Author's Note —
10/6/06
So I've done it again—I've revised. I've gone back through all the chapters and fixed some errors or little things that were bugging me. Tweaked a conversation here, elaborated a tad more there…nothing very major, and if you could actually spot the changes, I'd be very happy because that would mean you paid attention the first time 'round.
Oh wait, I did change some stuff—namely chapters 9 and 10. Changed them a lot. I overhauled that part for many reasons—the main one being that I didn't like the direction it was going. And since I hit a wall and hadn't been able to write for the past year (really, very sorry about that) I went back and revised to try and work my way out of the corner. I hope you'll like the changes.
Someone asked me before when this story was taking place. In the Labyrinth timeline or in HP's. The answer is neither. It is happening right now as we speak. Whether you read this story in 2003, 2005, or whenever the heck I manage to get it finished, the time is "now."
Disclaimer —
I don't own the Labyrinth. If I did there would have been a different ending. Or at least a sequel. I don't own Harry Potter either, though I really think I should.
Oh wait! I do own Labyrinth! Ha. I just bought it off of eBay and it's a little worn around the edges, but still good! Whoo! I own Labyrinth! I own Labyrinth!
The book that is. Not the idea. sigh
Chapter Five—Class Act
Professor Dumbledore had a very interesting office. Bright and airy with lots of moving paintings of old people (former headmasters and mistresses, she read on little brass plaques) and there were odd-looking things scattered all over. He also had a phoenix. It was currently sleeping, head tucked beneath a wing, but Sarah found it fascinating and wanted to see it awake. However, startling a phoenix from sleep might not be a wise idea—they were known for spontaneously combusting.
A noise drew Sarah's attention up the small curving stairwell to see Professor Dumbledore, clad in eye-watering lime green robes, come through an arched doorway, a large book in his hand.
"Good morning, Miss Williams. How are you today?" he asked descending the steps to stop before her and shake her hand. He had a good grip for such an elderly man. He indicated one of the chairs in front of his desk, "Please, sit."
"I'm very well, sir, thank you," she replied dropping her bag and settling into her seat.
The professor sat in his chair, placing the book off to the side. He pushed a glass bowl full of candy across the table toward her. "Lemon drop?" he inquired.
"Um, no, thanks."
"Well now, Miss Williams, Sarah, how are you settling in? Is it everything you were expecting?"
She smiled. "It's been an experience, sir. I'm very glad to be here. I love the fact that this is an actual castle and I can't wait to explore the grounds."
"Good, good," he said, blue eyes twinkling. "Yes, Hogwarts is blessed with exquisite surroundings. I quite enjoy taking leisurely strolls myself. There's a lovely blackberry patch south of the Quidditch pitch, if you're so inclined to wander that far and the moors are truly a sight to see at this time of year. Do remember not to leave the grounds, the boundaries are clearly marked and I would warn you again not to enter the forest on the northern side; it is forbidden with purpose."
"Of course, sir," she agreed. He smiled at her.
"Have you had your first class yet? With Professor Snape, I believe?"
"Yes, I had Advanced Potions this morning with Professor Snape. It was a good; I know I'll learn much from him."
"Wonderful! The Nivanos Es have a reputation for turning out the brightest pupils. I'm glad to be able to count you among Hogwarts' students," he smiled benignly at her, studying her with twinkling eyes through half-moon glasses, thumbs twiddling on the desktop and she couldn't help picturing him as sort of an ever-ready grandfather. "Have you spoken with the Goblin King recently?"
The grandfather image vanished.
She blinked at him and felt her mouth fall open slightly. She shut it.
"You know him?" she almost squeaked.
"Oh, yes. Jareth and I are old acquaintances."
"I, uh, didn't think the Wizarding world and the Underground were aware of each other. My teachers never mentioned the Underground or anything about a Goblin King when I was studying wizard history."
"And your Muggle history says nothing about either world. We like to keep it so, for various reasons." The professor paused and took a candy from the bowl. He offered it to her, but when she shook her head again he popped it into his mouth. "Jareth informed me of your situation over a cup of tea nearly two years ago. I've been eager to meet you."
