Darcie and Dobby's Nightly Adventures - Pursuing Greatness!

After the guests had gone, the manor fell into silence.

The embers of the Bonfire were glowing red even after midnight, molten fire dancing within as the wind kissed them. The many Jack-o'-lanterns were still hovering around the manor, but they were sleeping as well, a few snoring, blowing the candle within them.

In her room, Darcie was sleeping, her eyelids fluttering as if she was having a nightmare.

-… Come … Darcie … Here … -

Darcie's eyes snapped open. She sat up, and gulped, her head bobbing around in all directions. She was just dreaming of the white serpent again, and she could've sworn that someone had called out her name in her ears.

Despite her composed bearings, a trickle of fear was now welling up in her heart. Never had the whispers and the murmurs sounded so clear to her before. "Who's there?" she demanded.

No answer.

Darcie had just relaxed when the wind whistled in her ears.

- … Come … follow … -

Darice's head snapped towards the doors. There was something outside. With her heart in her mouth, and finding courage in her magical prowess, Darcie stepped off the bed, slipped on her sandals, and walked out of the bedroom.

The corridor leading to the Drawing room was lit with braziers, fire burning low within them. Her parents' bedchamber was to the left at the end of the corridor, and the drawing room was to the right.

Darcie contemplated running to her parents.

It was then she spotted the mist. Silver in white, like stars twinkling in a winter fog. A sudden burst of curiosity drowned her fear, and Darcie followed it.

- … Come … here … -

Whispers, like the hissing of snakes, kept drumming in her ears as she followed the mist down to the ground floor. It didn't stop there and led her across the Great Hall to the kitchen.

When she entered the Kitchen, she saw the mist disappearing down the stairs leading to the Buttery.

"Miss Darcie?" a squeaky voice jolted her from behind.

It took all her strength to not scream. A tiny figure of Dobby, with a fork in his hand, was looking up at her with wide eyes. Darcie put one finger on her lips, and said, "Shush! Come with me, Dobby."

Both the mistress and her servant descended the steps, their steps light as feathers.

Usually, the Buttery only housed casks of beer in the beer cellar. But Malfoy Manor's Buttery was enchanted to store wine as well. And around a feast or social gathering, the doors to the Buttery were usually left open. Such was the case now.

"Dobby will protect Miss Darcie," the house-elf proclaimed, knowing nothing about what was going on. He stepped forward and threw himself into the darkness, swishing the silver fork like a sword. Other than silence, he cut nothing.

Darcie entered, and her eyes found the silver-white glow deep into the darkness.

She raised her hand, focused, becoming specific, believing, and pouring her intention into her imagination. With a pop, a red-yellow fireball sprang up in her palm and hovered mid-air. It wasn't big enough to light up the entire Buttery, but it did let her see a few steps ahead. Any larger, and she would've lost Control, Darcie knew.

With Dobby walking in front of him, Darcie ventured forth, approaching the silver glow more and more.

By the time she reached the end, only a pale glow of the fire in her hand had remained.

Now, with her fear gone, Darcie felt extremely disappointed.

And the hisses returned.

- … Here … See … -

"Who is it?" Darcie demanded again. "Dobby, did you hear it?"

A shaking Dobby looked up. "Dobby heard nothing, Miss Darcie," he squeaked, now even lower than before. "Dobby thinks some ghost didn't leave last night."

No. It wasn't a ghost. That much Darcie could tell after what she had read about them in the books.

But even after looking around for some time, she couldn't find anything. And the voices didn't return either. Darcie didn't want to be found by her parents here. She didn't know if she could bear spending another round of three days in the Cut-Velvet bedchamber without books.

"Let's go, Dobby," she said reluctantly.

Just as she had walked a few steps towards the Buttery's doors, something rustled behind her.

Dobby shouted, lifted the fork, and ran into the darkness before she could stop him. "You will not harm Miss Darcie!" His voice was like a whistle, mixed with courage, shaking in fear.

More rustling followed the previous one as if stones were falling.

Darcie approached the end again and saw Dobby on the ground, covered in small rubble. "Dobby, are you OK?" she asked, nearing him.

Suddenly, her eyes landed on the fist-sized hole in the wall.

Under the dying light of the fireball in her palm, she could barely make out there was something inside the hole.

Darcie took a deep breath, and let her left hand fall into oblivion.

Her fingers touched the treasure that her mysterious adventure had begotten.

And the contact between her nerves and the unseen, old crumpled papers inside that hole made her heart pound against her tiny chest.

Darcie took out the ball of crumpled papers and gawked at them under the light of the fireball in her palm.

It seemed to her as if someone had stuffed these parchments into the wall in supreme haste, not caring for the effect time would have on the contents itself.

