Quiescence from The Asylum

Latest News

2012-02-17T23:49:00.000+08:00

It has been months, and still nothing new. I just changed the layout a bit.

Bedtime Stories

2011-06-10T11:42:00.003+08:00

Malfoy and his storyteller in the Slytherin dungeon.

Storytelling

2011-06-08T00:23:00.001+08:00

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Boo-yeah. Finally. :D

Alice

2011-06-02T12:56:00.001+08:00

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[SPOILER ALERT] (?)

Sam and Rigel (c) to my sister, Rei. They both play Alice. Haha.

The Lake in Autumn

2011-05-09T01:37:00.006+08:00

[AN]: I've had this story in my head for a while now, and it visits me whenever I listen to tracks 12 and 20 from the Half-Blood Prince soundtrack. I always thought it would be a one-shot, although I never really reached "the proper ending". So, updates may or may not ensue. I'm sorry.

October arrived with a biting chill in its air. Although it was still early in the term, Hogwarts students were already burdened with assignments. One sixth year student, Tom Marvolo Riddle, preferred to attend to his in private, as he always did with almost every other thing in his life. And, quite fittingly, the most secluded spot which he had decided on was in one north-east corner of the Black Lake, where the sunset looked most beautiful.

When he's finished with his assignments, Tom Riddle would stroll along the side of the Black Lake. It was autumn; all around him were dying leaves the colour of riot, of sunset itself. The walk had always been one way for him to relax and loosen the knots in his head, a habit.

Everything was going on ritually; the assignments, the tolling of bells from the high tower of the castle, the sunset. But there was something different in the ripples of the lake.

A splash drew Tom's attention to the body of water. It wasn't in its usual calm. He thought at first that he had imagined it, but he was immediately corrected; someone was indeed swimming in the cold water. In fact he had just reached the bit of grass where that someone had left their clothing.

He wondered for a moment if swimming in the lake was a punishable offense. Tom believed it ought to be, because no one should be allowed to go skinny dipping in the Black Lake in October. But it wasn't, and he had to leave the swimmer to their recklessness.

Be that as it may, he decided not to just leave it at that; because Tom Riddle was a Hogwarts prefect, and it was his duty to bother with people, especially when they were a Hogwarts student swimming in the Black Lake in October.

"Oi! Have you lost your mind?" he called out to his offender.

They seemed to have not heard him, or had otherwise chosen to ignore him. Either way, it seemed to Tom like a challenge. So he took out his wand and sent a jet of red light their way as a warning.

That gave Tom his intended result, and the swimmer began heading for the bank. Judging from the uniform lying on the grass before him, Tom assumed that it was a boy in the first year. But then it turned out that the first-year was a girl; she climbed out of the water completely naked, prompting him to blush furiously, turn away, and feel stupid for the first time in his life, which was an unnatural feeling for him and he didn't like it.

"Is it against the rules to swim in the Lake?" he heard her ask with surprising evenness.

"Are you decent?"

"What do you mean?"

"Just get dressed!"

Still with his back to her, Tom asked, "Is there anyone else with you?"

"No. Am I in trouble?" her tone was still flat.

"Well, it isn't against the rules, but apparently it should be; one would think even a first-year would have the sense not to go swimming at this time of year."

"Why so? You can look now."

Tom turned to face her. "What do you mean, 'why so'? The cold could've killed you!"

"But it isn't cold."

He blinked and began to suspect that the cold really had killed her after all. That is, only mentally. "Did you steal this uniform?" he asked, indicating the Ravenclaw badge on her robes.

"No. Why would you think that?"

"I didn't think Hogwarts would accept intakes from asylums."

"Oh. I guess I'm the exception."

Tom scorned at her for this. "Don't try to be smart with me."

"Can I go?" she requested, and Tom granted her leave. The girl headed back for the castle, dripping wet in her robes.

"Unbelievable." He disliked the girl already.

The next day, Tom went down to his corner of the Lake again, but only to start hating the girl from yesterday afternoon; there she was again, intruding upon his privacy by swimming in the lake. He crossed his arms and decided to wait.

The sun was setting when the girl finally got out of the water. Tom didn't bother to look away this time; it wasn't like there was anything to look at anyway.

He also didn't bother greeting her first. "You need to stop doing this."

"Doing what?"

Couldn't she at least have brought a towel with her? One can see right through her shirt!

"Are you sure the cold hadn't killed your senses? It must be freezing in the water!" In all truthfulness, Tom couldn't have cared less if she died in the water, but he had expectations to meet; he'll be damned if he let someone drown themselves when he was around to do something about it.

"Have you been in the water?" There was genuine curiosity in her voice.

"No."

"How can you tell it is freezing?"

"The air is cold!"

"They're not the same thing, are they?"

"Don't try to be smart with me!"

"What does that even mean?"

At that moment, finishing her off felt like the most righteous thing to do; his hand was already reaching for his wand. But Tom Riddle was more reasonable than that. This was just a little girl who asked a lot of questions, which is what little children do. Her tone had not so far been impolite, either. Tom sighed, rolling his eyes.

"Maybe you should try the water once. I promise it isn't cold. And I always keep my promises."

His eyes widened, if only a little. This kid cannot be serious. "Come on, back to the castle."

The next day was a Hogsmeade Saturday, and Tom Riddle was hoping to have the Lake all to himself again. But he was disappointed; the reckless child had apparently made a habit of going swimming in the afternoon.

She always keeps her promises, huh?

He approached the bank and pulled back his right sleeve. Then he dipped his arm up to the elbow into the water, and was surprised to find that it was a lot less cold than he had thought it would be. Still, it wasn't the right temperature for swimming. Tom withdrew his hand and turned his attention to the little girl; she hadn't gotten very far yet.

For reasons unfathomable, he began taking off his shoes and socks, and shed his outer robes, and then Tom went for the water. Near the bank, it reached up to his waist.

"It gets better towards the middle." Her sudden reappearance startled him. He gave her a questioning look.

"I meant the temperature."

"If you say so."

"Let's go visit the Giant Squid!" she suggested with a grin. She had fangs in her smile. And there was something ...odd about her general appearance.

Even though he already felt violated by the child's intrusion upon his private afternoon walks at the lake, Tom did not deny that the lake was expansive. "I don't think we can swim out that far."

At that, she dived back into the water.

"Hey!" Was he the one who's actually out of his mind, talking to children who swim in the Black Lake in October?

Her re-emergence from the water a moment later was unnerving; her stealth was deadly. She held out an open palm to him, on it was a certain type of water plant.

So that's what was off about her appearance. "Gillyweed," he identified it, and then proceeded to ingest it. Gradually, the water felt warmer and warmer to him, and the air suffocating. Then Tom dived into the water after the little girl.

The Duchess

2011-03-02T21:41:00.003+08:00

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[SPOILER ALERT] (?)

My sister's character, Hilde etc etc more commonly known as "Rei". She plays the Duchess in SAU.

Chapter III

2010-12-09T01:30:00.022+08:00

They reached the hospital wing not five minutes later, but Draco felt as though he had lost all his blood, and that he was surely going to die.

Hagrid laid him onto one of the beds carelessly before calling out for Madam Pomfrey. The panic in his voice must've cautioned her enough that she burst out of her office from the far back, reaching the pair of them in a flash.

"What is it? What's happened?" she asked, with an unnerved tone to match Hagrid's. But she didn't wait for his answer; she found the gash on his arm soon enough, Hagrid still standing as if stupefied beside Draco.

"What happened?" she repeated nonetheless.

Draco was surprised with the strength in his voice, "his Hippogriff, it attacked me! Look, it almost killed me!" he began accusing as the matron looked him over for, Draco suspected with a scorn, other 'more serious' injuries.

"Well, this is nothing you need to worry very much about, dear. It can be fixed quite easily," she said kindly, but Draco refused to just accept it like that. Couldn't she see the damage that had been done on his fine-boned arm?

But Madam Pomfrey did fix it quite easily, and after a dose of some blood-replenishing potion, Draco felt as good as new; as a matter of fact, his arm looked like it was never even touched by the Hippogriff. Nonetheless, Draco insisted that it be bandaged and bound, for it might still be very delicate from recently healing, and he thought he saw something to be gained from this little incident.

So Draco requested, a little severely, of the matron to grant him a sick leave for one whole week. She approved grudgingly in the end, and Draco then set off for the dormitories thinking about spending the entire week in bed. Oh, what fun. And of course, his mother would want to hear about this.

He closed the curtains around his bed later that night and set about writing the letter.

Dear Mother,

I believe I'm going to need more of those sweets you sent me the other day; lessons so far do not agree with me. Namely Care of Magical Creatures on the first morning. And Dumbledore got that oaf Hagrid to teach the class, can you believe that? And now the students are the ones paying for that mistake; I myself had to be put on study leave for an entire week!

It was only our first lesson (and I don't doubt it to be our last with that giant playing teacher), and "Professor" Hagrid brought out these nasty Hippogriffs and told us to go and pet them. The next thing I know, one of them just attacked me and I was almost killed by it! They had to get me to the hospital wing because I got seriously injured in the arm (and luckily it wasn't my wand arm) and was losing a lot of blood.

My arm is bandaged up and bound now, it'll need time to heal; the matron gave me a week off of lessons and said I needed plenty of rest. They're not even sure if my arm will fully heal into how it used to be. Personally, I think the Hippogriff shouldn't be allowed to stay anywhere near the castle; chances are high that it might attack other students.

I look forward to those sweets then. And I promise I won't do anything stupid to worsen my condition, so you needn't worry much. I hope all is well at home.

It was some time later, as he stared into the roof of his four-poster, listening to the sounds of his sleeping roommates, that he remembered the girl in the common room from last night. He jolted upright and peeked out from behind his curtains to check on the other boys; none of them knew about his trouble with sleeping and Draco had no intention of having any of them find out.

Five minutes later, he managed to successfully sneak out of the room without any of his roommates being nosy about it.

Draco walked down the passage as quietly as he had trained himself to be but, faintly, he felt his heart sinking as he was slowly approaching the Slytherin dungeon; it was unnaturally silent and he couldn't make out any sign of firelight coming from the end of the passage – the common room appeared to be completely deserted.

He reached it with a frown on his face. Was he never going to hear what was to be the end of that reckless Alice? He walked across the room to the unlit fireplace. "She sat right here last night," he thought to himself.

His eyes then found the other passage that led away from the common room; the one that leads to the girls' dormitories. He can't have dreamt it; he had been awake the whole time, and Draco was sure he had known her from somewhere before, too. He turned from the hearth and found the spot where he had hidden himself in the previous night. "It can't have merely been a dream," he murmured quietly to no one in particular.

Draco felt a little agitated now. Malfoys simply do not imagine things, not even when they'd been deprived of sleep.

"No, they don't lose sleep over some Mudblood either," and Draco squashed the little voice mercilessly.

But he knew that the voice was right. What was he even doing here? He was just about to leave when he suddenly heard the girl's voice again. She spoke merely above whisper, but in the silence, she was louder than the rumbling in the skies beyond. The bells tolled in the distance as if announcing her arrival.

So she shows up only at midnight. How curious.

"Now then, cat, if you keep holding me up like that, chances are we're not going to finish the story in time. I mean, honestly..." was the only thing she said that made sense at all to him; the rest of her rambling was simply incoherent, and of no importance to him. Draco sat down in the alcove again while she lit the fire and settled herself down. He really wanted to see if the cat behaved at all like it understood anything she was saying to it, but Draco sat with his back to the pair, so he could not find out. Briefly he thought about finding a better hiding spot for the next night.

"So where did we last left off, cat? Ah, yes. So Cheshire just appeared, and they were asking Alice how best to remove it. Do you need reminding on what her answer was, cat?"

Draco desperately hoped for the cat to answer her, "yes," but of course that was not possible.

Why in the blazes was she even talking to that non-sentient creature in the first place?

But then he was quite surprised by its meowing as if in answer to her question.

"Alright then. So when Alice got back to the Cheshire Cat, she was surprised to find quite a large crowd collected round it: there was a dispute going on between the executioner, the King, and the Queen, who were all talking at once, while all the rest were quite silent, and looked very uncomfortable.

The moment Alice appeared, she was appealed to by all three to settle the question, and they repeated their arguments to her, though, as they all spoke at once, she found it very hard indeed to make out exactly what they said.

The executioner's argument was, that you couldn't cut off a head unless there was a body to cut it off from: that he had never had to do such a thing before, and he wasn't going to begin at his time of life.

The King's argument was, that anything that had a head could be beheaded, and that you weren't to talk nonsense.

The Queen's argument was, that if something wasn't done about it in less than no time she'd have everybody executed, all round. (It was this last remark that had made the whole party look so grave and anxious.)

Alice could think of nothing else to say but `It belongs to the Duchess: you'd better ask her about it.'

`She's in prison,' the Queen said to the executioner: `fetch her here.' And the executioner went off like an arrow.

The Cat's head began fading away the moment he was gone, and, by the time he returned, the Cat had disappeared; so the King and the executioner ran wildly up and down looking for it, while the rest of the party went back to the game... Say, cat, do you think you could learn this evaporating skill if I ever found a book on it in the library and read it to you?" she concluded the chapter with this question meant for her grey tabby sitting in the armchair – Draco chanced a peek at the two of them.

The cat meowed again and Draco, smiling to himself, translated the reply in his head, "maybe."

What was the title of this story anyway?

"...yes, I think that would do nicely," she was saying now, and Draco returned his attention to her voice, "anyway, cat, now we'll listen to The Mock Turtle's Story." The cat meowed. "Oh, of course there's no such thing, cat, it's just a story." It meowed again. "Well we'll know what it is if you would please sit up and listen," she told the cat a little impatiently.

Draco dismissed his astonishment at her apparent understanding in the cat's 'speech' and shifted his legs to seat himself more comfortably as she began reading the next chapter.

He sat quite still for the most part, holding back chuckles and grinning at times while she read. But at one point, the character Alice was introduced to a 'Gryphon', "-lying fast asleep in the sun. You've never seen a Gryphon before, have you not?" The cat meowed. "Well you're lucky then, cat. Look, here's a picture of it."

Draco couldn't help but turn around to see what she was showing to the cat; he only saw her holding the book up to the cat seated in the armchair, but he couldn't see the pages of the book itself. Frowning slightly, he turned away from the storyteller and tried to conjure up his own image of the creature 'Gryphon'.

Somehow, he saw the image of the Hippogriff that attacked him earlier in place of the Gryphon. He scoffed. "Very well," thought Draco.

Before long, her voice started to sound like it was coming from within his head.

"Beautiful soup, so rich and green,

Waiting in a hot tureen..."

He bet the soup couldn't be quite edible, being green. Unless it was actually asparagus, but those aren't beautiful. Anyway, they're not very green.

The Gryphon, whom in Draco's head took the shape of the Hippogriff, Buckles or something, picked up the ladle that lay beside the bubbling cauldron. Draco was thoroughly amazed to see that it could manage very well with properly holding said ladle, in despite of having talons and everything. 'Buckles' stirred the creamy green liquid within the cauldron as it continued singing to the soup:

`Beautiful Soup! Who cares for fish,

Game, or any other dish?

Who would not give all else for two

Pennyworth only of beautiful Soup?

Pennyworth only of beautiful Soup?

Beau-ootiful Soo-oop!

Beau-ootiful Soo-oop!

Soo-oop of the e-e-evening,

Beautiful, beauti—ful soup!'

Chapter II

2010-12-09T01:30:00.020+08:00

When Draco woke up the next morning, the first thing he realised was that he felt just a little better than he had been in the past few sleepless months. He hadn't had much sleep last night either, of course, but he had slept for some time, at least. But what he wouldn't give to remain asleep in his bed for the rest of the week...

At breakfast in the Great Hall, Malfoy looked up at the ceiling trying to remember how he managed to fall asleep earlier than usual last night, but his mind remained as dull as the sky above him. He thought he had caught a grasp on the answer when he heard Goyle say, "-have you heard the story?" but lost that grasp at the sentence which followed immediately, "Tell them, Malfoy!" and Draco found several faces looking up at him expectantly. What story? The girl who fell down the rabbit hole?

It was Pansy who cleared him of his confusion when she said to the group in general, "-he was so scared, he actually fainted!"

Ah. So they were talking about the little incident on the train. Remembering cheered Draco up considerably; nothing like spreading the story about Saint Potter fainting at the sight of a Dementor to start the first day of term. Potter walked into the Hall just as he got to the part of the story where The Boy Who Lived passed out like the pitiful wizard he really was; Draco acted out the fainting part and it earned him a roar of laughter from his audience.

He may not know the true reasons for which he had been losing sleep over a certain bushy-haired Mudblood, but for his loathing of The Boy Who Wouldn't Die, Draco did. And it's because he was Harry sodding Potter.

Really, how could anyone even think that a little baby had brought down the darkest wizard of all time by his wee little self? And then that same baby went on to isolate himself, growing up away from the Wizarding World only to return to bask in the glory that was never his, strutting around wearing that ridiculous scar like a bloody trophy from some epic battle he did not win! And this same boy had the audacity to refuse his allegiance, a pureblooded Malfoy, yet still people continued to worship that so-called hero!

Draco Malfoy hated Harry Potter with a passion.

He was still thinking about this as he sat in his first class that morning, Arithmancy, the bushy mane of Hermione Granger distracting him largely from Professor Vector's lecture.

Really, what did she see in that Potter boy? Can't she realise how inadequate he is, compared to a pureblooded Malfoy like him? Draco shook his head to get out of it; he would render himself inadequate, questioning these things about some unworthy Mudblood. Tearing his eyes off of her form sitting at the front, he succeeded to bring his focus back to the subject at hand. He always does.

After lunch, Draco set off on the damp grass of the castle grounds with Crabbe and Goyle for their next lesson, Care of Magical Creatures. He simply couldn't fathom how Dumbledore dared let the oaf Hagrid teach the subject. Really, what was the doddering old fool thinking? Draco only agreed most heartily with his father; Hogwarts would be a much better school without Dumbledore as headmaster. He was already taken off of the position last year too, if only Saint Potter hadn't stepped in and acted all heroic again.

The class met Hagrid outside his hut and then followed him to an empty paddock located near the very edge of the Forest. "Everyone gather round the fence here!" the giant called. "That's it – make sure yeh can see. Now, firs' thing yeh'll want ter do is open yer books-"

Not only they couldn't understand half of the things he says, he had listed an actual monster of a book as the set textbook for his subject, and then expected them to be able to handle the books when obviously there was no way to go about doing that without first losing an arm.

Draco was still irritated with the fact that that lout had begun teaching classes ("Really, that oaf teaching classes. This place is going to the dogs!"), until he saw Hagrid emerge from the other side of the paddock with a dozen of the most bizarre creatures Draco had ever seen.

They looked like the progeny of a horse and a giant falcon; their hind parts were that of the former, with hair and hooves, while their heads were covered in gleaming feathers, with wings and beaks like those of giant birds of prey. The talons on their front legs were steel-coloured and deadly-looking. Seeing Hippogriffs in the flesh felt very different from merely seeing pictures of them in books, as Draco had. In fact he was very fascinated by them, he silently agreed with Hagrid when the oaf said they were 'beau'iful', although he wouldn't consent to approaching any of the beasts when Hagrid asked for a volunteer.

Quite unsurprisingly, Saint Potter announced that he was up for it. Draco sneered at him as Potter climbed over the paddock fence. He even sent prayers to the heavens that Potter be killed in his bravado.

But Potter didn't wound up being killed; instead, he got treated to a ride on the stormy grey Hippogriff, one lap around the paddock. It set Draco's teeth on edge; again Potter received a great cheer for something he had done quite effortlessly.

Setting his jaw, Draco climbed over the fence and approached the grey Hippogriff that Potter had just rode; Hagrid must have chosen that one for the Golden Boy because it was the least dangerous. So Draco did exactly as Potter had, bowing low and never losing eye-contact. The beast sank onto one knee under Draco's determination, and so he felt safe to proceed and patted its beak.

"This is very easy," Draco drawled, with every intention to have Potter hear him. "I knew it must have been, if Potter could do it," he went on, patting it with disdain. It was easy, just that Potter was the one with the foolish Gryffindor bravery to decide and did it first.

"I bet you're not dangerous at all, are you?" Draco said to the Hippogriff. "Are you, you great ugly brute?"

Then Draco only had time to scream before the beast knocked him onto the ground, and there was a bleeding gash on his arm. He had never seen that much blood flow out of him that he panicked. "I'm dying!" was all he managed to yell. "I'm dying, look at me! It's killed me!"

"Yer not dyin'!" he heard the giant say before he felt himself lifted off ground.

Chapter I

2010-12-09T01:30:00.018+08:00

September first that year was a rainy day, and also the day that Hogwarts Express leaves King's Cross Station for Hogsmeade Station. As was the norm, Draco got up early to make the journey that starts at exactly eleven o'clock in the morning. Despite the events of last year, he looked forward to the new term, although he wasn't eager to endure the long, monotonous journey northward aboard the scarlet train. Of course he wasn't going to be able to while it away with sleep.

He shook his father's hand and allowed his mother a kiss to his forehead before climbing aboard the train. Same with his previous journeys to and from Hogwarts on this train, he shared a compartment with fellow Slytherins Crabbe, Goyle, Blaise and Pansy. He looked backed to the platform where his parents stood, subtly waving back to his mother and paying his father no mind; Lucius was consulting his pocket watch again, not bothering to look up. Draco shrugged it off; it's not like they were leaving off to fight in a war or something, it was just school. With this thought in mind, he scorned at the other students' parents who were waving enthusiastically at the leaving train.

The journey went on, and as it did, the sky got darker and the rain heavier. Boredom crept up on him as Draco's companions fell asleep one by one. Finally, he was the only one left awake in their compartment, so Draco slid out and began wandering again. He hesitated at first, thinking it might look bad if he were to walk around aimlessly alone, but ultimately decided it was okay as long as he spared everyone he runs into an insult.

He had only gone a few minutes when he spotted a particularly fat gray tabby. It was only minding its own business, pawing a door into one compartment a little way off ahead of him, but Draco just had this urge to go and kick it. Made up his mind to do just that, but was stopped by someone calling his name. He didn't have to turn around to confirm that it was Crabbe, which meant that Goyle had come along, too. They are never going to leave him alone, aren't they?

Nonetheless, he turned to nod at the two fools before turning back to see the cat getting picked up by a pair of hands and disappeared into the compartment. He sighed a little and spun around to walk back up the corridor and met up with the boys who had just showed up to join him. Suddenly, he heard the unmistakable voice of Hermione Granger. He realised that he was glad to hear her voice again, but quickly managed to shake off the feeling. He motioned for Crabbe and Goyle to follow; time to go greet the Golden Trio.

Draco pulled open the compartment door and said in his usual lazy drawl, "Well, look who it is: Potty and the Weasel." He smirked, remembering an article in the Prophet from last week before continuing, "I heard your father finally got his hands on some gold this summer, Weasley. Did your mother die of shock?"

Weasley was on his feet in a flash, knocking something to the floor which prompted Draco to take a step back. He wasn't going to come in contact with anything that looked that filthy.

Then he heard a noise from further inside the compartment. He spotted a man sleeping at the back. "Who's that?"

"New teacher," Potter answered him. "What were you saying, Malfoy?"

Draco narrowed his eyes at the Boy Who Lived before finally darting them to his dear mudblood. Her eyes shot daggers at him. Ah, so she had fully recovered.

"C'mon," he muttered to the two boys standing on either side of him and left.

Draco chose to stay in his compartment for the rest of the journey. The rain thickened and it got even darker, until now the window was completely black and Draco couldn't see anything through it without straining his eyes. He realised too that they were slowing down. They can't have already arrived, it felt too soon. Why were they stopping?

Draco followed Pansy with his eyes as she stood up from her seat and poked her head out the door. "What's going on?" Blaise was asking. Suddenly, all the light left his vision and he heard Pansy gasp. The train came to a screeching halt, throwing some of the luggage overhead onto the sleeping bodies of Crabbe and Goyle. Draco wisely remained in his seat until his eyes adjusted to the darkness enough to see the outlines of Blaise and the others.

