Chapter Ten: In the Room Downstairs

Lili's eyes blinked open. The room was draped in darkness save the glow of cinders in the fireplace. As she pushed herself from bed, her leg sang in pain, and she fell back into the sheets, biting hard at her lip.

In the dreariness of half-sleep, she'd forgotten about the sprain and had been startled by the foreign furniture. She sat at the edge of her bed, kneading her calf softly.

It had been going very well that morning; that is once she managed to get the broom in the air and learned to hang on, white-knuckled. After a short time, she was zooming—well, maybe not zooming, but flying smoothly—over the skeletal trees and bare flowerbeds that choked the manor grounds. Draco had seemed impressed, and they raced around the east wing three times. She felt he'd been holding back, but she enjoyed running neck-and-neck with him enough that she didn't complain.

Then, however, Draco suggested teaching her some tricks. On her first attempt to roll the broom, she had almost hit a stone wall. On her second, she hadn't been quite as graceful in recovering and had fallen almost twenty feet to the ground. At first, the houselves who scurried out to her rescue thought she might have broken the leg, but, as time went on, the swelling went down, and only a small area around her ankle had bulged, black and blue. In the end, the doctor Mister Malfoy called assured them it was only a sprain and nothing to worry about. It was the same ankle she had sprained at the Dueling Club earlier in the year, and she assured everyone that it was simply a weak ankle and would heal as quickly as it had before.

But the Malfoys continued fussing over her, or, rather, sending their houselves to fuss over her. They moved her temporarily to a room on the first floor since the stairs proved too daunting an obstacle. The houselves had been in and out all day with every manner of drink, snack and poultice imaginable. Mrs. Malfoy had checked in on her at dinner, and Draco had visited her an hour after, talking to her about her broom work and apologizing for trying to teach her tricks so soon.

"Don't worry, I'll be back on my feet soon enough to beat you around the east wing," she'd sighed. He left with a smile.

She'd stayed awake about an hour more, reading through bits of Complex Concoctions, writing several letters to her friends at Zhong Mo Xue, and talking and playing with Artibius who had refused to leave her side since the accident. He perched on her shoulder and, when she laid down, snuggled beside her and beat her to a sleep peppered with contented wheezes.

He had retaken his place on her shoulder now, squealing unhappily.

She listened. For several minutes she heard only the crackling of the dying fire. Then, the sound that had woke her came again.

Muffled voices were dripping through the wall beside her. She sat listening for several minutes more but could hear nothing clearly. Eventually, even a grumpy Artibius sat up, listening.

She glanced over at the tall grandfather clock looming across the room. The shadow it threw on the wood-paneled floor lay stiff and flat like a corpse.

3:18. She turned her eyes back to the wall. What on earth would anyone be doing up and talking at three in the morning?

Artibius resumed his shrill grumble, trying to settle back down onto her pillow.

There were plenty of things that one could be doing at three in the morning, but…

One of the muffled voices was certainly Mister Malfoy's.

Haven't you noticed that the most refined bloodshedders are almost always the most refined gentlemen?

It was Snape's voice again. Her stomach turned in a lurch.

No, Lili, she chided herself, pulling the sheets back up to her waist and laying her head down beside Artibius. She was bei gong she ying—mistaking the bow's shadow for a snake. She couldn't go around assuming everything was a plot, no matter what she'd heard or how suffocated she felt in Mister Malfoy's stare. She pressed her eyes closed tight.

The voices behind the wall kept trickling through, rising and falling in tone and urgency. The fire had stopped crackling, and now it was only the light ticking of the grandfather clock that accompanied the muffled speech from the next room.

She lay still for half an hour, listening and yet trying not to listen, striving to push herself past the anxious curiosity and into sleep.

"Artibius," she whispered finally. The large bat didn't stir.

"Artibius," she tried again, a bit louder.

He cracked one eye, seeming to frown.

"I can't sleep. I need you to do me a favor."

He clicked angrily and, in the almost silent room, the sound echoed from the ceiling.

"I know, I know," she sighed, sitting up and pulling the covers off once again. "And I promise, if you do this, you can get undisturbed sleep the rest of your nights here. There's just—well, something I want to know."

Artibius seemed to groan but climbed up to her neck all the same.

"Fly around to the window. I want to see who's next door."

Artibius obviously disapproved but made no move of refusal.

She closed her eyes. She wasn't sure what she expected to see, but she would see, and that was enough.

