Author's Note:
Today is October 8th, and I'm finally starting the next chapter to this story. The thing is, I've gotten somewhat sick of this story, I always seem to feel like its just another typical Lily/James story and I'm getting bored. So I'll tell you guys something, when I originally wrote this outline, Serena was going to die in this chapter, and as she was dying she was going to feel all awful for breaking up with Remus because they could have had a great relationship: blah, blah, blah.
I scratched that (even though it still says that in my outline). It's so stupid and cliché and I really wanted this story to be something original (I feel like Taking Care of Business was, and part of me is really regretting making a sequel). I guess it's all just part of becoming a writer. Writing can be weird sometimes, and you have to write something you hate if only to learn what you hate about it.
Pretty much, I'm realizing this note has no meaning whatsoever to it, but I really felt like I needed to say this. I guess the moral of the story is both a promise and an apology. I promise to finish this story. Even if it kills me, I'll type the last period as I die because I will not leave this story unfinished. And secondly I apologize, first for the wait, and also because if I had finished this story before I started posting it, I wouldn't have posted it at all, you would never have started it, and you would never have been stuck with an ending that really doesn't have all of my heart in it. Call it character building, I won't let the story die, but I can't promise it'll be great. I'll try, that's the best I can offer you.
Okay, I'm sorry for rambling at you for ten years. I doubt much of that makes sense, but I feel better for having written it.
Obviously, this is all based on the genius of JK Rowling.
Ch. 14
The White Room
When Delia opened her eyes it was too bright. She was in a room, a small, perfectly square, blaringly bright white room. A dark window was at the top of one of the walls, slanted slightly downward as though some extremely tall person was standing on the other side of the tinted glass, leering down at her.
It was simply too bright. She constantly had to squint but couldn't tell where the light was coming from. It was as though the light radiated from all the walls, floor and ceiling; there was no where to hide from it.
With a groan that she would never know if she actually made—with no one around to her it, it could have been out loud or just in her head—she sat up, scanning all the corners of the room, first to be sure there was no one else in the room, and second to make sure the very walls weren't closing in around her. She had always been slightly claustrophobic and this tiny white room could have been pulled from her own personal hell.
Delia put a hand to her forehead, her mind suddenly reeling. There was a damp spot there, and she quickly identified the acrid smell of blood as though she had just recalled how to smell. She lay back down on the floor and blocked out the light with her arm, unwilling to even attempt standing.
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Delia woke up again. She glanced around and swore that when she went to sleep she'd been facing the other direction, with her feet pointed towards the window. Now her head was closer.
The light was the same, but now there was a slight clicking noise, like the shutter of a fancy muggle camera, clicked again and again and again. She thought it should bother her, but it was rather soothing, something from her muggle life, reassuring her in this world of white.
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Delia opened her eyes to bright light. Was she imagining it or had the whiteness turned slightly yellow? The light was as glaringly painful as ever, but somehow it seemed to have a slightly ivory tint to it.
It occurred to her that she should feel something, pain where dried blood matted into blackened dreadlocks on her head, hunger where she hadn't eaten for…a day? A few days? A week? Months? She should have to go to the bathroom. Do something other than sleep. It was as though this odd room somehow provided for all her needs.
Curling into a ball on her side, Delia slept.
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It was morning when Delia awoke. She had no real way of knowing that it was morning, but she needed some sense of time to ground herself and keep the walls from pushing in closer. She told herself that one week had past, and every time she woke up it would be a new morning.
She'd stay awake long enough to remember what should be happening at this point in time: school, a weekend, a vacation, summer vacation? She'd remember Lily's birthday, and Serena's birthday, and her sister's birthday. Today was Monday.
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Tuesday.
Delia had a History of Magic essay due today. She was reporting on the feelings of modern vampires towards the vampire hunts muggles participated in during the 1600s. They surprisingly loved them, thought it was hilarious to run with the crowd as they chased down some poor widowed old woman. Afterwards, the vampire would volunteer to get rid of the body (no one else wanted to be that close to the truth of the cold blooded murder they'd just participated in), and then he or she would get a free meal, all but cooked by their prey.
Other vampires let themselves get accused. They'd do something odd where they were sure someone would see them, and then they'd get hunted themselves. They'd let the crowd chase them till they got far away from the cities, then a few vampire friends would pop out behind them and the entire hunting party would be slaughtered, no remains for the widows and orphans in the cities.
She supposed it was only fair the muggle hunters got killed; they had been murdering innocent people as scapegoats. But then again, it was only fair the muggles tried to kill the vampires, they were getting hunted and de-blood-ified.