There was something just outside the compartment. It got very cold, and then he saw a black-cloaked figure gliding across their door. He knew this feeling all too well; hopelessness.

The door slid open and a Dementor stood before them. It fell silent, nobody dared to move, until finally the creature turned to leave for the next compartment.

When the lights returned and the train began moving again, they promptly shook themselves out of their trance. Draco was already looking forward to hear what Dumbledore had to say about what just happened.

He hated that he had to walk in the rain from the station to the school carriages. Now he sat in one of them; wet, cold, hungry, and a bit shaken from the Dementor's visit. Draco was in a most foul mood, at least up until he overheard Longbottom saying something as he was getting off his carriage. It was simply delightful news.

"You fainted, Potter? Is Longbottom telling the truth? You actually fainted?" Potter was just getting out of his carriage. Of course he was going to tease Potter about it. In fact, Draco shall taunt him with it for the rest of his miserable life. What's so great about The Boy Who Lived now?

Granted, Dementors are a great deal frightening, but since nobody else was so afraid of them that they fainted, while Potter did, it was only fitting to make a big deal out of it. So Draco shoved past Granger to face the bespectacled boy full in the face as he taunts him. But then the new teacher from before showed up and Draco was deterred.

The Welcoming Feast that followed was otherwise uneventful if not for Draco being distracted the whole time by Granger – or rather, her absence. They were filing into the Great Hall when Draco heard Professor McGonagall's voice calling over the sea of students for both Potter and Granger. Perhaps the professor had been notified about the incident on the train with Potter, but what had Granger gotten herself into? The question kept his attention from the Sorting Hat's song and, later, a greeting from a first-year who had just taken the seat beside him.

It was now midnight, he knew from the distant tolling of bells. It wasn't those bells, or the loud snores of his dorm mates from either side of his bed that kept him awake at night. He had yet to figure out what exactly was the reason for his current state; motionless, his eyes unblinking and his mind a blank. Ultimately, he rose to his feet and got dressed to once again stroll along the corridors and halls of Hogwarts castle.

But when he reached Slytherin dungeon, the fireplace that was supposed to be off was blazing, and there was a voice there. Draco stopped in his tracks and strained his ears to listen in.

It was a girl's voice and she spoke barely above whispering. Draco thought it odd; for one thing, the common room was always empty when he passed it to venture outside at this hour, and for another, he was sure she was talking to herself because he heard no other voice. He poked his head through the doorway and looked to where he heard her voice was coming from.

She was sitting on the floor near the fireplace, and she was indeed alone. She must be mad, talking to herself in the dead of night. Talking to herself, period.

But Draco had not come down here to entertain a mentally challenged brat, so he began making his way out of the room. And while he was at it, Draco thought it best to stay hidden from the stranger, lunatic or otherwise.

He kept to the shadows and tried inching along the walls to get past her, but soon realised that he couldn't manage it after all; a part of the wall just before the passageway that lead outside was fully alight by the fire. Draco contemplated making a dash for it, or to simply return to his room, but he decided instead to just retreat into an alcove and sit down on the floor.

The girl was apparently reading aloud from a storybook – to a cat, no less, which had perched itself in an armchair just in front of her in a rather dignified manner. It was the very same tabby which Draco had wanted to kick earlier on the train ride this afternoon. And the story she was telling was full of utter nonsense; Draco found himself listening to her intently, because here in the safety of this darkness, it was alright for him to actually listen to someone without needing to come up with an insult to shut them up with.

"...when the Rabbit actually took a watch out of its waist-coat pocket, and looked at it, and then hurried on, Alice started to her feet, for it flashed across her mind that she had never before seen a rabbit with either a waistcoat-pocket or a watch to take out of it, and burning with curiosity, she ran across the field after it, and was just in time to see it pop down a large rabbit-hole under the hedge. In another moment down went Alice after it, never once considering how in the world she was going to get out again..."

Utter nonsensical. Of course now he wanted to know what this story was about and what was to become of the reckless girl named Alice. In fact he was so committed to listening to the story, he soon found himself drinking from a bottle which had the words "Drink Me" on it before following Alice through the little door in the wall in hopes of getting out of Wonderland.

"Wait!" he called out to Alice, who was quickly disappearing from view. He kept chasing after her, but suddenly he heard an odd noise. It sounded like some kind of an animal squeaking. He stopped running and looked around, but saw nothing. That was when a hedgehog hit him square in the face, knocking him onto the ground.

Draco groaned as he sat up and started rubbing his eyes. What the bloody Hell just happened? He sat there numbly for a minute, and then realised he had actually fallen asleep on the floor. He quickly turned to check on the girl who was telling, no, reading the story aloud to her cat.

The fire was out and he was now alone in the common the room. He surprised himself when he released a sigh of relief. What was he relieved about again? Hauling himself off the floor, he made a silent promise to return there tomorrow night and see if she was going to read the rest of the story. That must be it, the reason for his newfound relief; no more lonely nights of patrolling the castle afterhours and all the while trying to avoid Filch and his cat.

Stormy Nights - Author's Notes

2010-08-18T16:58:00.003+08:00

First Night – Second Night – Third Night – Fourth Night – Fifth Night – Sixth Night – Last Night

Who/Where is Abby?
For the purposes of this story and this story alone, she is just an OC in the background, the one who played a sort of major part in bringing the two together. Sort of.

She did move out of the place to go after her older sister. She only has that one elder sister, and another younger brother. Neither of them gets any proper name because they are quite irrelevant to this story.

Skip this paragraph if you think you can't handle it. You've been warned.
She is The Vagabond, one and the same. Silversmith the silversmith is just a metal charmer i.e. wizard whose memory and background were exploited by her as her undercover identity etc.

But there is no Heads' Dorm in any South Tower in canon!
No there isn't. This is a fanfic. Now that we've come to that, prefects played no part in the preparations for Hallowe'en, nor did Dramione happen in canon.

A monsoon in Hogwarts, seriously?
The writing of this fic began on a rainy day. I write better when it rains, and when I put rainy scenes in my fics.

Was that really the end? No sequels?
Yes, that was the end to this part of the story. But that doesn't mean I'm about to write the sequel any time soon.

Why only seven chapters?
Have you not read the books?! Seven is the most magically powerful number! D:

First Night – Second Night – Third Night – Fourth Night – Fifth Night – Sixth Night – Last Night

Tuesday

2010-08-18T05:33:00.002+08:00

First Night – Second Night – Third Night – Fourth Night – Fifth Night – Sixth Night – This is the Last Chapter – Author's Notes

It was white all around. He could see nothing, hear nothing and feel nothing. It was like he had always been there; from the day he was born, perhaps even long before that, and it will continue so until he dies. His mind was a blank.

He suddenly heard a voice; a somewhat familiar voice calling out from afar. Colour slowly began to fill his vision as Draco awoke from his sleep.

His eyes then met a pair of beautiful brown eyes. Draco remembered those eyes.

"Are you awake?" Granger asked him.

It all came flooding back to him in an instant; he'd been asleep, another dreamless sleep, and it was now Tuesday morning. His mind distantly registered that it was also drizzling outside his windows.

"I am now."

"Sorry, I... Erm, don't you have classes to attend this morning?" she inquired.

Draco forced his mind to think – it was not an easy feat, after it had been blank for the entire time he was asleep.

"No, I don't have any classes on Tuesday mornings," he replied, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. "You're not going to get ready for yours?"

"No, I don't have any classes this morning either."

Draco checked the clock on his bedside table. "We've missed breakfast."

"Did you want to get breakfast?"

"No, I'm not hungry. Yourself?"

"No, I'm okay."

Granger then climbed out of his bed and Draco followed her with his eyes. For reasons unknown, he found the rabbit print on her pyjama to his liking. She looked absolutely adorable, even with her hair currently looking like brown noodles.

Draco mentally shook himself – controlling his mind wasn't an easy feat either at the moment. He lifted the comforter off himself and got out of bed.

It was lunch in the Great Hall. The noise of the students uplifted Hermione; the atmosphere was otherwise gloomier than ever, with rain pattering down threatening to soak her meal. It didn't, of course, because this was the Great Hall. She wished again for the sun.

Truthfully, she admitted, it wasn't just the weather. It was also a question she'd been pondering on for days now. Hermione never liked it when her questions are left unanswered – she would do everything within her power to quell this. But for this particular question, there was only one person who could provide her with an answer. Thanks to her cowardice though, she currently suffers being uninformed.

Cowardice, hah! What kind of Gryffindor was she if she couldn't even ask a simple question? Hermione looked over to the Slytherin table beyond; Malfoy was again reading instead of eating. She decided that she would ask him tonight. Yes, she will, by thunder.

"Hermione?" it was Ginny again. Hermione thought there was a tinge of fear in her voice.

"Hurm?"

"Is there something wrong?"

At that, Hermione spared her red-haired companion a challenging look as she replied, "None at all, Ginny. I think you worry too much."

"Well, I'm not sure what I'm worried about currently. You were looking at Malfoy like you wanted to do him in or something. Really, he should worry."

"Oh?" Hermione didn't expect that. Is that what her resolution looked like, murder? She was now blinking at Ginny. The other girl only shrugged.

Hermione decided that an explanation was in order, "I just have something I need to ask him. You know how I am when I have a question that needs answering. It's no big deal, really."

Ginny arched one fine eyebrow. "From the looks of it, it's a very big, important question."

Hermione chose not to keep at it. She quickly turned her attention to lunch.

Draco's concentration on his reading was spoiled by a voice. "What are you doing?"

He turned to look at his friend, Blaise. "Reading, is it not obvious enough?"

"You weren't at breakfast this morning, you must be hungry. And yet, you're reading."

"It's a reading assignment for Defence after this, alright?"

"You're supposed to be finished with that already! What were you doing last night?"

The question caught him off his guard. Draco tried hard not to stammer, "I was doing another assignment."

"And this morning?"

"Really, Blaise. It doesn't concern you," Draco said, exasperated.

The dark boy sighed. "Are you sure you're alright?"

"Oh, why shouldn't I be?"

"Because the Head Girl's been looking at you funny."

His head then snapped up to check on the bushy-haired girl. She wasn't looking at him anymore.

"Well, you missed it. She had murder in her eyes, I swear."

Draco realised he should be worried if Blaise was telling the truth. "Are you sure?"

"Positive," was Blaise's solemn reply. "Did you do something to piss her off?"

Draco quickly searched his memories for the most recent time Granger had scorned at him with utmost derision. "I don't think so."

"Have you told her then?" Blaise decided to ask.

The blonde only gave him a warning look in reply.

Blaise ploughed on, "you're only delaying the inevitable, I'm telling you. If you wait too long, you'll regret it."

"Well if I am to take your word, I might as well wait until her current murderous state subsides, wouldn't you agree?"

No more was said between them after that.

Draco was well within his right to worry, of course. The last time Granger spared him one such look, he had received a sound punch to the face. At the time, Draco had thought it was something she needed, and so he decided to give her the chance. He didn't expect it to hurt as much as it did, though. Nonetheless, he was glad he did it.

Draco had showed up to meet his storyteller later that night with a bruise on his cheekbone. She had laughed when she first saw it.

"It's not funny, Silversmith," he had told her with a pout.

"Oh, but it is. Whoever was it that dared punch the Slytherin Prince in his face?" Silversmith was still chuckling as she said it.

Draco seated himself in his usual armchair. "Granger." He almost grinned as he said the name, but he didn't because his face would hurt. Silversmith had laughed some more.

"It hurts, you evil monster. Stop that."

Her laughter died down soon enough. "Okay, I'm sorry." Another chuckle. "Really, I am." And now a grin. Draco narrowed his cold eyes at her.

She was unyielding. "Anyway, why did you do it?" she leaned over, choking a teddy bear under her crouched figure.

"Do what? Someone punched me; I thought you figured that out."

"Exactly, someone punched you. You must have provoked that person, obviously. You were being a prat again. And we both know our dear Hermione's been under heavy stress, with her overlapping classes, assignments, helping the groundkeeper out with the trial of his pet; really, she's a timebomb ready to explode. You pissed her off on purpose, Malfoy, I know. So why'd you do it?"

Silversmith was the reason Draco accepted Granger's superiority over him, as much as he refused to admit it – both seemed to possess intelligence that far surpasses their peers and likely it was because of how many books they read. Although the pale girl was a curious case; because while she can make such assessments speedily, she seemed slow in understanding her lessons.

"Well, it just seemed the perfect timing to let her blow off some steam."

The girl had smiled at his reply, which had made Draco believe that he had done the absolute right thing; Granger had needed someone to vent the pressure on, and he had been there for her. He was perfect for the job, after all.

"You must be so proud of yourself for that, huh?"

Draco gave an elegant snort at that. Yes, that was true.

"So why didn't you get yourself to the hospital wing and be rid of that shameful mark?"

"Obviously it'll be even more shameful to admit that I got punch in the face by some girl."

Silversmith gave him a small laugh. She then produced a bottle of brown liquid from her pocket and handed it over to him without a word, but Draco figured it must be an ointment of some kind. He had briefly wondered why she would need to carry it around with her. Then again, she was a curious kid, and was keen on doing things for no reason at all.

"You could be someone nice for Hermione, you know. And you might as well drop the charade soon."

Draco had merely chortled. "This is no charade, Silversmith."

"Maybe not all of it. You know the best time to tell someone that you want them is before someone else does so."

"Hmph. That Weasel isn't about to make his move anytime soon, I'm sure."

"Well, you never know. It could be someone else. Surely you two can't be the only ones who have your eyes on her."

He had paid the remark no actual thought, until one winter's day by the Lake where he stood trembling in frustration at himself and the scene before his eyes; Granger's first kiss had been claimed by someone else, and it wasn't Weasley after all. It took him every ounce of his might to still his hand from reaching into his pocket for his wand and Avada the boy whose arms held Granger close; that sneaky, conniving Viktor Krum.

The bell rang and Draco was startled out of his brooding. He felt Blaise's squeeze on his shoulder and decided to take a gulp from his goblet before picking up his book bag and standing up to leave. He could distinctly make out Granger's bushy mane in his peripheral vision as he left the Hall with Blaise.

Professor Binns was droning on his lectures in front of the class again – his class of about 20 students was already ignoring him before he even began, as was the norm in History of Magic classes. More than half of them were asleep while the rest had their attention on matters other than his lecture. Hermione was usually an exception, but today, even Hermione Granger wasn't paying him any mind because said mind was elsewhere. She was gazing outside the window far beyond the pouring rain, thinking on unanswered questions and dwelling in old memories.

What does Malfoy think about her now? Surely he was past the whole filthy mudblood prejudice since the war was now over and both sides of blood status fanatics and pro-muggles had suffered great loss. Otherwise, he wouldn't be at all civil, let alone as caring as he seemed, towards her nowadays.

And then there was his friendship with Abigail since almost six years ago. The girl was half a muggle, a fact she never bothered to keep secret; it was only more probable if Malfoy were to hate her on principle. He was still a git then, even, and yet, they became friends. Perhaps Abigail really wasn't defending him just for the sake of it, perhaps he did deserve some of her decency. Hermione realised now that there was always more to the arrogant git than he had made himself out to be.

Anyway, how close were those two? Was Malfoy simply using Hermione for a stepping stone to get over the other girl? Had he really mistaken her for Abigail that Wednesday night? Oh, well, obviously. He had called her 'Abby'! Which raises the next and most important question: what if –

"Fletcher!" Professor Binn's voice boomed across the room. He was telling Justin Finch-Fletchley off for charming a paper airplane to fly around the room. Hermione was rather suspicious of Macmillan to be the one who actually did it.

The professor continued on with his monotonous lecture in a moment and the atmosphere was immediately dull and sluggish again. Hermione went back to her ponderings.

So how close were the two Slytherins? Was it anything like what she had with Ron in their younger days? What if Malfoy knew it was her that night - would he have accepted her presence there?

The last time Hermione saw Abigail was on one of their usual sessions in the library on the last night before Christmas break in Hermione's fourth year. A majority of the students had chosen to stay over for the holidays; most were going to attend the Yule Ball. It was a night much colder than usual, and Hermione's second year companion sitting across from her at the desk was looking much paler for it.

Her voice was low when she asked Hermione, "So you're going to attend the ball with Krum?"

Hermione was quite surprised. She had only told Ginny about it and no one else. Abigail hadn't expected her to answer, however. "Sorry. I just wanted to see how you'd react to that."

It had only confused Hermione further. It was the unlikeliest question to ask out of the blue, even for her. Especially since she was going to the ball with Viktor.

"Why, how... I didn't... You –" she stuttered.

"I just saw you two here the other night... by chance, I swear." Her voice had picked up a volume then. It was hoarse from severe lack of use.

"Oh. You haven't told anyone, have you?" Hermione had asked with a worried look.

"I see no reason to."

That wasn't a comforting answer at all, coming from Abigail. She was prone to doing things for exactly no reason whatsoever, in any case. "Promise me you won't." Although she could still be trusted to keep promises.

"I promise I won't tell anyone." Now it was comforting.

They were silent except for the turning of pages on their books for a good ten minutes.

Then Abigail had spoken up again, "why the secrecy anyway?"

"Skeeter." The nosy madwoman. She had spat out the name with condensed repulsion.

Abigail had nodded in understanding.

It was Hermione who asked the next question another ten minutes later.

"Are you attending the ball?"

"I'm a second year."

"No one's asked you? You could, with an older student, see."

"Urm, no..." the girl tilted her head a little to the side.

"Hurm. I thought Malfoy would've asked you, if he was as okay as you always claim him to be."

"He is okay, Hermione. I'm just not going to stay here."

"Okay, alright, forget what I said," she had raised both hands in surrender – she didn't want to hear anymore of her defending the git.

Presently, Hermione sensed a disturbance in the usually dreary air of the History of Magic class; it had ended, and the students were packing up and leaving. Hermione stood to join in with the crowd. Faintly, it sinked in her mind that the last thing Abigail had ever said to her had held a meaning in it, "I'm just not going to stay here."

Now there were even more questions she needed to ask Malfoy.

Draco was leaning back on the couch in the Heads' common room later that night. He closed his eyes to better immerse himself in the sounds of the rain outside. The cold and darkness it brought was simply perfect; Granger was sure to spend another night in his room. This time, he will tell her everything and get his dilemma over with once and for all. Hopefully she would be over her homicidal mood by the time she returns to the dorms.

Draco heard her enter five minutes after the bells tolled nine o'clock. Count on the Head Girl to be punctual. He was surprised, however, when he opened his eyes to find her standing right in front of him with her books still clutched to her chest.

"Hey, Malfoy. Do you mind...?" her eyes then darted to the windows – water was bashing on them mercilessly.

Draco didn't need her to finish her question. "Well, just come up anytime you feel like it."

Granger sighed in relief and beamed at him. Draco decided not to look away this time, and returned her smile genuinely. Her smile then widened, which intimidated Draco a little bit. He barely managed to avoid turning his face away. His gaze followed her as she went up the staircase. Draco chose to stay back a bit longer to straighten out his thoughts. Facing her tonight calls for some Gryffindor bravery; a lot of stubbornness and stupidity.

Hermione too was struggling to straighten out her thoughts; she just wasn't doing it sitting down, instead she was pacing up and down the length of her room. How should she start? It was unbelievable how hard it was to answer this. Should she try beating around the bush first, or just be completely straightforward?

Remembering that Malfoy was already waiting for her in his room, she hastily decided to ask the least important question first, and then see if some Gryffindor courage wouldn't turn up in time to save her from embarrassing herself too much.

She knocked on the door thrice but heard no answer. She knocked again before unlatching the door anyway. She peered in to find the room empty; perhaps Malfoy was in the bathroom or something. Ah, well, he did say she could come in anytime she felt like it. She would wait for him here.

It was only her fourth time being in the room and, strangely enough, it already felt familiar to be there. She found herself drawn to the tall bookshelf in the corner, and then she remembered Malfoy saying he had his own copy of 'The Neverending Story'. She scanned the shelf for the title but failed to find it. Hermione shrugged it off and proceeded to run her fingers over the many tomes on the bookshelf. Some of the muggle classics were there; The Picture of Dorian Gray, Dracula, Frankenstein, the list went on. Some of the spines bore no title at all. Others were titles Hermione didn't recognise; perhaps they were non-muggle. She pulled one of these out in interest.

It was a leather-bound, about-one-and-a-half-inch thick volume. The cover was untitled, too, and it seemed quite old; the red leather looked faded and its pages were yellow with age. Hermione turned to the first page and found herself a little disturbed by what it held; written in silver ink were the words, 'I reign this book: Abby'. She replaced the book on the shelf and took out a second one, opening it to the first page to find the same thing. She removed yet another one, this time from the very bottom of the shelf, but to her displease, it was not any different. She then backed away from the shelf and questioned with a dread; were the entire content of this tall shelf hers?

The door behind her opened then with a click, and Hermione spun on her heels to find Malfoy.

"Picked out a story yet?" Malfoy asked in a steady voice.

Hermione only shook her head in reply.

"Are you alright?" he had stopped in his tracks.

She wanted to scream at herself; she showed up tonight to ask him questions, now ask, for Merlin's sake!

"Actually, Malfoy, how about we finish 'The Neverending Story' together, starting tonight?" Hermione thought it was just the question to ask; the book wasn't on the shelf, and presuming everything were Abigail's, he would need to explain a lot of things which will answer most of her questions without the need for her to actually ask them.

Malfoy frowned a little. "Are you sure you don't want a different story?"

Hermione didn't miss the sadness in his voice. She bet it was also in his eyes, were he to look at her then.

"Yes... You're currently reading it too, aren't you? Don't you want to finish it?" she goaded. Why she felt the need to press on, she never knew.

"I..." Malfoy went quiet then, and seemed to hesitate before finally sighing as if defeated. "I guess it's about time to..."

He turned and walked to the bed. Hermione found herself on his heels.

Malfoy bent down and pulled something heavy out from under the bed. It was a dark red trunk, and it wasn't as dusty as one could expect of objects kept under beds as big as his; this trunk wasn't left under there to be forever ignored. Hermione recognised the thin, slanted writings on the tag attached to the trunk: 'Abigail Silversmith'. She gasped.

"This is Abigail's!"

"Yes."

"Why do you have it?"

"She didn't want it anymore," he answered, off-handed, and opened the trunk to reveal its contents.

Hermione allowed herself three seconds to look over the items before going back to bombarding him with questions. The trunk was apparently charmed to fit more itinerary than was physically possible; she was familiar with the Extension Charm, of course. And there was just about everything in there; her clothes, shoes, book bags, quills, ink bottles, a drawer, rolls of parchment, more books... It seemed like wherever it was that Abigail had gone to, she hadn't thought to bring anything with her.

"What do you mean 'she didn't want it'?" Surely it needed to be given to him before he could keep it?

Malfoy gave another sigh. "On the last night before Christmas break in fourth year, I went back to the common room to meet her. She wasn't there, only this trunk was left on her usual spot on the floor," he then pulled out a stuffed toy from the depths of the trunk, "this was the only 'note' she left on it."

Hermione took the teddy bear from him. She recognised Theodore; it had always accompanied Abigail on their sessions in the library. Hermione remembered the first time Abigail talked to the teddy bear in front of her, she had thought her insane.

"It's in here, somewhere..." Malfoy was now pulling some of the things out so he could search for the book with ease. Hermione lent him a hand.

Some of the books in there were written in foreign languages. Hermione paid them no heed until she held one in her hand which had a lock on it. A book with a lock is always a diary, and this book's lock was damaged; someone had tried to force it open and had succeeded, and Hermione looked to Malfoy suspiciously. Malfoy was watching her, too.

"Curiosity got the better of me," he admitted guiltily.

Hermione raised one eyebrow. "Indeed." Although, truth be told, he wasn't the only one in the room who wanted to know what the carefree oddity had written in a locked diary.

"It was no good, though. She used Invisible Ink." He tried to dismiss it.

Hermione was not going to leave it at that. "There are such things as Revealers, you know."

Malfoy frowned. "She wouldn't appreciate that." So he did thought of it.

"And yet, you broke it open."

"I realised my mistake too late."

"Come on, aren't you curious?"

Malfoy considered it for a moment too long. Hermione stood up to his shock and headed for the door.

"Where are you going?"

