Another chapter today, it's my treat ;-)
xx
The Little Darkness Within You
Chapter 2: I found you.
A whole month passed. Four, long and excruciating bloody weeks. The suitcase was still by the door of her office, awaiting its owner to come back for it. Her eyes kept wandering over to it at least a hundred times a day, filling her head with even more questions to which there seemed to be less and less answers. Hannah informed her that the man never came back asking for the suitcase. The simple existence of it in her office was distracting enough that even more work piled up on her desk. At the rate with which her work got done, Hermione wasn't going to see the light of day for the foreseeable future. The biggest mystery was that whoever this damned D. R. is, he seemed unbothered by the loss of his suitcase. Whatever is in it might not be of much importance to him.
Hermione even waited for him to show up again in the Atrium on Saturday nights long after acceptable working hours, but she never even caught a glimpse of his devilish smirk again. As her patience wore thin, her curiosity only got bigger. Countless of times she was tempted to just open the damned suitcase and look inside, surely something in it might be a bigger clue as to who he is than the initials that meant nothing to her. She went as far as to go through the list of workers in every single Department in the Ministry, hoping to find someone, anyone, whose initials matched those of the mystery man, but the only one that came up was Demelza Robins, who worked in the Department of Magical Games and Sports. She went as far as to send an interdepartmental memo to Demelza asking her if by any chance she had lost a suitcase that had her initials embroidered in gold on it, which to Hermione's increasing annoyance, she did not.
It was yet another late Saturday night spent in her office trying to get through the week's workload when Hermione yawned. She had been staring at the same paragraph for a long time and retained no information. Seeing this as her cue to pack up and leave, she flicked her wand and readied herself to leave the office until Monday morning. Just as she grabbed the door handle, her gaze fell on the suitcase again. A long and one-sided staring contest began between her and the object. Whereas the staring contest she shared with its owner was a tad flirty, this one was full of hatred and disgust. How dare this man leave her with a suitcase that was bound to rip her sanity to shreds before she even turned thirty.
Hermione doused the lights as she exited her office and started the walk to the lifts. Halfway through the corridor, she could swear she heard a muffled sound from behind her. Wondering if someone else was at work on Saturday in her office, she started walking back slowly, listening intently. She got all the way to the end of the corridor, but except her, no one was here. She turned to walk back when she heard it again. It wasn't a voice, more like a low buzzing sound similar to the sounds of a particularly fat bumblebee. Furrowing her brow, she realised the noise came from her own office.
Instinctively, Hermione took her wand out of her pocket. You don't get to fight a war and not spend the rest of your life living in complete bliss. The door opened with a click, and the light came on. She could tell the buzzing sound came from the suitcase that's been in her possession for the last month.
Sighing to herself for getting so defensive when she knew no one was in the office she had just vacated, she dropped her gaze to the wretched suitcase that has been marring her days. Placing it on top of her desk, she sat on her chair and watched it for several minutes, wondering if this was the right call to make. Later, she will convince herself that her decision to open the thing in the first place was just to ensure that nothing dangerous inside it was the cause of the low thrumming she could hear. Before she even considers opening it, she first needed to make sure it is safe to do so. She stood up and cast a few spells to try and figure out if anything inside it was cursed or Dark Magic. When everything came back negative, she flicked her wand, and the suitcase opened. Hermione held her breath as the lid fell back with a thud on her desk. She edged closer, surveying the inside. She was not sure what she expected to find, but that certainly was not it. It only had some clothes, all embroidered with the initials D. R. and very little indication as to who that person might be. The clothes seemed new, or at the very least, well cared for, and they were of excellent quality. The wizard who wore them came from money for sure. That, or he had a high-paying position.
