She stood alone in the never-ending night of utter blackness. Here in this place, time slowed down. It was a place where minutes seemed like hours, hours seemed like days, and the days seemed like years. Every moment was agonizing. She cried out for someone to free her but her tears were not seen and her shouts were not heard.
It was a lonely place this everlasting nighttime. ‘A living nightmare’ she called it. She did not remember how she’d gotten there or how she would return. No older than seven years had she been brought here even though she couldn’t recall who she was brought by no matter how hard she tried.
Forever it seemed like she searched for a door or even a window. Walking forever in blindness seemed to be her doom. There were to walls to speak of and how silly to think of finding a window when surely if such a thing existed in this dismal place, it would’ve been given away immediately by a burst of kindly sunlight.
There was no way out…
She sought and sought, but never found. Her fears crept up around her, blending in with the ever imposing darkness. The stone beneath her feet, which she could not even see, would become shockingly cold. The air would freeze into shards of icy crystal and stab through her skin.
It seemed as though this would be her fate. She saw no way out. Her ever impending doom lingered in the doorway of this dark place. It waited for her hungrily, but contented itself with the pleasure of seeing her squirm with fear and confusion. It was happy to wait for its juiciest meal…
~*~
Suddenly her head started spinning and her eyes rolled back to her throbbing brain. She could hear the screaming of another girl far off in the distance. Losing her balance and falling over, she knocked herself out on the rigid and cold stone floor.
Opening her eyes once again, she saw the most magnificent sight one could see after so long in the blank stare of darkness. She saw the bright and shining sun, splendid in all of its glorious radiance. Before her eyes were many towering evergreen trees. Their limbs reached powerfully up to the sky and seemed to reach above and touch the snow white clouds. They appeared to her to be reaching for the warmth the sun brought to them, as a child for their mother when they are afraid, for the sun was their protector.
Her face was tickled by the soothing coolness of freshly dewed grass and the moistness of fertile soil recently rained upon. Taking in all the smells of the forest and breathing in the sweet, fresh air, the girl took a few moments and allowed herself to recall all the scents of the great wild.
Birds were singing a sweet song for the new morning, thankful that once again the sun had risen in its eternal magnificence. Their perfect notes rang in her young ears and the winds that came through the trees clashed into her face, relieving her boiling fever.
Still a bit disoriented, the girl stood up slowly and closed her eyes in hopes that her head would cease its sickening spinning motion. After making sure it was alright to walk, she proceeded to walk in the direction she deemed best to travel. She may have been gone for seven years, but that would not bridle the bred instinct of which direction her home was in. Nothing could take that instinct from her; not ever.
Walking freely felt unbearably blissful. The dirt of the earth did not cause rough calluses to mar her bare feet as the unforgiving stone did. The air was not poisoned with ash as it was for so long; it was, instead, sweet and clear. Singing thanks to God, she traced long forgotten steps back to the one place she knew she was safe.
Hours later she came upon a grand, but humble, English village with streets of cobblestone and fine homes and shops of luxury and purpose. This was her home. Soft pitter-patters of the pedestrians filled the air with a musical sound, as did the low, rumbling chatter that the people created. All were outside this fine day, enjoying good company and good weather.
The girl continued her journey on into the village. Her feet led her to the sidewalk that wound to the heard of the small town. A strange sight she must have been to turn so many heads. People stopped to wonder about the strange little girl with tattered clothes and an almost blank expression upon her face. But she did not care, she was going home.
At last she had come to the grand steps of solid ivory stone. She had to tilt her head to see the top of the enormous white stone that held up the roof of the front porch. The girl walked up these large steps to the porch of beautiful dark, weathered, wood.
She reached out to one gigantic wrought iron door handle and pulled open one side of the massive whitewashed oak doorway. Her feet knew where to go and they led her through the lobby. Each footstep echoed off the arched ceiling for the floor was mahogany and the ceilings were high.
People surrounded her; it was the summertime and there were many tourists. They chattered and laughed in the lobby, some sitting down while others were headed out to enjoy the welcoming day.
Walking on, she came to the front desk. The concierge, who was helping one of the guests, had a good-natured face and was wearing a white and black uniform bearing the gold crest of The Hotel White; a sword pointing downward in front of the noble face of a magnificent lion. If one looked close enough at the crest, they would see that the lion's eyes bore into their own with knowledge so powerful that it burned.
As soon as the man was done with his guest he turned to her with a startled and worried expression.
"I'm sorry to bother you sir, but where is my father?" she asked timidly, placing one hand on the grand mahogany desk.
It took a moment before the worried concierge to collect himself. "Who's your father, miss?"
"Jehosah White."
That name must've knocked the air right out of his lungs for he immediately raised a hand to his heart as if in hopes of slowing it down. He blinked at her in sheer awe. He swallowed hard and looked at her a little more closely, trying desperately to find something in her face.
