Abyss

Chapter 1

Hermione's anxiety was now reaching its peak as she waited in the long line at Flourish and Blotts. Her vacation had been full with a trip to Italy, then Switzerland as a finale before her graduation, and while she thoroughly absorbed and enjoyed the vacation, she had not visited a single wizarding alley to buy her new books and supplies or replace old ones. It was now an evening before she would board Hogwarts Express, and she was frantic to get everything done. She had the enormous pile of books to buy, not to mention having to stop by the apothecary, Gringotts to replenish her money supply, and Madam Malkin's for new robes fit for Head Girl.

Yes, Head Girl. The badge glistened next to her Hogwarts crest. Her escapades the previous year had obviously gone completely unnoticed, which was slightly discouraging on the part of the Order. That she was able to sneak about dabbling into the Dark Arts almost made her feel as if they deserved to be deprived of what services she could have rendered to them. She had found out so much without being pulled to the other side. Of course, she had lost her temper those few times, but they had been understandable. She had been conducting an experiment in the hotel room while in Switzerland when her hair had kept falling into her eyes, finally drifting so completely from the back of her head that it dipped into the liquid on which she was working, thus contaminating it beyond potency. Finally fed up with the years of problems with her hair, she had picked up a knife next to her--still dirty with cricket intestines--and took it to her hair.

The results had been a horrid butchery with locks strewn over the floor and Hermione's hair sticking out to the sides. Hermione's parents had been saintly patient with her and took her to a hair stylist to get it cut in a more orderly fashion. She had come out with her hair curled out at the sides of her face in a semi-trendy rumpled fashion - at least, that's what it started out as in the salon. The stylist had told her if she did not want to spend too much time on it, she could use gel and hairspray, but she would not recommend it. Hermione decided drying her hair was better and even quicker in most respects, even though it still ended up frizzy. It just looked less bushy than it used to. Everyone was happier in the end, though the Grangers watched their daughter a lot more closely around knives.

Then there had been the day she had gotten so frustrated at not being able to understand anyone that windows all along the street on which the Grangers were standing shattered. In the national newspaper there was talk about an insane sniper. The news even reached America, and Hermione was given an international warning for using magic, though it had been accidental. Hermione responded with guilty chagrin and tried to limit her Dark activities to a minimum. They tended to stress her more than they should have. But it had not been the Arts themselves that had caused the fits, Hermione told herself emphatically.

The person in front of her had misplaced his change purse, and he had no less than twenty seven pockets on his person. Hermione tapped her foot impatiently. A number of curses in their phonetic spelling flashed through her mind as inappropriate for this kind of annoyance. She had never spoken these curses aloud, but she knew how they would sound at least.

Finally, she reached the counter and gave the bookkeeper exact change. He thanked her with a sigh of relief after all the unpleasant customers he had served that day. Hermione smiled at him as she left. She immediately went back to Gringotts to exchange for forty Galleons, four times more than supplies would cost. Dress robes did not come cheap.

Her arms ached with the weight of the books, and, doubly glad she was in Diagon Alley and Head Girl--which allowed certain privileges at times--she Reduced the bag to put them in her purse. Thank Dumbledore for small favors.

The apothecary was quick enough. Not many dallied lest the smell permeate their clothes. Hermione personally liked it, but she hurried just the same to Madam Malkin's.

"Be right with you, dearie," called Madam Malkin through a mouthful of pins. She finished the robes she was working on and came over to Hermione.

"What'll it be?" Madam Malkin asked. "Formal wear for the Head Girl?"

Hermione opened to mouth to answer, but froze when she realized what Madam Malkin had said. "How did you--?" She wasn't actually wearing wizarding clothing; her cloak with the badge was in her wardrobe back at the Leaky Cauldron.

"Oh, news travels quickly, dear. Well, I think I know exactly what you need, both for everyday wear and for special occasions. You can't go around Hogwarts with a Head Girl badge over substandard robes. Come along." And the small woman dragged her to the dressing platform, sweeping her wand up Hermione's body for precise measurements. Then, with a sharp wave and spell, Hermione's Muggle clothing was replaced with the most wonderful, flattering dress robes Hermione had ever seen.

The skirts and billowing sleeves were medieval and modest, but the bodice was as tight and encasing as a lenient corset. The robes themselves were warm navy blue velvet embroidered with a colorful griffin on her bodice. But despite the fullness and prudence everywhere else, her chest felt terribly naked.

"I--I can't--," Hermione stammered.

"You look beautiful, dear," Madam Malkin said, arranging the folds of the skirt. "Perfect for formal events, and Head Girls can be in many. Now let's see what else we can find for you in casual wear."

It took a ridiculous forty five minutes when it would usually take ten, but Hermione was now furnished with five satin robes, an open velvet robe over a crushed velvet dress, and silk robes that reminded her more of drapes, but all looked great. Hermione sighed. Despite her general aversion to thinking about how she looked or caring about how others thought of her, her inner girl was quietly elated at having good clothes in which she looked good. Maybe Draco Malfoy would be speechless all year as he had been for the entire Yule Ball. He had lost his base after her teeth had been corrected.

Yet again, she had bought more than she could handle, and she Reduced these new packages as well.