Hermione tried to hide her disappointment as she locked the suitcase again. She was not sure what had caused the whirring sound she heard before she opened it, but it definitely was not the mystery man's robes. She was halfway to the door when she remembered how Harry had described the trunk the fake Professor Moody had concealed the real Mad Eye in for all the school year. She stood back by the suitcase, opening it once more. It only revealed the clothing she saw earlier. Closing then reopening it without locking it showed totally different contents. This time, it was full of blank parchment, quills, and ink. Repeating the action, showed yet another hidden compartment. This one contained multiple pictures of what looked like a family. In the first picture she picked up, the kid had captivating blue eyes and a dimpled and cheeky smirk. The adults in it were faceless, as if someone had burnt their faces off with their wand tip, much like the charming Walburga Black had done to her own son, Sirius, on their family tree. She took the time studying each picture, noticing that in no single photo were the parents' face visible. Despite the broad smile the brown-haired child had that only made his dimples pop out to adorable levels, something must have happened in that family that changed them forever.
The pictures went all the way to the handsome young man she now was now sure was D. R., standing outside of Hogwarts on a sunny day, holding two thumbs up, probably celebrating his graduation. His school robes were adorned with the Ravenclaw crest. Hermione's brows furrowed as she inspected the picture closely. When she could study the mystery man at The Leaky Cauldron, he looked around her age. Of course, witches and wizards had a longer lifespan than Muggles did, and they in turn also aged slowly. Once a witch or wizard started nearing their 30s, they would age slower. It's why she often thought that Lucius and Draco Malfoy looked more like siblings now than they did as father and son. Her and D. R. must have attended Hogwarts at the same time, but she could not remember ever seeing his face. Unless he was a good decade older than her and just still looked young due to his formidable wizard genes. Hermione felt like an intruder the more she looked at the photos. She wondered what could have led this man she knew absolutely nothing about, to melt the face of his parents out of family photos dating back to when he was nothing but a baby in a nappy.
Deciding she intruded enough, she closed the lid and opened it again. There in the middle of the suitcase, sat a smooth black box on a bed of purple velvet. For whatever reason, the sight of the contraption took her breath away. She could feel the magic radiating from it in slow, warm waves. She felt drawn to it, as if it was a pet long thought to be lost returning home. The analogy made her snort, until she realised her fingers have moved dangerously close to the box without her meaning to. Suddenly worried that this little box was a lot more dangerous than she initially thought it to be, she took out her wand again. For long minutes, she cast spell after spell trying to figure out if it was safe to touch. Seeing nothing dangerous in any of the diagnostics, she threw caution to the wind, and reached for it. The box was cold to the touch, yet at the same time a warmth radiated from it. It was small, maybe twice the size of her fist. Turning it around in her hands as she carefully examined it closer, she noticed an opening barely half an inch wide in one side of it. Tracing it with her finger, she felt again a rush of magic course through her body.
Hermione set the box down on the desk as she studied it more. Her mind and heart were at war on what to do next. Her brain worked itself on a frenzy, wanted her to put the box back where she found it, close the suitcase, and return it to the Leaky Cauldron until D. R. came back for it. Her heart on the other hand, wanted to keep and protect the box until then. She felt inexplicably drawn to it. Touching it felt like coming home after a long day or waking up on Sunday as a kid to the smells of your mum cooking you breakfast.
She was about to put it back in its velvet bed when she noticed a piece of parchment where the box was. She reached for it and read the neat handwriting she could not possibly recognise.
All you need is a piece of parchment, ink, and a quill. In, and out.
Even more confused than she was before, if that's even possible, Hermione read the paper over and over. Finally, after weighing the risks for some time, she reached for a piece of paper, and wrote down the word 'hello'. She folded it and slipped it inside the box. Nothing happened. Absolutely nothing. Quite clearly disappointed by this new development, Hermione frustratingly ran a hand through her hair. She was just about to put the box back, when she heard the same noise she did as she was ready to go back home over an hour ago. A piece of parchment slipped from underneath the box. Hermione's eyes were so wide they might have popped out of her skull. With a shaky hand, she reached for the paper, unfolding it.
Where have you been?
She had half expected for the box to only give her back her own 'hello', but to read something completely different, excited her and terrified her in equal measure. She was just about to dip her quill to write out a response before she stopped herself. If her second year at Hogwarts has taught her anything, was that you could not trust an object that could think for itself. Tom Riddle's diary had done a lot of damage, what with being the protector of a piece of Voldemort's soul. The thought made her feel sick. Has someone else been inspired by the diary and made their own version of it?