"I'm sorry to have to tell you, miss, but Mr. White has been dead for some time now. His brother is here though- perhaps you should speak to him," he said kindly. "Come with me."
He led her to a small but grand hallway with slate floor tiles. Soon the man stopped in front of a door with a polished brass plaque labeled "Manager" in an elegant script. He knocked on it twice. It didn't take but a moment for the door to gingerly swing open.
"Good afternoon, Mr. Job. There's a young girl here asking for your brother Jehosah- I thought you might like to see her," said the concierge and he stepped aside to reveal a young girl, between twelve or fifteen years of age (for she looked older than she probably was), standing behind him.
She looked up at this man the concierge had called "Job". His hair came as a shock with his young face and frame. He had a good square jaw and a fine nose and brow. He had gentle blue eyes and his face was very kindly and noble. Hanging ruggedly about his face was his well-groomed white hair. It wasn't the kind of platinum blonde one might expect, but actually white; white as the first winter snow.
He looked down at the girl with tears glossing his dark blue eyes and he smiled. "Come in, my dear child," he said, stepping aside. "We have much to talk about."
~*~
Some hours later, she and Job walked out to the lobby which had been empty of it's previous occupants for some time. It seemed even larger than before now that there was no one crowding its beauty.
She and Job walked into the elevator at the far side of the lobby, just under the grand staircase. Job leaned forward and pushed the button for the 27th floor. She leaned against the wall of the elevator and traced her eyes on the patterns of the carpet beneath her feet. It was also as snow white as the rest of the hotel, except it had gold and black patterns of various wild flowers on it. The walls of the elevator were black and made of thin, one foot by one foot blocks of granite. It was so polished the girl could see her reflection as clear as day.
The bell rang indicating it had reached its requested destination. The doors parted and the two of them stepped out into a narrow but comfortable hallway. Beautiful mirrors of all shapes and sizes covered the worn down and tattered walls. It had a very different feel than the rest of the hotel. It was in no sense orderly or outstandingly kept.
The walls, or at least what could be seen of them, were a deep shade ruby and were very worn down in some places (most likely where mirrors had previously been). Some of the mirrors looked like they had been broken then glued back together which made the light reflections bounce off in different places. Other mirrors were cut into oddly shaped frames of hearts and diamonds and triangles and squiggles, if you will; but the rest were quite normal in their ninety-degree angle frames.
The floor was wooden, just like the rest of the hotel; a mocha dark mahogany, but up here it wasn’t as shiny, feet had walked on it for far longer. Keeping the mirrors company were seven large portraits along the walls; three on the elevator side and four on the other. They seemed to be of family genealogy for all their faces looked similar and they all had cloud white hair, just like Job. The girl walked to her left all the way to last portrait on her right; one of a very handsome man, maybe in his twenties wearing medieval wizard robes of a deep purple trimmed with gold bearing some suit of arms or crest on his left chest and his white hair hung ruggedly about his face but was cut fairly short. He seemed to stare intensely to someplace far beyond what any human eye could see. His eyes were a cloudy hazel and resembled a misty ocean sea.
Job motioned for her to step through the portrait. Taking in a deep breath and slowly letting it out, she stepped through the portrait into a beautiful bedroom. It was a comfortable room. It wasn’t too big and it wasn’t too small. The walls were painted in a dark navy blue that had been worn down into lighter blues in most places because of the many years of supporting wooden furniture. Scattered spontaneously on the walls and ceiling were silver stars that shined in candlelight.
It held a four-poster bed of soft white sheets and black painted wood and headboard. The bed was covered in lush dark blue velvet pillows of many sizes. The bed curtains came billowing down in a sea of white snow.
On the far end of the room there were windows fit for a king. They extended all the way to the ceiling and, as was expected, pure white curtains fell all the way to the floor. They were closed right now for it was nighttime but she walked to them and pulled open the curtains which surprisingly held no dust. The moon’s light poured into her room and made it brighter than any number of candles could. She took a few moments to let her toes sink into the plush dark blue carpet and for her eyes to wander among the stars.
She opened them and walked over to a black dresser on which was carved vines of roses. Above it was a large mirror in a silver frame. Two silver candelabras stood erectly on either side of the grand mirror and also to her surprise were lit. The flames danced in the darkness knowing that night could not defeat their blinding flames.
Pictures littered the large dresser as well. They were all in black or silver frames containing the smiling faces of her family and the eye-catching Hotel White. She looked at the only picture she had of her mother. Her father had always talked about how beautiful her mother was. ‘Not even a picture could capture her real beauty’, her father used to say. She never understood what her father meant but he assured her that someday she would. Her mother had silky golden hair that hung a few inches past her shoulders. Compassion filled the warm chocolate brown of the woman’s eyes.