She looked at him curiously. "What situation? He said the same thing last night, but never got around to explaining."
"Ah," said Dumbledore, his blue eyes lighting up, "you have spoken with him."
She sighed and tried not to fidget. "Well, sort of. It was a dream, actually. Instead of my nightly tutorials he showed up. I hadn't seen him in two years."
"Since the night you solved the Labyrinth, yes? Quite a remarkable feat if you'll allow me to say so."
"I'm sorry, I don't understand. What situation?"
"It's nothing to worry about, my dear. He was merely annoyed that someone was able to successfully traverse his maze. It doesn't happen often."
"But, it has happened before?"
"A handful of times during the years I've known him."
"Does he come to you whenever he loses?"
"Lose? No, Sarah," he replied, shaking his head. "It is not Jareth who loses; he is not competing against those who make their wish. No, in this ordeal it is only those running the Labyrinth who win or lose."
Sarah glanced to where the phoenix snoozed on its perch. "Then, if he has nothing at stake and he has no reason to care whether a person wins or loses…why would he come to you, angry that I won?"
He studied her over the rim of his glasses and she could have sworn he looked ten years older, and much more serious.
"I would not have chosen the word 'angry.' Troubled, I think, would be more accurate. As to why—that is something you should ask him."
"He said he would be watching me." It wasn't phrased as a question, but he answered as if it had been.
"Again, that is something to ask Jareth."
A sudden thought occurred to her and she frowned. "Are you expecting him to hang around the castle and follow me to class?"
Dumbledore smiled again, the twinkle back in his blue eyes, and the room seemed to grow brighter. "I doubt it. He has much stealthier means of observation and if he were to appear in person, I believe he would do so at a time when you may speak privately."
"I don't feel comfortable with this," Sarah grimaced. "I don't really want him spying on me; it's kind of…creepy."
"You may rest easy on that account. There are numerous spells and wards about the castle to help ensure the privacy of our residents from magically prying eyes. And Jareth, though you might not believe it, has certain 'rules' by which he must abide. Do not worry, Sarah—he means you no harm and bears you no ill will; of that you have my word."
"You trust him?"
"With the safety of all my students—I can bestow no greater confidence than that."
"Thank you, Professor. I…that does make me feel better."
"Good. Now, I believe you have a Current Magical Events class to attend, yes? I hope you'll enjoy it. Professor Llewellyn is an excellent instructor."
"I'm sure I will." She stood up and shook hands with him again before turning to go. Outside Dumbledore's office, in the little antechamber, she found David Mathis, one of her fellow exchange students, waiting in a high-backed chair. He looked startled when he saw her walk through the door.
"Hi, David," she greeted him with a smile. "You have a meeting with Professor Dumbledore, too?"
"Yeah," he agreed, his eyes flitting to hers and away. He shuffled with some books in his bag.
"How's your first day been? Which House are you in again?" she asked, not understanding why he was so nervous. She hiked her satchel higher onto her shoulder.
"It's been okay. I'm in Ravenclaw," he mumbled after a moment. He stood up and sort of sidled past her even though there was more than enough space in the room. "I, uh, gotta go." He turned the knob to the office door and was gone before she could say goodbye.
Through some windows, she could see the rain had stopped and the sun was valiantly trying to fight its way out from behind the clouds. She looked at her faded reflection in the glass and saw a girl with long hair wearing a black school robe trimmed in green and silver. She wondered if that was what David had seen as well.
Her Current Magical Events class was better than she thought it would be. She was one of four Slytherins in a room full of twenty-two students. Two of the Slytherins were fifth-years she had yet to meet and who managed polite nods (an acknowledgment of her House status) before dismissing her. The other one, Esmerelda DeVilbiss, was a sixth-year with dark hair who gave Sarah the cold shoulder throughout the entire class. Sarah learned that the classification of "beast" was currently up for review by the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures.