And if there was nothing to see, then it could only make her feel more at ease. "Jiejing a!"

As Artibius lifted up and took a smooth flight, her vision grew obscured by shapes and colors rushing past. She slowly stood and, every step creaking on the wood floors, limped her way across the room to open the window. Outside the air was unrelentingly frozen.

She turned to look at Artibius and was met with a vision of her own face, paled by the moonlight, speckled with shadows. "Don't let them see you," she whispered, waving him on. Her heart was pounding: the voices next door had stopped if only for a moment.

Artibius took flight, finding his way to the next window. As quietly and quickly as she could, Lili hobbled back to her bed, pulling the covers up to her neck and watching the many ghosts of the night slide across her eyes.

The window of the next room was firmly fastened, and the shades were drawn. Artibius returned with a high, irritated squeal.

"Well," she sighed. "I suppose I just won't know." Left with only her imagination, she was sure no more sleep would come.

Artibius was seated on the doorknob, clawing at it eagerly.

"What? Just come on and forget it."

He squealed again in protest, pressing one claw firmly against the keyhole above the knob.

It took her a minute to understand. "Oh! Oh, yes, the keyhole! That door's bound to have one too!" All the doors on Malfoy Manor, she had noted already, had locks. "But do you think you can do it without anyone seeing you?"

Artibius looked affronted.

"Okay, okay," she said, petting his head, still seeing her own face looking back at her. "Just be careful, that's all. If you see anyone pass by, come straight back." She cracked the door, wincing as Artibius fluttered out, the sound of his wings whooshing loudly down the empty corridor.

The halls were eerily still, choked with dark. Tall suits of armor stood like shadowed sentinels beside the door. The paintings which stared down sternly from every wall were now shrouded in black save the sharp whites of their eyes. Artibius fluttered down on a nearby doorknob, pressing his eye to the keyhole.

At first the bright light stung, and she had to blink several times before her vision focused. Her mouth was dry, and she rolled her tongue around it slowly, taking in the scene Artibius revealed.

The room beyond the keyhole was brightly lit by fire. Though the keyhole provided only narrow vision, she could clearly see at least four tall but indistinct figures, one standing stiff in contemplation, the other three seated on a rather long sofa. From the skipping shadows on the floor, Lili guessed there were a few more present, though they sat or stood out of sight.

Artibius pressed his eye closer. The fuzzy firelight that glowed around the edges of the figures dimmed, and she could see them clearly.

The man standing was Mister Malfoy. He swirled a glass of yellow-gold liquid in his hand, seeming tired yet, somehow, awake, like a hungry serpent coiling itself. His shadow fell long on the carpeted floor, swallowing all others.

Two of the other men were familiar faces. One figure, seeming a statue in his seat, was Walden Macnair, the gruff-featured man Lili had met the previous evening at dinner. The second, also a dinner guest from the previous night, was Jeremiah Avery, who had sat back against the soft cushions of the sofa and was running his tongue over his teeth. The last figure was that of a thin and dark-skinned woman, but she was unfamiliar to Lili, and most of her features were masked by the shadows of the first two men.

At almost the same instant she saw Macnair's lips move, she heard a faint murmur once more through the wall. All the other figures turned to look at Macnair with indifferent eyes.

It was Malfoy's turn to speak now. His thin lips ruffled and the sound of the voices grew louder. The deep lines of Malfoy's brow told her unequivocally that this was more than an informal after-dinner party. Voices rose and fell, exchanged rapid and hot. Something was being debated.

Avery stood and floated towards the fire, seeming to glide on his air of self-importance. He gestured towards the flames and turned his eyes to Malfoy as if this was a challenge.

Malfoy laid the drink down with a heavy jerk and strode over to the fireplace. Keeping his eyes on the thin, curled smile of Avery, he pulled something from his robe pocket and threw it into the blaze.

There was a flash of light, and Lili had to blink several more times. She was barely breathing, afraid to make even the slightest noise, as if she herself was perched at the keyhole. Her fingers were gripping the sheets, heart beating so hard she was sure they would hear. She blinked ferociously trying to clear her vision.

The flash in her eyes faded, but she could still make out nothing new. All the forms in Artibius' line of vision stood, stiff and anxious. Even the self-possessed Avery twiddled almost imperceptibly with the loose cloth of his robes. She squinted hard but to no avail. What was it, she wondered, leaning forward as though willing Artibius to do the same. It must be something indeed to cause the rigid and yet quailing posture that had taken hold of everyone in the room.