The longer she sat watching the little black box, the less Hermione knew what to do with it. If it was infused with Dark Magic like a Horcrux is, surely she would be able to feel it when she touched it. She would be repulsed by it, and not drawn to it. She remembered how she felt when she was close to the pieces of Voldemort's soul. Wearing that wretched necklace was a whole different type of torment, but even just touching the goblet, she could feel the evil simmering right beneath the surface. Nothing about this little box felt the same.
Before she could talk herself into a stupor, yet another hum came from the box, and another paper came out. Her hands even shakier than before, she dropped the parchment twice before she managed to unfold it.
Did I scare you away?
Summoning all the Gryffindor courage she could muster, Hermione dipped her quill in the inkwell, and started typing out a response.
Sorry, you did not scare me, at least, not yet, or not in the way you maybe meant. A man forgot his suitcase when leaving the Leaky Cauldron in a hurry a month ago. I kept his suitcase and tried to locate the wizard who left it behind. I saw him very late that same night in the Ministry, before we bumped into each other again at the pub, but never before, and never since. He disappeared and I have no idea who nor where he is. I could easily recognise him if I saw him again, but so far, I've had no luck with that. All I know are his initials, could you tell me who D. R. is so I can return his things to him?
She folded the paper neatly and pushed it through the opening once more. She did not have to wait as long for a response, and nearly jumped out of her seat as a new paper appeared.
I have no idea who D. R. is, at least, it's no one I know to still be alive in recent centuries. Found this a month ago you say? Afraid to say that although I've had my own In-and-Out since I was a boy, it has not delivered any messages to me for well over fifteen years. What did the person look like? The one with the suitcase?
Hermione's face fell to reading that even her unexpected pen pal had no idea who D. R. is. Hastily, she scribbled out a response.
Tall, well nearing 6 foot 5 I would say. Maybe in his late twenties, or well into his thirties, it's hard to tell. Broad shoulders. Short brown hair, a similarly brown beard although it was trimmed and seemed to have some blonde or at the very least ginger in it. Quite handsome. Beautiful light blue eyes, the same shade you would see in a clear sky, for example. Dimples on both cheeks, although he never smiled widely enough when we crossed paths to see them myself, there were some photos of him in the suitcase where he did. He did smirk like a devil, however. Rings a bell?
Hermione pushed the message containing the description of the very man that hardly left her thought over the last month into the box. She realised that she has given quite a lot of information about the stranger, that she might sound like a stalker to the recipient. She groaned when she realised it was clearly too late to take the message back.
No clue who that bloke is, doesn't sound like any of my mates, but I would bet all my gold that you are of the fairer sex. No man would spend half as much time describing another man in such intricate details, unless he also wanted to shag him. (I am only teasing you, but of course, tone doesn't carry through text). I wish I could help you more, but I am quite stumped. Over the fifteen years since I have last received a message through the box, we never managed to recover it. We figured it might have been stolen, and whoever took it did not know what to do with it. Maybe the D. R. bloke is the thief. As handsome as you describe him to be, he might be quite dim-witted for not figuring out how it worked, sorry to inform you.
Now, onto lighter topics… How about I get a similarly thorough description of yourself?
Hermione's cheeks burned crimson at the last line. She was half tempted to just chuck the box back in the suitcase and forget this madness, but something was telling her to entertain the man a little while longer. Maybe her life has gotten so boring lately that she clung to any sort of discussion with another human that did not revolve around work.
I hardly think it appropriate to provide you with a description of myself, as I don't know you, don't know where you are (be it on a map or a point in time) or if you are even in the same world as I.
Though, for the sake of the conversation, could you explain to me how this box works? I have never seen one like it, and I am still not entirely sure what it does. Reassure me, you are also in the year 2008, and actually a real person?
Barely a minute passed until an answer arrived.
Spoil sport.
She snorted loudly at the message. Thinking that was her correspondent's way of cutting short to the conversation, she was surprised to hear a new letter come in a few minutes later.
