Chapter 5: The First Task
By: Callisto Callispi
The fire cackling in the huge stone fireplace failed to illuminate the shadow-drenched room. Partly it was due to the size of the room. But mostly, it was because of the nearly withered figure slumped in a tattered chair settled mere centimeters from the flames. He only brooded silently, seemingly unaware of the red and orange bursts of burnt wood that popped onto his black robe. He absorbed the warmth. He always did.
"You annoy me so, little man," he rasped finally, holding up his wand. "Why do you return?"
"Please, master, I will not fail you. Please, remember, I have brought great success to your healing. I beg you, master!" he wailed.
HSSSSS . . .
Wormtail whimpered as he felt something large and scaly slither around his mid-section. "Please, master. Don't kill me!"
The snake only tightened its grip. Suddenly the figure shifted. He hissed in parseltongue. Reluctantly, the snake loosened its grip. A bit.
"Tell me. Why do I require the aid of a man as formidable as yourself?" the figure inquired dryly.
"I-I --"
"That's what I thought," the voice answered with cruel satisfaction.
"WAIT! Master! I can get you Harry Potter! Even dead, if you wish!" the small man shouted as soon as the snake began to slowly suffocate him.
The figure in the chair laughed hollowly. "Are you desperate enough to turn to lies, Wormtail? Even I, Lord Voldemort, have failed to get rid of that Potter child. What makes you think that you can succeed in that I have failed?"
"M-master, I-I have sources inside that Hogwarts Castle. If you would only give me until the spring of next year, Harry Potter will be as dead as a doornail," gasped Wormtail, painfully aware that his face was turning purple. "Very, very good sources."
A painstaking silence followed during which the figure in the chair contemplated the proposal.
A church bell rang deeply in the distance. Wormtail would have thought it sounded beautiful if he wasn't too busy trying to pry the snake off of his chest. Just a little more and it would crush him!
BONG! BONG!
God help him. His master was going to kill him!
BONG! BONG!
The figure shifted again and coughed weakly. Then the Dark Lord, his voice wavering, replied, "Fine, Wormtail. I will spare you. This once. If you indeed succeed in getting rid of that annoying brat, I will reward you most lavishly. But if you fail, I will not refrain from killing you. No more second chances."
Wormtail wailed for breath.
BONG!
More Parseltongue. The snake released its hold on Wormtail grudgingly. Wormtail almost wept. His salvation! Praise those heavenly bells.
"Off with you then. I don't want to see your face again until you are summoned."
Wormtail took this moment to flee from his master's view. Sweat dripped down his brow. He escaped his master's cold wrath once more. He would live -- this time.
The face of the old grandfather clock announced with quiet dignity that thirty minutes had passed the hour of six. Hermione sighed.
Well, here I go. Detention. For me. Head Girl Hermione.
She dragged her feet towards Filch's office. "Oh dear," she moaned as she almost slipped on the slimy dungeon stairs. She squinted, trying to see where these steps stopped, but she saw nothing. The stairs soon were enveloped in a fog of black darkness. With fear plaguing her heart, Hermione climbed hesitantly down and walked along an equally dark hallway until she finally stood in front of a wooden door. Reluctantly, she knocked.
"What?" came a rough voice.
Hermione jumped a bit but allowed herself in.
She first spotted a small fire in the fire place that was as tall as the length of her forearm (both the fire place and the fire) and an almost-rotten desk settled in the middle of the room. It was a dark and chilly office, stinking faintly of mildew and rotten eggs. There were no windows, no rugs, and no source of light except for a lone candle and the fire.
Catching a glint of bright silver, she turned her head and found Draco Malfoy sitting comfortably in a black chair, smiling lazily at her. He looked almost . . . saintly. His pale complexion and bright hair shimmered almost ethereally against his pitch-black cloaks, even in this greasy light. But where was the saint's halo?
Oh, yes. HE DOESN'T HAVE ONE! Why? Because he's the DEVIL himself!
Hermione glared and tilted her chin upwards. A gesture of disdain. Draco scowled.
"Why don't you take a seat, Granger?" Draco asked seethingly, motioning to the chair next to him. "You're blinding me with your uncompromising Gryffindor nobility and dignity, standing so proudly like that."
Hermione glared and snapped her head away from Draco. "Well, in that case, I'd rather stand, thank you."
"Do what you will, filthy mudblood," Draco hissed in return.
Hermione clenched her, willing herself to maintain control. After all, jumping on him and ripping his smirking lips from of his face would have achieved nothing but more punishment. Not to mention he was stronger than her. Much stronger.
Suddenly, the door slammed open. Hermione turned to see who it was.
Filch.
The caretaker jeered at both Hermione and Draco as he slowly walked into his office. He sat down behind his desk with Mrs. Norris trailing behind him. The cat bared her teeth at Hermione as she followed her master.
"Take a seat," he sneered at Hermione.
Hermione's mouth thinned to a straight line, much like Professor McGonagall when she was angry. She sat down in the vacant chair adjacent to Draco's and scooted as far away from him as possible.
