Capítulo 130: Chapter 130: Deepseated Fear
Hilke lightly brushed her hand across the wooden door, feeling echoes of something that had been. It was like a whispered suggestion of an event, a trace so faint that one could easily convince oneself that nothing had transpired at all. She stood unmoving in front of the door, her figure muted in the darkness.
Silently, Sherlock cast their two wands into the air, allowing their soft light to hover around Hilke and dispel the immediate shadows. A stillness enveloped them, one so intense it seemed to stretch out forever. After some time Hilke's body began to tremble subtly.
Gently, she let her hand fall, the wood releasing a tiny murmured echo.
"I found...nothing," she whispered, her voice drooping with disillusionment, a hollow melody composed of shattered hopes.
Sherlock tightened his fists by his side, his body language alert as he quietly observed her with the readiness of a hawk, prepared to apparate them both away at the slightest indication of danger.
"I didn't find, I didn't find, I didn't find..." she repeated, a tear-stained elegy resonating across the cool night air.
She crumpled to the ground, her hands a nest for her head, as if hoping to find escape in her own clasp or seeking answers in the recesses of her mind.
"I didn't find it!" The words ricocheted off the silent landscape, sharp as arrows.
"I've tried everything! I read tea leaves, gazed into a crystal ball, studied the stars, practiced arithmancy...but he left no thread to follow in the tapestry of fate. He remains hidden regardless of what I do. I'm... I don't know what to do!" she exclaimed, a crack in her normally composed silhouette.
She violently tugged off her hat, revealing her black ribbon blindfold and the scattered strands of her silver-grey hair. For a moment, Sherlock saw the hint of a terrified child inside her, her body shaking continuously like a lost, homeless girl, shrinking in the shadows.
"Daddy... oh, daddy, I failed...I couldn't keep my promise to you," she moaned, "I...I am powerless...I should have joined you, shared your fate- we were meant to die together!"
Sherlock had always thought she was significantly older than him, but watching her in this vulnerable state, he realized their age difference might be only a matter of a few years. Tears welled up in the corners of her blindfolded eyes, dampening the ribbon, before trickling down her pale cheeks and sinking into the earth.
"He's gone. You'd said he'd still be there, Daddy. I sought him. I did, I did everthing I was supposed to, but...but I still failed! Over and over again, all I do is fail!" she confessed, throwing her frail body on the cold, hard ground, her almost transparent hands barely strong enough to lend support to her shaking frame.
She attempted to punish herself by throwing her head against the cold hard ground, but Sherlock, quick to react, held her firmly, preventing her self-inflicted harm. She struggled, exhibiting strength that belied her delicate physique, nearly breaking free from his clasp.
"But I tried, I really did. But he's...he's simply nowhere. He's... he's..." she hesitated, the words sticking in her throat.
"Dad... I...I can't say it out loud," she sobbed, the fight going out of her. Her trembling eased and Sherlock wrapped his arms tightly around her, a surge of sympathy coursing through him at her vulnerability.
She tasted the salty tear on her lip, hesitant to voice the apprehension that loomed large in her mind, unwilling to predict or divine the hardest truth.
Finally, she managed to voice her worst fear, "He...he might be...dead." With this confession, her body went limp in Sherlock's arms, mirroring the doll-like figure of vulnerability she had earlier accused herself of.
The pair of wands continued to hover in the darkness, their soft glow illuminating the melancholy that hang in the air. With his back against the stone wall, Sherlock sat in silence, staring into the darkness of the tunnel, his thoughts a mystery even to himself. Despite the chaos that had just subsided, his breathing returned to a steady rhythm, with Hilke laying quietly against his chest.
A flutter of movement caught his eye, and he watched as her head lifted from his chest in bewilderment, before she hoisted herself upright as if nothing had happened. He observed her emerge from the grip of fear, clearing his throat and dusting his robes as he rose from the dirt floor.
"Are you feeling better?" he asked, keenly taking note of her reaction.
In response, she simply shrugged her oversized hood back onto her small frame, neatly concealing her face.
"Did you see anything?" Her detached tone was back, though touched with a hint of hoarseness.