It's called an In-and-Out, at least, it's what we called it. It has some other pompous name that I honestly cannot remember to save my life. You've never seen any because it was created by my great-great-notsurehowmany-grandfather. He never advertised it, never published works on it, and never cared to, either. Him and his wife used it to send messages to one another whilst he was at work. They were very much in love and could hardly spend a breathing moment apart.
My older brother and I used it daily. Way past bedtimes, in school when one or both of us were in detention. We weren't in the same House, so he would check in on me daily if he didn't see me in the castle. Until 1993 (that makes it 15 years from 2008… if you were doing the calculations (how can I convey a cheeky wink through letters?)). My brother disappeared one day. I was the first to know, because for a whole day, I received no notes from him. I went to his house, and my suspicions were confirmed. It looked like his place was ransacked, or that he packed all belongings and left in a hurry. We never found out what happened, or what caused it. Until today, no note came through this box since 1993.
Hermione read his letter a few times. Her mystery pen pal seemed to have more depth to him than she initially thought. What happened to his brother seemed to have greatly affected him, although he tried to play it off as no big deal. Surely a decade and a half could not possibly be enough to fully mourn a best friend for life. His constant jokes seemed to hide a lot more pain than he was willing to admit. She grabbed a fresh parchment a started writing a response.
I am sorry to hear about your brother, truly. It seems like an awful situation to be in, I'm not sure I would handle it as calmly as you seem to in your letter for me. Has there been no sign of him for fifteen years? I know that hope is a fickle thing, but I'm sure that wherever he is now, he can feel your love for him. I know I can. I can feel the magic pulsing through the box, it's quite pure, and warm. It made me feel at ease instantly, it felt like home.
I would like to give you the box back, D. R. be damned, he's had plenty of time over the past month to come collect his suitcase. But I feel that this box should be with you, and you only, especially it being a family heirloom. You could gift it to your wife, I'm sure she would love to badger you all day whilst you are out, in a similar fashion of your great-great-howevermany-grandmother did. We can arrange to meet, at the Leaky Cauldron sometime soon? Let me know when works best for you, and I'll make sure to be there.
I'm still in office and it is midnight, so I will be returning home shortly. I will see your response on Monday morning, so no need to fret until then! Goodnight, stranger.
She folded the new note, pushed it in the box, and stood up to put her coat back on. It really was time for her to go home and get some sleep. Her week had been painfully long, and she had many hours of sleep to catch up on. Vowing to herself not to wake up before at the least midmorning, she started leaving her office when a note came out. It only said 'wait'. So she waited.
I'm sorry to keep you in office at ungodly hours for a few more minutes, so I will try to write this as quickly as humanly possible (I know my writing is bad enough to begin with, no need to tease me about it further, witch).
Please, keep the box. I've got no wife waiting for me at home, and no one I care to talk to enough to give it to. It somehow found its way to you and so have I, so for now, you can keep it. If you'd rather I did not pester you at work, I will not. It just made me insanely happy to see your shy little 'hello' earlier. It would hurt me more than I care to admit to never see a little note come out of it again. If you grow tired of me someday, you can give it back. But until then, please keep it a little longer? I like your little handwriting, it's cute and neat and nothing like the ink puke my brother would send. If you grab the box in your hand and press down, it will shrink in size so it will fit nearly anywhere. When you want it back to the usual size, just tap it with your wand twice.
You are free to refuse if it makes you uncomfortable, of course, but please keep it? At least then you don't have stay at work so late on a weekend to talk to the handsome man scribbling notes to you. (that's me, by the way)
Get home safe, and sleep well.
Hermione's eyes filled with tears she could not understand. Whoever this man was, he seemed all too sweet, and probably quite lonely too. She did not know much about him, but he sounded every bit of a kind soul in need of some human contact. He also sounded awfully full of himself, but he was funny.
She scribbled a note back before shrinking the box like instructed.
You found me. I'll keep it until you drive me spare. I'll be sleeping in tomorrow, try not to wake me like a hungry kitten before noon?
Sleep well, Handsome.
