A/N: Hi guys, thanks to everyone who has taken the time to read so far. The next couple of chapters should be up this weekend and things will start ramping up a bit from there. Please let me know what you think- all feedback is appreciated and counteracts my crippling anxiety about publishing my writing! So without further ado, here's chapter four...
Sal entered the room with his eyes fixed firmly on his shoes. He'd been so focused on the floor that he'd accidentally walked into the back of the boy who'd shown him the way up here. He'd felt rather rude ignoring the other boy, who seemed pleasant enough and had even offered him an apology for blocking the doorway. But, even if he hadn't been under strict instructions from the austere man in the kitchen to remain silent, he had felt far too ill to be able to hold a conversation ever since he left the relative safety of the dungeon room. Knowing that his master was waiting for him, that he had been called out of bed to answer for his slave's behaviour, was nothing short of terrifying. Sal took a deep breath and clasped his hands tightly together behind his back. His hands were already shaking, if he didn't control them soon, he knew the rest of him would follow.
There was a quiet gasp from his chaperone, who was still stood beside him. Sal raised his head slightly and peered up through his eyelashes to follow the boy's gaze. Immediately seeing what it was that had shocked him, Sal snapped his eyes back to the ground and screamed a few creative curses in his head. His master was stood alongside both his son and one of his servants, Dunstan, holding court in the corner of the room. Sal winced and cursed his luck again; Dunstan was a malicious little demon of a man (named after the archbishop but with no holiness anywhere in sight) who delighted in making Sal's life as miserable as conceivably possible. Sal couldn't even applaud him for his ambition; his life was already rather pathetic and it didn't take much to make it any worse. He forced himself not to think about what Dunstan's presence probably meant for him and concentrated on keeping his breathing shallow, silent, and even.
The quiet murmuring that had filled the room slowly died down and Sal closed his eyes against the incoming conversation and its inevitable consequences.
"Well, Lord Dumbledore," his master's voice rang out suddenly across the room, "I can assure you that that is indeed my slave. I have identified that he is no trespasser on your land. I assume that this will be the end of the matter." His master's tone was as cool and diplomatic as it ever was when he was managing disputes or ordering executions. Sal winced.
The declaration fell heavily upon the silent room and Sal resisted the urge to look up. He was desperately hoping that, whatever power play was going on between his master and this Lord Dumbledore, his own part in the night's events would indeed soon be over. He waited, chin forcibly planted against his chest, as the seconds ticked tortuously on. Finally, when the silence seemed almost too much to bear and Sal was just about to risk another glance upwards to see what was happening, the tension was broken by a quiet chuckle.
"Oh no, Lord…Gryffindor," a strange man (presumably this Lord Dumbledore) answered his master, still sounding amused. "I am no lord. I am just a headmaster, a teacher." The man's voice was cultured and educated, crackling like old parchment. He caressed his words, rolling them out like smooth honey, each one carefully chosen and purposefully mild. Sal felt himself relaxing into the soothing balm of the strange voice and caught himself abruptly. This man was very, very dangerous.
Sal's master did not seem immune to the man's effect either, as when he next spoke, his words were noticeably calmer. "Indeed? You are not? Well, it is no matter," he replied with a distracted air, "If that is all, my son and I shall retire to bed."
Sal had been with his master for a number of years and so knew very well that his master was not anticipating any argument. The fact that he had not already left the room was merely a necessary adherence to etiquette. Sal breathed a sigh of relief; he was not expecting this to be dragged out much longer. He did not usually pray, but Sal swore that if his master continued to ignore him and his role in this whole debacle then, the minute he was alone, he would drop to his knees and thank the heavens until he was blue in the face.
"There is still the matter of the child, Lord Gryffindor," Dumbledore stated firmly and Sal cursed every angel and saint that he knew, in his head. He'd probably just lost any hope of him suddenly becoming pious and rescuing his immortal soul, but then again he had long since been damned in this life, let alone the next.
"The child?" Lord Gryffindor asked in genuine confusion, before realising to whom he was referring. Sal felt the moment that his master turned his attention towards him, as heavy dread settled over him like a cloak. "You mean my slave?" Sal was used to the disgust in his master's voice whenever he was being spoken of, or spoken to, but apparently others were not. There was a chorus of gasps and hisses around the room; in the presence of his master, Sal had completely forgotten about the other children from the kitchen.
