Rose Thorns and Full Moons
theDarkIsRising
It was fully dark now and fat, white snowflakes fell outside the windows. Dobby asked Hermione to follow him down the hall opposite from where the candelabras stood. She tried to dart past him, but the small creature was stronger than her and pulled her back.
"No, let go. He promised. Show me. Show him to me."
"Missus, no. Follow me. Master said not tonight. Wait 'til morning."
"How can I wait until then?"
"Because you must."
Initially, Dobby had to drag Hermione down the hallway, but now she followed behind him complaisantly. She knew the man no longer hid behind the candles and that arguing was useless. Dobby chattered away as they walked a winding trail through the castle. Other than Dobby's voice, silence pressed in around them. She could hear only their muffled footsteps upon the fading rugs that lined the hallways.
Everything was dark as well; she could only see within the circle of light cast by his oil lamp. Hermione tried to see what they passed - the furniture, the paintings, anything - but it remained shrouded and she could not pause or else she would fall behind and out of that protective lamp light. She imagined eyes following them as they walked; it felt so dark that someone could be standing nearly three feet away from them and they would remain unawares. Dobby lead her down further and further into the castle. They went up and down a number of staircases and through several rooms. Hermione was not sure how to even find the front door again. As she was silent, Dobby spoke to fill the quiet.
"Don't worry, Missus, the master will see to it your father is safe. He will show you. Your horse will be well tended, then he'll be returned to the village. Your father will have more need of him. You won't need a horse now that you are staying with us. Right, Missus? I'm sorry you are here, but it is nice to talk to someone else. Don't you think?"
Hermione nodded and tried to smile at Dobby when he beamed up at her. She could not be mad at him; he was only a servant. He was stuck here just as she was.
"Is there no one else here?" she asked, once his prattle ended.
"There are a few others. Winky and Kreacher. They usually stay down in the kitchens or out of sight. I tend to the master personally."
"And are Winky and Kreacher…" she trailed off.
He studied her a moment. "Like me, Missus. We only have three house elves for this entire castle, can you believe? Other than us, it is just you and the master."
"Does he have a name? Your master?" asked Hermione.
Dobby sat the lamp down on a long dark table and nervously eyed a large brass figurine shaped like a great, shaggy dog. His hands trembled. She hoped he wouldn't start hitting himself again. Finally, he managed to stutter out, "M-m-master will tell you, if he wants you to know."
"But he does have a name. And you do know it," Hermione said.
Luckily, Dobby was saved from answering as he flung open a door and ushered her inside the room.
"Here we are, Missus. Your room."
Under different circumstances, Hermione would have marveled at the space. She wondered briefly if her family's small cottage could have fit inside the room. But the thought of her home brought a sharp pain to her heart and she numbly looked at the large four-post bed with deep red hangings and the dark mahogany furniture. More tapestries, like those in the grand entrance, hung in the room (one particularly violent one of a boar hunt hung opposite them).
The immense bay window was black, but Hermione imagined it must have a spectacular view. It had a cushioned sitting area where a person could curl up and take in the landscape. Brave little bird, that strange voice had called her. Yes, she thought, as she drifted toward the window, like a bird looking out of its cage. A spray of snow blew against the window, a smattering of white against the black night. Even though she was inside, Hermione felt cold. Dobby smiled at her as he showed her around, praising how warm the fireplace was as he stoked the embers, how soft the mattress as he pushed back the finely embroidered coverlet.
"Yes, thank you," she said. "But I'm very tired now."
"To bed then," Dobby said. "Winky will wake you for breakfast. If you need anything in the meantime, we are here to serve." With that, he bowed deeply and left. She did not turn around until she heard the key scraping in the lock. She ran to the door, twisting the handle violently as if that would help open it.
Hearing her struggle, Dobby said, muffled through the wood, "I'm sorry, Missus. It is for your own safety."
She rattled the door once more and muttered 'please' repeatedly, but found herself completely spent and unable to yell like she wanted to. She banged her fist against the wood and sank down on the cold stone floor. The door was shut and she could not escape. And with that revelation, Hermione began to cry. She covered her mouth to stifle the sound of sobbing. Eventually, she no longer cared, the castle was large and she was alone and no one would hear her and nobody would come for her. She wept freely. Never again would she see her father, never again would she see her home. She did not even know for certain if her father was alive or dead.
