A Rose

MF: ::sighs and wishes her co-a would feel more friendly toward the readers:: Anyhoo, its long, yes, but its a tribute to my detail oriented self. There will be more chapters though they won't be quite so wordy and they will have actual dialogue. Keep in mind, we, as authors, and arrogant ones at that, have every right and intention to use time travel...wonder who won't die?


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A Rose by Any Other Name

That the universe is comprehensible is incomprehensible. -Albert Einstein

She tread past the winged boars flanking the wrought iron gates overgrown in twisting vines. To block out the wind of the Scottish countryside she pulled her coat tighter over her shoulders and attempted to keep her hair from blowing into even more abundant knots than it was already in. It was a bit of a hike up the sloping drive, over the evenly manicured green lawns that shone with the morning's dew, no doubt kept up by dozens of busy and wrinkled hands, flecked in sunspots. Truly though, she didn't mind the walk, it gave her a chance to breath. Breath, just breath.

In fact she relished the thought of spending time somewhere new, in a place so close to nature. It had been a long while since she had been anywhere besides her home in Paris, but her parents had decided to go to the rare convention in the nearby town and had dropped her here before driving on their way. Perhaps, she thought to herself, it wasn't the fact that she loved the thought of being away from the ruins of the city but more the fact that she liked being in England again. She had been born in England, but soon after her parent's practice had been moved across the channel. The murky channel, foul water separating her from her homeland.

The turrets and towers of the grand and crumbling building grew closer the farther along the deeply rutted path she walked, she seemed to be alone, but a fog was beginning to rise so she could not be perfectly sure. It was a magnificent building, a mixture of rumor and fact said that it had one time been a boarding school, but now it was nothing more than a prestigious museum. Personally, she didn't know how it could possibly be a myth that this had at one time housed a massive schooling system. Numerous articles told of textbooks and blackboards, of an outstanding library and a vast amount of dorms. So, with these findings she was unaware of how it couldn't have at one time have been a school.

She did not know of the other tales, found in books forbidden in most societies, that told of what the school books and library contained, they told of weapons most schools would never keep, told of amours paintings and violent tapestries. She also knew nothing of the fanciful tales that depicted this as a place of a war, as the sight of black magic, nor of the obviously tall tales of witchcraft. It is probably a very good thing such ideals had not reached her ears because if they had of she would have scoffed and not have bothered with this adventure. Such ideas were for petty minds that had nothing better to do than hide from themselves.

She pushed the heavy doors open, a man behind a desk that looked poorly misplaced in the entry hall passed her a ticket in exchange for fourteen Euro dollars. Once she clutched her ticket in her hand she took a moment to take in the sight of the entry hall. It was tall and proud, it actually seemed to have a personality all its own, a character very few people were introduced to. She didn't realize that of the handful of tourists milling around in the hall, she was the only one to truly feel welcomed in this place.

She sidestepped an elderly couple and wandered into a large, lavishly decorated banquet hall. A tour group was at the head of the room, but she did not join them, she spoke English thoroughly, and it would have been an assuredly educational experience, but it was as if an invisible hand barred her from them and she settle for walking around the room in solitude.

Four tables ran the length of the room, and an older one sat atop a raised platform. Every surface was set exquisitely with heavy golden utensils, but dust had fallen into the crevices of the detailed cutlery and the gentle gold glow was diminished.

Looking skyward she saw the sky, a dry gray, depleted clouds and a depressive scattering of rain. Quickly she did a double take, surly the ceiling was either open to the heavens and not merely glass--for if it was then what kept the glass from shattering? As she looked up for the second time she saw that her eyes must been playing tricks on her, the ceiling was hard stone, sturdy and strong, and not in the slightest way glass.

Meandering along she came to four hourglasses; each filled with heavy stones. Stones cut to perfection, though the glass surrounding them was in a foggy sort of way, she could tell that through the grime that one had fine emeralds, one glowing rubies, the third one twinkling sapphires, and the final one dully glittering amber. Wondering how anybody could make such a collection she quickly walked out of the room, a bit unnerved, but nevertheless curious.