When it was time for lunch and food appeared on the long tables in the Great Hall, Sarah considered briefly sitting at the table with the other Slytherins. The idea didn't appeal to her. Instead she made herself a plate of food and took it outside to a little stone courtyard she'd found earlier. The rain had ceased nearly two hours ago and the sun was peeking out from behind silver clouds, quickly drying the terrace. She'd had a nice lunch, enjoyed the view of the lake, and flipped through a textbook.
Care of Magical Creatures was by far the most stressful class she'd had all day—mostly because she had it with both the seventh-year Slytherins and Gryffindors. Malfoy and his crew were disdainful of anything the extraordinarily large Professor Hagrid had to say and spent most of their time making snide remarks about him, his ineptitude at teaching, Sarah, or the Gryffindors in general though Harry Potter and his friends especially.
Hermione and the boys had offered her perfunctory smiles before the class started but seemed to forget about her as they chatted within the circle of their fellow Gryffindors. Sarah did not feel brave enough to try and join their group. Or maybe she just wasn't desperate yet. She found herself on the outside of all of them, physically standing apart from the two groups.
The class was cancelled early because the sun had gone back behind the clouds and rain was starting to fall in a soft mist. Professor Hagrid had no problem with getting wet but the creature he was showing the class (something with lots of long fur that looked like it tangled easily) didn't deal well with water. The students all began to trudge back up the steep hill to the castle, grumbling about the weather but happy to leave so quickly.
She saw Professor Hagrid invite Ron, Harry, and Hermione into his house. Sarah turned to the school and followed after the others. A shadow moved against the ground and she glanced up in time to see an owl wing its way hurriedly to the castle. It was dark brown and large. She supposed it mustn't be happy to be out in the rain. Sarah questioned idly, as she climbed the crumbling stone steps, if it always rained so much in Scotland. The green, green grass made the answer obvious.
Her last class of the day, an art class, was by far the best course she had ever taken. It wasn't just the watercolor and papermaking and ceramics she had learned in her regular high school—this was portrait painting to make the essence of the model animate their image with the right magically enhanced paints, photography and how to mix the potion to develop the film that would capture living people in a perfect moment; it was how to bring life to her artwork.
She could weave a tapestry and animate the picture with the trees changing color every season, the sun rising and setting throwing shadows all around. She could draw people in graphite, pastels, ink—any type of medium—and give her creations a personality. She delighted in hearing the professor speak of the class curriculum and what projects they would do over the year.
Sarah was seated next to a red-headed Gryffindor, a sixth-year, and succeeded in coaxing a nice chat from the girl about her past artistic endeavors. Ginny liked to work with clay, building her creations from the bottom up; she'd taken the class before but was allowed to take it again for special credit. Sarah and the girl had parted on affable terms.
During dinner, she sat apart from the other Slytherins, at the near opposite end of the table. But she wasn't alone. Lizzy and Mr. Darcy were keeping her company in a most delightful way. It was a magical book she'd been given as a good luck present from Mrs. Harowell back home. The words scrolled across the pages and ink-drawn illustrations of the characters acted out the scenes when she paused in the reading.
An arm reached over her shoulder and a hand pulled the book rudely from her grip which caused the tiny caricatures to give soundless cries of fright and run off the page.
"I see you're all alone down here. No one to talk to and only a book for a friend. How pathetic."
"Draco," she sighed and turned on the bench to face him. "Will this become 'our thing'? You coming and talking to me during meals? People might start to think you actually like me. May I have my book back?"
His lip curled up in a sneer as he flipped through the novel. "Isn't this by a Muggle author?"
"Yes. But, as you can see, this is a magical book—or weren't the moving pictures enough of a clue? And what's a pure-blood wizard like you doing knowing about Jane Austen? Aren't you afraid her Muggle cooties will rub off on you or something?"
He eyed her and closed the book. "You certainly have a smart mouth on you, Williams. It's unbecoming in a girl, especially one with pure-blood, as I must assume you are since you're in Slytherin."
