The Room of Necessity

Disclaimer: I don't own the wonderful Rowling, Harry Potter, his adventures or his minions.

Lemon drops are not included among my few possessions. However, there are a lot of books.

Chapter Eight

Hermione was eyeing Draco from behind. He was slouching cross-legged, his face not very far from the stone wall which also seemed to have put him into a trance. He was rocking gently, his mouth moving with silent words. If she hadn't known better, she could have sworn that he had lapsed into a state of shock. Ruefully Hermione shook her head and went about her business as quickly as possible. Just as she was finishing something caught her eye, and turning to get a better look she watched as the glowing ball of light appeared and disappeared, leaving in its place a small scrap of parchment. Hastily (but minding the cursed rabbits that littered the floor) she made her way over so that she was standing directly behind Draco and looked at the parchment curiously.

"Draco?"

No response from the comatose being.

"Draco!"

"Hmmm?" A voice that would do Trelawnley proud.

"DRACO!" She rapped him hard on the head with her knuckles.

"Ouch! Yeah? Whadyawant?"

She pointed to her feet and, scowling, Draco looked down at the piece of parchment.

'Mr Draco Lucius Malfoy'

He gulped and looked back up at Hermione, who was now crouching eye-level with him.

"What does it mean?"

Draco rolled his eyes.

"Well obviously it means that if you touch it you'll die."

Startled, Hermione tried to shift backwards abruptly - away from the 'evil' parchment and consequently lost her balance, landing on a rabbit which gave a sharp squeal before attacking her.

"These damn, bloody… ah." In the midst of flinging off the rabbit, all the hopping white fluff balls disappeared. "Thanks Draco."

"Anytime… gorgeous." While Hermione rolled her eyes, he reached forwards, grabbed the parchment and – heaving an inward sigh of relief that he wasn't dead – began to unfold and read it. Hermione watched him anxiously.

'Stage One, complete.'

"Hmmm…"

"Draco? What is it? What does it say?"

"Well, it says that I am King and that you must do whatever I say 'if you ever want to see the light of day again. Mwahaha.' Strange…"

"Seriously, Draco." Hermione warned with infinite patience.

"I am serious." He declared. "Honestly Hermione, I think that you should trust me a little moreAH!" The parchment – held loosely in his left hand – had burst into hot yellow flames. Instinctively Draco threw it away from him as far as possible, but unintentionally ended up throwing it at…

"AHHH! Draco you bastard!"

…Hermione.

Yet the ever alert Hermione quickly whipped out her wand, pointed it at her fiery self and muttered a spell, creating a jet of water to douse the flames.

"DRACO LUCIUS MALFOY I AM GONNA KIIIIIIIIIIIILLLL…" He dodged her wrath and slipped through the feeling hands that tried to fasten around his neck.

"Hermione, get a grip! Your… YOUR CLOTHES!"

"Wish me some dry, whole ones right now and I will delay your death."

"Yes Miss Granger…" Was the chanted, primary school-like reply.

"Better." Hermione flounced over to the bed and elegantly seated her posterior, fingering the heavy velvet of her new midnight blue floor-length dress (with much the same cut, much to Draco's enjoyment). Draco noted absently how well she would look on the arm of a rich man…

"Now Draco, what did the parchment say?" Draco shook his head to clear his mind. She raised her wand threateningly.

"Stage One, complete." Narrowing her eyes, Hermione decided that he was being truthful.

"Is that it?" He nodded sorrowfully from his position on the floor. She voiced her wonderings. "Then why was it addressed to you?… Ah."

"What?"

"It was probably you who completed stage one of our task. But what did you do? Hmmm… Tricky one." Draco supplied her instantly.

"I sacrificed everything that I hold dear. My dignity, namely."

"You can't be serious. Just because you wished me a box of tampons? Get outta here." She waved a dismissive hand.

"I'm serious Hermione. I'm a dead man when I get out of here. I've lost my dignity, my pride, my self confidence… All I am is a Dementor-kissed husk."