For several moments she stood on the threshold of the large banquet hall looking at first the staircase sweeping upward, and then at the few crude stone steps winding downward. In a moment's indecision she choose to work from the bottom up and trotted anxiously down the narrow passage.

The temperature dropped steadily with each downward movement, her breath was visible and she was positive that there was nobody else near. Inadvertently she knew she was in the dungeons, and for some peculiar reason she was possessed to walk on tiptoe and breath with more caution. First she poked her head into one room where there was nothing more than dust and cobwebs, she continued stealthily along the corridor, shuffling nervously, but she only found more empty rooms. In the second to last room she encountered what looked uncannily like a classroom, eight round wooden tables were scattered about the room, some had vials and bottles of fluorescent liquids. Yellowing parchment scraps were beside large vats long empty of any substance; each paper seemed to be detailing a different process, each written in thick inks of various colors and in very diverse hands. Walking slowly down the isles she let her fingers linger on one small scrap of writing, reading the recipe she tutted quietly to herself. This person, decades before her birth, had made a mistake. Gasping she jumped up and covered her mouth with an icy hand, how had she known that? It must have been a fluke, because no sooner than she had blinked in confusion had the papers disappeared, the bottles emptied, and the blanket of dust returned.

Unsettled she left that room for the adjoining one, it was rather cramped and empty jam jars lined dirty shelves, a thick desk set at the back of the room, gold and silver coins were scattered unceremoniously over a map of the castle grounds. Leaning over the map she read, with impossible clarity, through the layer of dust and filth, the words finely written in an angular script. Forbidden Forest, Whomping Willow, and then farther along, on an otherwise deserted hill, the Shrieking Shack. Puzzled she backed out of the room.

She was not quite sure how she managed to get back out of the dungeons, and she was equally unsure of when she had decided to enter through a door beside the dungeons. Again she found herself in a damp, dank corridor; torches blazed on the wall, casting eerie shadows about like a child's plaything. Shivering she walked ahead until she came to a place where the wall abruptly ended to reveal another wet looking room. The walls crawled with moss, though the fire crackled sinisterly in the grate. A feeling settled over her that she was unwelcome in this place, but she boldly wandered on, not really bothering to stop and examine anything.

She chose a staircase and walked up the tight spiral until it suited her to stop. A door stood slightly ajar at the end of the hall and she stepped off the stairs to enter it, she sucked in her tummy so as not to disturb the rusty hinges. It was a single room, with one bed hung in dusty green hangings, a desk sat against the wall, and a bare grate held only ashes. Peering at the top of the desk she studied the book lying there, she would have liked to read the information in the book, but a letter obscured her vision. It was a faded correspondence and the only visible bit left was the cold closing--Sincerely, Father.

What kind of harsh parent ended a letter with sincerely? Feeling that she had intruded and overstayed her welcome she left the bedroom swiftly and had no real interest in the other staircase or the remaining dorms.

Desiring the sight of other people and the company that could only be gained by their presence she let her feet carry her to a wide hall decorated merrily in pictures of food. Steady trickles of people, mostly adults, were evaporating behind a gilded picture of a bowl of fruit. Running her fingers over the canvas she followed a gray haired woman into what she found to be the kitchens, but before she could enter the homey atmosphere she looked over her shoulder. She could have sworn she had heard a faint giggle.

The kitchens greatly cheered her and she followed a group of Hungarians into another large room. Instantly she felt as though she had literally stepped into the sun. A square room furnished in warm cherry oak and lemon yellow cloth met her eyes, a fire also blazed in this grate, throwing bursts of her fictitious sunlight off the walls, her insides relaxed, and a smile broke over her face briefly.

Though she still felt as if she were not quite at home she hopped up a staircase, all seven doors at the top of the plush carpeted stairs were thrown open and visitors were trickling in and out of each, murmuring to each other and pointing out oddities. These rooms were all draped in more mellow custards, and the pillows and bed skirts were black. Tucked into one corner of the dorm happened to be a small tidy window. It wasn't very high off the ground and she expected that if a person were to walk by they wouldn't even have to bother jumping to see in, she supposed that was the cause for the thick black curtain.