"Well, well, the Head Girl and the rather influential Slytherin. Suspected that the last place that you'd end up was here." Filch smiled, displaying a stunning array of yellow and crooked teeth. "Professors Snape and McGonagall informed me that I was to prepare the detention." He frowned. "Though if I had it my way, I would have chained you two to the ceiling; detention the old-fashioned way!"
Draco shifted uncomfortably in his chair.
"But unfortunately, the Ministry of Magic does not approve of that solution," Filch remarked with a rueful shake of his head. "Now, the professors insisted that I make this detention clear to both of you. Detention starts exactly at seven in the evening. Tardiness will not be endured. Every minute that you are late will serve as an extra hour." Filch's lip curled into a happy little smile.
Draco quickly threw a dirty look at Hermione. She scowled back.
"You will get to leave from your detention at midnight, if I have seen that you were not lounging about. Have I made that clear?"
Neither Hermione nor Draco said a word.
"Good," drawled Filch as he leaned back in his chair. "Now, for today's detention, you will head up to the owlery and feed the owls there by refilling their food and water bowls. Awfully cranky they are when they grow hungry."
Hermione narrowed her eyes. Did he just know how many owls were in the owlery? Almost two hundred!
"If you aren't careful, they might poke out an eye," Filch added hopefully. "It shouldn't take you two that long. After you finish that simple task, report back to me."
Hermione bit back a moan. Midnight! We get off at midnight! How will I ever get all of my school work done on time? I need sleep too!
Filch got up. "Now, if you will follow me, I will get you some gloves and a more suitable attire than your school robes."
Reluctantly, the two both got up, scowling at each other and Filch.
X
The two emerged in the owlery with thick gloves protecting their hands and donning robes that were once black but had faded into a dark gray. Filch quickly explained what to do.
Hermione grimaced as she looked at herself, recalling her conversation with Filch a minute before.
"Doesn't magic refill the bowls?" she had asked.
"Why, Miss Granger, would you want to do a different, more difficult task?" Filch snarled.
"No, sir, it's just that I --" But she was cut off by Filch.
"Perhaps cleaning up the mess you and Mister Malfoy made in the Gryffindor quidditch section would suit your tastes?"
"I didn't mean any disre --"
"Get to work then!" he roared.
Stupid arse! she spat. But then shook her head. I'm lucky to get away just with detention. Professor McGonagall could have stripped me of my title as Head Girl. Or worse . . . I could have been expelled! Why did I have to attack Malfoy? I've never lost my temper like that to anyone else. Why is he so special! True, he's a slimy toad with an ego that could counter a Hippogriff's but . . .
Hermione stared at Draco to find him with his arms crossed. A scowl marred his face. She bit back a smirk.
Well, maybe it wasn't a mistake to wipe that jeer off of his smug face.
"Keep that expression on your face, Granger. Maybe you can win an award for 'Ugliest Cave Troll of the Year,'" Draco snapped, annoyed.
"Keep talking ferret-boy. Maybe if you're lucky you can find something intelligent to say," Hermione shot back.
Draco smiled innocently. His eyes glinted with obvious dislike. "You know, if it weren't for you, we wouldn't be stuck in this mess in the first place."
"ME!" Hermione said shrilly. "Have you suddenly developed a case of amnesia? Who called who a 'mudblood?'"
Draco glowered at Hermione. "If you weren't such so insufferable and so . . . so Gryffindor, I probably wouldn't have called you that," he snapped back. "But I was mistaken. What else can I expect from someone muggle-born?"
"So I guess you expect me to apologize for being born into a muggle family? Sure, it's all my fault," Hermione answered sarcastically.
"Exactly what I was thinking," Draco muttered.
Hermione ignored him and moved away from the infuriating man as far as possible. "Start at that end, and I'll begin here."
Draco looked like he was going to refuse but then stiffly walked to where Hermione directed him to go.
Hermione stared at the large barn owl. Well, it must be done, she thought as she attempted opened the cage in an attempt to refill the water bowl. Apparently, she didn't possess the natural charm that appealed to animals. The owl pecked at her viciously. "Oh stay still you!" Hermione muttered.
"Talking to yourself, Granger?" she heard Draco call from the other side of the owlery.
Hermione's anger boiled. Couldn't he leave her alone for just one bloody minute? She was about to tell him to go and stick a rusty meat hook up his nose but thought better of it and instead replied, "Yes, in fact, I was. I was muttering how you should do all of us a favor and walk off a cliff!"
Mocking laughter. "That'll be the day, Granger, that'll be the day."
Hermione glared at Malfoy's turned back and felt an overwhelming urge to hex him. But just as she was reaching for her wand, she felt sudden, burning pain shooting through her arm. She looked down and watched the owl as he was trying to fly out of his cage. The blasted owl had pecked her!
"Stupid little thing!" she cried.
Draco immediately stopped what he was doing a glanced at Hermione in cold amusement. "Now you had to be talking to yourself that time."
