Newly rated M (or R). Sorry -- in the future, this story will contain very adult themes, so I decided to change my rating before fanfiction . net boots me. Will include: blood, mild rape, insanity, Satanism, ghosts, sharp objects and death.
Chapter 2: The Madness of Hottsgobin
By Callisto Callispi
Tap. Tap
Footsteps in the deafening dark.
Tap. Tap.
Droplets of blood on the stone-cold floor.
Tap. Tap.
A child's fist rapping at the window.
And all the while, she wrapped her arms around the knees drawn up to her hollow chest. Breasts once full and round now sagged in wasted youth.
Tap. Tap.
What was that sound? It was incessant.
Brown hair now limp hung down her pale, almost-blue face in twisted tendrils. Bald in some places of her scalp, she barely breathed while toying with the strands of jagged hair clung between her fingers. Brown, murky water stained the silk of her sleeping robes, slowly veining the whiteness like untamed branches of a tree. Water centuries old. Water that she had once drunken with pleasure.
Tap. Tap.
She hugged her knees more tightly to her breasts and rocked back and forth on her bony buttocks. The ground was hard and cold. She hid in the corner of the spacious dining hall, watching blindly as the shadows slowly seeped into the castle through the cracks and creases from the netherworld.
Dust and grime defiled the room. Spider servants scurried about the abandoned halls of the castle on his bidding. Old memories haunted the ball room, the kitchen, and the lounge. She observed the phantoms. They laughed in their tattered suits and gowns. Their heels, spiked with daggers, spun dangerously around the cracked marble halls. How they laughed. They laughed in the same manner as they had laughed when enjoying the bear-baiting.
Mouths open wide as if to devour the fresh flesh of the beast, teeth sharp and ready to bite . . .
Sleep was impossible. He always was there. ALWAYS. Biting her, loving her, kicking her. Always.
Ugly sounds. The sick ripping of her dress. Screams of horror.
Thousands upon thousands of visions and scenes, flashed before her eyes in one second. Too much to see, too much to feel. He had powers. Mad powers. He had seduced her into her own madness with poison-dripping lips.
Hollow black eyes slowly opened. She supposed her eyes used to be lighter, more gay. Death and nothing more now.
The child had died. It rushed out of her, as if unwanting to endure one moment longer in her womb. A filthy miscarriage that was -- nothing but a tangle of misshapen bones, slimy blood, and rope-like arteries. It could have been beautiful . . . if it only endured six more months. She was surprised that she still bled after that sickening tragedy. But she was married to the devil himself. How else did she expect the fetus to turn out?
Tap. Tap.
It was his domain. This castle, this 'home' of theirs, was just hell prettied up. Black stained the skin underneath her eyes. No sleep. No sleep. Because if she slept, he would find her. Always find her. As she ran through this increasingly dark labyrinth, he always found her when she slept. She gave up too much of her soul, too much of herself to him to ever be truly free.
Lips once full and sensual, the lips that teased the devil into submission, were now flaked with dried skin and sores. Hands that had tapped the piano keys with irresistible grace were mangled, broken beyond repair. She would never feel the keys of the piano on her fingertips again.
Hottsgobin Tower, he called this home. No. Not Hottsgobin. HELL. Hell dressed up as the home of an obscure, mad, twisted man. A place to lure in young women and men for his enjoyment. Sick sexual pleasures did he practice. But she was special . . . at least for a while. She had been special, his unfortunate favorite.
Tap. Tap.
He was nearing. Oh, heaven help her. God, in all of his pure glory, help her. But . . . did heaven exist in this place?
Doors flew open. And at once she knew the jaws of hell were ready to consume her.
"That's so twisted, though!" a Ravenclaw girl noted as soon as the professor stopped talking.
Professor Jethro looked surprised. His dark eyebrows shot up. "Twisted? Well, I suppose you are right. But it was real. It all happened."
The little crowd of students murmured amongst themselves. It was frightening, the capacity of the human mind. But one person was not so easily perturbed.
"So you're saying that she really believed all of this, that her husband was the devil and that this whole castle was hell?" a skeptical voice demanded.
All eyes shifted towards the speaker. Draco Malfoy's eyes were narrowed in disbelief.
"Yes," Professor Jethro said calmly, coldly. He had never taken a liking to Draco. "At least, that's what the records left behind by her physician claim. She suffered from incredible madness of the mind. And her husband tried to help her in every way he could. He would bring in the best doctors from London and Paris and have them look at his ailing wife. But she was unable to be helped."