"The child," Dumbledore insisted sternly, sounding a lot less harmless than before. Sal did not understand why this man was so interested in him, some random slave, but it did not bode well for him.
"Come here, boy," his master ordered suddenly and Sal hurried across the room, dropping to his knees before the Lord. "Look at me." Sal complied immediately, trying to keep his confusion off his face. He nearly dropped his head again immediately in dismay, as his master glared at him and turned to address the man behind the desk. "What do you want with him?"
The seated man fixed Sal with an unreadable expression and Sal found himself staring deeply into his eyes; they were almost unnaturally blue and completely captivating. He hadn't looked another person full in the eyes for a very long time and the experience was unsettling. It felt as if his very soul lay completely open and vulnerable. Finally, after a long moment, the man nodded at him and turned back to Lord Gryffindor.
"I was curious as to why there was an unaccounted for member of your party under this roof," the mild voice was back and Sal felt a shiver roll down his spine. He did not know what to make of this man. He was old, far older than any man that Sal had ever seen, with a long, white beard and wrinkled skin. He was dressed in fine robes of a deep green, with a pattern of bright blue flowers, and his hair, under his long cap, was long and well-groomed. Sal thought that he looked very fine, certainly as fine as any Lord that he had ever seen (although there were not, admittedly, very many). His right hand, partially hidden under the folds of his robes, appeared withered and black, as if it had been hit with a very dark curse. Dumbledore, Sal concluded, no matter what he professed, was not a mere teacher.
He was shaken out of his musings by a clip round the head. He glanced to his left to see that Dunstan had stepped forward to his Lord's side. He fixed Sal with a malicious smirk and Sal forced his face to remain in its usual neutral expression. Dumbledore cleared his throat and cast a disapproving look at Dunstan, much to Sal's confusion, before continuing. "I was rather shocked to hear from my students that there was a stranger in the kitchens in the middle of the night," Dumbledore's voice turned rather reproachful as he continued to address Sal's master, "I confess myself confused as to how he got there."
Sal flinched as his master turned to face him, fixing him with a black look. "Well, boy, answer the man. I do not have all night and have had a wearying journey." Sal bit his tongue around the reply that threatened to escape his lips; it was not his master, after all, who had spent his day carting around bags in the hot sun. Swallowing down the sense of injustice along with the blood, Sal took a deep breath and hoped that his voice wouldn't shake too much to be unintelligible. He had earned his fair share of beatings that way in the past.
"I was or-ordered there, sir," he finally got out, thankful that he only stammered the once. He looked at Dumbledore who met his gaze with an encouraging smile. Another, much firmer, cuff around the head from Dunstan sent him falling forwards and he threw out his hands to catch himself. Taking the very unsubtle hint to hurry up, Sal rushed out his next words as quickly as he could, speaking directly into the floor. "My m-master told me to go to the k-kitchens with the other ser-v-vants," he forced himself through the hateful syllables that trapped and twisted his tongue whenever he felt nervous. "I was uns-unsure where to go, when a h-house elf arrived n-next to me and sh-showed me the way." He sighed when he finished, glad that the damned words had chosen to leave his mouth this time and hoped that no-one would ask him anymore questions before the fucking things rebelled and left him again.
"A house elf?" his master asked in shock from somewhere above him. Sal was not surprised, the small fairies were very rare and until that evening he had not seen more than a score of them in his whole life. He doubted that his master had even seen that many, despite his many years; servants were, after all, supposed to be seen and not heard. Of course, the castle that they were currently in seemed to have dozens of elves working in the kitchens, none of whom were best pleased to see him. The one that had kindly rescued him and shown him where to go had told him that he should find somewhere to sit and then stay out of the way. He had happily complied, grateful for the rest and partly mesmerised by the sight of so many elves working in one place. They were indeed miraculous beings, capable of magic beyond the powers of even the greatest of wizards, even such as his master. Wizards were cruel, callous, and greedy beings to force such power into their service and then only use it for base, domestic tasks that could be accomplished by even the most unintelligent of non-magic servants. Sal had never understood how they could stand their captivity, how some even found joy in it; his own rankled like a festering wound.
