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The Man Who Sold the World by Meggory [Reviews - 20]

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The Man Who Sold the World

by Meggory

The room slowly started to come into focus as Hermione managed to lift her eyelids just a touch; at least, she thought it was in focus. Shadows pressed against her, and she could not identify her immediate surroundings. Possibly, she was lying on the floor of a room. She tried to move her arms and legs only to find them rigid and unresponsive. Petrificus Totalus? she mused as her brain tried to override the sense of panic rising in her throat. A whimper escaped from her lips and she shook her head. Her cheeks scraped against what felt like sand or small gravel against a smooth surface.

Okay, I can move my head and I can probably speak--or scream. I guess I could bite someone, if he’s close enough.... Thoughts swirled around her mind, assessing her situation with barely acquired calm. In the silence of the room, her heart sounded unnaturally loud in her ears, but she realized the beats were beginning to slow. I’m not in any pain--wait, didn’t Malfoy cast Stupefy?

Before her brain could puzzle that question to a satisfactory conclusion, the scraping of shoes on the floor and what sounded like rustling cloth assaulted her sensitive ears. A darker shadow filled her field of vision, but the lack of light made her sight useless. Inhaling softly, she could smell human sweat and dust, mothballs and salt. Quiet, shallow breathing filled the silence. A cold, dry hand bumped against her neck; Hermione let out a surprised shriek and suddenly the hand clamped over her mouth.

A raspy voice hissed at her, “Be quiet.” She struggled under his hand but made no sound. “If you are quiet I will release you.”

She nodded beneath him. After a moment, the unfamiliar hand disappeared, but she was still stuck to the ground. “You said you would release me.”

“If you were quiet,” the voice coughed out. The hoarseness of the words suggested to Hermione that whoever this was, he had not spoken for a very long time. “Why was he chasing you, girl?”

Hermione said nothing. Perhaps this was a test to follow his instructions; the longer she was quiet, the sooner he might let her go. The absolute darkness in this room was that of night--she would have to stay here until tomorrow morning lest she be caught by the curfew patrols. Lying here on the floor until sunrise was a more pleasant thought than being subjected to a few rounds of Cruciatus. Besides, while she had no idea where she was or who this man was, he was obviously not Lucius Malfoy.

The silence continued for at least a minute. Finally, the voice managed to wrestle “Answer me” from his lips, followed by another bout of dry hacking.

“That was Lucius Malfoy,” she told her captor. It felt strange to speak to the ceiling--the man-shadow had disappeared from her limited sight. “I think he wanted to teach me a lesson in humility and obedience.”

“You did not defend yourself,” replied the voice, almost a question.

“I tried,” Hermione argued hotly.

“You did not even take out your wand.”

Hermione snorted. “My wand is a useless slab of wood. They shouldn’t have bothered to cut the branch from the tree.” The voice did not respond, as if knowing her answer was not complete. “If you must know, I was attempting to use wandless magic.”

A croak came from the stranger, quiet at first before gaining strength. He was laughing at her! Indignant, she was about to make a cutting reply when his rusty laughter broke into a fit of coughs. “You don’t sound well.”

“I am not well,” he said when his lungs stopped rebelling. “Your ‘wandless magic’ as you so deem it was pitiful. You did not even raise a defensive shield.”

Hermione fell silent, angry at the assumptions this man was making, and instead of responding tried to make a list of what she knew. This is not Lucius Malfoy, but he is a man. He is in poor health. He has not spoken for a long time. He knows something about wandless magic, or else he is in possession of an actual wand, which would explain the spell he’s cast on me and the apparent absence of Malfoy. “Wait--what happened to Malfoy?”

The voice did not answer immediately, but when he did, he said, “He returned to Headquarters under the impression that he had an urgent meeting to attend.”

“You’re a Wraith, aren’t you.” Hermione bulldozed on without his reply. “You live outside the ghettos, and you can perform actual magic--I’ll bet you still have your own wand. Were you following me the other day? And today? What do you want with me? Who--”

“I said be quiet!” the voice spat in her ear. The hand returned to press against her neck. “I should have left you to that creature.” The fingers applied pressure to her flesh; her pulse pounded against the unfamiliar skin. “I don’t know why I bothered with you.” The hand convulsed once, painfully compressing her throat, before the Wraith let go and returned to his mysterious corner.