The girls whispered amongst each other. The boys shifted from one foot to the other uncomfortably, eyeing the musty corners of the castle with apprehension.
It was a grand ball room, and once, it would have been beautiful. Draco's pale eyes flickered toward the nearly shattered chandeliers, the cracked marble floor, and the shredded tapestries. Dust filmed this ancient room. It looked almost charming in an antiquated kind of fashion -- something out of yore.
"Amazing, isn't it," the professor addressed the tentative students. All twelve heads snapped towards the ringing shock of his voice. "Rumors have it that her spirit still haunts this place, despite her death only two hundred years ago."
"But professor, how did the woman die? Was it her own doing?" rung in another voice. All heads turned towards Hermione Granger, who was standing near the back of the group, arm linked tightly with Lavender's. Lavender looked frightened out of her wits by this story, but Hermione maintained her calm composure. "I mean, the death of a person contributes greatly with . . . well, the reason behind the haunting."
Professor Jethro smiled fondly in Hermione's direction and marked something in the little pocket book he had in his hand. Hermione suppressed a small smile. Draco glared. Goody-two shoes mudblood. Teacher's pet.
"Excellent question, Miss Granger. You've hit just my point," said Professor Jethro with a nod of approval. "Five points to Gryffindor."
Hermione beamed and shot a nasty look towards Draco. Draco glared angrily in return and mouthed 'mudblood' at her. She didn't seem to care very much at the moment.
"Actually, her death was self-imposed. She locked herself in this very room and refused to see anyone -- not even the servants who tried to coax her out." The professor's eyes darkened. "They did everything. Her husband was mad with grief. Some people claim that his angry voice still rings about these halls at night, his pleads for his beloved wife to open the door."
Draco studied the professor's face carefully. The man seemed on the verge of tears. His jaw was tightened as if he himself was recalling something atrocious.
"But she refused, claiming her husband as being the devil. They finally broke open the door. That door right there --"
(And twelve heads snapped toward the great oaken doors that lay haphazardly against the back wall.)
"-- is the very door that the lady of this castle barred herself behind." The professor sighed. "When they found her, she was in that corner there, huddled in a ball, dead. She stayed in there too long. She starved to death in her own madness."
Silence clung to the shadows seeping in through the windows. Each student hardly breathed, their eyes wide with fright. All except for Draco Malfoy. He rolled his eyes but remained silent.
A load of horseshit, he thought disdainfully. He leaned back on the balls of his feet, wondering how much longer until dinner.
"This is so freaky," Lavender murmured.
"And why is that, Miss Brown?" asked the professor with a charming smile.
Draco stared curiously at Lavender, a bit shocked at what he saw. Her face was pale, paler than her bronze, summer-sun complexion. Even Hermione seemed a bit worried. Indeed, why was this so strange for her?
Then she said the words that chilled them all.
"I think I just saw a child smiling at me."
"Lavender, are you sure you're all right?" Hermione demanded. She handed Lavender a cup of steaming hot lemon tea. The other girls stared at Lavender with worried looks. Hermione sighed and rubbed Lavender's back soothingly. The chatter of the cafe helped, but, even as she was consoling another, Hermione couldn't help thinking back on what Lavender said.
"I think I just saw a child smiling at me."
The child. Black fingers. Gasps. Hermione felt sick.
"Calm down, Lavender," Mary, a girl in Ravenclaw, said to Lavender with a small smile. "I mean, the hotel is completely spook-free. Ten exorcists made sure it was. There is absolutely no way that anything you saw in that horrible castle will haunt you. I mean, remember that Professor Jethro is a Class A exorcist. With a degree."
"Yeah," Elizabeth, a Hufflepuff girl added, popping a strawberry into her mouth. "I mean, if he can't keep the ghosts away, the ghosts aren't ghosts. Then it's like the devil or something."
The words chilled Hermione's blood. There was no way that she conjured up last night's dream on her own. She had been certain that a restless phantom was playing tricks on her. Could it be possible -- no. No. Too many haunt sites. She just had an overactive imagination. That was all.
"Oh yes, did you hear?" Mary asked, leaning in. Her eyes sparkled with intrigue. "I hear that horrible Marsh girl, the one in Slytherin, is hot for Professor Jethro."
Lavender seemed to snap out of her stupor. "No!"