At length, her vision completely clear, Lili could make out a shape, indistinct and manically shadowed in the flames. It was only, she guessed, a head, and the ghostly projection of one at that: someone was talking to them through the fire. The flames bounced around it, every eye in the room riveted.

And then Artibius leaned closer.

Lili felt as if her heart would burst. She didn't manage to stop her gasp.

Thin skin was pulled tight around jutting cheekbones, thick, black veins worming across the face and pulsing at its temples. The eyes were a snake's, placed wide and cold over slit nostrils. No lips could be seen: only a short gash of a mouth, drawn taut and small. The nostrils were flaring and, for just a moment, Lili felt he was looking out, looking through the keyhole, through Artibius and straight at her. She was helpless, and he was laughing…

The head in the fire could only be—she opened her mouth to say the word, as if somehow saying it might give her some power.

But the name choked in her throat.

Stomach turning, trembling, she muttered the spell. The head in the fire disappeared, and once again dark but still shadows surrounded her. She blinked, hoping to convince herself it had been a bad dream…

But even through lidded eyes, she could see his face, his sharp, unmoving gaze slicing through her skin.

She waited only long enough for Artibius to flutter back before shutting the door solidly. She sank to the floor.

Breath trickled in and out with great effort. He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. You-Know-Who. The Dark Lord. The names were bandied around Slytherin all the time, as if, somehow, he was a venerable old alumnus. But caught in those eyes, Lili had found nothing but abject terror at the cruel calculation, the hatred empty of purpose or exception—she was still shaking, back pressed firm against the door.

What was she doing there? Suddenly, none of what led up to the current situation made sense. She had been the Queen of Slytherin—had this been inevitable all along?

And she began to understand why Snape had given her Notes.. It was a warning; a message telling her how easy and dangerous it could be to get mixed up in Slytherin politics…to lose your life, your ability to choose...

Shadow had gathered in pools at her bare feet. The room suddenly seemed much colder, the furniture only hard-lines silhouetted in sickly moonlight. She felt tears stinging at her eyes and cursed herself for it. You're here now, Lili. Don't go to pieces. She had gotten herself too deep and crying about it wouldn't get her out.

She forced several deep breaths through her mouth. The air was bitter.

As much as she liked Draco, she had to get away. She would be unable to sleep, haunted by the specter of those glittering, pitiless eyes…She had to get out. Or at least, she had to talk to someone…

Snape.

He had talked to her, tried to warn her, if even obliquely. Her heart thumped. Surely he would know what to do…

Without even a thought more, she shuffled across the room as best she could and grabbed a quill from the table beside her bed. She had used all her parchment to write letters to send to Zhong Mo Xue, so she was forced to tear out the title page of Complex Concoctions and scribble on the back. Her hand flew, and, though she tried to calm its shaking, her letters looped and jumped erratically.

Professor Snape,

I'm sorry to bother you on the holidays. I need to talk to you. It's urgent. Please write me or come to Malfoy Manor. I think I may be in over my head.

Sincerely,

Elizabeth Lee

Even as she wrote it, she knew he could not possibly visit her. But she wanted a word, anything: though it smarted to admit to it, she needed advice. She felt like pawn drowned in the shadows of tall, black knights.

And there, far at the end of the board, was the King.

She had played enough wizard's chess to know what happened to the helpless pawn.

She rolled the parchment tight and secured it with a hairpin. Though her hands had stopped shaking, her palms were slick with sweat. At great length, she looked down at Artibius who was watching her, close.

"Artibius, I need you to take this to Hogwarts," she said, holding out the letter. "Make sure it gets to Professor Snape and only to Professor Snape."

The bat, who normally objected to long flights, took the roll in his claws without a sound.

Every step across the floor was painfully loud, and she was certain that, at any moment, an irate Lucius Malfoy would come bursting through the door, demanding her silence. The window opened again with barely a squeak, and Artibius fluttered up to the sill, nuzzling against Lili's stomach with two long, reassuring clicks.

"Thank you, Artibius," she sighed, petting his head lightly. "And be careful. Don't let anyone see you."

The bat merely puffed himself up and took off in a confident rush of air.

She stood at the window, watching him until his tiny form melted among the sharp stars and puffs of icy cloud.