Bored with the dorms she just spared a glance to the last few before walking out. Instinctively she found the library, just through a passage hidden by a tapestry and up a set of rickety stairs, she wandered until she came upon the vast room. She was about to walk inside when an icy cold hand reached out and clasped over her shoulder. It was a pale humble sort of woman with tiny glasses pinching her beak-like nose, the thinly stretched skin pulled so tights it was almost transparent. She was shaking her head sternly and pulling the girl back away from the books when she suddenly caught sight of her face and hurriedly let go. Shooting the woman a confused look she took a cautious step into the library, compulsively soothing at her ragged hair.

Immediately she felt at ease and the bizarre things that had happened to her since she purchased her ticket left her mind. The smell of velum and book glue assaulted her nose and she breathed in deeply, filling her lungs with the familiar stench. She wandered down the towering isles, running her fingers along the spines, feeling the bindings, some were smooth silk, others patched and frayed cotton, and even others a harsh material she wasn't used to. Timidly she removed an appealing book from the shelf and let it fall open in her arms.

She scarcely understood it; the charts were complex and the diagrams greatly detailed as to a mathematics she was unfamiliar with. Long equations ran the length of the page; models were scrawled about, as if they had been squeezed in as a last minute thought. A page of neat and precise notations fluttered to the ground at her feet and she scooped it up reverently. The handwriting was very small, even and flowing, vaguely familiar...A one is perfectly compatible with a six, and a six with a four...explain why a one is incompatible with a four?

At a loss for words she decided that a one and four were easily compatible, they made five. Sliding the book back on the shelf she continued through the maze of shelves. Whispers followed her along the path from section to section, looking over her shoulder she saw no one, giving a half smile she walked on confidently, the books were just sharing their secrets with her.

At the very back of the room she dangled her hands across the wooden surface of a table. Her fingers latched into a rut in the otherwise flawless surface. Squinting she rubbed at the etching, from what she could make out the symbols DM + and then there were two more letters that she could not make out before a final = 4ever

Bitterly and with misplaced jealously she swatted at the foolish proclamation and examined the other trinkets covering the table. Six big books were opened, the pages were yellowing and the text was fading, a bruised and patched leather bag was on the floor and it was overflowing with spare bits of parchment and battered books with well-thumbed edges. A long parchment roll was spread out across the tabletop, the books were settled over the topmost corners, makeshift paperweights. In the middle of the paper was a feather that looked as if it had been thrown down hurriedly, as though this person had made a haste to leave, knowing they were coming back. Apparently they never returned, never returned.

Something deep in her gut twanged with guilt and sadness, holding back tears that she didn't comprehend she rushed from the room. She put has much distance between herself and the library as possible by dashing up the marble staircase. Not really knowing where she was going she aimlessly meandered into another classroom, there were four precise rows of six desks, lined into tight columns, the blackboard was decorated with definitions in unwavering chalk. Odd piles of needles with no eyes, black coat buttons, and shattered teapots litters the heavy teacher's desk. A pair of square spectacles were placed in the center atop piles of papers and books, a tartan bag was neatly leaned against the desk leg, and an empty tin took up the remaining space around the desk.

Walking through the desks she saw long pieces of wood were in the groove at the top of each, in the place where she normally would have sat a pen. Of course each stick was covered in glass to protect it from curious five-year-olds, but she itched to pick up one, to feel that warmth in her hands. Wait, she thought to herself, warmth in my fingertips from playing fetch?

Bogged down by uncommon emotions she found her way into a sparse room, a wardrobe and sturdy table with only a few crosswords and books on the surface, a cloak tossed over the back of one chair, but apart from that it was empty and held no significance. If she had kept her head popped through that door she would have been compelled to open the wardrobe at the back because she had never before done so.

Moving on she encountered a huddle of wrinkled women talking with odd accents, voices that twanged deep in the back of the throat and slurred words together. She let the women lead her into another classroom. Rows of desks in messy disorder filled the room patchily, at the front of the room was a chair with a pile of books on it, and a badly done sketch was pinned to the board, it depicted a full-grown man with a buffalo on is chest. Giggling she left the room in high spirits and as she walked down the long hall her laughter echoed off the wall. The chiming was comforting; it had been a good long time since she'd laughed.