"Indeed," Dumbledore replied with a chuckle. "We have a great many house elves working in this castle. I hope that they treated you kindly, dear boy," he continued, voice growing more serious, "they often become quite territorial if they see wizards attempting to do tasks that they deem to be their own." It took Sal a moment to realise that the older wizard was addressing him; he did not think that anyone had called him "dear boy" in his whole life. Not knowing how on earth he was meant to respond to that, Sal bowed his head further, hunching forwards until his forehead rested on the stone between his hands. At least subservience was familiar and hopefully less likely to earn him a flogging than involving himself in whatever game the so-called teacher was playing.
"Then are you now satisfied?" Lord Gryffindor snapped irritably, all trace of cordiality gone as the older man dared to address his slave with such familiarity. "I wish to return to my bed." Sal flinched.
"Lord Gryffindor, I am afraid this is unacceptable," Dumbledore replied sternly, voice ringing with the authority of a Lord, "I cannot allow a child to sleep on the stone floor, whilst he is under my roof!"
"And why not?" his master snapped back in frustration. Sal quietly agreed into the floor. He would very much like to disappear back down to the kitchens and get some sleep. Dumbledore did not immediately reply and his master took advantage of the silence to take his leave. "Come, Godric," he ordered his son and began walking towards the door. "I will leave you with my manservant," he continued coolly. "If you have any more of these ridiculous questions, I trust him to answer them on my behalf." Sal sat up slightly and watched them go, half terrified and half hopeful that his own fate had yet to be determined. Just as his master reached the door, he turned and addressed Dunstan; Sal bent his head hurriedly back to the ground. "Dunstan, I am placing you in charge of the boy until our stay here is concluded. Dispose of him as you will." Sal's shoulders hung even closer to the floor in defeat, as he tried not to moan in dismay. "And you, boy," Sal flinched as he was unexpectedly addressed, "if I find myself called upon to answer for your behaviour again whilst I am under this roof, I will have you flogged until you bleed. Do you understand me?"
"Yes, master," Sal murmured, waiting until he heard the door slam shut before daring to sit back up onto his knees. He kept his head bowed, but could see the rest of the room from the corner of his eyes. With his master gone, there was no longer the need for such a complete genuflection. The faces of the other children, the students that he had mistaken for fellow servants, were painted with a mix of horror and revulsion. He was not sure quite what to make of that, perhaps they were kept away from the day-to-day comings and goings of the staff and unused to the punishment of servants. Although, as he thought about it, he realised that they had seemed quite comfortable in the kitchen, so that made little sense. Unless, of course, the kitchens were the domain of the house elves and the rest of the servants were put to work elsewhere. Sal's head hurt, he had no idea what was going on and he always knew what was going on, one way or another. He was far too tired for all of this and was anticipating a beating from Dunstan before he was allowed to finally go to bed, regardless of the outcome of the rest of the meeting. He sighed and firmly kept his thoughts away from their unpleasant imaginings. He just wanted the night to be over.
Hermione had never felt so outraged in all her life, not even when Malfoy had first called her a mudblood, or when she discovered that it was slave labour that was making her meals and cleaning her room. But, standing in the headmaster's office, watching someone practically her own age bowing and scraping and flinching was something so hideous that she felt her eyes welling up in sheer disgust.
"Sir," she began to say, as soon as the hateful Lord had left the room with his son in tow, but stopped at a look from Professor Dumbledore. She was trying very hard to put aside the fact that that son had been addressed as Godric, because the terrified boy in front of her was far more important than her academic curiosity.
"It seems we have a lot to discuss," Professor Dumbledore began quietly, sitting back in his chair and pinning each of them in turn with a stern look.
"A lot to…that was Godric bloody Gryffindor!" Ron exclaimed with all of his usual tact and social grace. Hermione winced and glared at him, trying to tell him to shut up. If they weren't careful, they were all going to get kicked out of the office before they had a chance to find out what was going on and she knew that Harry had left his invisibility cloak in the tower, so there'd be no way to sneak back in if they were.