Her knees weak, her muscles still hot from the sudden moment of fear, Lili melted into bed, though she knew too well sleep would not come. She lay for a long while staring up at the ceiling, feeling blanketed in heavy air, entombed in sheets of silk. Her mind tried to touch upon various aspects of her situation but then jerked away, unwilling. If she thought too much, she would have no peace. And beyond that, the Malfoys would wonder why she was so nervous and aloof…

No, for the moment, she would have to play the part. She did her best to banish the face of You-Know-Who from her mind, drowning herself in the oil-skinned covers of Complex Concoctions. She would wait for some word from Snape. Perhaps he would know what to do: perhaps he would understand the feeling of drowning in darkness…

With a sigh and a strong attempt to dry welling tears, she lay back and let the shadows rise over her face like water.

Five days past, and still no word from Snape. Artibius returned on the morning of the second day empty-handed.

Her ankle healed quickly and, to distract herself from anxiety and depression, she buried herself in the upstairs library, taking all meals save dinner there; --she still found herself forced to dine every evening with the Malfoys.

Draco seemed to have given up somewhat on inviting her for more flying lessons. After several rather brusque excuses, she hadn't seen him except at the dinner table. That, she decided, was all for the better. Though she liked him and hoped to continue their friendship at Hogwarts, Lili wanted as little to do with anyone while she was on Malfoy Manor as possible.

So, she remained alone, hidden away in her corner of the library. She had devoured Complex Concoctions and had now begun a series of books on charm classes. The second volume, which resembled a bright green brick, was an examination of Celtic charms and their relation to modern spell classes.

Geeti scurried in and, disappearing between piles of books for a few seconds, finally emerged with a food-laden tray and a wide grin. "Here is Miss' lunch. Geeti is sorry it is late. Houselves is very busy preparing for New Year's."

Glancing over the green book, Lili couldn't help but smile back. The tiny elf had rested the tray on a tall stack of volumes and was now busying herself with removing lids and pouring tea.

"Thank you, Geeti. I didn't even notice the time." It was true. She had lost herself in a particularly interesting chapter on moon-related magic.

"Yes, Miss is hardly leaving for three days. Geeti thinks Miss should go out and get some air."

She turned her eyes back down towards the book, wanting to finish the chapter before eating.

"Miss is looking pale. Maybe getting sick," Geeti pressed, reaching up and touching Lili's forehead with a tiny hand.

Secretly, Lili hoped to get sick. It would provide a convenient excuse to stow away in her room and miss even dinners. She kept her eyes heavily on the book. "Don't worry, Geeti, I'm fine."

The houself drew her hand away with a disbelieving tut.

"Well, nonetheless, the houself is right. You should get out of here once and a while."

Lili's heart skipped a beat. The voice brushed her skin, raising goose pimples. She looked up to see Lucius Malfoy's black-clad figure silhouetted in the door. "The sun is bright today: it's not too cold out."

Instantly, she felt her throat dry, blood beginning to drum in her ears. "Erm, yes I saw through the window. But I've started a rather fascinating set of books, hard to pull myself away." Though at that moment, she desired nothing more than to pull herself away.

Mister Malfoy cocked his head slightly and sauntered into the room, dusting his fingers over the spines of several volumes, keeping his eyes on her with a pale ferocity. "Yes, I thought you might enjoy this place. It's a shame Draco never really showed any interest: there's plenty of very useful information in here."

Lili nodded, not trusting her voice.

He paced past the shelves for several moments, inspecting the books but removing none. She watched sidelong, battling with her face for some semblance of composure.

"I've heard, Miss Lee, and from many sources," he began sharply after a long pause, "that you have been doing Slytherin proud. My son tells me you've almost gained as many academic points as that Granger Mudblood. And I also hear you taught her a little lesson she won't soon forget."

Lili had to remind herself to blink. She gripped the green book so hard that her fingers turned white.

He was leaning on a bookshelf near her now, and she had no choice but to look up. His steely eyes were fastened upon her. The sunlight filtering in the windows made his hair shine white-gold.

"A rather nasty curse, I'm told. And one unknown to most of the professors there at Hogwarts, eh?"

She nodded again, trying not to let her eyes waver. She recognized the roundabout Slytherin style of speech: he wanted to ask her something, but was building a tower of flattery first.

"I also hear that you let a rather presumptuous piece of Gryffindor trash know his place." His voice dipped low into a growl, and, for a moment, Lili was overcome by the odd sensation that he was an animal, a tiger ready to leap.

She shifted, forcing a wan smile. "He had offended one of my friends most--obscenely." Here, in this library and under the eyes of Lucius Malfoy, the excuse seemed flimsy.

