Never Let Go

The dungeon was freezing, more so than usual, and although it was hard for her to believe, it also seemed to be a bit more dreary than what it normally accustomed. Standing in the middle of one of the dimly lit corridors was Emilia. She was bundled up in a thick sweater, trying to muster the courage necessary to knock on Snape’s office. She’d been standing there for about three or four minutes, attempting to convince herself that the detention was going to be no big deal, but she hadn’t any luck in doing so.

It wasn’t because Snape had been particularly nasty to her. To be honest, she’d never had a bad run in with Snape. Sure, he’d thrown a glare at her when she giggled during a lecture, but other than that, there hadn’t truly been much contact. The reason that Emilia was freaking out was due entirely to Ron. Ron had been warning Emilia about Snape since summer, and when she told him that she’d be having detention with the greasy professor, he’d told her about all the horrible detentions that he and Harry had had with Snape. Those stories stayed with her and made her wonder if there was anyway she could fake being ill, to get out of detention with Snape, but there wasn’t. She knew there wasn’t. She knew that she had to go to detention, because there was a sentence that needed to be served.

And so with a defeated sigh, she balled her hand into a fist and lifted it to the massive wooden door. Two knocks were given. She contemplated a third, but her overactive mind thought that maybe Snape would think that she was trying to rush him with her knocking and that it would reflect poorly on her. Bizarre thoughts, she knew they were bizarre, but that’s what crossed her mind as she stood in front of the door. It wasn’t long before his voice came from inside the office, informing her to step in. She did as she was told, slowly opening the door and entering inside at an even slower pace.

“Evening, Professor Snape.” Emilia nervously greeted him, doing her best to sound friendly, yet respectful.

“Miss Renner,” he said her name slowly, in his deep, commanding voice. “I assume this is your first detention at Hogwarts. Am I correct in that assumption?”

“Yes, Sir,” she replied, closing the door behind her.

“Very well,” he looked up from the parchments littered across his desk. “I believe custom dictates that I bestow a form of punishment on you, for your less than acceptable behavior, but seeing as how the Headmaster has intervened on your behalf, that won’t be necessary.”

“It won’t?”

“No.” Snape stared at her with a scrutinizing gaze. “Read,” he eventually said. “Sit quietly and read.”

“I haven’t brought anything to read.”

“Over there,” he motioned to the bookcase that ran the length of the office. “Find something suitable.”

Without bothering to say anything further, he returned his gaze to the parchments. For a moment, Emilia stared at him, curious as to what Dumbledore had told him. Had he explained that the fight had been planned? That she and Harry had spent the weekend coming up with it? She knew Snape was in the Order, that he was very trusted by Dumbledore. So maybe, maybe the elderly wizard thought it best to confide in him. That way, if there were to be any further physical or verbal altercations, Snape would know it wasn’t because she was a brute or had a particularly nasty temper, but that it was because she was trying to live up to a promise made to Harry.

The more she thought about it. The more it made sense. That was the only reasonable explanation as to why Snape transformed her detention into a mere study session. And with that in mind, she felt comfortable enough to walk over to his extensive book collection. Her eyes darted from one volume to the next, reading the titles that seem to shine against their dark leather covers. There were so many titles that she wasn’t sure she’d be able to pick just one from them, but then, in the fourth row, she spotted one that looked particularly beat up. She squinted to read the title, the letters were so scuffed up that it was nearly impossible to make them out, but with some luck, she was able to read the last three words; Beedle the Bard.

She thought it was weird for a grown man to keep a children’s book, but she figured that it was probably leftover from his childhood, something his parents had read to him and that he’d kept for its emotional value. Her nose scrunched as she pondered whether or not that was the book, she should spend her time with. She practically knew all the stories by heart. Her grandparents had read them to her, every night before she went to bed until she was twelve years old. And Mitzi, oh Mitzi, she still read it to her. Had Mitzi been allowed to go with her to Hogwarts, there was no doubt in Emilia’s mind that the elderly house elf would’ve snuck into the dungeons to read it to her.

A small smile flickered across her lips as she remembered the nights that she’d fallen asleep beside Mitzi. It was amazing how safe someone so small could make her feel. At Mitzi’s side, she felt invincible, as if nothing wrong could happen to her. She missed feeling that way. And so, thinking that reading the stories would make her feel safer and closer to her loved ones, she pulled the book off the shelf, careful not to grab it too roughly, out of fear of damaging the cover. The worn leather bounding felt oddly pleasing against her flesh. The grooves in it felt like dragons hide. It made her think of some of the old family books that were in the library at the cottage. Some of them had been there for centuries, being original editions of popular books that lined the shelves at bookshops.