She stood and faced him, hands on her hips and glared. "Oh, Malfoy, I can be a whole shit-load more vulgar than this."
His lips twitched but his disdain remained. "Smile when you say that."
She smiled, showing teeth bright and false, but refrained from batting her eyelashes. "You told me earlier that Nivanos Es only take students from the wealthiest, pure-blood families. Well, I was given all my formal education by them so by your standards, I'm legit and I'd appreciate it if you'd get off my back and leave me the hell alone."
He seemed unfazed by her speech but was silent as he studied her. His sneer had diminished to leave him with something akin to suspicion. Sarah saw many faces in the Great Hall turned in their direction. Most of the Slytherins and a good portion of the Gryffindors. There were several Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws watching though no students were close enough to hear what was being said. Professor Snape at the Head Table was paying attention to them, although it didn't seem like he was gathering himself to break up a fight; more like he wanted to know who would win or lose this confrontation.
Perhaps it was unusual for two Slytherins to 'face off' against each other and that was why everyone was watching. Maybe they kept up a public facade for the other Houses and kept all House squabbles a private battle. In any case, she and Draco were garnering a lot of attention though neither was yelling and it hadn't come to blows.
"Why are you in my House?"
She sighed and crossed her arms. "Because I have ambitions and goals for my life. Isn't that what Slytherins pride themselves on?"
"In part." His voice was noncommittal.
He stared at her with his pale eyes and Sarah allowed herself a moment to enjoy looking at them, if not the whole of the person to whom they belonged. Draco Malfoy was attractive, no doubt about it (a fact of which he was well aware), but she wasn't going to let his physical features sway her in the least. Good looks just didn't count for that much in her book. Especially when the person was a complete ass.
In the end, his lip pulled back up into a sneer and the blond brows drew together in disgust. "You're more pathetic than I suspected, Williams." He didn't hand her back the book—but he didn't throw it on the table, either. It was placed face down on the wood, undamaged in any way. It was more than she'd expected from him.
He strode back to his friends and their laughter.
She finished her meal and returned to the dungeons.
That night, she dreamed again. She found herself in the middle of a dense forest surrounded by trees taller than any buildings she had ever seen; a canopy of green turning gold. And orange. And red, yellow, purple—all the different colors of autumn—and even a few colors that weren't. The trees were tall and straight, not twisted and overgrown with creeping vines as she had seen before. Everything shimmered with an elusive glow; the plants, the undergrowth, the ground even—looking like they had been dusted with specks of light. She halfheartedly glanced around for the red creatures with the penchant of detaching body parts and was relieved when she didn't see anything and heard only the trilling of songbirds.
A short way to her right was a large clearing amid the foliage where the rough and tangled forest floor gave way to a sudden carpet of lush grass. A giant tree, leaves turning a brilliant yellow, bark smooth and hinting of a silver sheen, stood in the middle of the clearing. Attached to it was a swing; a wooden slat held up by two ropes hanging from one of the lower branches.
Running a hand across the seat, she glanced around for the Goblin King, for something. There was nothing around but a couple of stone benches scattered benignly against trees circling the edge of the open area. With a small smile, Sarah hopped onto the swing. Pumping her legs back and forth she made her way high into the air, delighting in the sensation. She hadn't been on a swing in ages. Her face tilted up to the patch of clear sky above and let her arms dangle free as she slowed to a stop.
The Goblin King was sitting on a bench across the grass watching her. He was slouched forward, arms draped across his knees, gloved hands hanging loosely between his legs. Black boots, black pants, blood-red shirt made all the more crimson by a pale face surrounded by fey-wild hair. He stared at her with hooded eyes; indolent and dangerous. There was a peculiar little grin playing about his lips, like he knew a secret she didn't—and was waiting to taunt her with that fact.
"Again?" she asked, not really surprised.
"So it would seem."
"Why?"
He smiled with pointed teeth.
"Is this place real? Or is it like last time?"
"This is your dream, Sarah. It's as real as you want it to be."