Hermione looked sharply at him with immediate dislike. After her and Harry's trying experience with Dementors, no one could make light of them around her without being on the receiving end of severe disapproval. Yet, bare seconds after Draco came in contact with that scathing glare and realised his grievous mistake he had the grace to look down, a little colour tingeing his soft pale cheeks. Feeling he had been admonished sufficiently, Hermione averted her gaze to watch his idle fingers fiddling with the hem of his robe. It made him appear a distracted entity, the way his fingers were always fiddling with things, or tapping out rhythms on the desk in Potions. But now she knew better. Oh yes, Hermione knew better, as she watched his graceful fingers. There was one heck of a focused brain in that well-formed body of his. Oh yes. Hermione knew better.

"So what do you hold dear?" Draco asked with interest. Hermione snapped her eyes up to his face once more, trying to grasp the meaning of this question which had snatched her so rudely from her musings. She hurried to make a reply, hoping he hadn't noticed her hesitation.

"Oh, lots of things." She tried to sound casual. "Love, life, friendship, the weather…" Draco's eyebrows shot up into his forehead and the corner of his mouth twitched.

"The weather?" She winced.

"No. Yes. Um…"

"The weather?" Draco teased coolly.

"Draco, d'you want some breakfast? I'm really hungry."

She hoped her ploy would be successful.

Draco looked taken aback for a moment but quickly regained his composure.

"Hermione," He said, tutting. "Don't try to change…" He trailed off. She was smirking. Why was she smirking? Since when did Gryffindors smirk? She wasn't even looking at him! What was going ON here? Hermione stood up and started across the room, and like a bucket of ice water realisation burst upon him. Spread across the floor of their 'box' was a feast. It was exactly as he had pictured it when that rascal had surprised him. Sweeeet.

Grinning with genuine pleasure, both set about the immense task of devouring the piles of food so neatly laid before them.

"Yes Professor, exactly what we said. We haven't seen her since yesterday."

"And we're getting really worried." Said Ron, reaching for yet another lemon drop.

Professor Dumbledore stroked his long silver beard in contemplation, his elbows resting lightly on his desk. Opposite him sat two boys. The one with shining green eyes and black hair (of whom he was particularly fond) had just finished explaining the situation and was sitting on the edge of his seat, gazing at Dumbledore intently and yet completely at ease. The boy's red-headed friend sat on a chair next to him, and although he also sat on the edge of his seat, his attitude couldn't have been more different. He was not as relaxed in the presence of his Headmaster, but he seemed captivated by all the shiny, spindly, silver objects scattered around the room and he looked at each one wonderingly while absently sucking on his thirteenth lemon drop. Dumbledore's eyes twinkled.

"And you've checked the Marauder's Map? Don't look so surprised Mr Weasley, I know about it." Ron certainly didn't look lost anymore. Dumbledore's mouth twitched behind his beard. Harry's smile was brief when he saw Ron's reaction, his lips quickly reforming into a tense worried line as he nodded his head in reply to Dumbledore.

"And that's why we're so worried. According to the map, they're not in Hogwarts at all and Hermione wouldn't go off without telling anyone. I doubt she'd go off at all really." Ron nodded as he reached for another lemon drop.

Dumbledore reached up and stroked his beard once more, his eyes resting on the worried friends in front of him, beseeching his wisdom in matters which were out of his control. Fawkes the golden phoenix trilled softly from the corner in which stood her golden perch, and as the boys watched Dumbledore nodded his head slowly, slowly, as if agreeing with some suggestion made by the phoenix and considering its implications. As if in slow motion he pushed his slipping half-moon glasses back up his hooked nose and opened his mouth to speak. The silence deepened in anticipation of a solution to all of their problems.

"We shall have to wait."

"Huh?" Ron was surprised enough to blurt out while Harry did a double take of the old Headmaster.

"It is obvious to me that they have not left Hogwarts, and yet they are not in Hogwarts. I have a nasty feeling that the Room of Necessity has taken them."