Emilia wished there were couches in Snape’s office. It would’ve been so much more relaxing to curl up on one and read. That was one of the things she loved to do most in the fall and winter, but alas, there were no couches. And even if there had been she wouldn’t have been able to curl up on one. She was in detention, and she’d have to sit politely in one of the uncomfortable looking chairs that were positioned in front of his desk. She chose the one that seemed slightly more comfortable than the other, there was a bit more padding to it, but even then, it hurt her bum. As she sat there, she wondered if he purposely had those chairs so people wouldn’t feel inclined to stay long. So that they’d sit, get a cramp in their bum and wander off. Or maybe he was simply partial to them, though to be honest there was no reason to like the chairs. They were ghastly things that would’ve been better off used for firewood.

Eventually, she managed to forcibly cast aside her discomfort and focus on the book in her possession. Her lips pursed into a thin line and a crease formed on her forehead as she read the stories for the following two hours. She was so engrossed in the text that if it hadn’t been for Snape calling her name, she would’ve stayed there until she finished the entire book.

“Miss Renner,” he called to her.

She tore her gaze from the book. “Sir?” she asked.

“Detention has ended.” Snape said.

“Oh. Right, right . . . it’s over.” Emilia stood up from her chair, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “I’ll just put this away and then get out of here. Uh, thanks for letting me borrow it,” she held the book up so he could see the cover. “Never gets old.”

Snape said nothing. He simply gave a curt nod. “Tomorrow, you may find it fit to bring a book of your own to read or coursework to work on.”

“I can’t read one of your books?” she asked without thinking.

Snape’s eyes flickered with curiosity at her inquiry. “That book is the only one that would be of interest to a student your age. The others, I am afraid, are not as . . . entertaining.”

“The one about Magical Moral Law seemed pretty entertaining.”

“Did it, now?” he mused aloud. “Well, I suppose, if you feel so inclined to read it, then you may.”

“Really?” she couldn’t believe it. “I mean. Thank you, Sir. I’ll be on my way now. Goodnight.”

She smiled nervously at him, before turning to return the book to its rightful place. Thankfully, remembering where it belonged didn’t prove troublesome and she just slipped it back into place. Emilia then walked out of the room in a brisk pace, careful not to knock anything over or trip over golden carpet that separated her feet from the cold stone.

Once outside, she took off towards the Slytherin common room. She had some sketches that needed finishing up, for her muggle art class. It wasn’t due until after lunch, but she figured that if she finished it up that night, she’d be able to get a few extra hours of sleep. She was halfway to the common room when she noticed Draco up ahead, in a brisk pace, he turned a corner. And she knew that he was up to something. So, cursing herself for the change in plans, she took off after him. Careful to mutter a charm that would silence her steps and allow her to follow him without being heard, well, without having him hear her steps.

Through the dimly lit corridors, she followed him, making sure to keep a sensible distance between them so as to not alert him of her presence. She’d never acted a spy before. At least, not in a situation where she could actually end up hurt. The only times she’d ever followed anyone was when her Nan and Grandpa made plans for holidays in secret. And to be honest, that wasn’t really spying. It was just standing outside their bedroom, in hopes of hearing what they were saying so she wouldn’t be surprised. What she was currently doing was far more dangerous.

Draco was a Death Eater. He’d gone through the initiation process and everything. She had had extensive dueling lessons during her time in America, but wasn’t sure if her lessons would be enough to save her ass if she were to end up fighting Draco. She hoped it wouldn’t come to that. All she was doing was simple reconnaissance work. She was just going to follow him, observe what he was doing, and then report back to Harry. That was all she had planned for the night.

And so she followed him through the corridors, up flights of stairs and stopped only when he entered a room. She slowly inched closer, her breathing slowing out of fear that he might hear it. And then, when she was just a few inches from the door, she craned her neck to see what it was. The dim lighting made it more of a challenge than it had to be, and had she not been afraid of using her own wand as a means of light, she would’ve done it, but since she was afraid that the light would be to intense, she squinted, doing her best to peer through the dimness and there, written on a silver plaque on the door, were the words; Girls Lavatory.

Her brow furrowed almost instantaneously. What was he doing inside there? Was he going to shag? Oh. He was going to shag. That was the only reason why a teenage boy would sneak into a girl’s bathroom at night, but then she remembered something, that was the second floor bathroom, the second floor bathroom that, if memory served her right, was haunted by a ghost. Ron had warned her about it, she couldn’t exactly remember much about what he’d said about the ghost, but she remembered that he’d said they were annoying and pestered whoever went in there. So why would Draco go in there to be pestered? Hmm . . . maybe the ghost wasn’t in there? Maybe this was the time that they ran off to haunt another part of the castle.

Curious to know whether or not someone was in there with Draco, she pressed her ear to the door and bit down on her bottom lip in concentration. She wasn’t sure how long she stood there like that, but eventually, she heard Draco’s voice, he was muttering something along the lines of being frustrated and not being able to accomplish something. At that, her heart began to pound erratically within her chest. Was he about to reveal a dark secret? Would she discover something that would be of use to Harry? No. No, she wouldn’t, because he didn’t elaborate on what that something was. But a voice did reply to his mumbling. It was a shrill voice, high pitched and unpleasant, and as she stood there, she wondered who it was that he was speaking to. No one in Slytherin had that voice. Neither did anyone that she’d been in contact with.