"To get my Revealer."

A minute later, the diary now lay on his bed and they both sat watching it. All that was left to do was to spread some of Hermione's Revealer onto the pages and their curiosity would be dispelled, but neither had made any move to that end in the past few minutes. It was Hermione who finally broke the heavy silence.

"Ah, we're here now. Don't you want to do the honours?"

"Granger, she wrote it in Invisible Ink, and it was locked. This is an insult to her memory."

"Are you sure she's really gone? Perhaps she wrote somewhere in here about her future plans of moving out to a different country; how delightful it'll be to find our long lost friend!"

Malfoy set his jaw and his knuckles whitened as he balled his hands into fists; an attempt to control himself for no reason, Hermione thought.

She sighed. "She left it in an unlocked trunk. In the common room, no less, where we both know she could've expected you to find it. I know Abigail; she wasn't using Invisible Ink to hide from you of all people. She would've known you'd think of using a Revealer. Maybe she didn't have time to write a long letter explaining everything before she left, and decided that this diary will do."

Draco was sorely tempted to agree with her. But he knew Abigail too; she wasn't one to have any reason behind anything she did. She could've simply forgotten about the diary when she left the trunk for him in the common room, assuming she did left it there for him. And, really? Not even the smallest note?

"We'll look for the last entry. Just that one last entry," he finally decided.

Hermione pulled the book to herself and unstopped her bottle of Revealer. They started smearing the liquid over the pages, starting from the back. They didn't have to look long because Abigail's final entry was on the second-last page. It bled out to the surface as the Revealer was absorbed by the paper.

December 17th, 1994

This will be my last entry, I just know it, and it saddens me. I've been here for exactly two years today - only two short years! - and already I must leave again to follow my sister. She could've at least waited until I graduated from Hogwarts before she must depart, but no... she wouldn't even wait until after this term ends! She just had to leave in the middle of what could be the single most interesting year of my entire life!

The rest of the entry was a summary of the Triwizard Tournament from Abigail's point of view. It was rather dull; the girl was by no means a decent storyteller when it came to her own stories. Further on, she had written down nothing more of her plans of moving out with this sister she never talked about.

"I never knew she had a sister," Hermione announced as they finished the last paragraph, which consisted of only one sentence: "I've got a feeling I'll be back here again – not that I ever come to stay, but still."

"She did. I met her once during one of our visits to Silvercraft. I don't remember her name, but she seemed like an older, more sobered version of Silversmith."

"How come she never talks about her?"

"She never talks about any of them. I don't even know how many of them there were. Something about being overshadowed by her older siblings, I think, was why she never talked about them." Draco was right about that, Hermione thought. One of her best friends had suffered from a similar situation; but Ron never had problems with talking about his brothers.

She deflated a little as she remembered about Ron. One of her questions was whether Malfoy and Abigail ever as close to each other as she had been that one time with Ron.

"No mention of where she might currently be..." Malfoy mused aloud, closing the diary.

"Maybe in the previous entry." Without warning, Hermione grabbed the book and splayed almost half of the contents of her vial onto the pages.

"What are you doing?" Malfoy couldn't have stopped her, and Hermione thought he ought to thank her. He can't have broken the lock just to read that one last entry.

However, neither of them could decide whether they felt disappointed or relieved to find that there weren't any other entry. Almost every single page was filled instead with untidy sketches of people and classrooms. There was the Great Hall, the paved courtyard, Slytherin dungeon, Professor McGonagall, Professor McGonagall in her Animagus cat form, other professors while giving lectures, and there were even sketches of the late Professor Snape sitting at his desk during potions class in the dungeons. Both Hermione and Draco agreed that these were the reason she didn't understand anything during classes.

They were then surprised by a drawing of themselves sitting opposite to each other at a desk in the library. Upon further inspection, the drawing turned out to be two different drawings drawn at different times, but within the same page and set in the same place. The end-result was most interesting. Draco wondered if she hadn't drawn it that way on purpose.

"Never would've thought Silversmith had it in her," he said as he closed the book. Hermione watched as he replaced it in the trunk.

"Why do you still call her by that name?"

Malfoy looked at her as though the answer should be very obvious, "that was her name."

"No. I mean, you called her Abby once."

"Oh..." a pause, "I never really called her that before. I picked it up from these," he then motioned to the various books in the trunk. Hermione knew that each of them must have had her signature on their first pages: "I reign this book: Abby". It wasn't even grammatically correct, if one were to consider it as a sentence.

Draco suddenly remembered that Granger had come in here to listen to a story. He dug deeper in the trunk for the copy of 'The Neverending Story'. He had to dip the entire length of his arm into the trunk before pulling out said copy. Granger appeared to be amused by the circumstance.

He was dusting the book in his hands when she spoke again, "you don't seem to look forward to finish reading this story..."

He chuckled, "yea, no, I didn't want to,"

"No? Why?"

Draco sighed; he didn't want to admit the answer to that question himself. He decided to answer her truthfully anyway. "She was going to finish reading it to me that night."

And then it was silent for a while.

"Did you love her?"

Draco was surprised to find himself involuntarily chuckling at that, and soon he realised with a calmer heart, "no... And now I think, I never really missed her that much."

It was the entire truth; he had been lonely for some time and he was only sad then. He would have liked to see Silversmith again, but he was perfectly fine about never seeing her anymore. All Silversmith ever was to him, he accepted, was the one thing he had in common with Granger, their one mutual friend. And now... now he has Granger herself sitting beside him in his room. No, he wasn't missing Silversmith very much.

He turned to face Granger now; there was nothing for it, he's telling her everything. Now.

"You thought I was her the other night," Granger bowed her head low as she said it. Draco inched closer to her.

What's going on? Is she... crying?

"Well, yes."

Granger gave a small laugh at that, but she was crying. She wiped a tear that was running down her cheek with one sleeve.

"Ah, of course you did," she sniffled, "you even called me Abby."

"Mm-hm."

"Just out of curiosity, Malfoy, what if you knew it was me?" she was still crying and smiling at the same time. She looked most delectable.

Draco was now very close to her. She didn't seem to realise it though. "Well, if I knew it was you, I would have... right there and then..."

His time was nigh; it was now or never, or at least before somebody else comes along to take her away from him.

Hermione was discouraged when he answered her so straightforwardly. She felt her heart ache, and her eyes stung with tears, but most of all she felt like killing herself; what did she expect? That Malfoy actually liked her? That he wanted her? How very foolish of her. She was extremely upset with herself, so she shed the tears.

She didn't realise how close Malfoy was to her until she felt both his hands on her cheeks. He brushed away a tear with his thumb, and looked somewhat remorseful. Hermione wanted to tell him that it wasn't his fault she was crying, and he needn't force himself to try and comfort her. She had been too presumptuous; she knew she should have expected to be disappointed.

But then she suddenly felt his breath on her face, and it dawned on her that he was leaning in closer. Much too close. He moved steadily and slowly enough to let her know of his intentions. She contemplated the whole situation, thought back on the answers he'd so far given to her questions, and finally grasped that he hadn't quite finish answering the last one.

From the looks of it, it appeared he had decided to show her his answer instead of just telling her. So Hermione leaned into his touch, and her eyes closed as Malfoy finally claimed her lips.

The shock that went through her entire body the moment he gently pressed his lips against hers was something she had never experienced before. She felt him shiver slightly, and she knew that he had felt the same sensation. It was amplified about a thousand-fold when Hermione kissed him back.

Draco still had his eyes closed as they broke apart. He had never felt anything so wonderful throughout his entire life; he had kissed Granger for the first time, after wanting to do it for the longest time. And she had returned his kiss.

He looked to see Granger crying afresh; this time, he dared told himself, it was tears of overjoy. At long last, he found the courage to confess to her with unmasked sincerity, "I'm sorry I waited too long to tell you this; I was never a better person than you, Hermione. And I really am sorry for having spent the entire time of our acquaintance telling you otherwise."

She all but laughed a little at that before throwing herself in his arms. "True, that. Apology accepted." She smiled into his shirt. He chuckled and it reverberated in his chest; she loved the feeling of it.

They remained like that for some time – embracing each other, exchanging silent apologies and pointless confessions – until finally, Hermione fell asleep listening to the beating of his heart.

Draco hauled himself and Hermione off the floor and tucked her in his bed. Then he slid in beside her and pulled her closer before drifting to sleep without any need of the nasty drug; for the first time, Draco felt himself forgiven.

First Night – Second Night – Third Night – Fourth Night – Fifth Night – Sixth Night – This is the Last Chapter – Author's Notes

Monday

2010-08-10T15:10:00.002+08:00

First Night – Second Night – Third Night – Fourth Night – Fifth Night – This is the Sixth Chapter – Last Night – Author's Notes

Rain was pattering on his windows as Draco sat awake in his bed. The recently repaired alarm clock on his bedside table had gone seven soft ticks past six-eleven in the morning. He hadn't set the alarm this time for fear of waking up the person sleeping soundly next to him. Even now, hours since he had stopped reading a story to her, Draco had yet to take his eyes off his companion; Hermione Granger, the bane of his existence. Or the reason for his existence? He shook off the thought.

He never did succeed in deciphering his exact feelings for her. Most of the time, it was certainly admiration. At the moment, however, he envied the peace that had settled upon her tired features. While she could drowse away all her worries, he hadn't had actual sleep in years. For some time now, he had had to choose between emptiness or restlessness, all nightmare long. His eyes now finally travelled from the fragile body beside him to the vial of sleeping draught on his other side. He picked it up from the table and placed it in the drawer instead; he didn't want Granger to see that.

Draco leaned back on his headboard and let out a gentle sigh. Granger shifted a little in her sleep, but she didn't wake up. How he envied her serenity. But then again, his insomnia was not her fault. Perhaps only partially. Draco's mind swam back to that day some years ago.

Crabbe had slammed Draco's hand in a door because Draco had wanted an excuse to go to the hospital wing. He needed to see it for himself; had the Slytherin heir really went for precious Potty's mudblood? He had thought he'd finally claim victory. He had thought he'd finally find peace. But when he saw the rigid body laid helplessly on the bed with a mask of pure horror in place of her usual innocence, he only found himself entirely mistaken and heartbroken. He instantly felt hatred for the perpetrator despite not knowing who they were, he hated his father for having something to do with it, he even started hating the entire prejudice of pureblood supremacy, but most of all he really hated himself for not being able to do anything about it. Between him and the petrified body on that bed, he was the helpless one.

That was when it started; he simply couldn't go to sleep anymore, not without exhaustion or medication to aid him in it. He was going to give up entirely and accept that he was ending up insane, but then he met Silversmith.

He remembered the night they began talking. It was after he had found out that her cat had died. He had crept out of his room again to check on her in the common room. Indeed she was there, with Theodore the teddy bear from the night before sitting in her lap and she was reading a book, too, but she wasn't reading aloud like she usually did. Draco remembered his heart sinking to find her silent that night.

So he had then decided to come up to her for the first time.

"Why aren't you reading aloud?" he had sounded disappointed.

"I was waiting for you," she had spoken just above a whisper. "Even if I know you're sitting there," she had pointed to his usual spot in the shadows, "listening, it still feels weird to be reading out to an audience I cannot see."

He had gone momentarily speechless at that; how long had she known, anyway?

"Well, what about Theodore here? He can listen to stories as well as the cat had," he realised his mistake too late; mentioning her recently-deceased cat, and furthermore comparing it to an inanimate object, was perhaps not the best idea.

But Draco was surprised to find her unmoved by his remark.

She had only replied in the same low voice, "I know for a fact that this thing cannot hear; how can you even suggest that?"

"Anyway I'm here now. Read," he commanded her.

She had then picked up from the part where the boy got sent down into a well by his evil scheming brothers.

Hermione woke up feeling a little light-headed. She had just had a most bizarre dream where she was sold off to a merry group of travelling gypsies by her evil scheming brothers. She was just about to voice out her protests when she suddenly remembered that she had no brothers. She rubbed her eyes before lifting her head a little to take in her surroundings. The bed covers were dark green and there was a serpent carved into one of the bed posts. All at once, she remembered where she was. She looked over to her side and found Draco Malfoy leaning against the headboard, his eyes glazed over. How long had he been sitting like that?

Hermione sat up, intending the movement to bring Malfoy's attention back to the present. When it didn't, she decided to reach out a hand to touch his, which lay limp on his side. Malfoy finally stirred at her touch. He blinked before turning to face her.

"Are you alright?" she asked as she removed her hand, afraid for it to suddenly turn awkward.

"Yes, I'm fine," was his tired reply. She wondered if he had any sleep at all last night.

A ticking sound drew her attention to the clock on the table; it was time for breakfast, and they needed to be ready for class. They both climbed out of his bed in silent agreement.

"Are you alright, Hermione?" Ginny's voice made her start. Hermione only managed to blink some before answering weakly, "yes."

Ginny began scooping up some mashed potato onto Hermione's still empty plate. "Slept well?"

"Yes, Ginny. And thank you, that's a very generous proportion," she answered quickly and tried to retrieve her plate from the redhead; she was piling up too much food onto it.

Ginny seemed to have almost lost all her composure, "Listen, Hermione. You can tell me when Malfoy becomes too much for you to handle alone. I'm your friend, remember? But how can I help if you're not talking to me like this?"

Hermione now realised her fault. Her silence had misled Ginny into thinking that Malfoy was giving her a hard time; Ginny could hardly be blamed for it though; after all, that was what he had been doing to everyone in the past years. She had been unconsciously hiding from Ginny. It was high time for her to start telling Ginny the true story.

"Alright, but it's really not what you think, Ginny. And you need to stay calm if you're going to listen," at this, Ginny put on a serious expression and nodded.

Hermione thought long about how she was going to begin. She needed to hurry lest Ginny should start crying for her to start. Hermione found her voice soon enough.

"I still can't sleep during stormy nights. These past few nights, I hadn't slept a wink. Until last night – "

"But you never look tired – "

"No, but that's because I was using a charm to mask it, otherwise you would've known too. But Malfoy knew – " she held up a hand because Ginny had opened her mouth again to say something.

"Ginny, you were going to listen." Ginny wisely shut her mouth and nodded for her to continue.

"Malfoy found out anyway, I don't know how..." she trailed off as she realised that it did interest her to know how he knew...

"...Hermione?"

"Anyway, then he helped me get some sleep last night," Hermione's tone was conclusive. It only left Ginny looking puzzled.

"Help you how? And why anyway?" her tone was sceptical.

Why indeed... "I don't know. He just read a story to me."

Ginny's face contorted into an unreadable expression. She seemed to be befuddled and amused and the same time.

"Look, the main thing is, he is not giving me a hard time. Not even since sixth year, come to think of it."

Hermione turned her attention back to lunch. She hoped Ginny wouldn't start asking for details, at least not until after a longer while. She wasn't ready to accept that Hermione had slept in Malfoy's bed for the second time last night.

Ginny wasn't ready to drop the matter off, either. "But why?"

Luna's serene voice answered her, "Well if you think about it, it only makes sense."

Both Hermione and Ginny started. Neither had noticed when Luna slipped onto the seat beside Hermione. Actually, it looked like she had only just arrived.

Ginny piped up, "How can it make sense?"

Luna only looked at her with her trademarked wide eyes.

"Maybe you tend to behave nicer towards people when you're lonely," Hermione mused aloud.

Hermione went back to thinking about this later that night. She was sitting in her armchair near the fireplace in the Heads' common room, her almost-finished essay displayed on the table before her.

She knew he wasn't acting nice to comfort his own loneliness. Because he was not lonely. He had friends, hadn't he? That boy, what's-his-name, he was Malfoy's friend. She had seen them together many times. Ah, yes. Zabini was his name. And Pansy... oh. No, she wasn't there anymore.

Maybe he was lonely, what with the entirety of his gang members being either dead or out of the country.

Or rather, it was just a change that the war brought him. Indeed, the war had changed them all. Harry would agree, and Ron too, she hoped. She wanted them to agree. She wanted them to agree with her that Malfoy had changed for the better, as have everybody else, because... she wanted them to because... well, because –

"How much longer before you're done with that?" the voice almost made her jump. She managed not to scream, and had gasped instead.

The young man suddenly had an unusual guilty expression on his face, "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to scare."

"Malfoy! Oh, it's just you." She had clasped a hand to her heart. "No, I... I just didn't hear you coming in."

Malfoy nodded curtly, "Right," and slowly turned to leave.

Hermione felt a rush panic; it was drizzling outside and she was sure it'll turn into a stormy weather soon. Malfoy's company wasn't so bad, after all. In fact, it was quite preferable.

She almost held out a hand to stop him as she blurted out, "Wait, Malfoy!"

He turned steadily and Hermione quickly withdrew her hand. "Urm, you haven't quite finished the story last night..." she had a hard time trying to keep her eyes on everything else but him.

He gave her a smirk before replying somewhat smugly, "I did. You fell asleep before that, though."

"Well... but wasn't that the whole point of it? ...So I could fall asleep?"

Malfoy inclined his head slightly. "Alright, I'll finish reading the story to you tonight."

At that, Hermione couldn't stop herself from smiling at him. Malfoy returned the smile with a smaller, less assured one.

He quickly tore his eyes from her before saying, "I'll just be in my room. When you're done with your essay..." He motioned to the parchment still laid on the table before her.

Hermione turned back to her essay as she heard his door shut.

It was half past eleven when Hermione gave a sigh of relief as she came to the end of her essay. She rolled up the parchment and stuffed it into her book bag. She turned to gaze upon a window in the wall in front of her; the rain was getting heavier, alright. She hummed a small tune as she let her eyes linger back towards the staircase leading upstairs to their rooms.

Malfoy was waiting for her in his room. She felt somewhat giddy at the thought. She quickly squashed that giddiness to its end; of course he was only doing her a favour and maybe it can even be considered his duty as the Head Boy. 'I mean, the Heads need to look after each other and all...'

'And he mistook you for someone else that time.' Hermione briefly wondered whom this voice actually belonged to; it's always so discouraging towards her, surely she herself wouldn't do that.

Even so, Hermione couldn't help but think on it a moment longer. It might've made more sense if Malfoy had mistaken her for Pansy Parkinson, but Abigail?

Come to think of it though, perhaps the latter did make more sense. Hermione had never seen Malfoy without his gang of Slytherins and alone with Pansy Parkinson instead, although she had seen him alone with Abigail. Her mind wandered back to that time in her fourth year.

It was the second week in October and Hermione was reading 'Enchanted Encounter' by Fifi LaFolle by the Lake. Ginny was just standing up to leave her side.

"Alright, I need to be in class in 10. Are you coming back into the castle with me?" her ginger-haired friend had asked as she beat dry leaves off her robes.

Hermione had looked up then from her book to Ginny beside her and had caught the blur of white-blond hair that was Malfoy sitting not very far off to her side. She had answered Ginny distractedly, "no, I'll stay back for a bit. My classes are over for the day."

Ginny was picking up her book bag and had missed the look on Hermione's face as she sat watching the couple seated under a birch tree nearby. "I'll see you when I see you then." And then Ginny had gone back up to the castle.

It was just that Hermione couldn't help but stare perplexed at the scene before her; Malfoy was laughing heartily, and not the disgusting burst of laugh she was used to seeing when he'd made yet another insult towards someone, but a genuine, contagious laugh. A smile had cracked on her own face as she held the sight. When Malfoy had regained his composure, Hermione let her eyes move towards his companion sitting almost shoulder-to-shoulder with him; a pale girl with dark hair and a book in her hands, Abigail Silversmith.

But the girl wasn't laughing, prompting Hermione to conclude that the laugh was indeed at the expense of someone else's chagrin. She sighed; for a moment there she had actually expected that to not be the case. Silly her, this was Malfoy after all.

She was trying to continue with her reading when another burst of laugh distracted her; this time, it was Abigail. On impulse, her eyes went back to looking at the pair sitting to her far-right. Why, the girl was laughing and Malfoy was a little pink in the face; it was a glorious sight. Hermione idly mused if they were exchanging insults at each other. After all, that does sound like something Malfoy would do for a pastime with his friends, but she knew Abigail better than that. Then again, those two had been hanging out with each other enough times; maybe the girl had had no choice but to pick up some of his attitude...

Wait one second. What is Abigail doing, hanging out with that prat?

In that instance, Malfoy's eyes caught her staring at them. She had hastily returned to her book. She indistinctly heard Malfoy scoffed and when she dared herself to look up again, the pair was gone.

Later that same day, she had gone to the library as per usual to meet up with Abigail – since the first time they had met in the library late last year, Hermione had taken to meeting up with the girl occasionally to help her with her studies. She was still a clueless first-year on that day and it had pained Hermione to see Malfoy treating her like he did, Slytherin or not. But Abigail had since insisted on standing in defence of the git. Hermione just couldn't see how he should deserve it.

She had said that 'he was just in a bad mood that particular day,' and that 'he usually wasn't so mean to her,' but Hermione would hear none of it because it was Draco sodding Malfoy whom she was talking about. The event at the Lake that day was utter surprise.

So after an hour had passed during their session, Hermione just had to ask the girl.

"Did you two make up over the summer or something?"

Abigail had looked at her curiously, no doubt unaware as to whom 'you two' was referring to.

"I saw you with Malfoy today at the Lake. How could you put up with that git? I mean, the last time I saw you two together, he was rude and had yelled at you!"

Abigail had let out a soft "Ah." She seemed to contemplate her answer for a moment before finally replying, "Yea, we saw each other a few times over the summer. Mrs. Malfoy had wanted an entirely new, customised batch of silverware for Christmas."

How complicated is that process, Hermione wondered. Christmas wasn't for another three seasons and Mrs. Malfoy had already placed her orders for them. And surely the two didn't bond over a single meeting; Mrs. Malfoy must've had to come back to Silvercraft many times. But then, it didn't make enough sense either for Draco to be tagging along on each of these visits.

The dark-haired girl had interrupted her reverie then, "What does this mean, 'the effects of transfigured spaces on its inhabitants'?" she had asked in her usual low voice, a tone Hermione always had a hard time dealing with; Abigail's remarks were always easily missed if one wasn't listening to her intently enough.

Hermione took up the parchment in front of her and read over the sentence which the girl was pointing at. "Your assignment this time is to analyse the people instead of the place." She returned the parchment to its owner before going back to her own assignment for Arithmancy.

The girl had nodded in understanding and went on to scan the index of one of the books they had piled up around them.

Hermione was set off-course from that memory lane by a strike of thunder. She sat bolt upright with wide eyes still fixed on the window in shock. Abruptly, she stood up and made for Malfoy's room.

Draco was sitting in one of his armchairs near the bookcase in a corner of his room. He only had another three inches left before he's done with the essay. It was at that moment that he heard a knock on his door. He checked the clock above the fireplace – it was almost midnight – before calling out for Granger to let herself in. He knew it was Granger of course, he had invited her upstairs earlier.

Granger took slow steps towards him. He looked up briefly from his parchment, "I'll be with you shortly. Make yourself comfortable," he gestured with a hand. "Oh and you might want to pick out the next story already; there's only one chapter left in the one we're currently reading."

Draco then turned his attention back to the essay; he wanted to finish it as quickly as possible for reasons he dared not admit to himself aloud.

But he couldn't take his eyes off her as she ran a delicate finger over the spine of each book on the shelf. He stared for a few more minutes before realising what he was doing instead of his homework. Ultimately, he decided to leave the last few sentences for tomorrow seeing as he cannot focus. He silently wished Granger had turned up just a little bit later. He rolled up the parchment and cleared his throat to snatch her attention.

"Picked out one yet?" he inquired.

Granger shook her head lightly, "Let's just finish this one first."

The clock struck one in the morning when Draco stopped reading to her. He closed the book and turned to find her blinking up at him; indeed the story hadn't quite reached its happy ending yet. His eyes went back to the book in his lap.

"Well, I don't know how to tell you this Granger," he began tentatively. Granger straightened up to pay attention to him. He tried to keep his calm.

"Urm... First of all, I'm sorry I didn't tell you earlier," he turned back to look at her in the eye. She seemed a little nervous, but otherwise she was silent.

"Well, you picked out the story yourself, so it's not my fault you'll have to suffer for it. I'm afraid this story is not finished." He gave Granger the most apologetic look he could manage.