Suddenly, Darcie realized her heart was thumping loudly, and her left hand, holding the papers, was trembling with anxiety; with excitement. She brought the now marble-sized fireball closer to the hole but found no hint of anything within it. The silver-white glow had vanished, and no matter how much she waited or called to it, no whisper responded to her voice.

"Dobby, are you alright?" she asked again, looking at the house-elf. "Get up! Someone will come, I am afraid. Hurry!"

Dobby pushed himself to his feet and slapped his red cushion cover many times to dust it off. Once he made sure that there was not one stain that had remained, Dobby lifted his head and said, "Dobby must punish himself for dirtying the cover, Miss Darcie."

Then, the house-elf put his hands against the wall and banged his head on it.

She should have seen it coming. "Dobby!" Darcie hissed, burying her voice. "Not now! It's OK. Let's go."

Dobby didn't look good and kept muttering he must have banged his head at least two more times. Even his ears had drooped, now hanging down his shoulders like two pieces of lifeless clothes.

Darcie brought the old, flaky papers to her room, the house-elf following her like a shadow.

As she lit the candles and put the papers on the table, a tickling sensation bubbled up inside her chest.

Never had Darcie felt so curious and enchanted by something before. Books had always satiated her thirst for knowledge, but it was something she was supposed to do. The only thing that had come close to this feeling in her heart was the time when she had decided to learn about Wands.

"Dobby, bring me a glass of water," she said absentmindedly, searching for a safe way to straighten the parchments without damaging them any further.

The house-elf snapped his fingers and a glass of water appeared on the table.

What were these? Why were these papers in the Buttery and within a wall? How old were they? Questions begot more questions as Darcie wetted her throat.

She took a deep breath, and with as much gentleness as she could muster in her tiny fingers, she unfolded the creases, pinching the papers at two ends.

She didn't know how much time it took her to undo the parchments, twisted at bad angles. When she was done and leaned back on the chair for a breath, she heard Dobby's snores coming from under the table. The house-elf must have fallen asleep at some point, wrapping his arms around the table's leg.

Darcie brought her attention to the documents again. Now that she had parted them from each other, she could count there were six pieces of parchments, equally ancient to touch and mysterious beyond imagination.

The first parchment on the top was full of incomprehensible runic writing as if ants were crawling over it. Darcie did not recognize it, but she knew it was related to runes, for she had seen such languages in several books on magical history.

Covens and cults, older than civilization itself, were mentioned in some books that had developed some of the first ancient runes.

Darcie had been fascinated by them, and her desire to learn more about them had no limit, but further books on these topics came under the category of field specialization, and those weren't issued to common wizarding folks. Nor were they available in shops.

As she saw the very first page, and the runic writing, an old flame lit up in her heart, her eyes burning to know more, to understand the meaning hidden behind these misshapen letters.

Darcie carefully lifted the page and put it aside. One more similar page welcomed her. As she carried on, she found that there were five pages full of runic writings, but somehow independent of each other. She didn't know how she could tell that, but there was an instinct within her that told her these five pages contained five different meanings.

And then her eyes landed on the last page.

Her eyes widened. This page had writing on it as well, but it was English, its letters curved beautifully like coils of a snake.

Above those words, there was a sign. Painted in yellow, it both repulsed and attracted Darcie. For long she looked at it, and then her eyes went back to the words written in English under it.

— The Yellow Sign - a path to unparalleled greatness —

"The Yellow Sign…" Darcie repeated, her green eyes reflecting the unworldly image of that painted figure. "… greatness."

This was all Darcie ever wanted, not Power. Not Wealth. And not even Status.

Only Greatness.

All the books she had read, and the grand wizards and witches she had read about, were not great because of one thing. Some were great duelists, some were great potions masters, some were the greatest healers of their times, and some were great dark wizards. Dark, yes. But great, anyway.

And thus, Darcie had decided to pursue greatness above all.

At this moment, the memories of those condescending eyes that other magical folks had given her all the time passed by her mind. The accusing whispers against her family, the hidden meaning within the news articles, and the sheer malice people had associated with the name Malfoy. She recalled it all.

Little as she was, Darcie had come to know that there was a good deal of false knowledge in this world, pursuing which led to nothing but a dead end. Yet, in this instance, as she looked at those runic writing, the yellow sign, and the one comprehensible sentence under it, Darcie knew here lay the greatest opportunity of a lifetime.

Wasn't this like the tale where a child stumbled upon an ordinary stone and found it was a powerful source of magic later? And wasn't this like the fable of a young princess finding a rusty locket, which turned out to be the resting place of an old witch?

Yes, this was entirely like that.

She just knew if she were to translate these five pages and get to understand the yellow sign, she would achieve Greatness. If it was anything like those magical chronicles, then this was the beginning of her story, her tale.

The tale of Darcie Malfoy!

Now that thought was worthy for her to smile over.

***************

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