Disclaimer: Please see previous chapters.
A/N: Thanks again to all the wonderful reviewers and, of course, you for reading. I can't tell you how much it's appreciated. Hope you enjoy this longer one!
Chapter 5: Not Very Nice
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The sound came again: scratch. Scratch. Thump, Thump.
"What in bleeding hell?" Filch wheezed. Mrs. Norris was pawing incessantly on a cupboard, a cupboard from which there was loud banging resonating. Unreasonable ruckus for that time of night, Filch thought. "What is it, my love?" The caretaker asked his cat, lifting his lantern to the wooden door of the thing as if might give away its contents.
It wasn't the sort of banging of something bouncing about inside, like a Bogart. It could be Peeves, but it could be a student -someone out of bed after hours. There was something desperate about the rhythm. Something trapped. He reached out to open it.
He snapped his hand back as he recalled the face of Sirius Black on posters, the increased security in Hogwarts. It wasn't as if they hadn't had something deadly on the loose in the castle just last year as well, and a troll the year before that.
He resolved to fetch the nearest professor to address whatever it was with a wand. But as he turned, Mrs. Norris yowled and the banging grew more urgent. "Hello?" Filch tried. The noise stopped. He inched closer, sniffling. "Somebody in there?"
He started as rapid pounding responded.
"Who are you? What are you doing in there?" He asked. One of his hands neared the knob, the other lifted his lantern to hit whatever it was over the head if it came leaping out with fangs.
No answer. He shook his head. The cat was not willing to abandon it, though. Filch pressed his ear to the wood, but heard nothing. Taking a knee, with painful cracking, he put his eye as close as he dared to a little key hole. It was all darkness and then a flicker of yellow that made him gasp and fall backwards on his bony rear with a humph.
Looking again, the silent eyes showed a glimmer of something, seemed brown and less animal at second glance. They also seemed wet, welling with tears.
He tried the door, but could not force it open. His keys didn't match. "Wait here." He told the eye behind the keyhole. "I'll get help."
Banging resumed as he limped away. "I hear you!" he called to it. "I'll be right back."
He found Professor Lupin strolling the castle leisurely in the dead of night. Though odd, the man was friendly as ever, apologizing to the caretaker as Filch bumped into him rounding a corner.
"Professor!" He panted. "Better come. I think a student is in trouble."
Quite serious, Remus sprang forward the direction the caretaker had come. "Where? Show me."
"Up around on the fourth floor, to the right." He tried to keep up with the teacher, but could not. The man could move quickly when he wanted to, limp or no Filch noticed. "Cupboard!" He shouted ahead, knowing the other man would arrive first.
Filch found the professor thumbing his chin as he faced the closed wooden doors. "Alohamora!" He said harshly, wand at the ready, and the thing came open. Springing from it like a loosed animal came a small person. Lupin was quick again, Filch noticed, grabbing it around the middle with care.
"Hold on there." Long hair flying behind fell still and the first year it belonged to was visible. "How'd you get in there?" Lupin leaned down. The girl stared at the floor a few paces ahead. Mrs. Norris brushed against her knees. "Anna," Professor Lupin stooped even lower, a hand on her shoulder.
She turned to look at him, but her back was to Filch. He didn't hear a sound, but his hearing wasn't the best. If she answered her teacher, he missed the response. It was not often he felt sorry for the spoiled brats, but this one wasn't spoiled. She was small and quiet that one, the one who hadn't had shoes, locked in a cupboard.
"I'll take care of her, Mr. Filch." Lupin's voice said softly. "You owe Mr. Filch your gratitude." He told her. She turned to the caretaker, her fingers wrapped loosely around his cat's tail. She nodded, her eyes expressive. He nodded back. Remus Lupin led her away.
"Not very nice, my sweet." He told his companion as he turned the corner. "Not very nice at all."
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Remus led Miss Green downstairs in the wrong direction from Ravenclaw tower, having deduced she would be locked out for the night. He did not bother to use a light. He knew the way in the dark even if his eyes had not been keener than the usual pair. He still felt like he was sneaking about at night, about to be caught and scolded.
He half thought he might turn a corner and run into Severus, which he had, or Sirius, which he may though it would be nasty, or even James, who he thought for one heart-stopping minute he had. Harry looked so like him. But James was dead, and so was Lily, and so was Peter, and when he crept the halls at night now, he wandered them alone.
He shook the thought from his head. He was not alone after all, and his odd behavior was probably confounding his company. Her feet pattered away trying to keep up with him until they made it to his office. Pushing the door open, he strode inside and went directly to his room. He rang the small bell on his table that he never bothered with and went back to his cabinets to rummage.
Once he had the little, emerald bottle he was looking for and some cloths, he turned to look for Miss Green. For a moment, he was puzzled.
She was hard to see, being rather short, waiting back by the door. "Come in." He waved to her as he prepared his things. She entered her bare feet making no sound. The air cracked, and an elf appeared.
"Yes, sir?" The little creature squeaked readily.
"Sorry to bother you so late this evening. A little hot chocolate I think, please." He winked.
"Two?" The elf asked. Remus just nodded. With another crack, the elf was gone. Remus approached the work table where Anna Green stood, hand on the corner.
He set down a tray. "Now," He lifted her up onto the table smoothly. "Let's have a look at that."