Shakily, she stood and removed her dress, stiff with snow and cold. The entire bottom was covered muddy splotches. She must have ridden through a briar patch as the fabric of her skirt was torn and ruined. She let it fall to the floor and moved on to pulling the stays for her corset. Her fingers were clumsy as tears continued to fall down her cheek. The panes in the bay window shook violently. The noise startled her; she didn't know if it was the work of the wind or herself. She closed her eyes and willed the door to open, but nothing happened. The windows rattled again and she pressed her hand against the cold glass as if to still them. With her back turned, Hermione did not see how her bedroom door shuddered, as if someone were leaning just on the other side, as if someone had been listening.
Hermione awoke on top of the covers, curled up and shivering. Her shift was threadbare; her clothes were not often replaced. The fire had died sometime in the night, but a faint light crept through the windows. She stiffly arose and watched as dawn broke, the sky turning to pink and gold. The air shimmered strangely as if thin piece of gossamer hung around the castle walls. Through the strange haze, all she could see was forest for miles; it was thick around the grounds. A small courtyard was below her and since it was not the one that she entered through, she assumed her room was in the rear of the castle. That is when she saw them - the roses, bright red amongst the snow. This is where her father must have stumbled and with nothing to give her, made the grave mistake of cutting a flower. A strange, wicked place to be cursed with ever blooming rose buds. Hating the sight of them, she shut the curtains, letting darkness envelope the room.
Soon, another small house elf unlocked the door and entered, tsking at the lack of light. She busied herself with the fire, had it roaring when she introduced herself as 'Winky' to Hermione. She brought in a tray heavy with coffee and pastries and fruit. "Will this be enough?" she asked worriedly.
Hermione had only seen so much food on display in the marketplace windows. She shook her head yes, stating that it looked quite fine. Winky bowed and left Hermione to pick at the food. Finally, she decided that it was not poisoned, so she hungrily ate two croissants and an apple, drinking the coffee as if it were water. No one else came to her door and it remained unlocked, so she peered out into the long hallway. Seeing no one, she slipped out of her room.
After a bit of wandering, Hermione wished she had put her dress back on. Or at the very least, wrapped the bed coverlet around herself. Honestly, she did not realize how large and drafty the castle would be. But it did not bother her; she must find him. By now, she was sure she would have stumbled across this master and demanded that he hold up his end of their bargain. She hugged herself tighter and kept walking through the labyrinth of hallways and staircases.
The castle had once been beautiful, she was sure of that. In the muted gloom, she saw how a layer of dust sat on the fine furniture and most of the windows were shuttered against the light. All the metal now sat tarnished, the rugs and curtains moth-eaten, while many mirrors were shattered or broken completely. Hermione also found strange markings, as if from claws, on some of the walls and along the carpeting. Some chairs bore teeth marks and slashes in their upholstery. Beast, beast, came her father's warning. She knelt down next to a series of paintings that had been knocked down. They, too, were shredded; their canvases ripped apart. She tried to hold the pieces together, but they were too damaged; she could not see who the people were.
A door clicked shut somewhere behind her and Hermione whirled around. A disembodied voice, the one from last night, drifted down from above, "Do you make it a habit, little bird, of wandering hallways naked?"
Hermione stood near a winding staircase and she craned her neck to look up it. He must be hovering on another floor, just out of view. She crossed her arms. She placed a foot on the first step. "I am not naked." Her shift covered her from chest to toe, the sleeves long and pointed. "And if I were, who would see me? My dress was ruined by the ride."
"As master of this castle, I see everything."
"But I cannot see you," she said. She continued up the steps slowly, trying desperately to see what lay on the next landing. "You promised me about my father."
"One of the elves will bring you something more suitable to wear. Your father is well and can wait."
Forgoing her slow steps, Hermione dashed up the stairs, grabbing the railing to keep steady. "I demand," she began, but no one was there.
"If you want your answer, then I expect you to accompany me at dinner tonight. Wear the finest dress that they give you."
"No," she said. "You promised me."
Hermione had tried his patience. His growling yell echoed off the fine marble floor, "And I am keeping that promise. You will dine with me or I will tell you nothing."
Doors were slammed overhead. One, two and perhaps a third as he retreated from her. Slipping over the first few steps, Hermione ran from his shouting, her shift billowing behind her as she rushed down one hallway and then another. No one and nothing tried to halt her. Out of breath, she stopped, realizing how foolish she was. It was his castle and she was trapped within it. No amount of running would save her or distance her from his strange presence. She must be like those heroines in her books: straight-backed with their heads held high. She must be like her mother had been. She must be brave. No one was coming to save her.
AN: Sorry for the delayed updating. This fic is still a go. I've also been working on a Jane Eyre Remione AU (Remus is Mr. Rochester and Hermione is Jane). Would anybody be interested in that as well? I may post what I've completed thus far, if people want to read it. Thanks for stopping by. I appreciate all of your wonderful feedback.