Delia wondered which category she fit into. Was she a hunter or a hunted? At the moment hunted she supposed, but then again, no one was doing anything to her. It was rather nice living in this room where no human frailties were present. She had always loved sleep; sleep was good.
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Wednesday.
Delia woke up. Delia closed her eyes.
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Thursday.
Something important was supposed to happen today, someone's birthday, or a holiday, maybe. Perhaps it was just because Thursday had always been her favorite day, or was that Tuesday. She couldn't remember.
Maybe Thursday was Remus's favorite day. Remus. What did he look like? He was tall, sandy blonde hair, or was it brown? She thought he might have brown eyes, but they might have been hazel-brown, or maybe gray.
She should ask Serena; Serena was the one who was still in love with Remus; she was the one who would know what he looked like. Delia turned her head from side to side, surprised to realize Serena wasn't with her. Maybe she was and she just hadn't seen her. Delia sat up and looked all around, but Serena was nowhere.
I'll go find her, Delia thought. But just as she considered getting up she realized there was no door, only the window. Hm, Delia thought, how will I get up there, and if I get all the way up there, how will I get through that window. I don't even know if it's a window, it could just be a black thing, a piece of the wall that doesn't project light.
All this thinking was exhausting, Delia rested her head back on the floor.
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Friday.
No, no, Friday is my favorite day, Delia assured herself as soon as she realized she was awake. She blinked a few times. On Fridays me and Sirius always go out. We trade off, deciding where we're going. Since we can both apparate, we would go really far away sometimes.
Maybe he'll take me dancing, Delia pondered, we've never gone dancing. No, I hope not, she answered herself, I want dancing to be my idea, I'll hold off on that till next week.
Just the thought of dancing made Delia yawn; she buried her face in her arm and went to sleep.
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Sunday. No, Saturday. Or Wednesday?
She couldn't think about that, it made her unhappy. And unhappiness wasn't allowed in the White Room.
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Some day.
There was someone laughing. Delia didn't open her eyes but she could feel the light, back to white again stabbing at her eyelids.
Who was laughing? There were people? People other than here? Places other than this room? She finally opened her eyes to make sure no one was sitting in the room with her. Who was laughing? The thought was stopped short as she went right back to sleep as though someone had physically punched her and knocked her lights out.
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Finally, Delia had a dream. It was nothing like the dreams she usually had, they were always odd and completely out of order. This dream made sense, odd as it was; it felt real whereas usually she could sense that something wasn't quite life-like in her dreams.
Sirius laid on the floor of a small, perfectly square, blaringly white room. He opened his eyes and glanced around, his usual confused face on.
Suddenly his expression changed, shock, anger, and lastly fear filling his gray eyes. 'Delia?' he asked the room. Delia wanted to answer but knew she couldn't, or shouldn't? 'DELIA!' he screamed, jumping to his feet and swaying at the sudden change of position.
'Delia, where are you?' he yelled again. 'Can't you hear me?' he asked. 'Don't you care?' he whispered, sinking to the floor. Somehow, in the way dream people always know more than they would in real life, Delia knew this wasn't the first of such outbursts.
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Who cared what day it was? Delia was being haunted by dreams of her friends, each crying out in their own personal hell, their own White Rooms forcing them into their worst fears.
Serena was balled up in a corner, back pressed so hard against the wall she was developing scoliosis. Lily was sprawled on her back, spread-eagled and never moving. She blinked every now and then, but that was it. Sirius sporadically screamed for her, or James, or Lily, or Remus, or Serena and then collapsed. Remus was imagining the full moon and transforming from wolf to man and back again, his body unsure of what his mind was processing, and James just leaned against the wall, reciting random facts about Lily in a drunken-like stupor.
She wondered why she wasn't so afraid? Why she wasn't driven as wild as her friends? Then again, they're only dreams. For all I know, Delia pondered, they're back at Hogwarts, wondering why I wasn't good enough to escape from the Death Eaters while they all got away.
Maybe she was better off in the White Room, with her dreams to keep her memories and her memories to keep her sane. She never needed anything in the White Room, and as long as she could remember, she could live.
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Delia was at Beauxbatons, she had returned to the girl's dormitory too late and it was locked, discouraging nighttime wanderers. She was too tired to go back out side and climb the rose trellis to her window so she conjured up a blanket and went to sleep on the floor.
Now it was morning. She could feel the morning sunlight pressing on her eyes. She'd purposefully gone to sleep next to an eastern window so that she'd wake with the dawn, ready to sneak back into her room and grab an extra hour or two of sleep in a real bed.
She opened her eyes. 'I knew it was too good to be true,' Delia whispered to herself. If I were at Beauxbatons, Robbie would be alive.
