The hand stayed directly at her eye-level, the bottle glimmering softly in the dim candlelight. The hand was masked in a glove. She did not immediately recognize who it belonged to, but she did register blankly how smart it would have been for her to wear gloves in the dungeons to ward off the cold. Why had she never thought of that?
She tilted her head up slowly. Whoever was hovering over her was very tall.
It wasn't until the person titled his face down to look at her, still crouched on the floor, that she recognized who it was.
She shot backwards into the cabinet in horror, slamming the back of her head against one of the low wooden shelves.
The man with the gloved hands set the bottle on the edge of the table, and stooped beside her.
"Are you alright?" he asked roughly, as she reached back and massaged her bruised skull.
"Urgh," she murmured.
"Don't move," he commanded, drawing himself up to his full height once more.
She could hardly see through her streaming eyes as he disappeared into her office. He came back a moment later bearing a small beaker of red liquid.
"Drink it," he insisted, holding it to her lips. "It will help."
She cracked her lips and allowed him to pour a small amount of the potion into her mouth. Instantly, her vision cleared and the pain in her head subsided ever-so slightly.
But still she found she could not look at his face.
She could hardly see his face anyway. Almost half of it was obscured by a plain white mask. It reminded her vaguely of one that might have been seen at the masquerade parties her parents used to attend. Either way, it was mysterious, haunting, strange…
The room was swimming again. A small gasp escaped her lips before she collapsed into the arms of her previous professor.
Sunlight was streaming over face.
"Mmmmf," Hermione groaned, rolling on to her stomach to bury her face in the soft white pillow beneath her.
What? Green? Where was her white pillow? And what was that scent?
Hermione inhaled deeply, feeling slightly intoxicated. Something smelled of lavender and meadowsweet. Not at all like her normal perfume.
Then reality hit her with the force of a lightning bolt (haha). The pillow and smell weren't familiar because she wasn't in some place familiar. These were not her chambers.
Well…then, where the hell was she?
She shot upright in what she quickly noticed was a bed, clutching the green satin sheets to her still completely clothed form. Her breath came in short, sharp gasps. She could hear her heart thudding.
The room she was in looked like something from a gothic picture-book. She was sitting on the centerpiece of the room, a queen-size dark green canopy bed, with sweeping curtains held with loosely braided silver rope. The curtains looked to be velvet, and she had to resist the urge to reach out and run her fingers along the nearest one. Beyond the bed was a tall wardrobe, ornate in design, featuring the blackest wood she had ever set eyes upon. The entire circumference of the room was dotted with shelves at various heights, all decorated with tall, jet black taper candles, currently unlit. A tall window adorned the wall beside her, the dark green curtains having parted slightly, which caused the single beam of sunlight to rouse her from her heavy sleep.
Despite the room's obvious decadence, there was a simplistic charm about it. Hermione, however, was not in the mood to deeply appreciate anything until she found out precisely where she was. She may be in Tibet, for all she knew.
Pulling herself to the other side of the bed, Hermione slid to the floor. Two doors now faced her.
She weighed the situation carefully for a moment, before slowly approaching the first door. Reaching out with a slightly shaking hand, she grasped the ice cold silver door knob. But it wouldn't budge.
Locked from the outside, she told herself silently.
Curious…
Turning, she reached out for the other door. This time, the knob turned easily under her fingers.
Cautiously, she stepped around to peer inside the crack the door was now open to reveal. Nothing but pitch black stillness greeted her.
Screwing up her courage, she reached into her pocket to grasp her wand. Her eyes flew open when she realized it was no longer with her.
"Oh no!" she moaned softly, looking around her. "Where is my wand?!"
She closed her eyes quickly and thought. Oh no. She had left it in the pocket of her robes last night.
Or, what she supposed was last night. For all she knew, a month might have gone by.
Feeling extremely wrong-footed, Hermione returned to the door. Completely and utterly defenseless, Hermione pulled the door open the rest of the way, prepared to sink her fingernails into whatever may cross her path.
But the stillness was complete. She thought about yelling something intimidating, but decided against it. She didn't know how seriously her captors would take her as she stood there, a twenty year old wand-less witch in her wrinkled clothes of the previous day.
She doubted she could have frightened a first year.
Carefully, Hermione moved closer to the entrance of the room, sliding her hand along the inside wall for a light switch.
No such luck.
Turning back to the main room, Hermione's eyes settled upon a low shelf bearing four black candles.
Crossing to them, she gingerly picked one up. Now all she needed were some matches.
Or her bloody wand.
"Lumos," she whispered idly.
Much to her surprise, the candle in her hand burst to life, flickering with an odd blue flame.
Hermione raised her eyebrows, but, feeling much too curious about the dark room to consider it very long, returned to the matter at hand.
Resting her hand against the door frame for support, Hermione stepped into the black room, the candle held before her.
At first, Hermione didn't recognize anything other than the cold, stone floor beneath her. Then, it seemed that someone at the other end of the room was holding a candle just like hers.
Hermione sucked in a breath, feeling her heart begin to race again. But just as she froze, the person on the other side of the room froze too.
Feeling a bit foolish, Hermione waved the candle around a bit. So did the person on the other side of the room.
A mirror.
Curiosity mounting, Hermione stretched a hand out in front of her and started towards the mirror. The flame of her candle flickered eerily.
The only sound in the room was that of her ragged breathing. She thought the temperature had just dropped several degrees. What on earth was going on?
After a minute that felt like an hour, Hermione began to see a scant reflection of her own face in the mirror, just above the flicker of her black candle.
Swallowing hard, Hermione stopped just before her reflection. She was so close she could have brushed the mirror with her fingertips. Still breathing sharply, she raised the candle slightly and quickly observed how spotted and cracked the mirror seemed to be.
Feeling as though she were in a trance, Hermione reached out her hand, slowly uncurling her fingers. She had no idea what she was doing.
The moment she felt the cold surface of the mirror beneath her finger tips, a million lights seemed to burst to life in the room with her, causing her to scream in horror.
All around her…the walls, the ceiling…everywhere…mirrors. Broken mirrors. Shattered completely, but still held in place. Her own pale face loomed at her from every surface. The forgotten candle lay on the floor, smoke curling from its black wick in a million different places.
On the floor were piles of heavy black fabric, which she realized must have been covering the mirrors. And, horror of all horrors, she saw that she was no longer alone in the room.
In the doorway through which she had entered, features barely distinguishable due to the amount of sunlight now streaming in behind him through the completely open window, stood Severus Snape.
A/N: Two chapters in one day. How lucky are you?
p.s: "The hand stayed directly at her eye-level, the bottle glimmering…"
Keep you hand at the level of your eyes….
I just couldn't help myself :)