Somehow she managed to find herself in what was a trophy room, she was not aware of whether she had gone up or down but she was all the same in a trophy room. Medals and plaques lined the walls in glass cases; awards of special merit were in short stacks. Long lists of Head Boys and Girls were printed in one case with the list of Valedictorians, she didn't bother to read any of these, but the yearbooks that were open to the public caught her fancy. Vaguely she wondered how people could doubt this place had been a school? Hogwarts School was written in purple block letters. The pictures were each neatly printed over the pages and each student wore a black shirt and stripped tie. Blinking she flipped the pages, but suddenly she gasped, she could have sworn that a picture had winked at her. Then she decided that was impossible and improbable. Rather she had just been caught by his good looks, he had messy hair that fell lazily over his eyes and his tie was loose, his smile looked up at her easily and his eyes were hiding something, she was sure of it. Counting how far his picture was along in the line she located his name on the list...Sirius Black. When she saw the photo wink at her again she snapped the book shut again and thrust it back on the shelf.

Walking out of the trophy room she looked left and then right before striking out right and down the hall toward a statue that had caught her eye at the end of the hall. It was a gargoyle, she ran her hand over his face and horns before stepping behind him into the opening that lead to a flight of steps, walking up them she craned her head to see where she was going. A handsome griffin knocker graced the two doors before her; she didn't knock before going into the room. In was a large round room, a clawed foot desk sat directly in front of a panel of wide-open windows. The desk was neat and orderly, books lined the wall on low shelves and oil paintings were surrounding the higher reaches of the wall. Each painting was detailed with a life like aurora, but the last intrigued her the most. It was an elderly man with a long white beard and enchanting blue eyes that seemed to perhaps twinkle with a life caught by a master painter. The blue eyes were framed partially by wisps of white hair and fine framed half-moon glasses. Comforted by the presence of this portrait she examined the rest of the office.

Behind the door was what appeared to be a large collection of ashes, strange silver objects sat still and silent as dust collectors, an ancient basin sat at a peculiar angel on one shelf, the runes unfamiliar. She spent as much time lingering in this office as she could, staying safe for as much time as she thought could possibly be passed off as decency. When she pulled the doors shut behind her she swore she could hear the beginnings of a hurried debate in whispered tones.

Carefully she picked her way down the stairs, she became distracted by a suit of armor that she didn't remember standing across the hall, and she didn't notice the gargoyle slid silently back across the entry to the office. She marveled over the armor for a fair amount of time before she poked her head into a doorway. She was disappointed to find it was just the girls' toilets. An out of order sign even swung over one stall and a sink, the large block lettering amazingly unblemished by time and the edges of the paper fresh as though no time had passed since its hanging.

Selecting an inviting staircase she perused it up into a tower, and found herself in a common room. The oval space was sky blue at the ceiling, the rug was a deep navy, the sofas a robins egg, and the pillows tossed at frivolous angels periwinkle blue. Bronze vases had fake white lilies in them and those decorations lined the mantel where there was no fire. Anticipating more rows of dorms she climbed the stairs where she did in fact come to dorms, the girls' dorms. One door was labeled with a small plaque that said Seventh Years, and that was the door she pushed open. Several beds were pushed into a long line, their blue duvets entwining and the pillows leaking feathers. The desks and dressers were spattered in the feathers as well as in nick-knacks. One had a miniature Hindu goddess set atop a pile of thick books.

In the next room photos lined the walls, photos of mostly one girl. She had eerily pale skin and avidly bad jewelry, a pile of the same magazine were cluttered around the foot of the bed.

A teenage girl pushed roughly past her and she left the dorms, she stood at the foot of the boys for a moment before deciding to pass and walking out back into the corridor. A few halls away she came upon picture of a dappled gray pony chewing on grass, turning she past a picture of women in crinolines. Above her head was a trapdoor with a long silver ladder extending, looking over her shoulder she hesitantly climbed up it, dreading the ascension.

The remnants of a sickly sweet and lingering perfume so foul time hadn't even dulled it met her nose and she was repulsed, she gave the room a quick once over. There were twelve low table and wilting poufs littered over the patched and frayed rug. Teacups lined the wall, packs of cards were stacked in formation, and there were models of planets hanging from the ceiling. She spared the window a glance and saw that below her were three green houses and beyond that she could just see a bit of what must be a vast blue lake with rocks surrounding its banks.