Suddenly, Delia sat up. Robbie. She'd just talked to him, granted she didn't know how long she'd been in the room, but it couldn't have been more than a week ago, or a few weeks. Months?
Delia shook her head, it doesn't matter when, she told herself. The point is he warned me, he knew this was going to happen. What did he say? Something about not being bitter, to remember what love feels like. Her hope deflated, how was that supposed to help get me out of this stupid room? Bitterness isn't keeping me here, Death Eaters are.
With an angry sigh, Delia curled up tightly into a ball and fell into a dreamless sleep.
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She hadn't dreamed again. For days she hadn't dreamed. Delia needed her dreams as she feared them. She hated to see everyone suffering, but she needed to see her friend faces—even if they were screaming in agony—she needed to see them to know that they were real, that there was more than this room. Why had the dreams left her, all alone and bored senseless in the White Room?
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A certain power, that you have…Delia heard Robbie, heard him like he was sitting in the room next to her, but she knew he wasn't. 'I can talk to a dead person who waited to pass on just to talk to me, and I have visions of my friends when they're in danger,' Delia whispered, then realized she should perhaps remain silent. Maybe I'm more insane than I think I thought.
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Suppose its all real. If it were all real… It certainly felt real to me, Delia could almost feel Robbie's embrace once again. If it was real, if I really spoke to a dead man, if I'm really seeing visions of my friends… The reality was too much to manage, Delia brushed her annoyingly tangled hair away from her neck and ducked her chin into her neck, curling up defensively and falling asleep.
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It can't be real. Stop flattering yourself Delia she scolded herself. You're not someone special, you don't have some rare divination-like power; you're just a girl. A girl in a White Room.
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"Delia!" Sirius pleaded. "Please I love you, please, please. Don't leave; please don't leave me. I know you loved him, still love him, but he's gone; you can't leave me now. I need you, I need you." With each exclamation Sirius's voice grew weaker as he tore at the hair that had once been the envy of every guy he met. Now it hung in greasy sheets, framing the high cheekbones and panicked eyes dashing about in their sockets.
With a sad smile, dream Delia reached down and touched Sirius's face, stroking the sunken cheekbones. She wondered at that, if the room provided food, how could he look like he was starving? Perhaps he couldn't eat, even subconsciously, if he didn't want to. As though he also felt her dream presence, Sirius turned his face into the hand and almost smiled his little smile that only Delia recognized because she was sure it was his smile for only her.
"Please Delia," he asked her, though he didn't specify what. "Please."
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Delia blinked, then blinked again. If it were all true… She shook her head, she wasn't sure she wanted it to be true, to have that kind of power, she didn't want to know everything; some things are better unsaid.
Putting aside all doubt for a moment, Delia seriously considered the possibility that perhaps she was a Seer. At the moment, random visions of her friends and occasionally being sub-physically present with them was not enough. She needed something real, something solid to build off of.
She needed to control it.
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So she was a Seer. So what?
What would that do for her? Okay, so she was the only sane one left of her friends, but what could she do about it? There was no door to the room, no one ever came in to give her food cause she doesn't need it, and even if she could get out, she didn't have her wand. There was no way in hell they didn't have anti-apparation jinxes on the room, and if she got up to try they'd know she wasn't in some semi-conscious madman world anymore.
She needed to control her visions. She didn't know if it was possible, but she had endless time at her disposal; why not try? Taking a deep breath, Delia recalled everything she had ever learned about Divination, she wished now she'd paid attention in that class, it wasn't her fault Robbie was incredibly talented at imitating Madame Defargeru.
Ignoring the sudden urge to laugh, Delia drew in her breath, and let it out. In, and slowly back out. With each breath she sensed her heartbeat slowing, growing steady and methodic, pulsing at exactly where she wanted it to pulse. With another deep breath in, Delia feel asleep.
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I could kick myself. When she woke up, Delia's first thought was a wonder as to whether they would serve her favorite hazelnut coffee for breakfast in the Great Hall, then she realized she wasn't going to be eating in the Great Hall anytime soon, especially if she couldn't control this new power of hers.
Fight the need to sleep, Delia ordered herself, rolling on her side so that her thumb stuck uncomfortably into her side. This time, instead of just focusing on breathing and her heartbeat, Delia would actually think.
Sirius. She hadn't had a dream of him in what felt like weeks. If I can master this, I'll see him, she promised herself. I'll say something this time, whisper in his ear how much I love him, that he only need wait till I find a way to get us all out of here. And when I do, I'll never leave his side again. Delia smiled, anticipating an entirely Sirius filled world. Would I ever stop laughing? She wondered.
