leg, and after a few more steps she fell, a look of horror on her face, but making no sound, nor making any move to catch herself. He quickly moved himself behind her, breaking her fall and righting her himself. She made no move to do anything at all, made no sound of gratitude, made no motion to assist in him helping her up, just let the world slide by her. Finally, as the room seemed to be getting longer and longer with every stumble, he bent down and picked her up, carrying her to the door. He was shocked at how little time it took to go the rest of the way with out the stalls. Placing her down he reached towards the doorknob, and turned it. It didn't open. He turned it the other way. It still wouldn't open. "It won't open." He turned sharply, and she flinched away. "Sorry, but what?" He knew he sounded stupid, but why it mattered to him that he sounded stupid in front of an eight year old eluded him. "It won't open for you, at least it shouldn't. It only opens for us." She turned, and reached out one hand, the rest of her perfectly still, turned the doorknob, and stood back as the door opened. His mouth did something it hadn't done in a very long time then. It opened in a shocked "o", and he was sure his jaw was hitting the floor. This was a room in which the likes of he had never seen.
"There is a castle on a cloud, I like to go there in my sleep, Aren't any floors for me to sweep, Not in my castle on a cloud."
There was something odd about this girl, he decided firmly. There was something terrible bitter sweet about her on a whole. She didn't hold any particular airs, and since she was facing the other way (washing the same spot over and over) he could not see her face. Her clothes were simple, her hair a dull brownish blonde, and she was unhealthily skinny, and yet. There was that something that he couldn't quite put his finger on.
"There is a room that's full of toys, There are a hundred boys and girls, Nobody shouts or talks too loud, Not in my castle on a cloud."
He had never seen her before-but that was understandable as there were at least a thousand students at Hogwarts-but something about her seemed so familiar. He knew this would drive him mad until he found out, but then another thought hit him. Why on earth was she washing windows? Didn't they have house elves for that? Wasn't Granger always going on about their rights? What would she say of she knew that there was actual child labour going on in the school, she would probably quit right then and there. No, he reminded himself, she wouldn't because the school could be crumbling down and she would risk her life to get her homework. Another thing nagging at him was that she was washing the same patch of grimy glass again and again, and it was doing nothing. The window was still slightly foggy with dust and everything old, not one speck had changed.
"There is a lady all in white, Holds me and sings a lullaby, She's nice to hear and she's soft to touch, She says, "Cosette, I love you very much."
Now her shoulder were shaking with suppressed tears, her other hand that had hung limply by her side now shook slightly. He wanted to comfort her, which was odd because being in Slytherin, that just wasn't the type of thing you did, on the rare occasion some one did cry, you let them do it while pretending they weren't, and once they had finished you let them become part of the world again. Most people his away from others, were they didn't think others could find them. Perhaps that was what this girl was doing, seeking solace in solitude as a Slytherin would have done. Perhaps she was washing and singing because she didn't want to think about what was going on in her life right now. But even as he elaborated his story he knew it was just that, a story. Based on some fragment of truth, a myth based on what he knew. He didn't want to leave her alone, she was just a child, but he had a feeling that she would not want him to be there, to see what he was seeing
"I know a place where no one's lost, I know a place where no one cries, Crying at all is not allowed, Not in my castle on a cloud."
Despite the rules of her castle, though, when she turned around, the rag falling from her hand, her eyes were streaming tears, tears that seemed to flicker in the almost non-existent light. She reached out for Draco, her whole body screaming of exhaustion. Eyeing warily, He took her hand, looking down at her face to see if it would betray some of her secrets, but she was looking ahead, pointing with one hand towards a small door he had not noticed before. She looked up at him, blinking slowly. Her mouth opened as if to speak, but after a moment she closed it, and turned ahead again, and with a slight pull on his hand, started walking towards the other side of the room, but after only a few steps He noticed how she did not walk that well, but limped, favouring one leg, and after a few more steps she fell, a look of horror on her face, but making no sound, nor making any move to catch herself. He quickly moved himself behind her, breaking her fall and righting her himself. She made no move to do anything at all, made no sound of gratitude, made no motion to assist in him helping her up, just let the world slide by her. Finally, as the room seemed to be getting longer and longer with every stumble, he bent down and picked her up, carrying her to the door. He was shocked at how little time it took to go the rest of the way with out the stalls. Placing her down he reached towards the doorknob, and turned it. It didn't open. He turned it the other way. It still wouldn't open. "It won't open." He turned sharply, and she flinched away. "Sorry, but what?" He knew he sounded stupid, but why it mattered to him that he sounded stupid in front of an eight year old eluded him. "It won't open for you, at least it shouldn't. It only opens for us." She turned, and reached out one hand, the rest of her perfectly still, turned the doorknob, and stood back as the door opened. His mouth did something it hadn't done in a very long time then. It opened in a shocked "o", and he was sure his jaw was hitting the floor. This was a room in which the likes of he had never seen.