She plunged back down the stairs and took a deep breath on the landing, fresh air was welcome. She worked her way back down the stairs, stopping when she saw a squat knight with the pony, shaking her head she convinced herself that the knight had been there when she had gone up the stairs.

Checking her watch she realized that she had spent nearly four hours in the castle, hoping her parents weren't worried about her she started to leave, but a cosmic pull kept her from leaving. Her feet dragged her down a flight of stairs to a spot right in front of a large picture of a plump lady in a lush pink dress with bobbing ringlets of softly spiraled gray hair. Walking behind the painting she walked into a warm round room. She breathed a sigh of relief, as though she was home, and somewhere inside she knew she was.

Blankets and pillows were folded at the feet of the red velvet sofas and lions danced on the wall. Compulsively she scurried to a deserted corner of the room where several low coffee tables were covered in more papers, some with handwriting identical to that she had found in the library. Fewer pieces had boys' handwriting on them. There was a date book laid out, carefully marked and color-coded by date and time. Exactly the same thing she did. A muddy cat print was in the middle of the table, following the direction the paw print pointed she climbed up the stairs to the dorms she knew were waiting.

Not taking time to comprehend she walked self-assuredly up the tight spiraling stairs, bypassing the first few dorm doors she locked on to the very last door, labeled Head Girl. Her hand was stretched out to open the lone door when she suddenly felt compelled to explore the two dormitories preceding it. The first had four red hung beds, plush mattresses, soft quilts, and elegant hangings. Each bed had a trunk at the foot of it, each as unremarkable as the one before it, but the one on the very end drew her attention, as though she had sat on that bed before, taken things out of the trunk. Now there were thick cords to keep her from touching the bed, but she leaned over it just enough to see the photos pinned lopsidedly to the headboard. There were two frayed newspaper clippings. The first looked to be older; nine people were all waving and smiling from in front of a pyramid. There was only one young girl in the photo, and the minute she set eyes on her young unlined face she felt a tug at the edge of her heart, a kind of kinship with the girl.

The second had no picture and appeared to be newer, though it still had several creases. The headline was in bold block letters...Percy Weasley Guilty for Murder of His Twin Brothers. Percy Weasley? That was an awfully familiar sounding name though she could not recall where she had heard it. However she immediately associated words such as traitor and git with it. There were other pictures too, but most of them were in such poor condition she couldn't make out the images.

Hanging from one of the bedposts was a gold locket hanging open at an odd angel, like the hinges had grown tired of keeping the heart closed. Because of the cords around the bed she couldn't angel herself to see both sides of the heart. The only part she could see was the young red haired girl...the other picture was completely hidden from her. Her heart glowed happily for her friend...then her lips turned themselves down...her friend? She had never met this strange girl--ever.

Puzzled but not all together uncomfortable she strolled into the next dorm. There were only two beds in here, with the loss of a bed it looked very spacious and cheerful. Broad posters decorated the wall, and trinkets were placed with care over most surfaces. The two desks were shoved together and a large glowing, slightly pulsating orb linked them. The farthest also had a Hindu goddess on it, very much like the one in the blue dorm, the other desk was fairly empty, except for a snapshot of a cheery girl and a sandy haired boy.

Inside this room she didn't feel nearly as welcome, but nevertheless she didn't feel as though she was being pushed out, despite the fact that she left shortly after.

Finally she walked through the cracked door at the end of the hall. It was cozy, neat, organized, and from the second her foot crossed the threshold she was flooded with an indescribable emotion--a bushel of happiness, comfort, and more than ever the feeling that she was truly at home. Strangely, she just accepted this as her fate and walked through the room in a daze. Towering piles of books, each with thumbed pages and cracked spines, properly folded black robes on a polished trunk, a vanity with neat little jars of brightly colored liquid, and a hairbrush that looked strained. She was about to turn from the vanity when a gleam of silver caught her eye.

Nested in a plain, tarnished box was a simple little ring. Delicate silver band, shining dully under dust and grime, and three petite stones, a ruby, a sliver of obsidian, and a lively emerald, in that order.