"The Room of what?"

"What do you mean by 'nasty' feeling?"

"Taken?"

Dumbledore smiled and it was with relief that Harry saw his eyes twinkle more furiously than ever. He sat back in his chair, awaiting an explanation. Ron leaned forward and grabbed another lemon drop.

Dumbledore looked piercingly at each in turn before beginning.

"The Room of Necessity, Mr Weasley, is a room in Hogwarts that is not governed by mere mortals, but rather by Need and some, Mr Potter, say Fate herself. It has obviously been decided by someone 'upstairs' – so to speak – that Miss Granger and Mr Malfoy are in need of being locked into a room together for an extended period of time." He smiled unashamedly at the twin looks of terror that flashed across his students' faces. "Have no fear gentlemen, they will be well provided for by the Room."

"When will she be out Professor?" Dumbledore's eyes twinkled.

"When the need that brought them there is no more. The Room has a most interesting form of magic which enables it to change from Need to Need. I daresay we can expect great things and many changes in Mr Malfoy and Miss Granger, when the time comes."

"Does this happen – er – often?" Dumbledore smile broadened.

"This actually happens very rarely. All I can do is assure you that they are safe and may be in there for a while. So do NOT worry about them. If Mr Malfoy and Miss Granger are not released by the end of Christmas break, you will be returning to classes as normal."

Harry and Ron gulped and cast each other worried looks. End of Christmas? That long? They'd have to do their homework themselves… Bugger.

"If you learn anything more, gentlemen, please let me know. I am quite certain that they are in the Room of Necessity, and that they are safe. You could say… that Fate is an old friend of mine." Dumbledore's eyes twinkled with mirth as the boys eyed him with curiosity and wonder as they rose from their seats, recognising a dismissal when they heard one yet bursting with questions.

They had reached the door when Dumbledore called them back.

"Mr Potter, Mr Weasley." They turned to look at their twinkling professor with his glimmering beard and self-filling bowl of lemon drops; a majestic Fawkes perched close at hand.

"Merry Christmas." They smiled.

"You too Professor".

HPHPHP

Dumbledore's eyes twinkled as he heard the revolving staircase click-clack clicking away, carrying the two boys to the hallway below. Stiffly, the old wizard levered himself out of his chair, Fawkes trilling a soft encouragement.

"Bah." Dumbledore said to her. He wasn't that old! Bending, he opened a small cupboard to the right of his desk and pulled out a shallow stone bowl with foreign lettering all around the rim. A strange, silvery liquid mist floated in it. He carefully placed his pensieve on the table and heavily sat down again, pulling his wand from his sleeve. Almost absently he prodded the mist until it resembled a mini whirlpool. Then suddenly he plunged his face into it as if he were going into a dive, his beard hanging limply off of the table while the portraits covering the walls slept and Fawkes preened, never taking her eye off of him.

Dumbledore found himself walking along a brightly lit corridor in Hogwarts, following a much younger version of himself. He watched as his younger self heard a gaggle of noisy students approaching from both ends of the corridor and looked desperately around for a means of quick escape. He watched with detached interest as his younger self spotted a door off to the side and wrenched it open. He dogged his younger self closely as he ran into the room, locked the door and leaned against it, listening for the stampede to pass. He watched himself as he struggled with the door that would not open again and in panic look around the room; its huge walls covered by books, its floor covered with cushions and squishy armchairs and curiously – a bowl of yellow things. Dumbledore watched in amusement as his younger self wondered aloud where he was and stared open-mouthed as a ball of light appeared from midair and settled on an armchair, leaving behind a small scrap of parchment. He read the parchment unnecessarily over the shoulder of his younger self; he knew every word by heart.

'Welcome to the Room of Reading. Those are lemon drops. Help yourself.'

With a smile Dumbledore heaved his face out of the pensieve and looked around, finding himself once again in his office, sitting at his desk, his eyes twinkling more than ever.