Hermione ignored him. She threw a death glare at the owl as it hooted in return. Slamming the cage shut, she pulled off her glove and stared at where the owl had so viciously pecked her. The wound was right under the robe gray sleeve. She pulled the sleeve up and winced as she saw blood oozing out from the wound and looked around for a bandage of some sort. She didn't want her blood to make a mark on the robe. It would make Filch only more furious. Biting her lip, she turned and groped about for some sort of towel. To her surprise, she felt something soft against the side of her face.
"Use this," Draco said.
He was holding a handkerchief. It was white and on the bottom left corner was a snake wrapping itself around two letters. 'D.M.' it read. The words were carefully stitched in gold thread and the snake was sewed in with silver and black.
Hermione looked at him strangely and carefully took the piece of cloth to examine it.
"For God's sake, I haven't hexed it!"
Still, her eyes were searching his face.
Draco, probably annoyed that she didn't accept his hospitality, sneered, "Hurry up and wipe that dirty blood off before you ruin the robe."
Hermione's eyes flashed with anger. She pressed the cloth down on the wound to cease some of the blood flow. "I didn't need your help," she bit out.
Without a word, he swiftly turned around and started on his next owl.
X
About three hours later . . .
Quickly snatching her hand out of the cage, Hermione sighed and smiled. She looked around with a satisfied grin. All the owls in their cages had their food and water bowls refilled. "Malfoy! Are you done with your half?" she called.
Draco raised an eyebrow. "I was done thirty minutes ago."
She stared at him, annoyed. "Helpful aren't you?"
Draco merely shrugged. "Why would I want to do another round of chores that only servants and house elves perform? And why would I want to aid a mudblood?"
Hermione's face darkened into a scowl. "I should have known."
"Known what?" he snapped.
Hermione faced Draco. "I should have known that I could never expect anything worthwhile from someone like you."
"That's a laugh, Granger!" An amused smirk crept up his face. "You should be honored that a pureblooded person like me is even speaking to you."
Hermione's hands were clenched into fist. Her knuckles were white. "You're so blind. Does blood matter so much, you arrogant ass? You're so ignorant."
"And you're insufferable. You are worthless, little girl. And powerless. Don't trifle with me."
Hermione, despite herself, felt heat prick her eyes. Anger boiled so deeply within her that it released itself in perspiration and tears. But she would not cry in front of this cruel man who towered so infuriatingly over her. She would not succumb to her rage. "I hate you."
Draco's eyes narrowed. No smirks, no snarls. Just hate. "You disgust me."
Still valiantly trying to fight down tears of frustration, Hermione grabbed her gloves and shoved past Draco. By shoving, she deliberately pushed him to the side as she made her way back to Filch's office, causing him to stumble and almost knock down cages full of owls.
She took out the handkerchief that he had given her, her fast pace slowing into a walk. D.M., the corner of the handkerchief read in curvy writing, stitched in gold thread. Blood stained the fabric.
If I have such dirty blood, she wondered spitefully, why did he let me use it?
But Hermione pushed back a wave of self pity that was quickly overtaking her mind. Why did she need to pity herself? He was all foul talk. No action.
Swearing, she threw the handkerchief down in front of her. She held her head up high and continued walking to Filch's office, stepping on the small white piece of cloth as she made her way. She then broke into a run, trying to get as far away from Draco as possible.
X
Draco stalked towards Filch's office while violently cursing Hermione.
Hag! Dirty little mudblood hag! How dare she say that to me? How dare she touch me!
He stared at a large clock as he passed by. A quarter past nine. Only two hours and forty-five minutes to go. Draco thought longingly. The corridors were already dark, lit only by the musty light of the ceiling lamps.
Looking ahead, he caught a glimpse of her swirling robes as she sprinted towards Filch's office. She was running away from him. He smirked, feeling a little better.
Little mudblood. How I enjoy playing with you, he thought with a little smirk. How I enjoy pulling your last nerve. But it angers you, doesn't it, mudblood? That you can never win this war between us?
But Draco then scowled as well. He couldn't defeat her as much as she couldn't defeat him. And why the hell did he offer her his handkerchief? It was a spur-of-the-moment thing. He disliked the sight of ripped flesh. Anything to cover it up.
After a couple of minutes of walking, he spotted a small white object on the red carpeted floor. Curious, he bent down to examine what it was then realized with widened eyes that it was his handkerchief he had offered Hermione! Picking it up gingerly, he examined it, cringing as his finger just barely grazed over the blood spot. Getting a dark look on his face, he envisioned wringing Hermione's precious little neck. How dare she throw something away so carelessly that was offered to her? And it was from a Malfoy, no less!
Baring his teeth, Draco pinched the handkerchief and prepared to hurl it out the window. Anything that had the blood of someone muggle-born like her smeared on it was not even worth his time. But as a brisk swell of wind nibbled at his face, Draco closed his eyes. And when he did, he saw her face. She was glaring up at him.
"Mudblood, get out of my head!" Draco whispered to no one.
Without another word, he tossed the handkerchief out the window and watched it sway in the wind.