As Granger's face changed from nervous to confused, and then utterly bewildered, Draco could no longer stop the amused grin from spreading across his face. And when she opened her mouth as if to scream but failed, he burst out laughing. Granger started hitting him repeatedly before finally stopping to pick up the book from his lap. She turned over to the last page.

"But... What is this book? Why – "

"Really though, I am sorry. I just saw the chance to get someone else to suffer the agitation I got when I 'finished' reading that book." Draco told her, still chuckling.

"But why isn't it finished? Are you sure you didn't accidentally tear out the last few pages?" She began checking the book for any visible sign of such damage.

He watched her for a bit in delight. "Nope, positive; it was always like that." He paused, "I reckon it's only one of the books in a series. Haven't you heard of the story before? It's a muggle story after all."

"No, this is the first time I hear this story. Where did you get all these muggle stories anyway?" she was already flipping back to the first page as she said it. Her question was answered when she reached the first page; written on it in silver ink was, 'I reign this book: Abby'.

Draco saw it, and they fell silent for a moment. He didn't want it to turn awkward again, so he decided to just say something.

"Yeah, most of them were Silversmith's..." at which Granger nodded with a small "Oh..."

"Urm, how close were the two of you actually?" she managed to sound casual.

Draco thought it over in his head, "She was my friend." Slowly, he took the book from Granger's hands. He opened it to the first page again and ran his fingers over the thin, slanted writing.

"Remember last night, I said muggle books were the only ones read to me?"

"Yes. But you said not by your parents, right?"

"Yea, not my parents. Well, so it was Silversmith." Draco placed the book on the bedside table before looking back to her. He hoped it wasn't something too personal to share with Granger.

Granger nodded a little. He took it as a sign that she was ready to hear more. So Draco told her the story about the little girl who spends every night reading stories aloud to whomever listening. He told her about the first night they started talking, how they met again for every night after that, and how the role as storyteller were soon exchanged occasionally between the two. When Silversmith forgave him for losing his patience with her on that fine day in the library, he had consequently decided to give it his best efforts to keep calm for her – and to stop trying to help her understand her studies because he simply didn't have the patience for it. Granger then told him how she had taken up the task in his place instead. Draco thanked her in a mocked enthusiasm which Granger found somehow amusing. The Head Girl soon fell asleep, leaving him lost in his memories again.

It was a few weeks into the term after Christmas of his third year in Hogwarts, and he was back again in the common room listening to the first-year reading out a muggle story to him. She had closed the book and checked the time on her wristwatch, "Well, it's nearly sunrise. We need to get back to our dorms now," she announced as she stood up, holding the book and the teddy bear in each arm.

Draco stood up quickly to stop her, "Wait. I've often wondered, don't you ever sleep?"

She had looked up at him and replied casually, "During classes, yes."

Draco had almost laughed. "Then why don't you just sleep at night? You're missing a lot of stuff, sleeping during classes, you know."

She had shrugged somewhat. "Maybe I'm just nocturnal... Good day, Malfoy." And she had left with a small bow.

It then suddenly occurred to Draco that he never really saw her during the day. It was like she immediately Apparated straight to her dorms after each class to continue sleeping. The one exception had been that particular day in autumn the next year.

Draco was following Granger between classes, as was his habit of late. That time, she was with the Weaslette and they were going down to the Lake. Hogwarts students often opted to sit by the Black Lake when they wanted a different setting for studying, or to just laze around. Indeed it was Draco's own personal favourite. He began scanning the area for a good hiding spot from which he can keep watching Granger without getting caught in the act of it while the pair settled themselves to face away from the sun. To his surprise, he found his nightly companion sitting under a birch tree nearby. She had looked much paler in the sunlight.

He was only enthralled to walk up to and greet her. Really, she was finally out in the sun!

"I think this is the first time I see you outside, in the sun! I almost concluded that you were a vampire, Silversmith."

She had only greeted him with a small smile before returning her attention to the book she was reading. Draco had chuckled to find that she had even brought Theodore the teddy bear along. He sat himself down beside her.

She had then looked up from the volume to stare into his eyes. He had raised his eyebrows questioningly.

"Like the snow-capped mountain-tops in the distance; pale and cold," she had said it out of the blue. Draco had only continued to give her an inquiring look at that, eyebrows furrowed.

"Your eyes. I was describing your eyes in the same way this author does," she had raised the book in her hand to him. Draco recognised it to be the book he had just finished reading to her the previous night. The truth of the matter was that she had failed miserably in her attempt to emulate the author's style of describing things; he had found it hilarious and so went on to burst out laughing. Silversmith was not amused.

"Okay, well. You try it," she had demanded crossly.

He tried to look into her eyes after he regained his composure. At that moment, under the brilliant sun, he had found her gaze to be somewhat scary – her eyes were unnaturally bright. Her hair wasn't really black after all, he realised too; its colour, most curiously, was rather like that of congealed blood. He almost shivered at the thought and had quickly went back to observing her eyes instead.

"Like peridots gleaming in the full moon," the words had escaped his mouth before he could filter them properly.

"Peridots?"

"Well they are yellowish-green under this light." He had said defensively.

To this day, Draco hadn't figured out what it was that she found amusing; she had burst out laughing at that too. Peridots were green stones, weren't they?

"What's so funny?" he had asked, annoyed.

"Nothing, I just wanted to get back at you." Her mood had abruptly changed back to that of bored. Draco had smiled at the behaviour.

Silversmith didn't look up as she told him, "That girl you keep following around? She's looking right at you. I think she may be getting the wrong idea."

Draco had swiftly swung his head to check on the bushy-haired girl he had followed down to the Lake; he managed to catch her eyes looking at him for a split second before they vanished behind a book. He couldn't help the smirk from creeping up onto his face.

"Let's snog the second she turns back to look at me," Draco had tried to sound serious.

Silversmith had shoved a teddy bear in his face instead. "You should know better Malfoy; Hermione's not the kind of girl you could get by making her jealous. Well, perhaps Weasley has a better chance with that tactic, seeing as Hermione's currently interested in him."

Draco gave her a scowl at that.

Her tone was still low as she said, "it's true. And you're not a very nice person. Hermione deserves someone nice."

Draco had then scoffed and made to leave.

A flash of lighting brought him back to his room in the South tower. His eyes darted to his side to check for her presence. Relief washed over him when he found the bushy-haired Granger asleep. He sat up and reached for the drawer in his bedside table. Once again, he found sleep with the aid of his trusty sleeping draught.

First Night – Second Night – Third Night – Fourth Night – Fifth Night – This is the Sixth Chapter – Last Night – Author's Notes

Sunday

2010-08-02T10:47:00.002+08:00

First Night – Second Night – Third Night – Fourth Night – This is the Fifth Chapter – Sixth Night – Last Night – Author's Notes

It was a rainy Sunday afternoon when Hermione decided to leave the Heads' common room and headed for the library instead. She had picked out a random book from one of the shelves and was now reading it upside-down with both eyes glued to the doors in clear view from where she sat. The euphoria from yesterday's reunion with her best friends had left her the moment she realised only minutes ago that Draco Malfoy had taken to watching her every move with such intensity that Hermione simply could not stand. His cold gaze boring a hole into her was just unsettling.

The day had started off bad enough; she didn't get any sleep owing to the rain - which, by the way, had started as soon as Hallowe'en Feast concluded the previous night - and that morning she had stared again into the same tired, blood-shot eyes. She had resorted to casting another glamour charm upon her person to conceal it, but it seemed to have an undesired effect on Malfoy; while the charm had successfully steered away everyone else's attention from her fatigue, Malfoy had only stared and stared some more.

She had found him this morning in their common room reading a curious-looking book and she had decided to quell the awkwardness that had grown between them since the events of Wednesday night by continuing to ignore his presence when he's in the same room with her. It was how she got by since their appointment as the Heads.

But after a while she could just feel those piercing gray eyes on her, even through the thick volume she was reading from, that she just had to acknowledge his presence. She looked up from her book and found that he was indeed staring at her.

"Something you want, Malfoy?" she had tried not to sound contempt.

"You just look very different," it was a statement, he wasn't concerned.

She had then returned to her reading but when Malfoy didn't stop staring and said nothing more, she left.

Presently, Hermione caught sight of his blonde hair again; a blur rushing past the door to the library. She quickly hid behind the open book in her hands and tried to focus on the words. Then she saw that she had been holding it upside-down. She huffed and hastily turned it the right way up again.

"Murtlap," Blaise said to the wall before him. It gave away into a sort of passage and Blaise walked into it with Draco on his heels. Draco soon found himself in the familiar Slytherin dungeon. It looked the same way it did the last time Draco was in it. The low-ceilinged room with chandeliers that gave off greenish light extended partway under the Black Lake.

"Well, make yourself at home. I'll be right back," Blaise said with a teasing smile.

Draco took a seat in one of the low-backed leather couches nearer to the fireplace. He still could not shake off the feeling of being trapped underground as he took in his surroundings; the gleam on the chairs as the firelight danced, the shadows cast by the various wooden cupboards and the echoes coming from the creatures living in the lake just overhead. It was always the low rumbling of storms that reassured him of the safety in being there.

This was just how it was on every night he had come down here to listen to her stories. She would be sitting on the floor in front of the fire while the cat sat itself comfortably on an armchair nearest. She was small with dark hair and her cat was old and obese. He was in his third year when he had first stayed up all night listening to 'Alice in Wonderland'. She had taken the whole month to finish the tale. Draco remembered feeling glad when he found that she always picked up from where she left off the previous night; it had meant that she didn't continue her reading at anytime during the day, and so Draco got to hear the entire story.

The first night of the term after Christmas holiday that year, he was disappointed to find that she wasn't in the common room reading anymore. He had waited and waited until on the sixth night, she had finally show up. She was addressing something called 'Theodore' that time; Draco knew that it wasn't her cat because for one thing she never addressed the cat by any name before and for another, it didn't meow in reply as it usually would. Draco listened to the story up until the part where the boy in the story was sent down into a well by his evil scheming brothers. That was when she stopped and took up a teddy bear from the armchair in which her cat usually sat and said something to it that Draco didn't hear. She then threw the stuffed toy across the room and broke down crying.

Draco never found out why he had decided to pick the teddy bear up and hand it back to her. She had taken it back in her arms without looking up at him. He then left her to be miserable alone.

Blaise snapped his fingers in Draco's face again to bring him out of his reverie. Draco blinked at him and he only arched an eyebrow in reply. He then shoved a roll of parchment into Draco's chest.

Blaise then seated himself opposite to Draco. "You need to tell her, Draco. At this rate you'll lose it completely,"

"Tell who what?" Draco asked as he opened the roll of parchment that Blaise just 'handed over' to him. It was the essay they had had to work in pair for.

"Whatever it is you've been keeping from her since third year!" Blaise was losing patience.

Draco was still confused. Whatever did he have to hide from Abby? Silversmith. Moreover, she was gone, no one's heard of her or her entire family for years now. "You're not making any sense, Blaise."

The dark boy pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. "You're hopeless. Look, the worst she's going to do is hex you. Just get this over with once and for all."

Oh. Oh! "No, Blaise, I wasn't thinking about that!" He was not that hopelessly obsessed that he had to allocate his entire time to thinking about her and only her. Plus, the time will come of its own accord for when Draco could try and confront the insufferable Head Girl. No need to rush it. And it was none of the other boy's business!

"Alright. So what were you thinking about?" Blaise was trying to catch him off guard, Draco knew, but there was nothing to catch him for, so Draco merely answered truthfully.

"Silversmith," but now there was a pause. He never talked about Silversmith to anybody. The look on Blaise's face was a clear indication of that.

"What?" to say that Blaise was a little confused would be an understatement.

"As in Silvercrafts Company. My mother always buy her silverware from them," Draco said, sounding dismissive.

Blaise was even more confused. He furrowed his eyebrows at Draco in a demand for further explanation. Draco obliged.

"Old Silversmith's youngest used to come here, to Hogwarts. You wouldn't remember her, she wasn't in our year. I only knew her through our parents, of course."

Blaise was now rubbing his chin. "Did you feel for her the same way you do for Granger? She died in the war, and you feel guilty about Granger, is that it?"

Draco's mouth took the shape of an 'O'. He quickly recovered. "Don't try to analyse me, Blaise. First of all, I never feel for anyone in the same way I do for Hermione, and secondly, Abby didn't die in the war."

Evidently Blaise was torn between laughing and becoming even more confused. He chose to laugh; that was the first time Draco openly confessed his feelings about Granger. Draco was the one who looked confused instead.

"What?" at this, Blaise could only laugh harder.

Hermione was sitting at the Gryffindor table between Ginny and Neville at dinner. She looked up longingly at the ceiling; raindrops were coming down only to disappear moments before hitting the food, students, or anything below. Not for the first time, Hermione wished for the sun. She didn't bother stopping the sigh from escaping her lips.

"What is it, Hermione? You're not missing them already are you? You've just seen them!" Ginny tried to sound comforting. By 'them' Hermione knew that she had meant Harry and Ron.

"Oh, no, it's not that," Hermione's reply was honest. After the joys of yesterday, she had finally come to accept that the worst really was over and she need not worry so much for her friends anymore, that it was alright now to only focus on herself and do just that.

The only problem with focusing on herself was that it somehow lead her to think about Malfoy. She kept telling herself that if she tried to figure out the reason as to why, she would find nothing, when in truth she had merely been avoiding the act of figuring out a reason altogether. But Hermione's brain was bigger than most, and can process many thoughts at one time, so that even as she tried to be ignorant of the reason for why she kept thinking about Malfoy, the thought would simply crop up on its own somewhere else in her head.

Her eyes now looked again to the Slytherin table. Malfoy had one elbow on the table and was resting his chin on that hand. He had an open book instead of dinner in front of him.

"Yes, that is an unusual sight," Ginny's voice startled her. "But why are you even staring at him in the first place?" she said, giving her an apprehensive look.

"I was staring?" Hermione didn't even try to conceal the hopelessness in her voice.

"Oh my goodness. So you were?" Hermione didn't know what emotion Ginny held in her tone as she said it.

"But he did it first! He was staring at me all morning!" Hermione wanted to kill herself for sounding, and acting, like a petulant child. Ginny looked like she was all ready to help her do just that.

At that instance, Hermione's eyes suddenly found his. She blushed furiously and almost cursed aloud, 'Merlin's beard, he did NOT hear that! Please, don't let him hear that!' Wholly embarrassed, she stood up and speed-walked out of the Hall.

Draco found her later at night in the Heads common room, sitting in her usual armchair. Feeling somewhat resolute, he sat down across from her. As soon as he opened his mouth to speak however, he realised that he didn't know how to start. He was struggling to decide whether to wait for her to say something or just blurt out what he had come to say, before catching the title on the cover of the volume she was reading; it read 'The Neverending Story'.

He blinked somewhat as he tried to contemplate the title. He had read that book. It was a muggle book. He wasn't supposed to have ever read a muggle book. But he had read that one and many others. And he never mentioned anything about it to anyone for fear of being ridiculed. The only wizards and witches who read muggle books are muggle-borns. Hermione was one. And he had often insulted her for it. He had called her 'mudblood' exactly 97 times both to her face and behind her. He therefore had no right to be confronting her at all.

He now thought it pointless to be dwelling on his guilt again; at least not now that he had seated himself right in front of her and was going to say something. It would be even more awkward to suddenly stand up and leave. Like Blaise said earlier, the worst she'll do is hex him. Then he'll just spend the rest of his days in Hogwarts avoiding her at all times. And testing his food and drinks for poison before each meal. And try to appeal for a change in his timetable where he had one class together with the Gryffindors on Fridays –

"What are you staring at, Malfoy?" she bit out in irritation.

He sighed before saying, "The book you're reading. I'm surprised you're still not sleeping even with reading that book every night."

A long pause, and then, "Well, stop doing that." She put the book down on her lap and tried to kill him with her gaze. Draco's eyes had followed the book instead.

"Get some sleep, Granger," he tried to make it sound less of a command, but it was difficult to.

"It's still very early," Granger sounded a little confused.

"You need it."

Silence followed. Draco wished he could read her mind; he must have said something wrong, because she didn't hex him, instead tried to avoid his stare as best she could, which she managed with little success.

"Don't tell me what to do, Malfoy," she blurted out as if merely to break the awkward silence.

"I know you haven't been sleeping," he would recognise the glamour charm anywhere. He had had to use it every day for years, before finally resorting to sleeping draughts; not sleeping at all could cost one's sanity. He would know.

Granger suddenly buried her face in her hands and began sobbing. Draco was at complete loss now. But this time, he will not turn his back and leave her to be miserable alone.

Hermione's head was spinning. First, Malfoy barged in and sat opposite to her, only to stare at her a moment longer. She was irritated, but then felt guilty of accusing him for something he did not do when she found that he indeed was not staring at her. Then she felt stupid for even thinking he was staring at her in the first place. Then she realised that he knew she hasn't been sleeping; he must have seen her fatigue for what it was. Then he had sounded almost caring when he asked her to get some sleep. Then her bloody mind had to tell her that his lack of words was truly only the indication of how much he cared. And then she was just so confused, which made her feel helpless, and so what else was there to do? Hermione decided to let out the lump that had started to form in her chest within the past few seconds. Even she was surprised to find that it was actually a cry.

Hermione felt something nudge at her side; it was a steaming mug of chocolate. She looked up to see Malfoy nursing a cup of tea himself. He was not looking at her; how thoughtful. Hermione took the floating mug and they fell into silence again.

Malfoy was the first to speak this time. "Would you want to give up a memory for a wish?"

Hermione stole a glance at him; he had his eyes on the windows, distant. She wondered if he had said it with abandon.

Then he turned to look at her questioningly, so she answered, "no." She thought she heard him mumble something along the lines of 'of course, why did I even ask?' She then caught sight of the book she had placed on the table. A thought struck her.

"You read 'The Neverending Story'?" she tried to border her tone on pure curiosity; to sound utterly incredulous simply would not do. But come on, Draco Malfoy reading a muggle book?

Malfoy seemed to think about it a moment longer before answering, "I never finished it."

Hermione couldn't ignore the longing in his voice. "Do you want to?" she motioned to the book between them.

"Wouldn't you need it to lull you to sleep?" he didn't sound anything but caring. Hermione wanted to choke herself at the thought; why would he care?

But he was here, wasn't he? Hermione looked up again to find his eyes on her. She tore hers away with much effort.

"It doesn't work," no matter how dull the words became as she read them, they still fail to drowse her. "I'll lend you it."

Malfoy shook his head a little. "I have my own copy."

Another long pause, during which Hermione slowly began to realise all the questions she wanted to ask him, many of which had only popped up in the last few minutes. She decided to start asking them now.

"You read muggle books?" she began with the most recent one.

He answered with another sigh, "Yes."

"Since when?" she hoped she didn't sound sceptical. She wasn't.

"Some time now." A very vague answer. Well, it was kind of a personal question after all.

Speaking of personal questions, "Do you have a memory you'd want to exchange for a wish?"

"No," and this time he didn't pause before answering.

"Did you think I do?" Well, why else did he ask?

"I wondered. I didn't mean to offend, really. Some people do, you know."

"Who, for instance?"

A short pause, and then "Silversmith did."

A long pause this time. Hermione remembered him calling her by a friendlier name earlier; in fact he had called her 'Abby' in his sleep.

Actually, it was the only time she ever heard him call the girl by any name other than her surname. Silversmith was their one mutual acquaintance. The image of a little girl with dark hair and pale skin flooded her mind.

She was sitting at one of the tables facing the windows in the library when Hermione had first noticed her. She had noticed because the girl's only companion at the desk at that time was none other Draco Malfoy, the git. He was pointing out a section in a book to her and had appeared to be tutoring her.

It was the first time Hermione ever thought that Malfoy perhaps had some human in him after all. She had wanted to hold on to that thought up until Malfoy burst out in anger at the innocent child, "WHAT IS SO DIFFICULT TO UNDERSTAND ABOUT THIS? HAVEN'T YOU BEEN LISTENING TO ME, YOU DUNDERHEAD?"

Hermione was beside the little girl in an instant; she had always had a soft spot for anyone being bullied by Malfoy. "I'm sorry," the girl had said, her head bowed low.

"You don't have to be sorry," she had told the girl sternly before turning to Malfoy and added, "he's the dunderhead."

Malfoy then picked up his book bag harshly and left before Madam Pince reached the table. Hermione had eyed his retreating back with concentrated dislike. She then looked down to the girl whose shoulders she had laid her hands on. Said girl had the Slytherin badge on her robe and Hermione remembered the astonishment that held her at the discovery.

A flash of light brought her back to the present. She took a sharp intake of breath and shut her eyes.

It made Draco chuckle. He stopped himself too late before gulping down the little that remained in his cup and set it down on the table. Granger did the same after giving him a pout. A very cute pout.

"What were you thinking about, Granger?" he barely managed to keep the sly smile from creeping up onto his face.

She thought for some time before replying, "How come you read muggle books?"

"They were the only books read to me,"

"Your parents read to you muggle stories?" she was clearly in disbelief.

Draco wanted to laugh at the notion himself. His parents had long since stopped reading stories to him, let alone muggle stories, the prejudiced purebloods that they were. But enough about this.

"How about I read you one and see if you can't fall asleep even then?" he suggested with a smile.

Granger gave more thought to it before returning his smile.

Malfoy stood up from his seat and Hermione took it as a sign to follow him. They went up the staircase and headed for Malfoy's room. Hermione stopped to ask, "Where are we going?"

"My room," he had then turned to face her, "I'm letting you choose the story."

They reached the door and Hermione entered his room for the second time. This time it was bright and Hermione took a moment to observe.

His room was as big as hers and it was adorned with Slytherin colours whereas hers was entirely red and gold. Her bare feet sank comfortably into the moss green carpet and she found the dark colours of his walls and furnishings relaxing to her eyes. She then found one corner in the room where a small sitting area and a tall bookshelf stood.

She heard Malfoy shut the door behind him so she turned around.

"Plus, I don't want any of my books leaving this room," he said with a smirk.

Hermione wondered if she should leave the room already.

The clock struck midnight two hours later. Hermione had stopped berating herself silently an hour ago. She had finally admitted to herself that it was nice to be here, her head on the pillow, Malfoy reading a story aloud beside her. His voice seemed to drown out the unnerving noises of the storm outside. The last thing she remembered from the story that night was that the boy in the story got sold to some passing by merchant by his evil scheming brothers.

First Night – Second Night – Third Night – Fourth Night – This is the Fifth Chapter – Sixth Night – Last Night – Author's Notes

Saturday

2010-08-02T01:40:00.001+08:00

First Night – Second Night – Third Night – This is the Fourth Chapter – Fifth Night – Sixth Night – Last Night – Author's Notes

Hermione frowned at her own reflection in the mirror early that Saturday morning. She raised a hand and traced the face in the looking-glass. Her eyes were bloodshot and swollen from crying all night; she looked like death warmed over. She blamed Harry and Ron for not sending their replies, which had her resorting to rereading their previous letters from earlier in the term, only to end up feeling even worse, but then changed her mind and blamed the storm instead. She turned to eye a small window high up in the wall to her back. The sun had risen, but it was still pouring. She sighed; if there was anyone to blame, it's her. She shouldn't let such trivial things bother her so much. She looked back to the mirror, and thought up a way to better her appearance. Today, she would enjoy the visit to Hogsmeade with Ginny and Luna.

Still, when post arrived at breakfast, and none came for Hermione with a reply from either Harry or Ron, her mood took on a toll. She sighed at the last retreating owl before continue nibbling on a piece of toast.

"You look depressed," Luna stated in her patented dreamy voice. "Harry hadn't replied you yet?" asked Ginny.

Hermione shook her head lightly. "Ron, too." She was absolutely dejected, she missed the meaningful glances exchanged between the two.

Draco awoke late Saturday morning to find his room bright in broad daylight. Granted, there wasn't much sunlight at all, but it was enough to tell him that it's late. His eyes first caught sight of the remains of his alarm clock still spotting one corner of the room when he forced them open. Despite of his stupor, a large part of him was panicking. It was the natural human need to know what time it was when you'd just woke up from a deep slumber into unmistakable daylight; what if you'd been unconscious for days? Frantically, he opened the drawer in the bedside table nearest to him and pulled out a pocket watch. It was twelve past ten in the morning.