A small scream left her throat and she held her left hand out to the box, they were exactly alike in every respect, with the exception of the fact that hers was made for a man and had to be held on to her hand by a length of twine.

She dashed out of the room, skittering quickly she had every intention of leaving the tower, but she turned and found herself mounting a second staircase. She barreled into an open door way and sighed dejectedly when she saw herself surrounded by five more crimson beds. Moaning she did a quick about face and left, scarcely noting the Irish flag over one bed, the football at the end of another, or the brooms propped in one corner.

Leaving that tower she breathed a sigh of relief when she came back into the hall, the pink clad lady behind her. Noting the fact that she had no idea how to get out of the castle she turned left and almost didn't climb the staircase at the end of one long corridor. She didn't know why she climbed it, she wanted to leave, and going steadily upward wasn't helping her escape.

The view was worth it and at the same time a very depressive state to be in. There was a couple already there taking in the rolling Scottish country side. Forest sprawled out to the east and west, to the north was a mass of icy steel blue water; small ripples disturbed the surface, made by a subtle breeze. There was a lone tree halfway across the grounds, the branches snarled in tight fists, and the bark ripped muscles. A hut sat to her left, by itself, it didn't seem very big, but perhaps it was only because she was so far up.

The door creaked behind he and the couple left, she was alone. Her breath rose in the air before her in slim clouds. She saw all of those things, all the landmarks covering this one ground, but it was another thing entirely that caught her attention. For miles in all the direction, from the back of the castle all the way down to the edges of the forest and the banks of the river were cold gray stones. Hundreds of grave markers, a massive group cemetery was laying directly below her, the sight made her draw in a painful breath. Covering her mouth she backed away from the edge of the wall, tears exploded and she fled the tower.

Her footfalls thundered along various corridors, instinct guided her way out the back door. Throwing the doors open she stood there, gripping her arms around her she looked down at the sight draped over the grounds, rows stretched out in every direction and she sped down the steps, first into a courtyard flooded in graves. She ran through the courtyard, passing through it she ran out on to the open grounds and found headstones rolling out from her in gaping files. A stadium towered over to her right and she could see it too stuffed with the columns and ranks of death.

More tears pushed their way out of her eyes, and sobs racked her body. She flew down the motorcade of graves, slowly her footsteps calmed, but her tears kept running in tracks down her cheeks tinged pink from the chill.

If she had not been delirious with sorrow and guilt she might have wondered why all the names carved into the stone brought fresh waves of pain when she was sure she did not know these people. Names and years began to run together, but the train came to a screeching halt at the name Albus Dumbledore...her hope was diminished, how did she know this man, why did she feel so lost without him? Two twinkling eyes invaded her mind...

Dead...the word was awfully powerful, these people had all been alive. Now they were all...were that was terribly peculiar. Were, not are, they weren't anything anymore. She almost spoke the past tense out loud, in a twisted need to make sure it was grammatically correct.

The closer she came to the lake the more crowed the markers became. She was on the trail that circled the lake; pebbles from it were falling into the bleak waters. In the midst of overgrown weeds and graves obviously not cared for two were so close together that they appeared to be from the same boulder. The names were barely legible, Harry Potter...Tom Riddle.

They were born nearly fifty years apart, but they both died in the same year...1997. Her eyes traveled from stone to stone, nearly all these people only lived to 1997. It was if something had killed them all at the same time, not a single one of them had made it farther than that year.

Severus Snape...1997.

Charles Weasley...1997.

Lavender Brown...1997.

What had happened here? Something huge, none of these people had lived to see the new millennium, they had all died in one year. Shock bared her shoulders and amazement of the most morbid kind dried her tears, a fascination overtook her. Mouth slightly agape she walked slowly back up to the castle, her feet moved lethargically behind her, she felt as though she was being weighed down by this discovery.

Suddenly she stopped and felt a pull to walk down one finale isle, it was farther from the lake, the plots were more spacious, not as crowded. Not a single one was newer or older than 1997.

The last marker was blissfully simple, close to the trees and in the shade. Strange, she thought as she read it, my name is Hermione Granger too.