"Indeed."

There was another moment of thick silence, and Lili couldn't help but turn her gaze away. Looking at him all she could think of was the vision in the fire, their figures gathered around it, deferent and, yes, almost reverent. She spied a shadow from that fire in Lucius Malfoy's severe eyes.

"With skills such as yours," he said, having taken a book from the shelf to examine its cover closely, "you have a bright future ahead of you. Have you considered what you might want to do after graduation? It is drawing nigh." Another half-tilted grin.

It hit her suddenly that she had to answer. Even under normal circumstances the question flustered her, but sprawled out under his gaze, her stomach lurched. "Um, I haven't really decided yet. I was thinking of doing something that involved potion-making, since that's my favorite, uh, but I wouldn't mind researching and assembling wands. That's a hard line of work, but potentially interesting." She swallowed, wondering if any lie could pass such a master of deception.

He scoffed, slamming the book down on the shelf. Lili cursed herself for jumping at the sound.

"Wand research?" It was a derisive chuckle. "Potions? Do you want to waste all your talents and potential?" To her dismay, he took a seat at the end of the couch, turning towards her with a smoothly feigned intimation of conspiracy. "You have greater opportunities lying before you. There are those who could understand you, appreciate your skills…"

Her stomach turned in terror. The full implication sat like a stone in her skull.

"There are opportunities for people of intelligence, of class, and of breeding." He leaned even closer towards her until she feared she might drown in the flashing silver. "You could go far if you allied yourself with the right people. The Lees have found themselves on the wrong side for too long. But you—great things await you if you so choose."

Every syllable that dripped from his thin lips, passed like an eternity of panic. What could she do? What could she say? Even now he stared at her, his eyes gleaming with the unspoken question. One nod of her head, and she was in. But if she didn't nod? What then? She could only imagine the consequences of declining…

She swallowed and sat stiff against the thick velvet of the couch. Somewhere behind her eyes, tears were stinging. He was piercing through her with his gaze; he was looking straight at her innards, measuring, examining, and more than that, demanding a response.

"Thank you."

Even as the words left her mouth, they caused her pain. They were deliberately ambiguous, but she felt certain Malfoy wouldn't find them so.

A sneer crawled across his face, and he stood, towering over her. His shadow, draping across her lap, seemed heavy. He did not speak but, like a shade, floated out of the room, black billowing behind him like smoke.

She could not hold back the tears but bit her tongue hard so as not to sob.

'Thank you'? What did it mean? More importantly, what did it mean to him?

She brushed the tears away, but they persisted in falling, burning her eyes. No, she should have stood tall and spoken loudly. She was no mouse. No, she should have said. I may not be a Gryffindor, but I'm not one of you. Far from it.

But only a Gryffindor could have been so stupidly courageous. To say such a thing would have meant far more than simply turning down a cup of tea or a flying lesson. She would have shown where her loyalties lie, drawn a line in the sand. And, standing on the opposite side of a Malfoy while on Malfoy Manor was treading in dangerous and lonely territory.

There was a flash of fire in her mind and the burning but brief vision of cold, serpentine eyes.

She shuddered. What could she do? She had started down this road by deciding to stay in Slytherin, by alienating her father, by the Stone-heart Curse, and the incident with Seamus. She had sent out signals without even knowing: and now, to her dismay, she was drowning…

And there was only one person she could hope would pull her out.

Her legs were shaking so fiercely that she was barely able to make it to her room. Collapsing on her bed, she tore out the title page of Notes from Underground and began scrawling madly.

This time she went on writing for almost an hour, pouring out every second of the story, every thought and regret and fear. Please come, she begged him. Tell Malfoy you want to see him. Anything. I need advice and—she paused. What could she expect from him? He hadn't replied to her first call, why should he now? Was he regretting giving her Notes? Did he believe she was lost?

Well, she sighed to herself, it was worth a try. Without Snape, she could very well find herself lost…

Fighting back tears she dashed the last words quickly. Someone I trust.

Artibius was already waiting on the desk's edge, watching her through small, sad eyes.

"Artibius. Take this to Snape. Don't let anyone else see it."

He blinked and soared out the window, disappearing into the glowing fire of the sun.

She pushed back the tears from her cheeks, unconsciously running her fingers over the spine of Notes. "And—please hurry."

Whether she was speaking to Artibius or to Snape, even she wasn't sure.