Marie nodded. She looked around, just to make sure no body was listening, then continued. "I heard she sent him a box of Love-Me-Now chocolates!"
Elizabeth gaped.
"One bite of those and he'll be tailing her like a bee would to honey! That bitch!" Lavender hissed. "Spoiled rich bitch! Can't play fair now, can she?"
"Do Slytherins every play fair?" sniffed Elizabeth. She stared longingly at Professor Jethro who was currently immersed in a thick novel. Hermione glanced at him as well.
"How does that man manage to look sexy even with glasses?" sighed Elizabeth.
"Does anyone here know how old he is?" Lavender asked.
The remaining three girls shook their heads.
"You know, it's sort of strange," Hermione spoke up. "I mean, why would a man so young like him want to teach now? Shouldn't he be at a magical university, earning another degree or something?"
Lavender grinned crookedly. "Who the hell cares now? Remember, Hermione. If he's at a university, then he wouldn't be teaching us now, would he?"
Hermione smiled languidly but did not respond. Instead, she kept her gaze on the professor, unable to look away. As the other girls chattered over other various males, Hermione's eyes silently trailed down the professor's chiseled features. His naturally tan skin set off his pale green eyes with shocking beauty. A mop of wavy black hair fell gracefully over his eyes. Handsome hands held the large novel against a lean thigh. His slender fingers traced the words.
This is indecent. You can't stare at a professor like that. Look away!
But strangely, no matter how much she wanted to, Hermione could not look away. And it wasn't because she found him unnaturally beautiful. No, not at all. It seemed as if something was forcing her eyes to remain on the professor's figure. Beads of sweat popped out of her skin. God, what was happening?
And then a jolt of lightning struck her heart. Pale green eyes, as sharp as a feline's, looked slowly up from the book and stared directly into Hermione's own. She stifled a gasp, trying not to cringe.
I intrigue you, don't I? the clatter of the silverware whispered. I enchant you, my lady of knowledge. I hold the epitome of your life in my hands.
Epitome?
This book. Come read it. It's . . . interesting, truly. And there's so much to know. Come with me, Hermione. Come with me -- I will show you things that no mortal has ever seen before.
"Hermione?"
So many things. You want to know so much. And yet, you're so restricted by these mortal boundaries with which you were cursed. So many desires unfulfilled . . .
"HERMIONE!"
It was as if a bludger slammed into her forehead. She reeled backwards into Lavender, almost knocking both of them out of their chairs. Such an aching pain . . . how it spread through out her body and mind. Heat erupted within her heart and slowly slid into her limbs. She felt as if she were being thawed in hot water. Suddenly, she felt cold . . . so cold. Her teeth began to chatter. Goosepimples crawled up over her arms.
"What is the matter with you?" Lavender demanded, pale and frightened, as she and Hermione settled back into their chairs.
Hermione's breathing was shallow and rapid. So cold. She felt like a living corpse crawling up from nine feet under to find herself in a snow-covered graveyard. "I don't know," she whispered. "I just don't know."
"I'm leaving," Elizabeth said suddenly. Her eyes were wide open, the color drained from her cheeks. "I hate this trip. I hate this subject. I'm leaving for England tomorrow."
"But this is a huge project --" Mary protested.
"I don't give a flying fuck!" she snapped. Elizabeth stood up and tightened the scarf around her neck.
Hermione watched her with dull eyes, trying to rid the thought of that scarf. Why did it seem so much like a rope? Take caution, Elizabeth. In the name of all things good, take caution with that scarf . . .
They watched Elizabeth walk defiantly out of the golden cafe and into the smoggy darkness of the winter night. Mary heaved a great sigh and leaned back in her chair.
"We're losing it. Even Elizabeth. Four haunt sites. Four! Not much at all. But the stories behind it, the feeling . . ."
The three stirred their silver spoons in their cups, watching the tea quietly as it swirled around. Hermione risked another glance up in the professor's direction. She jerked in surprise when he wasn't there. "Lavender . . . where is the professor? Wasn't he just sitting there a moment ago?"
"He left, remember? A long time ago. Right after we mentioned those Love-Me-Now chocolates."
Hermione froze, her heart momentarily skipping a beat. What was going on? He was sitting there only a second ago! What the hell . . .
"Oh damn it all!" Lavender cried after rummaging into her bag. "I left my project materials in that Hottsgobin place!"
Hermione stared at her watch. "It's only five-thirty. The officials might not have closed up the castle yet."