'Ah' he thought, 'not so terribly late'. Never mind that he had missed breakfast. He slid off his bed and got dressed. Usually, he would spend almost the entire weekend in his dorms, only venturing out to patrol the castle afterhours, but today he needed to go down to Hogsmeade and replenish his school supplies; he was all out of ink and parchment.

He also hoped to run into Granger.

Hermione was sitting in a very crowded Gryffindor common room. The Gryffindors were no doubt waiting for the rain to die down so that they may venture out to Hogsmeade. Hermione had to admit, she had the weather to thank for this excuse to be in the familiar common room again. She couldn't help but feel nostalgic being there. She used to sit in this very armchair every night doing homework, together with Harry and Ron. Well, she did the homework, the boys used to procrastinate till the eleventh hour. Ron even often persuaded her to let him copy her finished essay. Of course, she never let him. Not an awful many times, at least.

Hermione stared at the fire and let out a longing sigh. Merlin, she missed them so. Had it all been a dream, she wondered.

It was two hours later when the rain finally subsided enough so that the students saw fit to leave the shelter of the castle. Hermione wasn't too eager to join them of course, but she had nothing against it.

Hermione, Ginny and Luna were walking down the High Street when a young wizard stepped out from one of the shops to greet Ginny. He put an arm over her shoulder and Hermione could only stare open-mouthed.

"Awful weather isn't it, Ginny?" he then inclined his head to Hermione, "Oh, and sorry I didn't reply your letter, it was just too long and I was too busy preparing to visit here for the weekend," he said in mocked regret.

Hermione let out a squeal that could easily be mistaken for a scream and launched herself on the dark-haired boy. "HARRY! IT IS YOU!"

Harry laughed and then said, "We've missed you too, Hermione."

"Blimey, you'd think we just got back from a war" another voice spoke from beside Luna.

"RON! OH MY GOODNESS!" and she buried her face in the other boy's chest. He was a bit taller than she remembered. Ron patted her back and almost squeezed her. Everybody in the group was laughing now. Harry joined in the group hug.

Hermione didn't want to let go, afraid it to turn out to be her mere hallucination. But she needed to look into their faces again to confirm that it wasn't.

The three broke the almost-suffocating hug and were tearful in the eyes. Hermione fought the urge to break down crying. They stood there laughing for about a minute.

"It looks like rain," Luna declared.

"How about that Shepherd's Pie you promised us, Hermione?" Ron asked as the five of them began making their way for the Three Broomsticks.

"What Shepherd's Pie?" she asked back, still grinning wide.

"Well, we've had to abandon work and come all the way here, just to visit you; you should at least buy us lunch," Harry was grinning wide too as he said this.

Hermione laughed. She felt like it had been months since she last laughed for real.

Draco would attest to that. He was just leaving Scrivenshaft's Quill Shop when he looked up to see the reunion of the Golden Trio further up the street. Something akin to a cry started bubbling in his throat as he stood watching them. They looked so happy. She looked so happy. He waited for the inconspicuous group of five to clear the street before trudging back up to the castle, fearing his appearance might ruin the moment.

He wasn't sure how he felt at that time. He thought it was only fitting to feel crestfallen about not being in that group he just saw, but she had seemed so happy he couldn't help feeling a bit happy for her too. He decided to excuse her from her duties in the Great Hall that afternoon. The prefects were supposed to help out in the preparation for Hallowe'en Feast that night.

Hermione hadn't had that much fun in years. For one day, she was a youngster again. Her best friends saw to that.

The weather was relatively clear for the rest of the day, despite Luna's prediction earlier. After lunch, they ventured out to the streets again. They met Neville in front of Dogweed and Deathcap and obliged when he said he wanted them to see something that the shop had displayed within. They passed a barrel of leaping toadstools and some Puffapod before reaching the very back of the premise to set their eyes on the tallest Mimbulus Mimbletonia they had ever seen. They left Dogweed and Deathcap with holes in their robes; Ron had accidentally provoked a small Fire Seed Bush which subsequently sent miniature meteors off at them. Neville then chose to join them on the remainder of their outing.

They were all in the mood for sweets, so, naturally, they headed off to Honeydukes. Hermione never felt any more like a child in a candy shop before. This time they actually tried to sample everything in the shop, including the blood-flavoured lollipops. At one point, they even thought to test every flavour of Bertie Bott's, which was not quite possible, seeing as there weren't any visual ways of telling the various flavours apart. The shopkeeper was no fun; she had practically told them off and demanded that they actually buy something. Hermione settled for some Toothflossing Stringmints. Luna's teeth were still chattering and squeaking from the Ice Mice she'd been 'sampling', so she didn't buy anything. Harry however bought a whole load of crystallised pineapples; later in the afternoon as they sat down to rest their feet in an open quad in the heart of the village, Harry had the sweets passed around. They were finished off in under ten minutes.

They somehow ended up in Tomes and Scrolls; Hermione had wanted to check if they had any good fiction. Ron got bored quickly enough, and had started pretending to read aloud from the Invisible Book of Invisibility. The six of them then each took turns to read from the same copy. They had a good laugh, even after they got told off by the keeper for being too loud. They left the shop empty-handed, yet Hermione was happy they made the visit.

They even went to Madam Puddifoot's Tea Shop, much to the dismay of the other patrons; Madam Puddifoot's was the haunt of happy couples, and the group's presence there only destroyed the romantic atmosphere for which the shop was best known. Of course, they weren't allowed to stay in that establishment for very long too. Not that they intend to anyway; a little prankster in Hermione only wanted to be mean today, with the simple intention to put out the amorous mood hovering over the lovesick youngsters – most of the couples were Hogwarts third-years, much too young to be wasting time with the delusion that was puppy love, anyway.

The fun didn't end even when it started raining. The clouds were heavy and had been rumbling since morning; when the rain finally came down, it came in sudden downpour and caught them in the midst of the heavy rainfall. Hermione had initially tried to shelter herself from the rain, but Ginny and Ron pulled her out into the open again. There was no thunder, thank Merlin, and so that was the first time Hermione played in the rain.

Later they were back in the Three Broomsticks again, sipping on mugs of warm Butterbeers. All six of them were still soaked from head to toe, and their shoes and the hems of their robes were muddy. None of them bothered to cast Scourgify upon their persons however; it was all good fun.

"How about dinner, eh?" Ron asked the group in general.

"Nope. We have Hallowe'en Feast waiting for us in the Hall," Neville answered before taking another sip of his Butterbeer.

"Hallowe'en Feast! Man, I miss those!" Harry exclaimed.

Something began nagging at the very back of Hermione's mind.

"Yea, remember that year Dumbledore invited a troupe of dancing skeletons for a performance? Best Hallowe'en Feast I could remember," Neville recalled.

"Ah. Hermione, Harry and I got to attend Nick's Deathday Party instead that year,"

"Best Hallowe'en ever indeed," Harry murmured.

"What Deathday Party?" Ginny prompted.

"Hallowe'en Feast!" Hermione snapped and put one hand down on the table. "I'm supposed to help out in the Great Hall!"

Luna's tone was serene, "well, it's starting in under an hour. They must already be done with the preparations by now," but it did nothing to reassure her.

They were exchanging goodbyes at Hogwarts' front gate; Harry and Ron had decided to send them off despite the rain. Anyway, it wasn't raining very much anymore, Ron had said.

"Now, the next time you get no reply from us, just shrug it off okay? I can't believe you'd even think we had forgotten about you," Harry said as he hugged Hermione.

"I never think that!" Hermione said indignantly.

"No, of course you didn't," he replied with a grin.

"Take care 'Mione," the taller of her red-haired friends then pulled her into a hug.

"Take care of Hermione for us, won't you?" Harry said to Ginny before hugging her and then Luna. He then opted to just shake Neville's hand; the other boy was a bit too tall for him to hug properly. Ron hadn't much problem with this; he was almost as tall as Neville.

"Oh, she can take care of herself, Harry," Ginny at last said. She had one arm over said girl's shoulder.

"We'll try to help out with anything we can, of course," Luna told Hermione.

"Take care, both of you," Neville said as they waved goodbye.

When they parted, the sun had completely set.

Draco had fallen asleep on one couch in the Heads' common room. Hermione wasn't the only prefect who hadn't showed up for the last preparations in the Great Hall. He was exhausted from having to do the extra work.

"Malfoy. Malfoy, wake up," Draco stirred, but he went right back to sleep.

He felt his shoulder being shaken with a little more certainty. He opened his eyes to meet the worried gaze of the Head Girl. He quickly shut them again; her eyes seemed to give off light of their own.

Regardless, he sat up and tried to rub the sleep out of his eyes. "What time is it?"

"I haven't checked yet. But I just got back from Hogsmeade and the Hall was still open when I passed through the Entrance Hall," Draco noted the delight in her voice. He then remembered that Potter and Weasley had come to visit her. He looked up to see Granger positively beaming at him. He didn't know what to make of that. He only leaned back on the couch and stretched.

"Don't you want to get dinner?" he didn't know what to make of that, either. Was she just asking, or did she mean to ask him to join her, or something? His eyes began sizing her up; he simply couldn't stop himself.

She needed cleaning up before she should go get dinner.

"Yea, in a minute. Aren't you cold?" he motioned to her robes which were still dripping wet.

"A bit," it seemed to Draco that she had only realised it as she answered him. She slowly reached up to clutch her sides and all.

Draco merely nodded. Suddenly it felt awkward. "Right," he said, and headed for the door. Granger stopped him.

"Wait!" he turned back around. "I'm sorry I didn't show up for the preparations earlier."

Oh. "Don't worry yourself. A lot of us didn't." Granger only nodded and then seemed to hesitate to say something. She never said it though; instead she turned to climb up the stairs to her bedroom.

First Night – Second Night – Third Night – This is the Fourth Chapter – Fifth Night – Sixth Night – Last Night – Author's Notes

Friday

2010-07-27T10:48:00.002+08:00

First Night – Second Night – This is the Third Chapter – Fourth Night – Fifth Night – Sixth Night – Last Night – Author's Notes

Draco awoke the next day to the same persistent ringing of his alarm clock. Again, he reached for the offensive object only to send it crashing onto the wall. He sat up groggily and began rubbing his temple. His head was throbbing; he'd hardly had any sleep last night. In fact, Draco felt like he had been awake up until just a few minutes ago. He swung his seemingly heavy legs over the side of his bed before opening his eyes to glance over at the wreck that was his alarm clock. Why did he bother repairing the accursed thing if he already knew he wasn't going to appreciate it the next morning? He stretched and yawned and then got off his bed nonetheless.

He only sobered up enough to remember the previous nights' events after a cold wash in the prefects' bathroom; the reason he decided he needed the alarm clock was because he had been kept up almost that entire night by thoughts of Granger. He was still thinking on this as he climbed back up the stairs to his room to fetch his books, so when he met her halfway up the stairs, he couldn't do much but just stand there frozen.

She was already dressed up in her Gryffindor robes, her book bag hanging by her side with more books clutched to her chest and her untameable brown hair as bushy as it ever was, even now when she'd tied it back into a ponytail in an effort to improve her appearance. Draco agreed that she had failed at this, and that she looked positively radiant. She greeted him with an all too cheerful "good morning, Malfoy," before continuing down the flight of steps. He failed to stop himself from eyeing her retreating back.

Hermione was a bit ravenous at breakfast that Friday morning. She hadn't slept a wink last night, so she decided that she would need the extra food for energy. In addition, she was also feeling somewhat high from that lack of sleep.

Ginny joined her at the table. "How are you this morning, Hermione?" she asked conversationally before grabbing a plate of sandwich.

Hermione swallowed before answering her with a smile, "perfect." Ginny merely raised an eyebrow at her response. Hermione suddenly regretted her enthusiasm; no doubt it had failed to mask the fact that she had been miserable all night. Presently, Ginny chose to shrug it off. Hermione decided to drop the act anyway; she wasn't fooling anyone.

A few minutes later, the owl post arrived. Hermione looked up from her plate expectantly. Her eyes searched the flock of owls for a particular white one, and another smaller, more energetic one. Even when a barn owl dropped her copy of The Daily Prophet in front of her, she took no notice; she'd been waiting all week for Harry's and Ron's replies.

Neither came, however. Hermione sighed, utterly despaired; she knew the time would come when they'd be too busy with work to reply her novel-length letters, and it seemed that that time had come. She frowned at the ceiling; the weather was gloomy, as if mirroring her feelings. Hermione took up the roll of newspaper and hurried off to class.

It was Friday, which Hermione was grateful for, as there was only one class to attend on that day; double Potions with the Slytherins. With Malfoy. His name popped up in her mind just as she caught sight of him entering the class. She watched him all the way from the door until he reached his table.

Then Malfoy looked up and met her eyes. Both quickly turned away.

"What's gotten into you lately?" Blaise's voice interrupted his reverie again. They were in the Great Hall having lunch and the weather was still dull.

"What is it, Blaise?" he asked back, his tone uncaring.

"I asked the question first," Blaise's tone was uncaring too.

Draco almost chuckled. Asking a question in reply to another was Abby's annoying habit. ...Silversmith. He realised again that he was never on first name basis with the brat. But with her, being on first name basis didn't necessarily mean being on friendly terms.

Although he did wish he was on friendly terms with Granger. Then he may call her, he tested the name, "Hermione..."

A clatter of spoon beside him made him turn. Blaise was coughing and punching his own chest. Draco hit his back obligingly. When the other boy had calmed down enough, he looked to Draco with disbelief showing clearly all over his handsome face.

"What?" Draco asked, thoroughly confused. He hadn't done anything wrong now, or so he thought.

"So that's what's bothering you? You've finally told..." Blaise never finished his inquiry, for in that instance Draco realised that he had said the last word out loud and had hissed vehemently at his friend to shut the Hell up. He checked around the table for anyone who might have overheard them – there were none. Very few Slytherins had chosen to come back for their redo year.

"I didn't tell her anything. Actually, we never talk. Not unless it concerns our roles as Heads," he answered in a low voice. Whatever happened the night before wasn't any of his business. He hadn't the right to know.

Blaise smirked. "Pathetic," he commented. It made Draco narrow his eyes.

"Well, do you at least have an excuse to be acting like this?"

"Like what?" another question to answer a question.

Blaise rolled his eyes and decided to drop the matter. Surely the blonde will come around soon.

Hermione put her bag down carelessly beside her favourite armchair near the fireplace before sinking into said chair. Her classes were over for the day, and there wasn't much homework to do. Furthermore, she was exhausted. She'll attend to her homework later at night. Her eyes then flickered to the window; it had started to rain. She cursed aloud before standing and picked up her bag. She headed for her room; if it's going to be another restless night, it was best, perhaps, to not wait for it. She's getting an afternoon nap, now.

There was a deep rumbling in the dark sky when she woke up a while later. Hermione sat up in bed and rubbed her eyes. She realised it was very dark, and very stormy. She could not immediately recall on any intention of waking up from her nap, so she groaned and suddenly felt like screaming; her breathing was already caught in short gasps. Hermione closed her eyes and took deep breaths to calm herself down.

Then she thought of her homework. Yes... she had earlier decided to finish it later at night so she could have the entire weekend free to laze around. She now remembered the visit to Hogsmeade tomorrow, and that she had promised Ginny and Luna to join them for the visit. She glanced at the clock on her mantelpiece; it was nine o'clock and she had missed dinner. 'Very well,' she thought, at least she had managed to catch a few hours' sleep. Anyway, she wasn't very hungry.

Not ten minutes later, she was already bent over a parchment near the fireplace in her room, doing homework: thirty inches on Wards and Shields. It was due the next Tuesday, but she already promised herself to finish it tonight. The storm wasn't as cruel as it had been in previous nights; she shouldn't have any problem with going back to sleep, but since she had just woke up from her afternoon nap, she couldn't. So the clock went on to tick away the hours as Hermione continued to finish her essay.

The clock struck twelve as she put a full-stop on her concluding paragraph. She put down her quill and stretched. Her eyes then began scanning the room. The fire dancing on the grate lit the room in a somewhat haunting manner. At times, the shadows they cast looked alive, and even seemed to try to reach out and grab her from beyond the darkness. Hermione shuddered, and was instantly aware of the rainstorm outside. She turned her face away from the windows.

Draco was seated in the black leather chair in front of his lit fireplace, reading another muggle storybook. He spared a second to check the time; it was already one in the morning. He sighed and flipped over to the next page. At times, his eyes wandered over to the door and after a while, he realised that he was actually waiting for her. He scoffed and snapped the book shut. He felt hopeless.

He decided instead to stare out the window. So Draco got off his chair and walked over to one of the two windows in his room. He liked the weather, at least when he's sheltered from it, and he liked the windows too; they were full-length windows, and he always had the curtains pulled back. He bent his knees and sat down on the carpeted floor.

He couldn't fathom the reason for Granger's fear of the stormy weather. There was just something calming about it. The darkened heavens, the blowing wind, the cold water, and especially the low rumbling in the skies. How could anyone be afraid of storms?...

But then again, he didn't know anybody else who liked storms. Blaise certainly didn't, he already told him that once. And Hermione... 'You mean, Granger.'

'I guess I'll always be alone,' Draco thought to himself, and he realised he only had himself to blame for it too. He'd spent a grand total of six years in school treating everyone with disdain. There were times when he would wonder if he'd like to take it all back. But one doesn't realise one's mistake if one hadn't done it in the first place; there was no other way to learn from one's mistakes. He sighed. Stormy nights like this one weren't always so lonely. There was one other who enjoyed it as much as he. Sort of. His eyes fell again on a trunk he had tucked away under his bed. The tag on it read 'Abigail Silversmith'.

It was in his third year when he first picked up the habit of staying up all night. One stormy night, he had stolen out of bed, assured that everyone was asleep, with the intention to wander around the castle. Even as he thought of it now, he couldn't remember what really made him want to escape sleep. But when he reached the Slytherin common room, there was a voice there. He had then found that it belonged to a first-year. She was reading a book aloud with a cat listening to her. Really, she was reading a story to a cat.

A loud thunder cracked the air. Draco blinked. He hoped it didn't wake Hermione up. 'You mean, Granger,' he almost rolled his eyes at that. Now his eyes found the little vial of sleeping draught on his bedside table.

Hermione in the other room was reminiscing her past too. Hers were certainly happier. Spread before her on the bed were all the letters from Harry and Ron. She had spent the last few hours of the early morning reading them. At the moment she was crying, although she didn't know whether they were tears of joy for the memories, or those of sadness for her loneliness at present.

First Night – Second Night – This is the Third Chapter – Fourth Night – Fifth Night – Sixth Night – Last Night – Author's Notes

Thursday

2010-07-25T01:42:00.003+08:00

First Night – This is the Second Chapter – Third Night – Fourth Night – Fifth Night – Sixth Night – Last Night – Author's Notes

That Thursday evening found Hermione staring into a bowl of soup at dinner. Her eyes weren't really fixed on anything, but her mind was entirely focused on what had happened the previous night and earlier that morning.

How his hand held her smaller one in a gentle grasp, the steady beating of his heart against her back, his warmth, and how adorable it was when he threw that blasted clock into the wall only to return again to sleep...

"Are you alright, Hermione?" Ginny's voice brought her back to the present, one hand placed on her shoulder. It almost made her gasp.

"Malfoy, adorable? I need to get a hold of myself!" she scolded herself in silence. "Yes, Ginny. I'm fine. 'Just didn't sleep very well last night."

Okay, that was lie. She slept like a baby last night, even with the raging storm outside, safe in his arms... Hermione shook the thought off her mind and chose to ignore this, stop it for Merlin's sake, and scooped up some of that soup she'd been staring at for the past few minutes and get on with life already.

"And remember he mistook you for someone else that time." She didn't know how she felt about this, even as she reminded herself.

"Oh... it was stormy last night," Ginny was saying. She knew that Hermione was never comfortable with sleeping in violent nights like that. The weather had been gloomy the entire day, too.

Draco was sitting at the Slytherin table with his back to the Gryffindors'. He had his sight fixed on something invisible floating in the air. He was too taken in by it that he hadn't realised it when Blaise took the seat next to him and went on to spare a good amount of time scrutinising him. Then Blaise snapped his fingers between Draco and the invisible something and pulled him out of his trance.

Draco blinked and turned to face the intruder. He cocked one eyebrow at him.

"What, something happened between you and the Head Girl last night? Just pull it together and finish dinner. We have a group assignment due tomorrow," he said in an off-handed tone and proceeded to ignore Draco's reaction to his remark.

Which Draco was quite thankful for, because his reaction – eyes widened and mouth agape – would have let on more than he'd forgive himself for. Not even to Blaise. He quelled the shock in his face and reached for some random fruit on the table. Of course Blaise was just saying that, no need to panic.

He bit into the apple before looking to check what he'd just grabbed. Apples... her hair smelled like them. What a sweet smell. Draco mentally shook himself. He had let himself get so lost in thought all day, he must stop, now.

But apples. And how tall she was compared to whom he thought he was mistaking her for. And the warmth. He had to admit that he knew, even if it was unconsciously. And when she didn't pull away...

Blaise squeezed his shoulder and he was back again. "Let's go," the tall boy rose from the bench and Draco followed suit. As they were leaving the Hall, Draco couldn't stop his eyes from looking over the Gryffindor table. Their eyes met for a split second before Granger tore hers away.

Hermione was sitting in an armchair near the fireplace in the Heads' common room when it started pouring again. She looked up from the essay she was working on to scowl at the window. It had better be just rain, or she isn't going to get any sleep tonight; earlier she had decided against seeking comfort in Malfoy's bed again for the next storm. The stupid, stupid storm.

"You're the stupid one, perhaps. There isn't anything to storms worth being so afraid of. It's just water and thunder and..." a flash of light and then a great crack in the air outside made her flinch. Curse this storm!

She turned back to the essay; twenty-three sodding inches on Invisibility spells. She was going to do more research on the subject in the library earlier, but when she reached the library she had caught sight of Malfoy's white-blonde hair sitting at one of the tables. She had then turned around and walked away on impulse. It was pathetic.

The sky rumbled again and there was another flash of lightning, prompting Hermione to drop her parchment and quill to cover her ears and shut her eyes. After a few seconds, the terrifying sound of thunder didn't come. She huffed and recovered her essay from the floor. Only another inch left before she's finished with it.

Draco absently followed Blaise into the library and took a seat at one of the tables near a window. The skies were threatening to pour unto the Earth again, as they did last night. No. He needed to stop thinking about last night.

Blaise laid two heavy tomes on the table right in front of Draco to shake him out of it again. He merely shook his head at the blonde when Draco glowered at him in return. "Can we just finish this assignment now?" At that, Draco took one of the volumes and began scanning the index without further remark.

They managed to finish the assignment just as the library was closing and Madam Pince was calling out for the remaining students to leave. With a sinking feeling, he parted with Blaise at the door and headed for his quarters alone. He decided to take slow steps.

Granger had wanted to sleep in his bed last night. Granger did sleep in his bed last night. Granger had actually sought after him. That should mean she doesn't hate him that much anymore. Perhaps she had forgiven him for how he'd treated her, and her friends, and, well, just about everybody else, in the past? He knew her to be forgiving; he had spent a lot of time, even in that dreaded past, watching her. And he hadn't made another scathing remark, about her at least, since they first returned to Hogwarts for their redo year... But could she really be that forgiving?

He was climbing up the flight of stairs that lead to the Heads' common room in South Tower now. He halted in his track halfway up. Was Granger back yet? He didn't know what to say to her now or how to act around her or even how he really felt about it all. He raised his gaze to the ceiling as if in surrender and closed his eyes; the first thing he saw when he had first opened them this morning was Hermione Granger smiling up at him. He had only seen her smile like that when she was with Potter or Weasley. This morning it had been for him. Something tugged at the corner of his lips at this thought. Thank Merlin those two decided not to come back. They would occupy less of her time now. That's all she ever did, just give, give and give.