"Ten points from Gryffindor" Professor Snape snapped across the room and Malfoy sneered. Hermione avoided thinking about just how many points they'd lost as a result of this evening.
"Yes, Mr Weasley. That was Godric Gryffindor and his father, Lord Gryffindor. As you can imagine, I have had a rather interesting evening; we have rather a lot to resolve before it gets any later." Professor Dumbledore arched an eyebrow and peered at Ron over the brim of his glasses and Ron blushed as red as his hair.
Hermione bit her lip. She knew that Professor Dumbledore wanted them to stay quiet, but she needed to know. She gave in to her worst impulses and asked the question.
"But sir, how is this possible? Unless they've somehow time-travelled this far into the future – which should be impossible?" She found herself tripping over her words and forced herself to shut up, before she said anything further. The headmaster was smiling at her warmly and Harry and Ron were shooting her identical looks of confusion. Honestly, if those boys would just learn to read, then…
"Indeed, Miss Granger," Professor Dumbledore replied, cutting off her train of thought abruptly. "There are a great many things about magic that it seems we do not yet understand."
Hermione allowed herself a second to digest this. "But sir! How can this be possible? And isn't it dangerous? Terrible things can happen to wizards who meddle with time!" She realised that she was wringing her hands and forced herself to stop.
The headmaster took a moment to consider, shooting an odd look at Malfoy, before sighing. "It appears that there was some kind of experimental portkey," he explained quietly, "beyond that we do not know much more. Lord Gryffindor and a group of his…household… I believe is the correct term, appeared in the entrance hall shortly after the start if dinner." He stopped and looked around the room again. "It appears, as far as we can currently tell, that they have, indeed, travelled through time."
Hermione noticed Sal's head snap up out of the corner of her eye, his face a picture of complete shock. Malfoy, Ginny, and Ron were wearing identical looks of horror, which Hermione found vaguely amusing. It was always fun to see the arrogant pureblood acting like a regular human being, even if she didn't get as much glee from it as Harry did. Speaking of whom, Hermione glanced around and saw him looking calmly at the headmaster; apparently her friend was not quite as surprised by this as the rest of them were. She felt her heart drop with sudden dismay; Harry had clearly found another mystery to investigate. He was terribly good at solving them, making intuitive deductive leaps that Hermione always felt incredibly envious of; but, she reminded herself firmly (before she too got caught up in the excitement of a good old-fashioned mystery), they were always ridiculously distracting and detrimental to their schoolwork. She shook herself away from the enticing idea of another adventure with the reminder that it was NEWTS next year.
"Headmaster," Professor Snape's voice cut across her thoughts with its usual seething dismay. "Is it really appropriate to be discussing this with…"
He didn't get a chance to finish whatever he was going to say as Lord Gryffindor's servant, the man he had left in charge of the boy from the kitchens, interrupted him.
"I already know about all of this, sir. Lord Gryffindor informed us all earlier," he stated pompously, reminding Hermione eerily of Percy Weasley. Well not everyone, she thought grimly, remembering how Sal's head had shot up at the revelation. Perhaps only those that were deemed important enough to keep informed about the fact that they'd been transported through time. She felt the old fury rise up in her chest that she got every time she thought of Kreacher and the other house elves treated so abysmally by wizards. Not even Professor Snape's aghast look at being interrupted was enough to calm her down, although she noticed Harry smirking to himself.
"Indeed, Mr Dunstan" Professor Dumbledore replied, "Although my students were not. I thought that, after their earlier surprise, they were owed an explanation." The headmaster addressed the room, although he looked solely at Professor Snape. "Lord Gryffindor's party will remain at Hogwarts until we can discover how they came to be here and, more importantly, how to return them to their proper time." The headmaster looked around the room sternly, as if daring anyone to push the matter any further. Hermione was, for the first time in a while, completely speechless. This whole run of events was just so illogical, so impossible, that she honestly didn't know what else could possibly be said. The others, apparently, seemed to feel the same way and the room remained silent.