Lavender shook her head furiously. "No way will I go there in the dark, even if the professor was with me. No fucking way."
Knowledge. I can show you things that no mortal has ever seen before . . .
Haziness overtook her body. Numbness seeped into her fingers, entrapping her against her own mind. But how calm this cold was. How beautifully serene . . .
"I'll get it for you," Hermione said as she stood up suddenly from her seat. Without another look back, she headed back out into the winter night, half-aware of the madness of her answer.
The tower loomed in the darkness. It shot straight up, scraping the sky with its pointed rooves and canopies. Shades of red smeared the sky. Of course it was because of the setting sun. Plenty of scientific reasons for the redness of the sun in the evening: droplets of water, light, the angle of light emerging from the prism of water, the time it takes to reach the eyes . . . No reason to think that the sky bled because of Hottsgobin's knife-like appendages. Hermione stared at the sky before stepping into the door. But why did it resembled blood so much?
Inside was musty. Dirty, dusty shadows choked the receiving room. Hermione paused as she felt something squish under her feet. She stared down, uttering a scream then clapping her hands over her mouth as that same scream bounced off the wet stone walls of the tower. Her footsteps echoed hauntingly as she ran away from the age-old corpse of a rat still preserved rather perfectly in this warm, musty atmosphere.
And awakened from its slumber, the black thing followed, tickling the nape of her neck with its frigid tenderness.
Hermione did not know where she ran to. Fear and revulsion tailed her like the hounds of hell. Those chills. Why wouldn't they leave her as she left the rat? She kept running. She never stopped running. She ran up the stairs and into various hallways, tearing her hands through thin sheets of dust-ridden cobwebs. She dared not look behind for she knew that if she did, she would faint.
Something pursued her. The black thing. Not the rat. The rat was only the last straw. Something much more vile, more evil, more terrifying.
Darkness thickened like stew. Her legs felt heavier as she trodded through this inhuman void, yet she never stopped. Screams and moans echoed behind her -- versions of her own screams. It was a shadow that chased her, her own shadow.
The children.
It was the shadow that killed the children!
What was that?
Hermione's eyes widened. Arms. Arms in the dark! She screamed a bloodcurdling scream as those same arms caught her in mid-run and threw her against a wall. Even with the breath soundly knocked out of her, she whimpered, tears streaming down freely down her cheeks. "Don't kill me, please don't kill --"
"Granger! Snap out of it!"
Hermione opened her eyes. Silence. No screams, no moans. Everything was silent. Whoever held her against the wall -- that person chased the shadow away. For now.
"Who . . ."
Then startling gray pierced into brown. His eyes. She knew those eyes.
"Malfoy?" she asked in a throaty whisper. Her whole frame shook.
"Yes."
"What are you doing here?"
"Shut up, for now. I promise I'll tell you later."
And even in this darkness, Hermione wanted to snap that his word was not worth even a fraction of a knut to her. But then, the floor vibrated slightly under her feet. Noise. A chime. She kept silent, daring not to breathe. Below, the haunting chimes of a grandfather clock, still working after those many years, bellowed out the hour. Strange -- it didn't stop after the sixth ring as it should have.
BONG. BONG. BONG.
Hermione grabbed Draco's shirt and pulled him closer to her. She felt his heart thudding furiously against her palm. He was frightened -- just as she was.
BONG. BONG. BONG.
It should stop now, she thought. The twelfth hour.
But it didn't.
BONG.
What?
The thirteenth hour?
Hermione stopped breathing for everything swirled around her feet. Laughter followed. Maniac laughter. The laughter of a man, of a woman, and of a child. Laughing, so much laughing! It shook the walls, trembled the very core of her soul.
"Malfoy . . ." she whispered as she felt the strength seeping out of her.
But he did not answer for he slipped from her arms and collapsed onto the floor. His face shined like new marble against the hazy crimson of the rug.
"He call this his castle of dreams . . ." a small, broken voice whispered.
Hermione did not have a chance to speak. Her knees gave out. And with a heavy thud, Hermione too fell to the ground; but just before drifting off into unconsciousness, she thought she saw the pale face of a screaming woman tearing her hair out, blood smearing her scalp.
Help me, Hermione thought as her eyes closed. Someone please help me . . .
End Notes: Yay! I finally finished this chapter! And after only two-and-a-half months! You can't believe how hard it is to write this story, but I'm liking the way things are going. Stay tuned for the next chapter where Hermione and Draco wake up in the castle of dreams.