When he finally reached the common room, he was greeted by an almost-ear-splitting sound of a thunder, which was immediately followed by a gasp from someone somewhere in the room. Draco looked around and saw no one. His eyes then fell onto the lit fireplace to the side, and then to the armchair near it which had its back to him. Was that where she sat every night, hiding from him? He had no answer to this, as he never plucked up the courage to continue watching her again at school now; while he thought it was a good thing that Potter and Weasley weren't around anymore, he also had to admit the disadvantage in it - now he may not observe Granger without her realising.

Draco now found himself standing beside the armchair in which she sat. He was watching her again; the bushy brown hair, her sharp elbows, her fair skin, her small hand clutching the quill and writing out her homework in impossibly small font...

Granger suddenly turned her head around to find him and yelped. "Malfoy! You made me blot my sentence!" she yelled, waving her wand over the parchment.

Draco mentally shook himself again. That was rude, sneaking up on people like that. "Sorry," he managed to say. He was suddenly very aware of his beating heart; it was hammering against his chest. He tried to remember what he had worked out to say to her earlier but failed to remember anything. He felt like it was caught in his throat.

"Malfoy, about last night... I was just upset about something, I'm sorry I took advantage of you," Hermione was saying in a quiet voice.

"It's nothing, I - "

"I knew you didn't know it was me, but I didn't leave even then. That's why I'm sorry, and I promise it won't happen again," she obviously felt the need to get this conversation over and done with already.

His heart sank. He didn't want her to make that promise. He'd rather she broke it, or never made it to begin with. "Oh, do you now?" Draco only nodded mutely to her. But wait...

"What do you mean, 'you knew'?"

"You, urm, apparently thought I was 'Abby'," neither of them had their eyes on the other up to this point.

"Did I...?" he asked, more to himself than her. But he knew it was her, didn't he? Granger's the one who doesn't like storms, not her.

Nonetheless, that's what she heard. He wanted to turn and flee the room but he was rooted to that spot. A huge part of him wanted to confess everything to her right there and then. He was still struggling in his mind when Granger spoke up again.

"If you don't mind me asking, Malfoy, who is Abby?" she was looking at him now with her head slightly tilted to the side. His entire inner struggle left him as he held the sight. Draco stared at her again.

"I'm sorry, you don't have to answer that," she averted her eyes from him to the floor instead. He almost shook himself.

"Oh, not at all. It's just that... it never occurred to me that you might not know her given name. She was Silversmith," 'you're beautiful, you know that?' was the unsaid part of the sentence.

Realisation dawned on her face as it often does during classes. Draco on the other hand was still trying to think of something to say to her right now. "Sleep tight, Granger," was all he finally managed.

As he tossed and turned in bed that night, he wondered how Granger was doing with the storm still raging outside. He contemplated checking on her in the other room but never reached a decision.

Hermione was kept up all night. She, too, was regretting her promise.

First Night – This is the Second Chapter – Third Night – Fourth Night – Fifth Night – Sixth Night – Last Night – Author's Notes

Wednesday

2010-07-23T03:14:00.016+08:00

This is the First Chapter – Second Night – Third Night – Fourth Night – Fifth Night – Sixth Night – Last Night – Author's Notes

It was still stormy outside when Malfoy returned. Hermione had begun worrying that he wouldn't have come back at all. It wasn't that this was likely to happen, but her anxiety had stemmed from another emotion of higher magnitude; her fear of storms. Yes, Hermione Granger has a phobia other than failing her exams or missing classes.

In previous years, she would ask one of her dorm mates to let her sleep in their bed with them during stormy nights like this one. But now she was no longer living in the same dorm as Parvati or Lavender. Now she was stuck in the same dorm as the Head Boy, Draco Malfoy. Being the Head Girl and to have an almost private quarter to herself was all the more dreadful for this.

Oh, curse this storm. It's not like she was not used to staying up all night studying anyway. Yes, tonight she will do just that, and not let this fear get the better of her.

Draco heaved a sigh of relief as he entered the common room which he shared with only one other student; the Head Girl. It was Wednesday, the most tiring day of the week for him because his Wednesday timetable was filled with classes from the very first till the very last period. It was the reason he sometimes doubt his decision of returning to Hogwarts for his seventh year. But tonight, he had no intention to ponder on any predicament of his. Tonight he would go to bed early.

Tired though he was, it was not quite the time for bed yet. So he had opted for a bit of reading to ease his mind a little before going to sleep. The book he was now reading was written by the muggle author Lewis Carroll. It was her favourite book. Draco remembered the first time he ever saw her; she was reading this very book to her cat at that time. He never found out the cat's name because it had died before he got a chance to know it, and in any case she never called it by any specific name in the past. That night was as stormy as this one. Where could she be now, he wondered.

Hermione tossed and turned in bed. The rain pattering on her windows and the crackling in the dark night sky just bothered her so much. She got very sleepy after reading the chapter on Invisibility just ten minutes ago, but now that she's in bed she was even more aware of the torrent outside. Agitated, she sat up and made for the room across from hers.

She knocked on the door thrice but there was no answer, so she proceeded to open it and peered inside.

It was all dark in the room, the embers were dying on the grate. Malfoy was already asleep. Hermione felt somewhat relieved; that should mean he would be more tolerable since being sleepy.

"Malfoy?" she called out softly, but there was still no answer. She crossed the threshold and entered his room, closing the door behind her - although, after a few steps she realised that she wasn't very comfortable about the door being closed. She chose to leave it anyway.

Hermione put a tentative hand on the body lying in the bed and gave it a gentle sort of shake. The figure stirred, but it was too dark to look into his face and check what expression it held.

"Malfoy? Urm, it's me," she stomped on the little voice screaming in her head telling her to make a dash for the door and leave.

"What is it?" his voice lacked the patented smugness that usually came with every speech he utters. Yes, she could do this.

"Can I sleep here tonight?" although she fully expected him to throw her out of the room soon, she didn't hesitate asking the question. She wasn't a Gryffindor for nothing.

To Hermione's surprise - or rather, utter shock - Malfoy shifted to the other side of his bed and lifted the comforter a bit for her to slide in. Hermione stood frozen for a moment before doing just that. She lied down with her back to him, and then took one second to thank the dark heavens that Malfoy wasn't sleeping in the nude.

Then Malfoy did another thing that surprised her even more: he took her in his arms and held her tight. Hermione was going to scream, but somehow managed to stop herself; it was her decision that had brought her here after all.

"It's okay, Abby," his breath was warm in her ear.

But who was Abby? That was when she realised that Malfoy had only allowed her in his bed because he had thought that she was someone else. But Malfoy made no further remark after that, so she thought that he had went back to sleep and decided to leave things at that for now, and allowed herself to drift into sleep in his warmth.

Draco was awakened by an incessant ringing from the alarm clock on his bedside table. His mind was still a blur as he reached out a hand to stop it. He felt over the few items on the table before grabbing one that was vibrating vigorously, and then went on to hurl it across the room and smash it into a wall. The ringing stopped instantly.

He cursed under his breath. He was having a very nice dream before the blasted thing pulled him back to reality. And now he couldn't remember what the dream was about. Still lying in bed with his eyes closed, he tried to recall on it. She had been in the dream, he was sure. She had wanted to sleep in his bed because the storm was keeping her awake. Her hair had smelled of... apples?

A giggle from beside him pried his eyes open. He turned to find Hermione Granger smiling up at him. He returned her smile with an incredulous look on his face. What was the Head Girl doing in his bed ...in her pyjama? Something in the back of his mind clicked into place; he wasn't dreaming when he had let her in his bed, and he had also mistaken Hermione Granger for her. More importantly, it also wasn't a dream when he had pulled her into his arms.

He silently berated himself. The two girls were physically dissimilar to each other in more than a thousand ways; how the bloody Hell did he manage that stupid mistake? But... he had survived the night and now here Granger was smiling up at him. The whole situation can't be that bad...

"Er-"

"Thanks, Malfoy," she cut across him; no need to make him feel any more discomfitted than he already was.

She hopped off his bed and left a very confused Malfoy in her wake. It had yet to interest her to find out who "Abby" was.

This is the First Chapter – Second Night – Third Night – Fourth Night – Fifth Night – Sixth Night – Last Night – Author's Notes

The White Queen

2010-05-29T21:04:00.003+08:00

click and fullview

[SPOILER ALERT] (?)

The Quarry as the White Queen in SAU.

The Red Queen

2010-03-31T20:59:00.003+08:00

click and fullview

[SPOILER ALERT] (?)

The Vagabond as the Red Queen in SAU.

Lucius Malfoy

2009-11-13T04:29:00.004+08:00

Draco Malfoy suspected that something was wrong. In fact he was quite sure, that he decided to search throughout the manor. Even if he was going to have to flip through every page of every book in the library, he will find where his mother had hidden his First Hogwart's Letter.

Blaise Zabini had visited him that morning, and he had told Draco all about the fuss his mother made, getting ready all the preparation for his first year at Hogwarts. Zabini didn't see the shock that flitted across Malfoy's face when he first mentioned it - Malfoy wasn't about to confide in his friend that he hadn't receive his letter.

And now Malfoy believed that his parents had hid it from him - rationalising that they felt unready to have their only son sent abroad at so young an age. Young Malfoy begged to differ; 11 years old is only two years short of being called a teenager, and he already accepted his mother's request to decline the invitation from Durmstrang Institute - it's too far from home, said she. But this; no, Malfoy will not have it.

He now stood before a door. He knew it to lead into a room which he was forbidden to enter - Lucius Malfoy's office. But alas, the patriarch's own personal quarters sounded like the best place to hide something like Draco's First Hogwarts Letter, and said Head of the family was currently away at work, so the young Malfoy took his next most logical step; that 1-foot stride across the door, into Lucius' office.

It was huge, with high ceiling and a fireplace on either side. Lucius has his own library of books upon the shelves that now stood across from where Draco was standing. Before it was Lucius' desk, and Draco's first target. But he had only come a short distance when he heard footsteps approaching. Instinctively, Draco turned to his left and stepped into a cupboard that he had barely noticed upon entering the room. The slits on its door enabled Draco to see from the inside, but not from the outside; to his advantage, really.

Much to Draco's surprise, what came after the footsteps and into the room was a little girl. Judging from her general appearance, Draco made out that she was no older than himself. She was wearing the housemaid's "uniform", at which Draco mused for a minute whether hiring someone that young was even legal. Then it hit him - the maids had always been discreet, doing their chores in the background and were never seen. In fact, this was the first time Draco knew of their existence in his house.

It should be safe for him to step out of the cupboard now - he had no reason to be hiding from the crimson-haired housemaid. Just as he was about to push the cupboard door open, there came a flash of green; and then out from the fireplace across him came Lucius Malfoy. Draco then knew it better to remain hidden. He watched the older Malfoy as he walked toward one corner of the office. There was a small table there, upon it was a bottle of what Draco only knew to be liquor. Perhaps he needed it out of tension. Then suddenly, Draco remembered the little girl who came in earlier. His eyes trailed back to where he last saw her; the mantlepiece opposite to the one Lucius had come in from. She was still there, but she stood frozen.

"I am really sorry, sir. I didn't know you were going to be here," she at last managed to say. Draco didn't fully understand why she should apologise. He only knew that the office was forbidden. What he didn't know was that it was great offense on a servant's part to allow themselves be seen while going about their chores. It was one of the very reasons they were paid for. The little girl may have been illegally employed, being under the age of consent; but she was employed still.

Silence prevailed. The older Malfoy still had his wand hidden in his cane, but the cane itself was to be feared. Lucius often use it instead to punish misbehaving house elves. The little girl's eyes fell on it as Lucius' grip tightened. Draco almost gasped at the furrowing of his father's eyebrows. Almost, because the man's face slowly mellowed, and his lips broke into a smile. The girl however, looked even more terrified.

"I could use the company anyway. Come here, join me," said he, almost cheerfully. Draco may think he was old enough to face the world, but he was still too young to understand the fact that his father acting all nice at the moment was merely; an act.

The girl though, she seemed to know what was coming. Perhaps she learned enough from experience. But how can she, being younger than Draco himself? Perhaps the bedtime stories that she gets sent to bed with were different from any of the ones Draco ever heard of. Perhaps.

The little girl walked towards her master, head lowered to focus only on her steps. When Lucius gave a sigh, she took it as a sign to speed up. In a moment, the older Malfoy towered above her, drinks in either hand. He offered the one in his left hand to her. She looked at it, examined it somewhat and said "Thank you, sir, but I really shouldn't." She knew it wasn't the kind of drink someone her age could ever tolerate. Or was it? Lucius shrugged a little bit, and when he had set the glass down on the table again Draco gently let out a breath he didn't realise he was holding.

Lucius turned from the glass he just set down to the little girl beside him. Her eyes were still fixed on said glass. Suddenly, he grabbed her by the hair with his now empty left hand and pulled her hard closer to him. He then forced the drink in his right hand down her throat. There was a struggle, but the older man was naturally stronger; he succeeded to force her to gulp down half the glass, the other half coughed out.

She fell on her knees, head hurting and still coughing. Lucius' grip on her hair didn't turn loose, even as he set the empty glass down. "Stop that, you're dirtying the carpet," he yelled, with the faintest hint of mockery. He grabbed the other glass and forced its contents down her throat. This time, she managed to finish it all off without spilling. Draco only watched from inside the cupboard. He wasn't thinking, he didn't know what to think. It seemed perfectly fine when he saw his father beating the hell out of Dobby the other day, but this one was not. Almost on the contrary, even. It was just a little girl. How could his father be so cruel? Maybe he's not? It's just a couple of drinks after all.

Lucius released his grip. She was still on her knees, wiping her mouth with her sleeves. The man only proceeded to help himself with a drink. And then another. She tried to stand up. When Lucius seemed to ignore her, she hurriedly got up and stepped back. Her head still lowered. She turned around and tried to make a dash for it.

Lucius took one last gulp and turned to the little girl, then almost immediately ran after her. Draco couldn't understand why he did that, nor could he understand the rest of what happened next. He sinked into the cupboard, not daring to look out anymore. Draco sat down and hugged his knees. He shut his eyes as he heard her first scream, which was almost immediately stopped. There was a thud on the floor, and then muffled shouts. It didn't sound like a beating. Like nothing Draco ever heard. He somehow knew he didn't want to know anything about it, so he covered his ears and started repeating something to himself. He regretted coming into the office. Logical step, indeed!

After a while, it was silent. He heard footsteps moving towards the fireplace, and then a gush of winds, then nothing. Draco stood up and peeked out the cupboard. His father was gone, and the little girl too. He peered out carefully, and slowly stepped out. He wanted to run as fast as he could towards the door but his legs were somewhat heavy. So he walked steadily, and when he reached the door, he couldn't help but take one last look behind him.

She was still there, seemingly lying dead on the floor. It was a dreadful sight. Her back was already covered with a lot of scars, and now there were some fresh wounds on it too. She curled a little, and then stood up very slowly and shakily. Draco could only watch. She staggered as she walked towards where her torn apron was lying. Draco saw blood trailing down her leg, and heard her sniffle. He then abruptly left the room.

Dementia

2009-10-28T15:27:00.004+08:00

Samara didn't realise that the Creshire Cat has reappeared to her right again until he spoke, in that deep, rumbling voice of his, "your knife is necessary but not sufficient. Always collect what's useful. Reject only your ignorance and you may survive,"

"Wait!" Samara yelled, not sparing one second lest he should vanish again.

The Cat remained, his malicious grin as wide as ever.

"I was wondering, where do you go when you disappear?"

Samara could swear that the Cat had sighed through gritted teeth at her question, but then changed her mind seeing that this was impossible to do, even for the Creshire Cat.

But the Cat and his grin remained. He nodded once, swished his tail as he got onto his paws and turned around.

He began leading the way to the mines. Tightening her grip on the Vorpal Blade, Samara then followed close, not bothered by her unanswered question.

Naturally, the mines were dimmer and relatively more closed compared to the underground Village. Samara just couldn't figure out what kind of mineral that was dug out of there; it was all earth and tree roots again. The passage was less narrow than the one she came through earlier, and they reached a point where it diverges into two every now and then. Even so, with the Cat leading her way, Samara was confident in not getting lost.

After about half an hour of walking through the twisty and branched passage, the Cat finally came to a halt. He turned to face her, swished his tail and sat down. Samara looked around, allocating a full minute to take in her surroundings.

She now stood on what appeared to be a narrow railway track, and there was a rusty cart blocking their way. Creshire Cat indicated this cart with one front paw and once more disappeared before his lingering grin. Samara took it to mean that she should jump into the cart, and she did.

As if it had been condemned to years of solitude, waiting in eager for someone to board it, the cart started moving forwards of its own accord before Samara could properly settle herself in it. Following half an hour of silent journeying with the Cat, this sudden motion and creaking sound almost made her jump.

She reached the first turn. It appeared to be getting brighter. Samara soon found out why.

The turning opened into another underground air pocket, as huge as the previous one in which the Village was set, but the flowing matter at its bottom was more of a vast lake rather than a network of streams like that of the Village's. There was no steam jetting out from the bottom and the unknown matter glowed and seemed alive. Indeed, the flowing matter at the base of this cave is of the very same kind as those contained in the crystal balls that the gnomes of the Village were carrying on their backs.

"That must be what they're digging for here," she said to no one in particular. She could not confirm this though, because apparently there was no mining activity going on at the time.

The tracks remained narrow and twisty, and the journey silent, save for the creaking of her rusty cart. She saw no other sign of life for a good one hour.

The cart stopped when it reached the other end of the cave and she vacated it. Before her stood an opening into yet another passage. The prospect of this being an endless journey hit her, and she silently prayed that the Cat had led her through the shortest, not the safest, route. She wouldn't mind facing more cardboard guards if it meant reaching her destination faster.

Something pulled her out of her frame of thoughts; floating to her right as the Vorpal Blade had done before she grabbed it, was a book with a red diamond shape on its white cover. She reached out for it and the book replaced the dagger in her hand. Upon closer examination, she found that it was not a book at all. It was a Deck of Cards; all four sets bind together neatly by something invisible.

She then began to wonder how the Deck of Cards was going to help her fight against anything; the Vorpal Blade was an obvious case.

Suddenly there was a searing pain on her left shoulder. She now realised that she had been absently walking through the passage, and has reached the next pit. Samara didn't have the time to worry about having taken a wrong turn along the way; the pain she felt had come from the card guarding a doorway at the other side of the cave. It was a seven of diamonds this time, its sceptre shooting out red diamond-shaped cards at her, slashing her brutally.

Focusing on saving herself, she held out her Deck of Cards and mentally commanded it to attack. It obeyed.

Cards shoot out of the Deck at incredible rate, and Samara noticed some of them went flying towards a different direction. A yelp of pain told her that there were two of the guards, the other one had been obscured from view, and was now laying dead. Oh yes, she was loving the Deck of Cards.

The guard soon fell defeated, left in its place was its life force in the familiar form of a luminous ruby. Seeing this, all the pain came back to her and Samara began limping towards the now unguarded doorway. Before she reached it, the ruby disappeared.

Samara groaned in painful frustration. "Of course! Why should the thing stick around?"

She now desperately wished for another encounter with card guards.

But alas, she had to continue forward despite her agony. She had cuts in her shoulders, arms and right thigh. Limping through the doorway and into the next tunnel, Samara said to herself, "how deep is deepest pit anyway?" and mentally added, "and how do I find this guy when I get there? I don't think he'll have put up signboards directing towards where he lives." She amused herself with a picture of a road sign at the end of this passage, written on it the words 'The Last Free Gnome' in defiance to the Red Queen.

Not long afterwards, she entered into the next pit. This one was similar to the Village for a change. There was no signboard of any kind, and her path diverged into three. She cursed loudly.

Straight ahead, the path twisted and turned until the other side of the pit. The path to her right went higher and higher towards the right side, leading into a dark tunnel above. Then she caught sight of the Cat sitting in the middle of the left turn. "Every adventure requires a first step. Trite but true, even here," with a nod, he vanished again.

Samara decided to take the left turn. Halfway across it, she had to ride the hot air again. This doubling of her physical suffering made her determined to kill off any being that dares to even cross her path. Evidently, Samara felt homicidal. Perhaps she would like her Vorpal Blade back now so she could actually inflict pain before consuming her adversary's life force. At this thought, she smiled for the first time since she fell through the Rabbit Hole.

Something red and aglow was sent her way. She looked up to see her next victim. The seven of diamonds was shooting red cards at her still but she ran towards it and dodged them with newfound agility. She didn't remember when had the Vorpal Blade replace the Deck of Cards in her hand, but the next thing she knew was that all her cuts were healed and the pain had gone. The guard was no more and she missed no time in grabbing its meta-essence. Samara felt victorious.

Creshire Cat had reappeared beside her. Samara thought he looked grudgingly proud. "How am I to find this guy? I've got some fancy toys now, I could try breaking into the Fortress of Doors and save time," she said to the Cat.

"Doors have locks, locks need keys which you don't have. Let's hope the doors are open," he said.

"And if not, there may be more than one way to skin a cat," said she before hastily adding, "if you'll pardon the expression."

"Most unpleasant metaphor. Please avoid it in the future," he replied, his grin wide still. He swished his tail and got on his paws, leading the way again.

The walk was very short this time, they soon reached their destination. It was a small house not unlike the cobbler's. Creshire Cat walked up to the door, turned to face her and nodded, then he was gone again.

The door opened, and a gnome stepped out to meet her. He looked cleaner and healthier than the ones she saw earlier.

"Why do you pursue me to this deserted place?" apparently he was not surprised that she now stood in front of his door. Well, there can't be that many free gnomes around.

"To benefit from your wisdom," she answered. "I need to get into the Fortress of Doors so I could get this small," and again, she indicated about half an inch with a thumb and a forefinger.

Village of The Doomed

2009-10-14T18:22:00.005+08:00

“Alice,” called the voice; a deep, rumbling voice that sounded as if the walls have spoken.

Samara looked around to see which side of the walls spoke but found nothing of the sort. She was standing in a cavernous earthy chamber and above her was the Rabbit Hole through which she fell. She decided to ignore the voice and looked up again at her shoes. It was frustratingly slow. And then another voice spoke.

“Please don’t dawdle, Alice. We’re very late indeed,” it spoke in an almost-whisper. Her eyes trailed it, and she saw the Red Rabbit disappear into another corner ahead of her.

Samara decided to venture on barefooted. The narrow passage before her looked like an underground mine. She had nowhere else to go after all. But just as she reached the start of the tunnel, something yellowish and jagged appeared to her right. She saw that it was a grin.

A pair of eyes followed the grin and next second, a cat was perched on the rock at the side of the tunnel entrance. Creshire Cat now sat almost as tall as her, with yellow teeth and eyes that glow in the dark. He looked bony; indeed some of his taupe grey flesh seemed to have been bitten off the bone here and there. He had tribal tattoo instead of stripes all over his body and a thin silver earring on his good ear (the other one was half torn off). Even the grin he wears now seemed malicious and sadistic. Last but not least, Samara soon found out that the deep voice was his.

“You’ve become quite mangy, Cat, but your grin’s a comfort.” It was the first thing she thought and she couldn’t help herself.

“And you’ve picked up a bit of an attitude. Still curious and willing to learn, I hope,” replied the Cat.

“Wonderland has become quite strange. How is one to find her way?” Samara surprised herself in saying this instead of asking why the Cat spoke to her as if they’ve met before. Granted, Wonderland has indeed change since Samara last read about it. As if complementary to the Rabbit Hole (but of course), one couldn’t shake off the scary feeling of being trapped underground and its very air was dark and sinister.

“As knowing where you’re going is preferable to being lost, ask. Rabbit knows a thing or two, and I myself don’t need a weathervane to know where the wind blows. Let your need be your guidance, suppress your instinct to lead; pursue Rabbit.” With the last word, he vanished after his lingering grin.

Samara followed through the tunnel. It was narrow and suffocating, but the torches lighting up her way were a relief to the fact that she still could not see the rabbit. After what felt like forever, she reached the end of the passage.

She has entered a village with the most unwelcoming atmosphere. There were bigger tree roots in the walls of the huge cave in which this village was set, and every building and the narrow bridges that interconnect them were evidently made of these roots. The inhabitants of this village were gnomes and Samara now saw that they were all moving about carrying huge crystal balls tied to their backs. They walked slowly and unsteadily and looked very solemn.