Taking several gasps of air, Hermione waited for the voice to speak again. The skin where his hand had been trembled. In the absence of his words, she said, “Thank you.”

An air of surprise and bafflement seemed to assail her senses. The Wraith had moved closer to her. “What?”

“I said ‘thank you.’ You know, for saving me from Malfoy and keeping me hidden from the curfew guards.” Her grandmother had always said wise, grandmotherly things about catching flies with honey and walking softly with sticks. There was the honey, now came the stick. “Are you hungry?”

“What did you say?”

She expelled an exasperated sigh. “Are you deaf as well as ornery? I asked if you were hungry.”

A moment’s deliberation from the corner crawled by before he replied. “Yes.”

“I have some bread in my pocket. I’ll share it with you if you let me up. The floor’s awfully cold, and there’s sand in my knickers. I’ve got some wine, too, if you’re interested.” Hopefully the events passed in the hole of her memory had not included the breaking of her wine bottles. Her coat would need cleaning, otherwise.

A floorboard creaked next to her ear. “They call us ‘the resistant element.’”

“What?”

“Gods, pay attention, girl. Are you slow? The official name for Wraith is ‘the resistant element.’ I was following you. Not many people walk here, and I wanted to know where you were going.” He paused; his breathing was alarmingly shallow and quick. Bronchitis, maybe? thought Hermione. “How much bread?”

Hermione tried to process the random leaps in the conversation and gave him a brief answer. So he was the Wraith I saw yesterday. The floorboards kept creaking incrementally, as if the Wraith was shifting from foot to foot. More rustling clothing, and a whisper found her ears. “Finite Incantatem.”

The steely bonds holding her to the floor lifted and took the unfamiliar, uncomfortable pressure on her body with them. She flexed her joints slowly, trying to avoid the mundane agony of pins and needles in her stiff limbs. Satisfied her circulation was acceptable, Hermione pulled herself into a seated position. In the obscurity of the room, her now-adjusted eyes could make out some of her surroundings. Two windows, one covered with some sort of drapery, were outlined with faint starlight but did not admit any white moonlight. A figure stood several feet in front of her. His features were impossible to determine, but she did notice he was rather tall.

“Well?” he said.

“Well what?” replied Hermione testily. This man may have saved her life from Malfoy, but his mental processes certainly were aggravating.

“The bread, you insufferable girl.”

Even sitting down, Hermione managed to put her hands on her hips in a very put upon manner. “What ever happened to manners?” she murmured, thinking he would not hear her, but his ears were obviously very good.

“Manners? You promised me bread, girl. It would be bad manners to forget.” A menacing tone winnowed into his voice. She did not understand why, but this Wraith’s voice brought fear to the pit of her stomach.

“I won’t forget. But it would be easier to find if I had some light,” she told him, unable to make her voice as strong and commanding as it had been for their past conversation. This faceless man, this unstable man capable of sending off Lucius Malfoy staring at her in the darkness, was frightening.

Lumos.” The tip of the Wraith’s wand flared brightly, the way a wand was meant to, and Hermione’s eyelids slammed shut to protect her retinas. She covered her eyes with her hands to block out most of the new light then gradually let her lids flutter open. Through the cracks in her fingers, she could make out the rest of the room; the wooden floor was bare, the walls were showing stress cracks from either age or bombardment, and the one door was closed. Blinking rapidly to adjust her vision, Hermione dug through her pockets and pulled out a few slices of almost-stale bread Georgina had anxiously pressed on her before Hermione had left work. She held out the bread triumphantly and looked straight at the Wraith.

He was gaunt, hollow from malnutrition, and his dark, voluminous robes could not hide his skeletal frame. His hand clutched a real wand. Squinting in the light, Hermione focused on his face.

The bread fell from her hands, landing on the rough floorboards and accumulating dirt on the unfortunate white surfaces.

“Professor Snape?”

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Author’s Notes
1. I own nothing, of course.
2. A big thank you to all of my awesome reviewers. I will post replies to all reviews as soon as I humanly can.
3. The scene for this chapter was inspired by Douglas Adams’ “Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy” text game, in which our hero Arthur Dent is constantly being pitched “in the dark,” which smells a bit funny.
4. Apologies for the chattiness of the chapter, but it was sort of necessary.
5. I increased the rating of this story for last chapter’s language.







The Man Who Sold the World by Meggory [Reviews - 20]

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