Hugging herself tight, Delia imagined herself in Sirius's arms, and drifted into a contented sleep.
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"You came back," Sirius whispered to her. "You didn't come back for so long, I thought you'd forgotten me. I thought maybe they'd killed you," he added quieter. "Then you'd have him," the bitterness in his voice worried Delia, that was a bridge they'd have to cross when they came to it, if they ever came to it.
She kneeled on the floor. She loved when her dreams took her to Sirius, he was the only one who could ever sense her with him, although Lily had once almost spoken, it had looked as though her lips were saying Delia, but she couldn't be sure.
Delicately, so that he wouldn't feel any weight on him, she rested her head on his chest, imagining them really together and out of this hell. "I love you," she mouthed, knowing she couldn't speak aloud though wondering why not. "I love you too," Sirius answered, his hand somehow finding and gripping her own invisible one.
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An intense throbbing in her side woke Delia up; it was the first time she'd felt pain since she first woke up in the White Room. With mumbled oath of self-annoyance, Delia pulled her flattened thumb out from the bruised flesh forming on her side. So much for that she thought.
Wait. Delia's eyelids flew open. Sirius. I dreamed of Sirius, I was thinking about him when I fell asleep. When I was thinking of nothing, I dreamed of nothing; when I was thinking about Sirius, I dreamt of Sirius. Each piece came together. If I just let my focus fall away so that I fall asleep or at least fall into some kind of stupor, whoever I'm thinking of as I drift off I'll be able to visit in my dreams.
Tracing back her memory thread to that far away some time when she'd been somewhere other than the White Room, Delia recalled the wedding. She was dancing with Sirius, Death Eaters, Lily captured, darkness, White Room. Death Eaters, she needed to remember the Death Eaters, she had to find out what they were planning, why they hadn't just killed them.
Replaying the scattered battle memories she could bring up, Delia slipped into unconsciousness.
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They were always watching. The people, the people in the Dark Room, just watching, always watching. They had notebooks and they rarely stopped writing. Sometimes the Dark One was in the room with them, ever silent and looming, just watching, first at one window, then the next; then they were very silent and took more detailed notes. When he wasn't there, they told jokes or made things up to write down. They were always watching.
One walked to the other side of the room, peering into a different box of glowing light, the only light in the room, filtered purple through the heavily tinted glass. "Look at this," he said to the other. There were two.
Walking over, the second man peered into the darkness. Below Serena was crouched in the corner, raking at the blonde roots that had grown into her hair. "I can't be seen, can't be seen," she was muttering, trying to block the unavoidable light glinting off the honey tinted locks along her skull.
"She gets worse every day, so what?" the second man asked, returning to his original chair by the first window.
"What do you think she'd do if we changed all her hair back?" the first asked, grinning evilly. "Enough for a suicide attempt?"
The second man looked at the first, his older face showing all his annoyance at the younger's childishness. "You know what happened when we changed the tint to the light on this one," he gestured to the window he was seated by. "The Dark Lord only wants us to interfere when it is necessary or on his orders. Do you want to end up like Gratins?"
"No." The first man slumped in a chair by a third window. "Though I bet where he is it's a tad less boring."
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Like a bag of bricks slamming into the side of her head, Delia finally pieced together all the clues. They were experiments; the Death Eaters were observing their behavior. Each in their own room, they betrayed their darkest fears to the Death Eaters as they slipped into insanity. They must be disappointed in me, she thought, all I do is sleep. With a chilling shiver at this new intelligence she realized the capacity of this particular experiment; it was hard to imagine the types of weapons they could develop if they found some kind of pattern in human fear.
Brick bag two: only she could save everyone. Delia wasn't sure how she could keep taking all these shocks in one 'day'. With everyone else incapacitated by fear, Delia was the last prisoner in this place—she was sure there were others besides the six of them, there were too many windows in the Dark Room—but she was the last one who was thinking clearly and was fully conscious of the situation they were in. She was the only one who knew enough to even desire escape, and the only person with the means to achieve it. Somehow, she had to get out of this room. Somehow, she had to escape.
Author's Note:
Originally, I had planned to keep going with this chapter, but I feel like I've written a lot and I haven't updated in an embarrassingly long time so I figure I'll just get this up and be done with it. Take it easy with the grammar and such; I didn't edit much/at all so it'll be a little rough round the edges. Don't say I didn't warn you.
I'll warn you now. Don't expect anything for a bit of a while. I'm going to be participating in the NaNoWriMo event again this year and will spend all of November on anything but fan fiction (not to mention I just suck at reviewing). Please review (if this story still has any regular readers left) and I'll try to get something new up by maybe Christmas? Thanks guys!