She peered over the edge where she stood and couldn’t quite make out what she saw below; whether it was water or molten glass for it looked somewhat solid and yet it flows. Samara had to shrug off the debate because she finally caught sight of the reddish-black smudge again.

The Red Rabbit was only on the other end of the bridge where she now stood. Samara tore after it again but as soon as she reached the Rabbit, it turned around once more and disappeared into a doorway in the wall of the cave. To her displease, the doorway shrunk a considerable size as Samara approached it; now it stood a mere inch tall. She has reached a dead end.

“Ask,” said Creshire Cat’s voice in her head.

She went up to the nearest gnome (it looked like it has aged too much in too short a time) and was going to ask it ‘Where does that door lead to?’ when the gnome unexpectedly confide in her of its suffering.

“Our land is destroyed, our spirits crushed. Slavery and happiness do not dwell in the same house,” said it, before turning its back to her and staggered off, still carrying the crystal ball thrice its size on its back.

Irritated with the unhelpful behaviour, Samara decided to walk away from the gnome and instead ask the next one she encounters.

Moving on, she soon arrived where the bridge she was crossing comes to abrupt end. It appeared that the few steps ahead has collapsed, leaving a huge jump between where she stood and the rest of the crossing, one that she knew she could not manage.

As though heeding to her summoning him, Creshire Cat reappeared on her right and said “When the path becomes problematical, consider a leap of faith. Ride the wind.” And he vanished again.

The meaning of his words was revealed when she held out her hand. Steam was blowing up from below, strong enough to hold her in the air. Having nowhere else to go but forward, Samara leapt and rode the wind.

Indeed, she found it easy to do so since her skirt puffed up to allow her balance, but steam is really the product of boiling water; it was hot and she suffered every ounce of pain as she rode it. It was lucky enough that she didn’t succumb to the pain before she arrived at the other side of the bridge.

As her wounded, steamed feet touched the cold, wooden surface of the bridge she began howling in pain and her next thought was “I should get myself shoes.” To her relief, she saw the sign ‘Cobbler’ at the end of the crossing, even when she did not mean to mend any shoe for she had none.

The sign was hung onto a door. Samara proceeded to push it open and step inside.

The room was, of course, gnome-sized, its walls lined with shelves of worn-out shoes, random boxes and (oddly enough) porcelain dolls, a single light source hung in the middle gave off poor lighting but it generally felt more welcoming than the outside. A lone gnome that sat at its working station in a corner turned around to meet her indifferent expression. This one didn’t have its crystal ball tied onto its back (it laid beside the desk) but it looked as solemn as the rest.

“You’re not from here,” it said.

“No,” she replied. “I want to buy a pair of shoes,” and her eyes fell upon one that stood on top of the shortest shelf; tall black boots that would reach up to her knees, and evidently the only pair that would fit her.

“Rabbit told us that a champion would come. Are you that champion?” it enquired.

“I dunno,” she answered, and proceeded to point at the pair of boots, “are you selling these?”

The gnome didn’t seem to have heard her and ploughed on “because if you are, I’d be most glad to help you with anything.”

Samara took the boots off the shelf. “Alright, I am then. I will take these.” It was a statement, not a request. She found toffees in her pocket and gave some of them to the gnome. It accepted them most heartily. She sat down on a chair and put on the boots; it was a perfect fit.

Now that her immediate urgency is taken care of, she moved on to her previous case: Follow the Red Rabbit. Why?

“How am I supposed to save you people again?” was all she could ask.

The gnome dragged his stool from the desk and took a seat opposite to her. She still looked indifferent, but Samara really wanted to hear the whole story.

“Some time after you left, the Red Queen and White Queen broke into a quarrel. It soon turned into a fight, and then it was war. The White Queen wished to end the war, but the Red Queen is determined to end her adversary. She’s inhuman, really, since they’re sisters,”

“Half the country already hers, she moved on to take over the rest of the land. Under her reign, we are forced into slavery. She’s building something, a weapon, we don’t really know. But we have to suffer for her to achieve her goal. Only death could release us from this misery. Or her death.”

Samara was again puzzled by how people seem to think that this was her second visit to Wonderland. Then she remembered the Red Rabbit. “I’m supposed to follow the Rabbit, but he’s gone through a door and I need to get this small,” and she indicated half an inch with her thumb and forefinger.

“The Fortress of Doors holds such secrets. But it will take more than a wish to get there.”

“Can you get me into the Fortress of Doors?” she requested now.

“Wouldn’t dare. Since the upheaval we’ve all become gutless half-wits. But, make your way to the mines, the deepest pit. There’s one there who is wiser and braver than any of us. He still lives free.”

The gnome then stood up, walked over to its crystal ball and began rolling it across the room and out the door. It heaved it unto its back and left Samara confused with its behaviour.

She then followed suit, understanding now that her being here was to kill the powerful Red Queen. Unarmed and outnumbered, one can hardly blame her for wanting to back out and then wishing that is was just a dream, and now she does believe that she could succeed after all since it really was her dream, in which case she would be capable of bending it to her will.

Creshire Cat appeared beside her again. “Meta-essence is the life force in Wonderland. Those of your enemies are especially potent. Use it wisely.” He indicated a ruby that was floating in front of her and disappeared.

At her touch, the ruby vanished. Samara blinked, not understanding what it was all about. But when she took her next step, she realised that all the pain in her legs was gone. Apparently the floating ruby acts as ointment to any physical pain she was in. With that, Samara was reassured.

She encountered more dejected gnomes as she made her way through the Village, and she soon wondered if there was any real danger in her quest. Just as she reached the mines however, she found out that there was.

A sentry posted at the entrance to the mines charged at her on sight. Despite that it was an Eight of Clubs card with a head and the appropriate limbs, Samara just knew that it could really hurt her. It strike at her with its spear before she could turn the other way, slashing her and inflicting pain very unlike a dream. Slightly horrified at realising that she could not wake up, Samara ran as fast as she could, hoping the sentry would rather remain to stand guard at its post. But when she began to slow down, she received another blow of the cutting spear.

She screamed, there was no denying the pain. She ran again and the sentry still chased after her, swinging the spear ruthlessly. A stitch started to form in her chest, but she felt that her life depended on her running as fast as she could for as long as she could. And then the worse came.

She ran into something hard. It was the wall of the cave. She has reached another dead end, and this time there was no wind to ride. Behind her, the Red Queen’s soldier looked more threatening than ever.

She turned her back to the wall and began scanning the area for any form of escape. There was none, but to her immediate right where the Cat usually materialises out of thin air, something was doing the same.

It took her a fraction of a second to recognise it as a knife, and then she began swinging her arms aimlessly as soon as she grabbed it.

The guard was stabbing her repeatedly, missing sometimes as she accidentally deflected with her knife. She was bleeding all over, the pain was very real. Then she closed her eyes and forced herself onto the guard. With one last slash, the guard was cut across the middle into halves, blood squirting out like the jet of fountain in the back garden of her manor.

She watched it fell and turned into a ruby bigger than the last one she saw. Again, all the pain simply diffused out of her as she touched the meta-essence.

“Those of your enemies are especially potent,” Creshire Cat does not lie.

She looked down at her hand in which she held the weapon. The Vorpal Blade was made of something stronger than silver. Now all memory of the fountain and the back lawn and the manor seemed a lifetime ago.

Falling Down The Rabbit Hole

2009-09-27T21:18:00.005+08:00

It is a fortnight into the summer and a threat of rain is lingering above the Terre verte manor that stood upon the hill overlooking Pleasance Village. Today is supposed to be looked forward to; the daughter of the family who dwells in the manor, Samara Rutledge is celebrating her nineteenth birthday. It is not though, because the decorations (of tapestries and wreaths) are not in place for a party celebrating this occasion, but they were set up for a feast to welcome guests of the family coming from the far north tonight; and it is also known that they are carrying a wedding proposal. Further infuriating the birthday girl is the obvious fact that she is the only girl in the family to propose to.

The second child and only daughter of the prestigious Rutledge family, Samara could be expected to be brought up and spoiled rotten by her family. But this is not the case; for as long as she could remember, Samara has been made to live up to the uncommonly high expectations which her family stored for her. Compared to the rest of her peers, Samara is the most educated and athletic. Even so, she remained the lesser of her siblings in both aspects. In addition, Samara is the least gorgeous of the three siblings. While both her brothers inherited the shiny golden locks and light blue eyes of their parents, Samara is a thin, pale-skinned girl with eyes the same black colour as her hair, and the most peculiar expression of passiveness upon her small face.

Hearing the appalling news as early as waking up (well into the afternoon) has no doubt plunged Samara into a most foul mood, because she didn't even bother to have breakfast (or brunch, if one may) and has gone into the verdant lawn between the manor and the fencing behind it. Beyond is a forest into which none ever dared enter. No sooner than this thought crosses her mind though, Samara has stepped over the fencing and into the forbidden forest. Mind, Samara is not being stupid, doing this; as soon as she walked out the back door, she tripped on the steps and fell flat onto the moist grass. She then looked up ahead to catch a smudgy shape of reddish-black just behind the fencing, and so tore after it upon realising that there is no such thing as a Red Rabbit.

It has started to rain, and Samara is already aware of her being lost in the middle of the forest. However, she is not yet ready to turn back and start finding her way home to get married, not now when she is sure that the Red Rabbit has been beckoning her to follow at each turn. The rabbit runs very fast, and only stopping to turn around back towards its pursuer, standing on its hind legs like so for a couple of seconds before turning around and disappears behind one after another tree. It is now at its twenty-second left turn, looking somewhat impatient with the low speed at which Samara chases after it. Of course, Samara is trying her best to catch up.

A little relieved to see that the rabbit has come to a definite stop, she starts running faster towards it. To her surprise, she now finds that she has been trailing behind it from a farther distance than she thought. She could presently see that it stands almost four feet tall on its hind legs. Just as she decides to slow down, she suddenly stepped onto something very brittle, which almost immediately crumbles away and opens into a seemingly endless hole. Samara takes a moment to realise that she is falling down into it; the Red Rabbit has jumped after her and apparently falls down faster than her too.

The fall is a long one, and considerably slow; even the clueless Samara has time to ponder and daydream before it ends. “I know this story! I’m Alice in Wonderland! And I’m falling down the rabbit hole!” said she aloud, just as Alice did when Samara was reading her story and apparently forgetting the fact that there was no Red Rabbit in the story and her name is not Alice. She looks around and tries to remember the story. Alas, this hole is not lined with shelves of glass jars and books. Instead, this hole looks everything an underground tunnel should; walls of dirt and tree roots. However, a quarter of an hour later, it is wondrous that there is even any light in it.

Samara tries to look down at the bottom but forgets to as soon as she sees the Red Rabbit swimming back up to her. It stopped as it has levelled with her. “Hullo,” she greeted the rabbit good-naturedly, but the blank look on her face is one she can never be rid of. “Odd. The White Rabbit spoke, this one should too,” thought her, as the rabbit seem to furrow its eyebrows in confusion. As suddenly as the rabbit’s opal eyes blinked, Samara feels something grabbing her ankles – thick, strong vines with wicked sharp thorns all over it – and immediately, painfully, she is pulled down swiftly down the hole. It is getting darker and darker, and finally pitch-black, yet she is pulled down even faster still.

The vines seem to clutch at her ankles even tighter, digging their thorns into what little flesh there is. Samara feels that they are trying to eat her; the thorns serve as teeth. “Like those carnivorous plants. Maybe these vines belong to one really big pitcher plant that could swallow me whole,” thought her, still looking somewhat indifferent. Now she sees that the Red Rabbit falls at the same speed as she is being dragged down. “This is your doing, is it?” accused her, “let go! Rabbit, tell them off!” and Samara struggles to free herself despite the agony as the vines tightened their grips. “ACK! Oh, bother,” and she gives up when they had ripped off her shoes.

Five minutes later, she slows down; the Red Rabbit doing the opposite. As the vines released her ankles, she abruptly stops falling and stands a foot or so above ground. She winced as her feet touches the ground, owing more to the pain than the cold. It was still dark but when she squints her eyes, they adjusted to the darkness so remarkably that she now sees as clearly as she would under clear skies. She looks up and notices her shoes falling down after her at a snail's pace. She was going to wait when a curiously familiar voice startled her.

“Alice,” calls the voice.

The Red Grasshopper

2009-04-09T21:05:00.004+08:00

“Hey Creed, wait up for me will ya!” Samara called out to her dear friend. They were both running up a tall flight of stairs. It was 7.00 in the morning and it was the first subject in their schedule for the day; Physical Education. Their class of about 40 students were now crossing a footbridge that lead to their school field. “If ya wanna be expert in parkour, ya gonna hafta train hard!” shouted Creed, who didn’t want to stop and wait for her friend. The other kids were not as keen on something they have never heard of, and so they were dumbfounded at the word “parkour” and Creed being enthusiastic with today’s PE session. They thought it was just another word she messed up; Creed was never attentive of her grammar disorders and failed sentence structures when they didn’t matter. But then they weren’t of course going to learn Parkour during PE; they were only a bunch of 14-year-olds in a public school. It just so happened that Samara was telling her dear friend Creed about her newfound fandom earlier and Creed decided it was for her, too.

They reached the school field and assembled in the basketball court. Their teacher didn’t look too happy with his students, “those of you who are not wearing your respective House’s T-shirt are going to walk one round around this field, breathing like this,” and the teacher started hyperventilating like so, “understand? Now, start,” Creed and Samara were two of the students whom their teacher was referring to; they didn’t know they were to put on their Green House’s T-shirts instead of the black collared one that everybody who goes to that school had to have. So they started their round, though every one of them refused to follow their teacher’s instructions directly as it sounded so stupid and he must have been joking; to hyperventilate like that and walk.

Not one minute into the round, Creed was already bored. She looked about for the teacher and when she saw that he was too busy training his batch of selected athletes, she decided it was the perfect time for catching grasshoppers. Their school field was densely populated with grasshoppers of all colours and sizes. Samara had always suspected them to have consisted of different species; she didn’t like insects and reads about them because she is the kind who believes in the phrase “know your enemy”.

While Samara hasted in finishing her round for fear she would finish last and get scolded, Creed was falling behind the rest of the students and was diverting her direction out of the circle. She’d found a bright-red coloured grasshopper and tried to catch it. The creature managed to escape her with one thrust of its strong hind legs, placing itself a good distance ahead of her. “Dang you, hopper! Ye die now!” Creed was persistent on seizing it as she hardly ever failed before. Though this one was certainly bigger than those she had previously managed to take custody of, and no one knows what happened to them after.

Creed was now hopping after the stubborn grasshopper; the creature takes her further away from the rest of the kids under punishment of having to circle the huge field of grasshopper habitat with each leap it took. Finally, Creed decided that the best way to get the insect was the stealth way. So she halt and waited for about a minute, hoping that it would trick the grasshopper into thinking that she’d gone and it was safe, and it would lower its guard unsuspectingly. She started crawling towards the creature as silent as she could, and arrived with her hands only one foot from it. The creature did not move. “In the name of God,” she whispered, and without a moment to lose, she swiftly grabbed a hold of the grasshopper and succeeded.

The red insect was apparently shocked as it didn’t move one muscle in Creed’s hands. Of course, the little girl wasn’t holding it with all the force she had but she held it gently and firmly enough. The grasshopper was indeed huge; Creed dared say it was the size of her own pencil box. She tried to hold the creature with as few of her fingers as possible so that she could see it better. The insect didn’t try to turn itself lose even as she held it with only four of her fingers, already surrendering its fate to the God in whose name Creed fought by.

Creed started examining it as she began walking back into the circular path she was on earlier. It was a female as it had short ovipositors, but Creed didn’t know that. What she did know was that her friend Samara once told her of her hypothesis; that the population of grasshoppers in their school field consisted of different species, and that Samara should be able to tell her whether it was male or female. Creed also thought she would be helping Samara in satisfying her curiosity as she could now provide her friend with a test subject for her hypothesis. So she started running towards her friend and was soon calling out, “Sam! Lookit! Tis a hopper! A really BIG one!”

Samara, recognising the voice and the nickname given to her by her dear friend, turned round to see what the ruckus was about; she couldn’t quite make out what the rest of her friend’s sentence was. There and then she saw and heard to her horror, a bright-red thing in Creed’s hands which was according to that dear friend, “tis a hopper!” Samara started running away from her friend for dear life, screaming as she went “I don’t like insects!” “But he’s a red one, with black spots! He’s yer favourite colour!” shouted Creed, chasing after her friend. She’d neglected the fact that the grasshopper might not have been a male and calling it a “he” would be inappropriate then.

The two were about finished with the entire round, thanks to Samara being unfriendly with insects and the other too curious. But the chase continued with Samara screaming “don’t come near me!” And Creed going on “but ya gotta see at this one!” Samara now regretted having told her dear friend of her opinion. It didn’t matter whether the field was inhabited by a diverse species of grasshoppers or not, she’d hated them altogether. She recalled the moment when she confided in her dear friend of her theory the other day.

It was during their Sports’ Meet and the students were all busy chattering away while waiting for their teachers and seniors to finish with appointing their House Captain and event participants. Creed and Samara was in that group of busy students. “Those creatures in our school field must be of different species!” said Samara suddenly, after she had been lost for some time in her thoughts. Creed was not shocked by the sudden remark, she was used to it. In fact, this time she was drawn into the interest to find out the truth of it, so she answered “let’s go there and get some and see!” to which Samara dismissed so carelessly, “yeah. Sure,” She was merely being sarcastic, but now as it turned out, there was some pure intention in her dear friend’s answer.

Samara was now the first to finish the round. She was back in the basketball court where they were to await further orders, that is when they’ve all finished. But when Samara saw that her dear friend was now coming second, and still insisted on her to have a closer look at the leaping creature, she was petrified. “No! How could this happen? What do I do?” she thought, and started scanning the area for a place to hide. She spotted one and was going to make a dash to it, but her friend Creed had finally reached the assembly point where Samara stood.

Somehow though, Creed never got close enough to her friend to be able to hand over the grasshopper to her properly. She was running, and when she stepped on a pebble she slipped and fell on her chest, yet she somehow succeeded to get her hands in which she held the creature out of harm’s way. Unfortunately as it turned out, it was not quite the best thing to do.

The creature saw its opportunity to be free at last, so it spread its wings and made the strongest leap it could, and so freed itself. No longer confined in a cage of human hands but once more free to hop and leap and fly around and across its beloved habitat of a public school field. And it has now learned its lesson so as to never get caught by nasty little kids again. It will henceforth lead a better life.

Creed picked herself up from the paved court and realised that she’d lost the grasshopper. She searched the ground for a tint of bright red and failed to find it, and then lifted her gaze to search in a further distance. And there she gasped. She’d spotted the bright red tint she was looking for, but it had apparently landed on a place where even Creed was horrified to have found.

There amongst a shade of dark brown, the insect had stuck itself upon a brunette’s hair. “Sam,” said Creed, under her breath. Samara turned to look at her dear friend as she had heard the fall, but as she did she felt a sort of force exerted on her head, like someone or something was pulling on her dark hair. She noticed the crimson was now gone from within her dear friend’s grasp and the dreaded expression on her face. She now realised what was happening.

There came an immense silence, and evil could be felt in the air. Creed felt it, and it grew even stronger as she approached her friend; she meant to get rid of the grasshopper from her friend’s hair and relieve her of her current horror. At one point though, she felt the evil too strong and was stopped in her tracks. Samara slowly reached for the creature, where she could feel her hair being tugged on. The creature may have learned its lesson, but Samara was too silent for it. In a flash she had had it in her hand, terrifying it to no end. “I hate you. You will never disturb me again! DIE!” and Samara threw the grasshopper with all her might, sending it far and over the fences that surrounded the field. The grasshopper landed on a road that ran alongside their school field (its habitat), and was crushed under the merciless crossing of a four-wheel-drive.

And now Creed has learned her lesson; never to provoke her friend’s fears, because her friend could turn the table and does it better. And of course they stayed friends, after all Creed is Samara’s dear friend.

That The Very Earth Shook

2009-04-06T23:08:00.003+08:00

Night time fell upon her like the crashing of waves; she hurts and mourns whenever it comes, indeed she hated the day coming to its end and wishes only for a little more time to play out in the sun. If the invisible source of solar radiation that didn’t seem to hang in the heavens could be called a sun. For this country had no sun, or at least none that is visible. But this story is the tale of its people, hence this story shall move on to that part.

Bedtime. She hated bedtime. It was as though the light of day threatens to never spill into her vision again should she close her eyes to sleep. The little girl would never learn.

Tucked in, warm and comfortable, she shut her eyes and feigned unconscious. Sharpening her ears for the footsteps that followed, she heard something else.

Another set of feet arrived before her door and with it, no doubt, a body with hands to push the door open. It swung easily enough, but the intruder was evidently skilful at stealth; not one second later, it towered beside her like an omniscient cloud.

“You should get a decent sleep every now and then,” the voice spoke merely above whisper.

It was her elder sister.

The girl sat up almost immediately in her bed. The darkened room proved difficult to see into. There was no moonlight to illuminate the beautiful features upon her sister’s face that she knew so well.

The beady eyes, thin brows, her small nose and those lips always graced with a smile. Any onlooker would think her a queen, and not from the dress that she wore or even how they hung on her, but from the curve of her lips and every sound and movement she made. Grace incarnated, and merely aged a decade or three years more. The little girl never pondered on this, all else about her sister was enough to think on for a lifetime. Or so she thought.

The elder sister was found among the rubbles of what was left of the west wing of their manor many years ago in the time of their country’s great depression. On that one night, almost all was lost. The skies turned an angry red, running in indefinite currents and sending vermillion shafts upon the driest of their lands. And then there was light in the form of incinerated boulders, meteors showering as if sent down by the heavens to punish them. The very air resonated with fear; people all over the country were hit by the disaster. And when it was over, their number must have decreased at least a third portion.

[Author's Note]
This is only a draft. My apologies.

And How They Clangoured!

2009-04-06T02:46:00.005+08:00

He sat thinking, pondering what is to become of his future. No voices to answer him this time. No more. Will it really be for the better? Willing himself to ask the other question, he halted when his door was knocked.

Knock, knock. Who’s there? A sneer graced his face. He did not bother to prepare for the intruder’s entrance. And why should he?

That dastardly novice.

Said novice entered, but made no remark. The silence that followed could be cut with a knife. Alas, here is one in the intruder’s hand. Has he come to dispose of him, too?

And to think this man once bowed before him, swearing an oath to devote his life to the throne, to him.

And he did. But why was he here, now?

The King could hold the silence forever. He was thinking this, but said novice decided the moment to speak.

“You have summoned me, my king,” said he. It almost sounded like a question.

It must have been a question, for the King did not remember ever calling upon the treacherous man to his court.

Another trick? Or was it one of the various ailments he has been made to suffer at the hands of the sands of time?

Had it any hands?

Was he actually losing his mind?

Indeed. That must the answer.

“Sire?” it pulled him out of his frame of thoughts.

It forced him, it did.

No.

He really is losing his mind.

[Author's Note]
This is a mere draft. My apologies.

The Bells Tolled

2009-04-05T01:12:00.006+08:00

The hour has struck.

The day was bright with the sun searing so radiantly in the sky. An unusual shade of yellow smeared throughout the sky; as if promising a brilliant future for the people of this town. But the cold air held on still, indeed it always was all through the land whose people calls it by the name Middleground. A brunette was helping her father with his business in the market, probably aged 11 or so. She was holding a box filled with fresh cabbages in it. Though quite heavy for her, she was obliged to help out today because her elder brother was not in his best state of health. She put the box on the table and took a seat beside where her father was standing. “May I have an apple, father?” she asked the dark-haired man who was just about done with a customer. “Yes, you may,” he said, and then hurried to attract this other customer with dark hair to his little corner of the village market.

Merchants, grocers and people in general were busy with trades and bargaining all over the marketplace. The brunette was just about finished eating her apple when she spotted a dark-haired boy motioning to her from one corner near the stall in front of her father’s. “Father, may I go and play?” she requested her father’s approval. The man was in a merry mood now because business has been progressing lately. So he gave his daughter her leave and continued the rest of the business himself. The brunette jumped off the stool and ran towards the boy. They left the noisy marketplace for a more cheerful, undisturbed part of the village.