Then she looked through the pictures she had of her handsome father. His black hair was neatly tied back in a pony tail at the base of his neck and his dark blue eyes sparkled with wisdom. He had a dashing smile that could blind anyone with its pureness. He was laughing in several of the pictures. It seemed as though he didn’t have a care in the world. And it was true; her father didn’t have a care in the world. She always knew her father to be kind but strict, honest but tricky, and he always knew what to do and when to do it. He had always known what to say, how to say, and when to say it. But courage was his by far his greatest trait. He never backed down to anyone or anything for as long as he lived unless it was in a situation when that was the courageous thing to do. With this came great wisdom.
Last she looked at her brother’s pictures. He was a good three years older than her but they had been close nonetheless. He looked exactly like his father; black hair, hazel eyes, and dashing smile even from a very young age. He was the joker of the family, the one who brought laughter when nothing else could. One picture of him stuck out to her eyes in particular. It was the one taken when he got his acceptance letter to Hogwarts; taken on June 7, his eleventh birthday. His oceanic eyes gleamed with excitement and anticipation. His mind was already wandering through the forest of wild imagination of the years to come.
She stared at the pictures for a long time trying to will them to life, but she knew they would never return. What was done was done. After all, not event the most powerful magic could bring back the dead.
"This was your bedroom, last you were here," Job said. "I remember the long days your mother spent trying to make it perfect." His lips turned up ever so slightly. "I hope tomorrow's dawn will wake you with happiness my sweet nice," he said, and he bent down to give her a gentle kiss on her forehead.
He stepped through the portrait frame (the back of the portrait, which displayed the young man with white hair looking the opposite direction, showed through the wall inside the room) and said goodnight as he went.
She changed into a ruby red silk gown and she slid beneath the warm covers of her bed and laid her head on the largest of the velvet pillows and let herself sink down comfortably into the down mattress. Feeling secure, she murmured to the candelabras that she would see them the next time the daylight turned to darkness; the only light left was from the moon; who, at the moment, was her only protector. And that night the moon watched over her as it had for many years and took peace in the fact that her only friend was finally safe in her own home snug in her own warm bed.
~*~
She woke up the next morning to come face to face with a letter sitting on her bedside table that she had not noticed the night before. It was addressed to her in purple ink to the twenty-third floor of the Hotel White, last portrait on the right side, The Cloud Sky Suite.
It read:
Dear Miss White,
I am pleased to inform you that you have been accepted into Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please board the Hogwarts Train, Platform 9 3/4, on September 1st. The train leaves at precisely 11 o’clock so do not be late. There is also a school supply list enclosed with this letter. See you on September 1st.
Sincerely,
Minerva McGonagall
Deputy Headmistress
Hogwarts, that’s where Daddy went to school…he was in Gryffindor…whatever that means, she remembered.
It was dated for three years ago when she was eleven; she was now turning fourteen in December. She noticed that it was the only thing in her room that had collected dust. The millions of microscopic dirt molecules had flown everywhere when she had picked it up. It seemed like it had been waiting for her; not tolerating anyone to put it away where it wouldn’t get so dirty, much unlike the rest of the furniture.
Yet unsure of what to do about it, she stretched her cramped arms and yawned deeply. She looked around her room contently, her lips curved ever so slightly into a smile almost unnoticeable and a great darkness left her eyes.
She stepped off her bed onto the warm carpet and walked through a white door to the bathroom to clean up before she went downstairs. It was just as magnificent as the rest of the hotel, but just like the rest of the very top floor, it was more used and worn down. There was a grand mirror stretching from just a few inches off the rustic tile floor to three inches shy of the ceiling and it was placed in a worn golden frame.
There was a large pool-like tub in the middle of the floor with a large overflowing fountain at the end. There were fresh fluffy red towels folded neatly on a golden cart next to the sink and an equally red fluffy robe hanging on the wall next to it. Each towel and the robe were stitched with the golden Hotel White initials in a very curvy script. She walked over to the fountain and touched the top of the fountain tap and immediately, crystal clear warm water began to fill up the oversized tub.
She walked over an enormous tapestry-like rug to the golden medicine cabinet placed over the large black granite sink and selected a rose scented bubble bath. She poured some into the ocean of water and let its sweet smell fill her nostrils. It smelled like her mother’s rose garden that her father tended to after she had died. That was a scent she certainly hadn't forgotten.
Removing her red silk nightgown, she stepped into the tub and was instantly relaxed. Swimming over to the various soaps that suddenly appeared next to the fountain, she proceeded to wash her hair and cleanse her skin.
After giving herself a well-deserved bath, she settled comfortably into the squishy robe and proceeded into her bedroom. Opening the large wardrobe closet opposite of her bed, she proceeded to get dressed.