"That's not what you said before."
"You've changed your mind since then—fickle girl."
She looked at him, wondering at the comment, her hands twisting nervously round on the ropes. Somehow, he wasn't affecting her the same way he had before. Last time she had been afraid of why he had returned—for her brother, for herself, for some nefarious reason only he knew. She understood now that wasn't the case, but for him to show up again after such a long absence (and when she hadn't called him) had been rather shocking. He still made her edgy but she no longer feared his motives—whatever they might be.
"Will this become a nightly routine?" she asked. "Instead of my teachers, I get you? Doesn't seem like an even trade."
"I paid for your teachers, you ungrateful brat."
"That's what I thought. How are you connected with the Wizarding world?"
"I am a King, Sarah."
"So you've said, Jareth," she retorted. She pushed off the grass with her feet, throwing her weight behind her. She leaned back in the swing, legs extended, hair cascading down to nearly sweep the ground.
"Contrary to what you might believe—my kingdom is not isolated from the rest of the world."
"But you're not a part of it, either."
"Not in the typical sense."
"How do you get there, then? Besides through mirrors and windows."
"Second star to the right and straight on 'til morning." He said that with another smile, rising from his slouch to lean against the smooth-barked tree behind him.
"That's the way to Neverland not the Underground."
"It's still a place for dreams." Sarah continued swinging and tried to ignore the way he watched her.
"By the way, your goblins are nothing like the ones at Gringotts Bank."
"Whose fault is that, I wonder?"
"How should I know?" she snapped, frowning. "A witch I met guessed your goblins might be half-breeds or something. They didn't look or act anything like Grabblemok, one of my teachers."
"Tell me about Draco Malfoy," he said changing the subject and causing Sarah to slow the swing.
"Why would you want to know about him? How do you know about him?" she asked, firing off the questions as they came to her. She pushed a strand of dark hair out of her eyes and accused, "You were spying on me."
"I told you I would."
"But why?"
"You're avoiding my question."
She grinned at him, "Technically, it wasn't one."
He declined to respond, turning his head to study the woods, apparently having all the time in the world and willing to wait her out. Through some trick of happenstance (though more likely by his own design) he sat in a patch of sunlight which filtered through the leaves above him and framed his features, casting the sharp angles of his face into relief.
Sarah found the view rather attractive.
"All right, then. Draco Malfoy. He's a Slytherin and Head Boy. He seems very full of himself and he likes to harass people."
"He upset you?" His arms were crossed and he idly tapped gloved fingers against his sleeve. He still wasn't looking in her direction.
"Yeah. Kinda ruined my day."
"Slytherins tend to do that, so I'm told."
"I'm in Slytherin," she reminded him.
Another one of those annoying half-smiles found its way across his thin lips and Sarah had to tell herself that smacking the Goblin King would accomplish nothing.
"Now, you can answer my questions. How do you know Professor Dumbledore and what do you want with me?"
"Dumbledore has long been involved in the politics concerning wizard relations with non-human creatures. There are no human subjects in my kingdom." He looked at her then, out of the corner of his eye and paused before he spoke. "As to the second query—a situation has arisen and must be closely monitored. That is all I will say on the subject and you would do well to put it from your mind."
She studied him with jaundiced eyes. "I haven't seen you in two years. You pay for my education in magic and say you'll do the same for my brother. You show up in my dreams and ask me about the boy who upset me. I'm not stupid, Jareth; whatever this is about, I'm right in the middle of it."
He turned to stare at her fully and his face was devoid of emotion, even the frustrating smirk was gone. Then he closed his eyes and sighed—an expulsion of air from the lungs and the rounding of shoulders. He looked tired.
"There is no cause for you to worry."
"…yet?" she whispered, acutely aware of the roughness of the ropes beneath her palms and the way the wind blew her hair across her face. The trees around her seemed more ominous than friendly and the sky above gave the impression of night even though the sun still shone and the clouds were only thin, white wisps.
But he was gone and the dream was done.