Lord Gryffindor's servant seemed to take this as a cue to move on. He crossed his arms arrogantly. "Then may I request that we return to the matter at hand, sir," he stated with a sneer, barely maintaining his veneer of courtesy. It was clear that he would much rather have been somewhere else. "Do you have any further questions for the slave? Or can he return to the kitchens and the rest of us to our beds?"
Professor Dumbledore's eyes darkened minutely and Hermione shivered. It was sometimes very easy to forget that the headmaster had once duelled and won against Grindelwald, or that he had fought and nearly defeated Voldemort himself only a few months ago in the ministry of magic.
"I am afraid that I cannot allow the boy to stay in the kitchens," he stated firmly.
"And why not? Surely you cannot think to house the boy with your own students!" Dunstan scoffed as if the suggestion were ludicrous. The headmaster sat quietly and looked him dead in the eye. "Sir, you cannot possibly!"
"All children under this roof are students," Professor Dumbledore replied kindly, but with a shot of iron in his tone. "I see no reason that this young man cannot join them for the duration of your stay."
The other man laughed outright at that. "Sir, if you're suggesting that that this boy go off with your apprentices…Well, I don't mean to be rude, sir, but you'd have more luck teaching a troll to transfigure than you would getting anything through the skull of this one." He reached forwards to clap Sal around the back of his head. Hermione winced.
"Well we can't just leave him in the kitchens!" Ron exclaimed suddenly, revulsion thick in his voice. Hermione couldn't help but wish that he'd shown a little more of that concern for the lives of others when she had first set up SPEW. Harry was nodding vehemently in agreement and Hermione felt a sudden swell of affection for her friends, her decent, honourable, bull-headed friends.
"I agree, Mr Weasley," Professor Dumbledore replied firmly, fixing his gaze on Lord Gryffindor's servant.
Dunstan bristled in irritation and pulled himself up in preparation of an argument. One look from the headmaster and he shrank back, glaring in irritation. "I will not have him quartered with your students, sir" he shot back, sullenly. "Lord Gryffindor has left his property in my care and I will see fit that he is put to good use. I will not have him lounging around when there's work to be done."
Hermione shuddered when the man called Sal 'property'. There was honestly nothing more repulsive to her than the idea of slavery; she couldn't imagine wanting to own another human being. Besides, the matter came rather close to home for her. Ever since her grandma had told her that, although she had lived in the UK for most of her life, her family was originally from Jamaica, Hermione had been interested in her own family history. She'd found out more than enough to feel personally insulted by the idea of people owning other people.
She forced herself to focus on the conversation and was gratified to see that the others looked as horrified as she did. Professor Dumbledore smiled icily. "Please remember that I am headmaster of this establishment and that your company are guests of our school," he said very quietly. "I really must insist that this young man be treated as any one of my students."
"But he's not!" objected Dunstan with a quiet certainty that startled Hermione. "He's Lord Gryffindor's slave and he will not be given ideas above his station."
The headmaster paused for a moment, fixing his gaze on the bowed head of the boy from the kitchens. Hermione followed his look and studied the boy more closely; he looked exhausted and miserable. She looked up and met Ginny's eye; the other girl looked furious and Hermione had to remind herself that not even Harry would be reckless enough to cast a Bat Bogey Hex in the headmaster's office, so she could probably trust Ginny to behave.
Ginny, however, chose words over spells and practically shouted across the silence of the room. "You're not even in your time! We don't have slaves here!" Hermione bit her lip to avoid pointing out that they very much did, as she appreciated the point that Ginny was trying to make. "Why should he do what you say? Why can't he come with us? It's practically the twenty-first century, for merlin's sake! What makes him your Lord Gryffindor's property?" Ginny seethed and Hermione noticed the headmaster trying to hide a smile as Dunstan looked completely shocked at her outburst.
"Life debt" Sal stated quietly, not looking up from the floor. It was the first time he'd spoken in ages and Hermione wondered what kind of self-restraint it required to keep quiet when other people were discussing you with such disregard. Hermione glanced over at him, but his expression was carefully blank. Professor Dumbledore, however, seemed to sag at his words and sat back slowly in his chair.
"You shut up!" Dunstan replied, backhanding the boy sharply round the side of the face, sending him toppling sideways. The clap echoed loudly in the stillness of the room. "Remember your place."
