The Black cabinet was elaborately worked dark wood with a simple glass pane and rows of gilded cubbies inside. The cubbies were filled with books, galleons, baubles, other miscellaneous fineries. Some were a tad evil-looking, all metallic and covered in runes that weren't found in nice books, and a thing with spikes that looked like a collar. But there was a nice silver tea set in the lowest row, a beautiful pair of diamond-encrusted earrings, a well cared for copy of the Pure-Blood Directory. For the members of the family in an emergency.
A simple clock sat in the center, quickly ticking away the beats.
"I see," Hermione said quietly, arms folded with her chin on her hand, "This is a bit of a problem."
They were in one of the small studies off the Slytherin common rooms. A smoking parlor, from the low back chairs, side tables, and bookcases lining the walls. Or, at least, as close to a smoking parlor you could get in a school. Decorated to mimic what students were familiar with from a rich home, not to actually smoke. Hopefully. Smoking on the grounds was not banned until 1965, but surely no one used such a poorly ventilated room. Several black faux windows looked out over the lake, and the reflection of the glass-green lamps at the tables lit the room like they were in a sea-glass bottle.
One of the ancestral Blacks had brought the cabinet with them when they began at Hogwarts, and it stayed as sort of a vault or trophy or showpiece throughout the years. Directly across from the door and at nearly three meters tall, it was the first thing you saw when you came into the room. Draco had told her about it once.
Full of trinkets and baubles and things oh-so-tempting for children.
Also, it consumed and vivisected anyone without Black blood who tried to open it.
Draco had not mentioned that bit.
In the center of the glass, in the center of a school for children, sat a chimeric, bloated amalgamation of four small, frantically beating crimson-red hearts.
Connected with exposed arteries and crawling veins. Running through the mass of meat like pipe works and sewers. A rapid, discordant pulse cascaded through the flesh. Syncopated in patterns of four. Beginning again before the last beat stopped.
thum-thump thuthum-thump-m thumthu-m-thump-p ththum-thump-ump
There were other... hearts too. Not connected to the working ones. Underneath, unbeating, silent. Left to rot, coagulate, and liquify under the glass. Spilling black over the pretty tea set. Previous victims unable to escape. Proudly displayed as warning to potential thieves.
In a school. For children.
The clock in the center ticked with the hearts, with each beat. The more frightened you were, the faster your heartbeat, the faster the clock ticked.
Tick-tock ti-tick-tockck-tock tictick-tockk-tock tick-totick-tockck
Except there were four hearts, four beats, and the hands spun rapidly, and it read nearly nine o'clock. When she had walked in a minute ago, it had been eight thirty.
She wondered what would happen when it reached midnight.
No, she didn't. Hermione knew they would die.
A puzzle for first-years.
In a school.
For children.
They were fourteen.
Bloody Tom Marvolo Riddle.
" 'We could just leave them there.' Is that what you said, Riddle?" She turned to him incredulous, arms crossed. She hoped her face looked as murderous as his had.
YOU ARE READING
Jörmungandr
FanfictionAfter destroying the Hallows proves to actually be a bad idea, Hermione travels to a time where they were most conveniently stealable. There are a couple dark lords and a cellar door in her way, but she is determined to outsmart them all. Well, at l...