Who was it? Who was in there with him? She ran over all the girls she’d met; the Slytherins, the Gryffindors, the Ravenclaws and even the Hufflepuffs. But no one came to mind. She decided that she’d just wait there. The girl would eventually come out and once she did, she’d be able to keep a closer eye on her, just in case she was involved in Draco’s plotting. Emilia decided to hide behind a nearby collection of suits of armors, she sat down between them, her eyes fixed on the doorway. And she remained like that for hours. Her eyes grew heavy with sleep, her bum grew tired of being in the position that it was in, but she remained there. She had to know who he was with.

At a quarter after one, Draco emerged from the restroom. He momentarily stood outside the door, staring in one direction, then in the other, and after looking both ways, he took off. Emilia sat up higher, eager to see who the girl was, but no one came out. She waited there for nearly an hour, but there was no girl to speak of. Finally, growing frustrated, she decided to walk inside the bathroom to see if someone was actually in there or if she’d just imagined that there was another voice in there. She clutched her wand tightly as she walked towards the door. She was a little afraid of what could be on the other side, but she was also excited. There was something incredibly thrilling about not knowing what was about to happen and as she began to push the door open, she took in a deep breath. This was it.

“Who are you?” spoke the strange high pitched voice.

Emilia jumped back, her eyes wide in astonishment when she saw the ghost standing before her. She looked young, no older than fifteen or sixteen at the most, and she was wearing Hogwarts uniform, though it was from another era. Had it not been for the silver glow that seemed to surround the ghost, Emilia would’ve thought she was just a student.

“What are you doing here? You’ve never been here before.” The ghost spoke.

“I got lost.” Emilia lied. “I was . . . uh, trying to find my way back to the dungeons, but I sort of took a wrong took somewhere.”

“It’s past curfew.”

“I know.”

“What were you doing out so late?” she asked, circling around Emilia.

She was tempted to tell her that it wasn’t any of her business, but she fought back the urge and said, “I was visiting with friends.”

“Your friends should’ve walked you, home.”

“Told them not to,” replied Emilia.

“But why?” her eyes stared curiously at Emilia. “You’re not from here. You don’t know the corridors.”

“How do you know I'm not from here?”

“That accent of course. It sounds . . . American, but also has a soft English tint to it. Why’s it like that?”

“Don’t know. It just is the way it is.” Emilia lowered her wand. “You sound like you’re from the north. Were you . . . you from the north?”

“Me? From the north?” that was it, she began to sob uncontrollably.

“Shh. Don’t cry, please don’t cry. I'm sorry. Really, I'm sorry for asking that. Was rude of me . . . Just, don’t cry. Please?”

“What did you say?” she asked her crying ceasing.

“Please don’t cry,” repeated Emilia.

“No one’s said please to me in ages.” The ghost said, wiping away the translucent tears that had fallen from her face. “They all treat me like a ghoul or poltergeist. Have no compassion for me.”

“Probably just scared,” mumbled Emilia. “Not that you’re scary. It’s just people are afraid of the unfamiliar. That’s how people work.”

“Are you afraid of me?” she inquired softly.

“You haven’t given me a reason to be afraid.” Emilia offered a smile. “I'm Emilia, by the way. Prefer Millie, though.”

“Millie . . .” she whispered to herself.

“What’s your name?” asked Emilia.

“Me?” she was taken aback by the question, people weren’t usually that polite to her. “Oh. Myrtle, my name’s Myrtle.”

“What a lovely name,” commented Emilia.

“You think?”

“I do.” Emilia nodded. “I like names that start with M. That’s why I go by Millie. Think it sounds better. What do you think? Is Millie better than Emilia?”

“You want to know what I think.” Myrtle stared at her in astonishment.

Emilia nodded. “That’s why I asked.”

“I . . . I think it’s a very nice name.”

“Thanks. Do you think you could point me in the right direction to the dungeons?” she wanted to talk to Myrtle more but thought it was to keep their encounter short, that way the ghost wouldn’t be tempted to bring it up to Draco if he were to return. “It’s late and I really should get some rest.”

“Yes. Of course, it’s, come on,” Myrtle floated towards the entrance. “Open the door, will you?”

Emilia opened the door and stepped outside.

“Go down this corridor,” she motioned to the right. “Then go down two flights of stairs, when you reach the bottom make a left and then a right, the stairs are there and they’ll take you down to the dungeons.”

“Thank you, Myrtle. I’ll see you around.”

As Emilia walked away, she decided that she was going to have to ask Ron more about Myrtle. It was strange for Draco to be talking to a ghost, especially one as odd and unsettling as Myrtle. She wanted to know why he talked to her, why he felt comfortable enough opening up to the ghost, because if she could figure that out, then maybe, she could make him feel safe in her presence. Maybe she could make him open up to her.