Sherlock responded with a casual shrug, "Nothing, really. You touched that door, stumbled for a minute, before suddenly collapsing. I just played cushion for you and waited for you to wake up, that's all."
It was a bare-faced lie, but at that moment, he considered it a necessary charade, for the harsh reality was sometimes too uncomfortable to face head-on.
Deciding to change the topic, he gestured towards the wooden door, "Were you successful? Can we go in?"
Without uttering a response, she strode towards the door and pushed it open forcefully. A mournful creak of rusty hinges echoed around them, followed by a puff of stale, dusty air that suggested long disuse.
As Hilke was about to walk in, Sherlock held her back and casually released the control spell that guided his wand, allowing it to float quietly into the room. Its glowing tip revealed the room in patches, but it appeared vacant.
"Now, we can have a look," Sherlock replied. She simply nodded, her expression hidden under her hood, but made no remark about his unusual display of wand control. After all, levitation was a skill every wizard was accustomed to.
Together, they stepped into the room concealed behind the wooden door. Despite the Lumos spell highlighting their path, the light could barely penetrate the depth of the darkness, revealing less than half a meter at a time. The size and layout of the room remained a mystery, prompting them to inspect their surroundings in bits and fragments, their wands casting dancing shadows onto the walls.
While they were preocuppied with their task, neither noticed the creature lurking behind the entrance, observing their every move in silence.
They navigated together rather than splitting up, carefully stepping across the vast space. The room seemed void of any distinctive feature, a hollow echoing the emptiness around it. They must have walked at least twenty paces before reaching the far end of the room. Silent in their shared pursuit, they began to circle the perimeter of the imposing hall.
Suddenly, they stopped in their tracks, their lights unveiling the creature that had been lurking behind the door. It was a large scarecrow, shaped like a crucifix. It was stuffed with yellow straw that spilled out from the ragged cloth and wood gaps, and two eerie red lights flickered from its raveled face. In one hand, it held aloft a rusty scythe. In the other, it clutched a ragged kerosene lamp.
Upon sighting it, Hilke didn't hesitate. Her wand whipped through the air as she declared, "Expecto Patronum..."
But before she could complete the spell, the scarecrow let out an ashen, desolate, chilling scream, its question repeating in the silence: "What happened? What happened?"
The once-abandoned kerosene lamp in its grasp sprang to life, casting an orange glow that danced across her features. But the light provided no comfort, no warmth to dispel the cold or the fear creeping in.
Startled by the sudden outcry, Hilke fumbled on her words, interrupting her casting and consequently allowing for the scarecrow to charge towards them, its lamp and scythe swaying menacingly. Sherlock, in his trained reflex, yanked her away from the danger, his wand tracing a spell.
"Expecto Patronum," he managed, his voice steady despite the chaos. The scarecrow echoed another cry of horror, "No! No! I'm so scared! I'm so scared!"
Sherlock, however, remained undeterred, successfully casting a silver Patronus against the impending doom. But the conditions were adverse. The oppressive air seemed to be smothering not just their strength but also sucking out their happiness, making casting the Patronus spell at least ten times harder than it usually would be.
The scarecrow managed to dodge the first attack and the partially-formed Patronus could only slightly repel it before it charged at them again, scythe held aloft. Without wasting a second, Sherlock aimed his wand directly at it.
"Confringo!" His yell echoed in the chamber, a dazzling explosion of fire quickly devoured by the infinite darkness around them. The scarecrow wasn't fazed, taking the hit head-on and barely getting blasted back a few steps, a few strands of straw tumbling from its body.
"Is the Patronus Charm really the only thing that works?" Sherlock asked, his tone urgent.
"Yes! It... it's only weaknesses are joy and hope!" Hilke retorted, attempting the patronus spell once again.
"Expecto Patronum!" This time, she successfully summoned her spell, with silver threads appearing in the darkness and slowly taking shape.
At this, Sherlock didn't waste any time but took out all his spare wands from his bag. The scarecrow paused at her move, its red eyes fixed on her, its voice a mournful croak repeating her words back to her.
"I can't find him! Daddy! I can't find him!" Its cry sent shivers down Hilke's spine and the silver Patronus strands rapidly disintegrated, swallowed by the darkness instantly.
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