Hermione yelped with indignation as the boy pulled himself back up on his knees, the whole of his left cheek bright red. She looked at the headmaster for his incensed reaction, but instead he was sat quietly, with one hand over his eyes; he looked resigned.
"Ah," he stated in an almost-whisper, looking up and at gazing at Sal with a deep sadness. Hermione did not think she had ever seen the headmaster look so old. "I see our problem."
Hermione knew that, although she was very bright, she could not possibly even begin to compete with the great Albus Dumbledore in terms of intelligence, so she acknowledged that the significance of a life debt undoubtedly meant a lot more to him than it did to her. Even so, she thought to herself, she could not begin to see how anything could possibly be significant enough to allow the headmaster to just let a child be hit in the middle of his office.
"Sir," she began indignantly, "I don't see how…"
"I understand, Miss Granger," the headmaster cut her off, "But I am afraid that, in this instance, Mr Dunstan is quite right. It is Lord Gryffindor's right to determine how his…slave…will be used." He stumbled over the word 'slave', almost as if it pained him to say it. Good, Hermione thought to herself, let him hurt very badly indeed, if he's going to condone this. "But I'm still afraid that he cannot return to the kitchens," he continued and Hermione forced herself to swallow down her fury. "It will disrupt the house elves in their work."
"Just put him with the rest of your staff, surely someone could use the assistance?" Dunstan stated magnanimously, appeased now that he had been granted his way. "There will not be much work for him that Lord Gryffindor's servants cannot handle and if her remains with our party I am sure he will grow even more lazy and indolent!" Hermione nearly threw up and felt herself gathering her fury for a blistering rant, when Malfoy's quiet voice sounded from the corner, starting her; she had forgotten that he was there.
"Anything the house elves don't do is covered by Filch, the caretaker," he stated simply, with a derisive shrug. Professor Dumbledore shot him a furious look that turned slowly appraising. Hermione didn't know what the little rat was playing at, but apparently the headmaster did. Not that that was particularly reassuring after the conversation they'd just had.
Dumbledore sighed and rubbed his hands over his face. He looked very tired. "Young Mr Malfoy is correct," he replied, focusing on Dunstan once more. "If it is acceptable to you, he will assist Mr Filch with his duties. He can stay in the caretaker's office. I believe that there is a spare room available there."
Dunstan looked at Malfoy appraisingly, but his face was carefully, politically blank. "Very well," he stated slowly. "Then he will go to this Filch."
Harry stepped forwards, angrily, as if to protest, but stopped when the headmaster held up his hand.
"Mr Malfoy, perhaps you will be so good as to show our guests the way to Mr Filch's office?" he looked piercingly at Malfoy, who met his gaze with an arrogant tilt of his head.
After a moment's pause, Malfoy nodded at the headmaster and beckoned the other two out of the room. Dunstan strode towards the door, as Sal peeled himself off his knees. Hermione studied him carefully as he followed Malfoy out of the room; his shoulders were hunched up almost to his ears and his neck was bent so low that she was convinced he'd have a crick in it by the time they'd get to Filch's office. His expression, what little of it she could make out between the hair dangling across his face and his bowed head, was completely blank. His cheek was still bright red.
As soon as the door closed behind them, a cacophony of furious objections broke out around her. Harry and Ron were protesting so loudly that she almost missed Ginny's hissed curses, but for once she didn't object to another student swearing, even in the presence of teachers. She felt like telling the headmaster where to get off herself, even if Ginny's suggestions were anatomically impossible without magic.
"Silence" Professor Snape hissed, startling them all into abrupt compliance. "It is long since time that you were all in bed. I do not pretend to understand why the headmaster chose to indulge you all by allowing you to witness conversations that you clearly don't understand. But I will not tolerate you screeching like banshees at this time of night. Out".
Hermione looked as one with the other Gryffindors at the headmaster, hoping that he would object, but he just looked benignly at them all and nodded in agreement. Seething, she spun around and stormed out of the office, ignoring the half-impressed, half-terrified look that Ron and Harry always shared whenever she got this furious. First thing tomorrow, she was going to the library to look up life debts.