He'd smelled the blood more than seen it, a cut on her head mostly underneath the hair, a little on her lip or the back of her hand. He cleaned it with a spell, then rubbed on the solution. No wincing, no jerking away. She sat perfectly still, so strange for a child.
He offered her a small smile. "You know, it would be a good idea if you told me who did this to you." He placed one hand on either side of her, pushing his body out away from the counter to try and meet her eyes. "But you're not going to tell me, are you?"
She shook her head, curled ends bouncing. He sighed. He took her small hand, unfurling the fingers. "Let's get these splinters out at least."
When he removed the fifteenth one, there was another sudden noise and the smell of piping hot cocoa. "Thank you." He said without looking away from his work.
"My pleasure. Anything else, sir?" The elf asked.
"No thank you. Goodnight." The elf was gone. He handed her the hot cup. "Careful." He told her. "This will help; I promise."
She sipped it and gave a little sigh, moonlight catching a track of her tearstained face.
"You like chocolate?" He asked. She nodded, almost smiling. "Me too."
They watched the moon for a moment seeming to pass between the clouds as they drank. She set down her cup, looking sleepy, and pushed herself off the counter. It was a little drop, but she landed agile.
"You have somewhere to sleep?" He asked, taking their cups. She nodded. He put the cups in the sink of his preparation area and turned to say, "Good ni—"
The room was empty, the door soundless shut. It was as if she had never been there at all, or it would have been if her scent didn't still permeate the room. And that's when he thought for a moment something impossible. He thought he recognized the smell.
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"Miss Green," Professor Flitwick was surprised to see her entering Hogwarts Choir practice, nudged along by Luna Lovegood. "I'm glad you're here." He piped cheerfully. It was true enough he was pleased, but he was more than bit puzzled. What was a mute child going to do in a choir? Still, Dumbledore had insisted they treat her as normally as everyone else. He looked quickly for a solution.
"Do you play?" He asked pointing to some instruments at rest to the right of the choir stands.
She ran her fingers over several, pausing on the smooth curves of a violin. "Here," the head of house plodded over to her. "Like this." He showed her how to hold it then handed it back. She mimicked him. "Chin down, arm out where you can see the strings. Hand open. Little finger, standing straight up. That's it." He instructed.
The warm wood with its glossy finish blended into her hair color beautifully, flowing together so it was hard to tell where one gold ended and the other began. But the color also seemed to match her gleaming eyes, such an unusual color, so unnatural that it almost made him want to look away.
"Can you read music?" She nodded. "Piano?" Another nod. He knew some orphanages had such things to occupy their time, time that should be spent with family. He pushed the unpleasant thought away.
"Here's the music for what we're going to do today. G, D, A, E are the strings here." He plucked them a fingernail as he named them. "And if we just…"
It took him a few minutes to explain where the notes would be and show her the ones needed for the song. It meant starting practice late, but he simply instructed one of his seventh years to lead the warm up. The music starting distracted Anna Green. Flitwick frowned. Her look was longing. It was like she wanted to sing. He wondered then if she did perhaps want to speak as well.
"Just practice reading," he recalled her. "Holding it correctly, and trying to make the bow and string get along for now; if you'd like to stay after, I can give you a quick lesson if you'd like."
He eyed her out of the corner of her eye during practice fighting with instrument to make the right notes, or any notes really. A few screeches disturbed the singers, but the older ones knew to overlook it. The lovely raven-haired Miss Worhold, an excellent soprano first year, seemed particularly annoyed.
Third year violinist from Hufflepuff, Susan Bones, seated next to Miss Green, whispered to her, "Like this with your fingers. Hurts at first. That's it." Miss Green smiled in thanks. Though difficult, Anna seemed to enjoy the music. He went to her when the final notes fell away.
"Well, how do you like it?" Flitwick asked, wishing immediately he'd phrased it as a yes or no question.
She sat the instrument on her knee with a sigh, shoulders sinking in response. He chuckled a little. "Beautiful and difficult. Like a woman." He winked. "The violin can make a wonderful sound, but the musician must be precise and very patient." Perhaps the instrument would be good for her. Her magic needed precision and patience, poise not strength.
She nodded obediently.
The lesson was brief. "If you'd like, you can come in here and practice from time to time." She raised an eyebrow in response. "Yes, indeed. Practice makes perfect. Today was a usual practice with the full choir, but on Thursday there will be a practice just for first years, including a short lesson. It will be twice per week before the regular practice for those interested, then just the normal, weekly practice. We lose quite a few that way, but keep those really interested. I'll see you Thursday?"
She nodded, carefully putting down the violin.
"Good." He squeaked.
From time to time, he'd pass the practice room late in the evening and hear the same struggling notes. Small fingers, pressed into the strings until they bled. He saw the callouses from her persistence when she silently gripped her wand in charms, not trying. She enjoyed the music so much; he could see it in her warm eyes during practices, like a fireplace burning on a chilly evening. Those eyes were calming and comforting. He thought, when he saw those eyes, how anyone could have ever been afraid.
A/N: Thanks so much for reading once more! I would really love to know what you think and that you are reading, so please take a few seconds to review! All feedback or just a quick 'up-date soon' is so welcome. I love to write for readers.