“The sky is a little bit odd today, don’t you think?” the brunette asked the boy who was hanging onto a tree branch with one hand, his other hand grabbing his trousers that hung loose on him, threatening to fall any time soon if he insisted on behaving so disorderly. Nevertheless, boys will be boys. He didn’t answer the girl’s question, for he hadn’t notice the fade yellow smear on the sky. He let go of the branch and ran towards the girl, and looked up the sky.

It should be winter soon; it had been getting colder every day. Though, it never was warm for Middleground was always blanketed with frost and chilly air. Certainly Middleground was unlike any other place and so were its people, once upon a time. But the land was now altering, nature taking its course to adapt to the changes that its people had brought upon it.

The golden smear over the heavens seemed to be moving with the blowing wind. “Maybe the castle people have something to tell to everybody,” answered the boy finally, shrugging. “I hope it is good news,” said the girl, a smile on her face. “It should be. I like this yellow sky, better than those weird black ravens those people always send when they have to tell us something,” replied the boy. With that said he ran back towards the tree and jumped to catch and hold onto the branch again. The girl went after him. “I guess you’re right. But mere yellow flash like this don’t really tell much. Plus, they’re not ravens, they’re phoenixes,” she told the boy. “Phoenixes are not black,” he barked at her, as he picked himself up after he fell off the tree branch. He was forced to let go because his trousers was coming loose. “Not real phoenixes, the castle’s phoenixes,” was her answer.

A group of three other kids arrived to greet the two, preventing the boy from counteracting the brunette’s last remark. “Hey you two, you’re early today!” greeted one boy from the group. “I think something bad is going to happen today,” said a dark-haired girl, silencing everybody else. “How is your brother?” she proceeded to ask the brunette. “Oh, he’s getting better,” answered the girl, a hopeful smile on her face. Just as she finished her sentence, a black smoky matter flew swiftly above them. It was the castle’s phoenixes, or ravens, that the two was talking about earlier. As the birds flew past, the children hear the grand tolling of the castle bells from some thousand miles off, so far that the sound shouldn’t have reached that village at all, but then that’s what the “birds” are for.
The youngest of the group yelled out happily, “the pigeons say it is good news!” “What pigeons?” asked the boy who first greeted the earlier two. “The flying black things, don’t you know?” answered the littlest girl, hugging her teddy bear tight. “They’re not pigeons, they’re ravens,” said the first boy. “No silly, they’re phoenixes,” remarked the brunette. “They’re not birds at all,” said the dark-haired girl, silencing them again.

The black silhouette diluted itself as it was carried by the breeze and dispersed throughout the small town, informing people all over the country of the news from the castle as it does. Indeed they are not birds at all, they are lifeless forms made of an element that the people of this land used to have full control over. Used to, as this was no longer the case. And as they flew past, sounds of the castle bells clangouring blanketed the kingdom, resonating clearly in the sky. In a moment, the folks were rejoicing and celebrating with cheers and laughter, overwhelming the sound of the chiming bells itself. The bells grew fainter as the castle’s black messenger passed over the town to move to the next, carrying anticipated news with it to spread; Her Majesty the Queen was now giving birth.

At the castle itself, in the royal library located farthest from the bell tower, two boys had to put a halt to their study session as soon as the loud bells started. While one was annoyed by that, the other, younger one immediately jumped off his seat and ran towards the grand doors that lead out of the enormous library, shouting as he went “Yay! We don’t have to study anymore because we can’t!” He reached the doors and was just about to force them open when the doors themselves beat him to it. The huge doors flung open, sending him flying back into the atrium of the library. Following that came in the same dark-haired girl from the village just now. She didn’t bother to greet her two cousins as she already evaluated that the volume at which she normally speaks would never rise above the tolling bells, and she hated to have to speak above said volume. Instead she walked towards the great fireplace in the west side of the atrium, and sat in an armchair next to it. The doors closed as she did. She opened up a book to read, and the hall fell into silence. The bells could no longer be heard. The elder boy stood up from his seat and turned to look out the window. The carillons could still be seen tolling in the golden sky, yet the room was silent.

The little boy whose attempt at escaping his lessons in the middle of them was now standing beside the armchair, trying to peek at what his older cousin was reading. “What do you want?” asked the girl, looking quite annoyed. The boy had wanted to abandon his lessons to go after his cousin and join her and her playmates in the village far from the constricted life at the castle. But now that she’s here, he saw no point in executing the plan anymore. The little boy moved swiftly to the other side of the armchair, his way of inviting the girl to join him play. His elder brother, the oldest among the three ravens, made for the two at the fireplace. The girl looked at him from a corner of her eye as he reached them. “Well now, how’s your friend?” asked the teenager as he grabbed his hyperactive younger brother by the collar. The little boy started struggling and throwing tantrums at him, but he was used to that so he managed to hold on tight. “His sister says he’s getting better,” she answered, and remembered the smile on the brunette’s face when she told her so.

The teenager was about to say something but was stopped when a pair of fangs dug into his arm. He flinched and had to let go of his little brother, who was now in his wolf form. The pup jumped onto the girl’s lap, but found himself in an empty armchair. He looked around and saw the girl sitting on top of a bookshelf far in front of him. But he had made himself another trouble to see to when he bit his brother’s arm just now. Before he even turned his head to where his brother was standing, a bigger wolf had already picked him up by his neck and carried him towards the fireplace. The wolf was apparently threatening to throw the pup into it and then light up a fire to burn him. The pup struggled to get free and torn a bit of his skin where it was held in the wolf’s jaw as he did, but his efforts were meaningless. The wolf seemed determined to set him ablaze.

“Teenagers,” the girl’s voice suddenly came. She had got off the bookshelf and was now holding out her arms under the wolf’s maw, her eyes set on his, meaning to compel him to let go of the pup. The wolf was not intimidated, but he opened his mouth nonetheless and so the pup fell into the young raven’s arms. She held the pup like he was a stuffed toy, almost choking him “can be so childish as to want to dismiss a thing like this so carelessly,” she continued her unfinished sentence. The wolf stood tall before her, looking down into her eyes which stared back blankly. She blinked and turned away from him, letting go of the pup as she did. She walked towards the great windows and the pup followed after her. He moved in a cloud of blackness and when he reached her side by the window he was on his feet again. The eldest raven did the same, except his transformation was quicker and neater; not as cloudy as the younger wolf’s. “Even if Her Highness gives birth to a male heir, you’re still first in line. You can’t just go wherever you want and meet whoever you want,” said he, looking out the window into the yellow sky. The girl stared out vacantly and made no remark. “Yes. It’s mean of you to leave me here with him and a lot of boring old books,” said the other boy, a pout on his face. The tallest of the three turned his gaze from out the window to the girl on his right, “of course you’re just a little girl, but you have responsibilities here,” “mother says I shall continue without her. That I have to look after them,” said the girl suddenly. “Who?” asked the little boy.

Roses are Black

2008-10-20T20:55:00.005+08:00

Once, there lived a curious little girl with a fondness for the colour black. She wasn't at all a sad little girl, for her father and mother loved her very much. She only happened to like wearing gloomy expressions about her.

Then came the fated day where this little girl was playing by herself at the rose garden which her mother so dearly loved. She was skipping along a narrow path she'd only just found when she suddenly came across a fine bush of black roses. She pulled one out and pricked her finger on the thorns as she did.

In an instance, it was as though the world around have vanished and she was in a place of choking air and pungent smell of death. And there before her stood the gate to the realm of Rigel Darquiel; The Majestic Maze. And it was ajar.

Ever since that fated day, the curious little girl was never heard from again.
And we all lived happily ever after.

The Last King

2008-10-07T21:13:00.010+08:00

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His reign ended the day he fathered the twins.

I lost the original PSD file so I restarted from tracing the earlier version and colored again. I like the background better, and the lineart is neater now. ^^
Oh right. I attempted lineless at first but my Laziness pawns all.

(c) to me

The Illusionist

2008-10-07T11:07:00.006+08:00

click for fullview

Her life was ended by the one person to ever truly love her

I like how it came out very much^^

(c) to me
brushes by falln stock and ...redhead stock?

Heirs of Oben

2008-10-07T00:25:00.006+08:00

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Yay! From this story here: [link]

Tiny Taiji

2008-08-29T20:51:00.005+08:00

I was contemplating whether to title it "Flying on The Wings of Steam" or "falling Down The Rabbit Hole".

The Grand Duke and Duchess

2008-08-24T20:38:00.016+08:00

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Updated: May 24th, 2011
Yes.

Shading by my sister, Rei.

textures by Wings of a Hero and Silver-

Kampf

2008-08-23T18:35:00.008+08:00

"kampf" is German for "fight", I think.

Chapter 1

2008-08-07T02:01:00.003+08:00

This story began a long, long time ago, but our tale need not start from there. No, we would do just as fine by beginning here.

Once upon a time, there exists a three-layered World not entirely unlike the one we roam today; the middle layer was of earth, uncharted seas, and life; the lower layer was of ice, solitary, and silence; and the upper layer was one of fire and brimstone. Each of them was home to people of common ancestry, but that was long before our beginning.

For the longest time, these people have lived with no knowledge of the different layers, and thus, no knowledge of their distant kin. Our story now begins on the day it so happened that their fates become intertwined once more.

The red land of Oben was a land of fire and brimstone, the earth merely a stretch of red ash; a place so ugly, even Night would not descend upon it. On the day their last tragedy befell them, it was as scorching and chaotic as it had been these many years; the Empress had given birth to a pair of twin sisters.

It was written in their books of history and magic: should their highest governor bear heirs born on the same day, the people will be made to suffer by the Fates. And so the High Council came together and passed a judgement that would soon bring about the very predicament they wish to resolve: the unfortunate sisters must enter into battle against each other, that the very best of them may survive.

The Empress had her daughters raised in the two opposite ends of her country so they may never come to know each other, and their inevitable battle would be much the easier for it; the elder, Holly, woke up each day to face the East, while her younger sister was placed in the West. And so it went on for some time; each brought up by their own Matron, who taught them history, art, and everything in between, but never of the existence of the other heir to the Throne; not until they were both ready to meet in that battle to Death.

But Fate was always at work.

Holly woke up that day to the same tolling of bells, a grin quickly spreading on her pale face as she remembered what date it was; the twenty-seventh day of the twelfth month was her birthday, and today was her twelfth.

For every other day, poor Holly would be subjected to long hours in the library, then some more in the archery, and then still more to doing oh so many things that simply didn't interest her very much, all the while under the watchful eye of her Matron. As if all that work weren't enough to make every single day a miserable one for her, the hovering hag never seem to leave her alone, not even while she sleeps. At least, Holly thought so, because there she was again, sitting in her usual corner of the room.

The woman looked up from her reading to smile at the girl. "Greetings, your Highness. I trust you slept well?"

Holly yawned very unladylike before replying, with as little contempt as she could help, "Same to you. Yes, thank you."

Then she hopped off her massive bed and ran to her Matron, grinning when she met the widened eyes. "You know what day it is?" she asked unnecessarily.

The wizened one raised an eyebrow in comprehension. "I take it then that you're all ready to announce your birthday wish?" Holly didn't miss the amusement in her voice.

Indeed, she had it all thought out carefully this time; in previous years, she had asked for petty things like parties and dolls and rare sweets, when what she should have asked for was the one thing she doesn't get every day: privacy and freedom. It had been so obvious the whole time that she called herself such lowly names when at last it occurred to her. Her grin widened as the words started to form in her head, and she felt a great swell of pride inside like never before.

She assumed her commanding tone and declared, "On this special day of mine, I will be excused from all activities, usual or otherwise, and will receive no audience whatsoever, be it for my safety or general well-being, or even anything in between."

The thick tome in her matron's hands fell onto the floor; she had shot bolt upright. "None of that! That cannot be allowed!"

"I am Heir to the Throne, and on this day alone that I may make a single request; still you dare deny me?" she felt rather daring, and triumphant.

Holly saw her knuckles whitened and her fists clenched, and then it was silent for a moment before her Matron finally said, "if that is what you wish," and she sank into a low bow and was out the door in a thrice.

In despite of her Matron agreeing, Holly was adamant in seeing to her request personally; she wasn't going to accept it right away that they had really granted her that coveted freedom, so she sneakily made her way down to and through the dungeons, which was very lightly guarded, and, luckily enough, lead away from the castle.

Holly had known about it for months, and had since been planning this one-day trip outside of those confining walls. A great deal of running later, her Highness found herself at last laughing heartily at the end of the tunnel. It would only be for a single day; why not take it as far beyond the castle walls as possible?

And so she ran on, for miles and miles with no care in the world, until hours later her dark eyes caught sight of something they never saw before.

Holly approached it, eyes wide in curiosity. It looked very out of place in this land; she could only tell at the time that it was all green, and that it felt more alive a place than anywhere else she had ever been to, heard of, or read about. She ventured further and further inside; and then there before her was the most marvellous Illusion she had ever seen: there was another one of herself in there.

She raised her hand to touch the projection as it did the same. Their fingers met, and Holly was shocked out of her wits to find that it was quite as solid as she was. They gasped before screaming at each other, turned around and dashed in the opposite direction to hide behind a tree.

"ARE YOU REAL?" she heard the other yell from behind her own tree.

The other had sounded quite far, so Holly decided to scream her reply, "WHAT DO YOU MEAN, AM I REAL? I OUGHT TO BE THE ONE ASKING YOU THAT!"

Slowly, they made their way to meet each other again. For a while, they merely stood there and stared into the other's face. Holly took her time in recovering from the shock; this was no Illusion, this was an actual person who simply happened to have the same face as hers. Surely such coincidences weren't completely unheard of?

Perhaps she was only going mad from the new air and freedom.

There was only one way to be sure of anything, so Holly finally broke into a smile and held out a hand, "I'm Holly."

The other girl took it and introduced herself, "my name is Evelyn."

"Are you from around here?"

"Yes. I live just down the other side with my mother. I come here every day."

Holly was a little disappointed at that. She had, for one glorious minute, believed that this girl who looked exactly like her must be her sister. But alas, she was only a lucky, common girl.

"Are you from here?" Evelyn asked.

"Oh, no, I'm on the other side, with my father," it was a complete lie, but Holly thought it was ill-advised to announce her royalty to some stranger she had just met in an equally strange place.

"You know, I thought you were an Illusion just now," Holly said with a laugh.

"An Illusion?" there was total incomprehension in Evelyn's voice as she said it.

Holly hesitated for a moment, thinking perhaps that knowledge was to be kept only within the royal family, but ultimately decided that she didn't care about that anyway.

"Well, I can't do an Illusion just yet, but I know the basics." That was (almost) a lie, too; she'd only just learned how to do this bit properly.

She then picked up a pebble from the ground and held it out to Evelyn in one open palm, and made it disappear before their very eyes.

To her great satisfaction, Evelyn exclaimed in surprise and clapped her hands.

"Wow! How did you do that? Where is it now?"

"It's still here, actually. I've just tricked your eyes to see that it's gone," here Holly brought the pebble back to view, "how about I teach you how to do it?"

Identical grins were plastered on their faces.

And so began a sisterhood unlike any that Oben has ever stood to witness before, one that ensures the promised punishment upon this people; for separating the twins was not the only sin they have committed; but I cannot begin that one just yet, because it is another story, for another time.

The younger sister had lied about her common breeding, whereas the older sister never thought to disclose hers to the girl whom she regards as her only best friend; and such did the bond between them were strengthened by lies.

The Empress had always favoured her firstborn more than the younger, despite of how small a difference in Time there was between them; Holly continued to receive training from the best, while Evelyn had to train herself for the larger part. It was on their twenty-second birthday that they decided to meet up on days other than the anniversary of the day they were born; and unknown to either of them, the day they were separated.

The sisters saw each other a great deal more often afterwards, it was more the miracle that they never found out the truth about the other than that they even managed to escape their Matrons so frequently in the first place; and courtesy of their reasoning in keeping the other's existence a secret, they had managed to grow still closer to each other than was possible otherwise.

Seasons, years, perhaps even centuries passed, and finally, the fated day arrived.

East and West marched towards each other; there would be no mercy, they were told, and there needn't be compassion, and no words were given to them to ease their minds; the two sisters, fully-equipped now and clad in the finest armours, entered the battlefield unknowingly; that the opponent from the other side was a threat to the nation, and that it was their chance to prove themselves, were the extent of their knowledge.

Holly had fought for freedom, and her soul mate, Evelyn, had fought in the name of the mother who did not love her as much as she did her, if at all.

The audience cheered the two sisters on as they battled, as if in some twisted mockery, and the Empress was smiling and had appeared to be enjoying the horror more than she should. Alas did the Fates do away with her well. All of them.

It was after the battle had worn on for a while, the spectators growing restless, and whatever deity there was had reached their limits; Evelyn's visor fell, revealing the pair of jet-black marbles once shielded behind it; and then the World fell apart within what felt like a mere fraction of a second.

Holly had only caught those ever-familiar eyes and, for the smallest moment, she hesitated; but that moment proved enough for her uninformed opponent. Before she could even gather her bearings, unprecedented pain was coursing through her entire body; her best friend, Evelyn, had stabbed her with her own blood-stained sword.

She caught the other's eyes, there was mounting satisfaction in them, and her mother sitting on the throne, angry and spiteful as ever, before finally managing to unmask herself.

Evelyn dropped the sword in her hands and fell to her knees beside the only person who ever cared about her as much as she did them.

It must have been an ugly sight; the thick black liquid poured over the red ashen earth, and Evelyn could do nothing more than simply let the tears fall onto the dying form of her most beloved.

"Don't, Eve... You didn't know... This isn't your fault..." and Life left the broken body as the only words of comfort Evelyn had ever heard escaped her lips.

Oben was a land of fire and brimstone, the earth merely a stretch of red ash; a place so ugly, even Night would not descend upon it. But on that cursed date, night time fell for the first time, and last.

In her towering rage, Evelyn laid waste to the land; not a single soul was spared from her burning gaze, not the children, the women, the old, her Matron, not even her dearest Mother. When at last she stood in solitary, depleted of energy and any will to live, the very ground broke away from under her soles.

And thus, Oben was no more.

It was Evelyn's seventeenth birthday; she had been looking forward to it all year, for it was the one day out of the whole year that she would be granted the liberty to spend the day however way she wanted to. But most of all, she had really been anticipating her next meeting with a girl she met in the woods back when she was a child; it was her twelfth birthday, and that day was the first one she spent outside the castle, and she had gone a very long way indeed when she found the most curious place ever in existence.

What she found in there though was far more curious than the place itself; she had met a girl named Holly then, and they had hence become the best of friends.

She started at a run, never stopping before she actually reached the place; she needed to beat the other to it, because she was supposed to be there every day, not every year. Indeed, it was a lie she thought she needed to tell; it was more favourable as compared to telling the truth about her royal backgrounds to some stranger she had just met in an equally strange place.

She sat in her usual spot, and had only just managed to fully catch her breath when her expected companion showed up.

"You are late," Evelyn announced smugly.

"Well, I don't live nearby, whereas you do, it's only fitting that you would arrive before me. That is to say, I am not late!" Holly replied, pouting.

They only meet once a year, but still, it always felt like they do so every single day. Evelyn felt closer to this girl than with any other person, even her own mother, and even her Matron who attend to her every actual day.

"Okay, you're not late then. I'm just early,"

Her companion grinned as they settled themselves down on the grass. It always felt unreal to be there; an actual green forest right in the middle of Oben. It was sanctuary to both of them.

Holly revealed a dusty old book out of the blue.

Evelyn let the expression fell on her face. "You're not going to just read, are you?"

"Oh, no, of course not! I have something to show you in here," she was already flipping through the yellowed pages.

Evelyn moved to sit beside the other, the better to see.

"Look, here it is!"

Holly spread the book across their laps, and Evelyn recognised the contents of its pages as a map of Oben; a very old one. "What about it?"

"This is an old chart of Oben. Look right over here: that's us!" she was pointing to the very midpoint between the two pages.

It had always been in their interest to know; they visit this place ritually, but neither of them knew what the place was called. There were even times when Evelyn believed it was just a dream, a cruel Illusion.

But there on the page it was written quite clearly; this forest they always played in, this haven for the neglected and confined, it was called–

"The Lantern," they read aloud together.

Then there was a moment's pause. Evelyn wondered if Holly was thinking what she was thinking: the name suits the place so well; the lit heart of the ashen land, "The Lantern".

Identical smiles broke on each of their faces.

"Why do you think it's called 'The Lantern'?" Evelyn ventured to ask, and somehow, she knew that Holly already have an answer.

She was right. Holly proceeded to turn over the pages until she reached one that was halfway through the entire book; on top of the page was the title 'The Lantern', and then the passage went on for several pages. Evelyn flipped through them mournfully; she was not one for reading.

She turned to face Holly instead; hopefully the other one would spare her this.

Holly obliged. "It's an old, ancient, long-lost weapon of sorts. It's supposed to be the ultimate tool for conjuring up Perfect Illusions. You know, Illusions so real, it drives anyone into thinking, doing and even believing in whatever they're told. Scary, huh?"

Evelyn shuddered. The very idea of Illusion – one which her mother insists on her mastering – had always scared her; what more to be expected of such a grotesque concept as a Perfect Illusion?

"So what's it got to do with this place?"

"It is said that this place is where it was last sealed in. In the past, people had even called this place 'The Forest of Illusion', and then 'The Nightmarish Place', and now it has ended up wiped off of the map entirely!" Holly had said it with such a tone that Evelyn couldn't help but suspect that the other was rather enjoying herself.

There was a long pause during which they simply stared at one another, before Evelyn finally gave in, "You think it's still somewhere in here, don't you?" she blurted it out as if it had hurt to say it.

Holly nodded vigorously before laughing and getting on her feet, the aging book abandoned on the forest floor. "Our next quest: seek out The Lantern!" she announced with renewed enthusiasm.

Evelyn had no intention whatsoever to go looking for that horrendous device of evil mischief, but since she couldn't come up with a better idea for a quest just then, she agreed to join Holly in the search. At any rate, she didn't believe a word of it; how could such a weapon exist anywhere else than within the royal household itself?

It therefore came as a great terror to Evelyn when she came upon the Demon's device a few years later, and Holly had been right in thinking it was still hidden in The Lantern.

She was much older now, and had trained herself well in the various disciplines she was expected to master. But it wasn't her skills that had led her to The Lantern; it was Fate. The ultimate weapon to any Illusionist had been so near at hand for the younger sister that day, but she was so overcame with fear of holding a power so great within her grasp, that she conjured up even more protection for it, as much as her arts would allow her.

But Fate was always at work.

Years and years passed, and the day came when the Empress declared war against the East; that Evelyn was the chosen knight for a one-on-one battle to the death; a chance for her to prove to her mother that she was worthy. Of what, she did not know, but it was always a challenge for Evelyn to gain the biased Empress' attention.

But a single battle to the death? Evelyn did not have that much confidence in herself to begin with; and so as the day of battle approached ever nearer, she grew more and more restless.

Ultimately, she sought protection again from the forest in which she had learned of things far more valuable than arts and history; where she learned of friendship, of bravery. So she found herself in the familiar haven once more, on the very last day before the battle. She had hoped to meet Holly one last time before she goes to fight for her survival.

Then she remembered The Lantern; it need not be the end just yet. If it seems she would lose, she may yet have hope with this last component in her arsenal. With that in mind, Evelyn set about to finally claiming The Lantern, the ultimate weapon of the Illusionist; she would use it as her very last resort.

"Oops."

2008-08-03T18:41:00.007+08:00

que accidentally bashed Taiji with a snowball she aimed at Kui there.

Dementia

2008-08-02T18:35:00.002+08:00

The hourglass again, featuring Taiji this time.

The Gate

2008-05-22T17:04:00.010+08:00

Enter the Majestic Maze, the realm of one dark Rigel Darquiel.

In The Hourglass

2008-04-25T17:01:00.002+08:00

Anthro sitting atop is Laplace no Ma from Peach-Pit's "Rozen Maiden".

The rest are mine.