She had one more stop, and this one made her heart palpitate apprehensively. Aurors and other Magical Law Enforcement units had really cracked down on the even mild Dark Arts equipment after the end of fifth year. It was nearly impossible to find the information necessary for her studies. The Restricted Section, plus a secret library connected flush against the known library provided a substantial amount of literature, but they were not providing the kind of depth for which she was looking. The only way to find such profundity was in a book completely devoted to the Dark Arts. In this day and age, these were very hard to come by without a tremendous price. Hermione was prepared to pay.

The junk shop was sandwiched between two very prominent stores so that many overlooked the thin entrance, but Hermione slipped in with purpose. She went straight to the manager, who was all by his lonesome at the front desk.

He was small, slightly balding and gray, and he constantly blew his nose with a purple handkerchief.

"What can I do for you?" he asked in a rather nasal tone.

"Order number 1381," Hermione answered promptly.

The manager did a double-take, presumably to see if she had horns above her ears or a forked talk he could not see. When he failed to find anything more demonic than a freckle, he shrugged and lifted up a plank off the floor, then brought a box into view.

"Careful with that, missy," he warned. "Whoever asks, it did not come from me. They're Illusioned, and you might be a bit... unexpected to them, but I can't guarantee anything. On your own head be it."

Hermione bowed her head. "Thank you."

The manager hesitated, then murmured, "Good luck."

She smiled and exited.

She felt jumpy as she passed by more and more baleful Aurors at corners and entrances to shops. Her fingers could not stop plucking at her robes or running her fingers through the bangs at the side of her face. But even people who had not trespassed in any way were also anxious confronted with law enforcement, unnatural for them and discouraging with their suspicious scarred scowls.

For a semblance of normalcy, she went to the ice cream parlor for a strawberry-dipped chocolate fudge cone with almonds. It made her feel better.

A bit calmer than before, she headed back to the Leaky Cauldron where she was boarded until tomorrow. Diagon Alley was usually crowded the day before returning to Hogwarts, and Tom had to add a few rooms to fit the demand, mostly from Muggle-born families.

The rooms had been condensed, but they were still comfortable, and Hermione collapsed on her bed. She Expanded her bag of books and began reviewing her texts. She skimmed through the books until two. She chose not to take out her illicit box of forbidden books. She was too afraid that at full size they would set off an anti-Dark Arts device. Her hands itched to turn their pages and study the best information from experienced minds, albeit they experienced everything about which they wrote. It vaguely struck her that by purchasing their works, she was supporting their activities with royalties, but she had to get first-hand accounts to analyze their psychology and study the actions in detail. Know thy friend, but know thine enemy better. How could one do that without completely submersing oneself within the subjects, including their lives, their minds? She wished she could interview Professor Snape, but the prospect of approaching him with such a topic in mind was less than wise considering Snape's notorious temperament and his position within the Order.

She could not get the Dark books from her head, and she began to worry. Was she addicted to that sort of danger? Were Professor Lupin and Professor Dumbledore right?

The road to hell is paved with good intentions, she thought as she dimmed the lantern and climbed under the covers.

~888~

The next morning found her head under her pillow to block against the onslaught of knocking at her door, Tom with his wake-up call.

"Sorry, miss," he apologized, then went on to wake up other students of Hogwarts.

Hermione groaned, but the circumstances were all against her. She was Head Girl and had to be on the train early to set a good example. She was Head Girl and had to see everyone onto the train. She was Head Girl and had to prep the prefects.

Most of all, she was awake and couldn't go back to sleep.

She went by Apparition, for which she was extremely grateful because it meant she could get up at the last minute, and landed in an empty girls' cubicle that had 'conveniently' gone out of order the night before.

The Platform was nearly deserted. Only a few students with overly anxious parents were milling around, waiting for more people to come so they would feel comfortable getting into the train with everyone else.

Hermione had no such qualms and immediately boarded the train. Ernie Macmillan, the new Head Boy, was there waiting for her.

"Congratulations," he said, holding out his hand to shake hers. "I don't think anyone doubted it, Hermione."

Hermione took the extended hand, forcing a smile onto a mouth that longed to yawn. She did so after her hand was free.

"Studying your texts late?" Ernie asked understandingly. "Me, too. Doesn't look very difficult, though. Much of it I studied last year, and I'll reckon you've prepared yourself more for university levels than seventh-year, correct?"

"To a degree," Hermione said carefully.

"Well, I suppose we should patrol the platform, shall we?"

Though Ernie's pompousness was a little wearing at times, she could not think of a better Head Boy. The only person Hermione had ever known with his kind of dedication to both his studies and the rules was Percy. Except Ernie had more common sense and an open mind. He was all right.

They left the compartment together and split out the door. More people had come in and already kids were on the train. Hermione left these to Ernie and disembarked. In the mere five minutes Hermione had been in the Head compartment, the Platform had crowded to a remarkable extent.

"Hey, Mudblood, can't wait to see your Potions professor again?" Malfoy hissed in her ear.

Draco had developed the ridiculous idea in the previous year that she was having 'liaisons' with Professor Snape because of all those evenings brewing with him for N.E.W.T. levels. She hated having to ask for his assistance and criticism--the former he was nasty in giving, but with the latter he was all too forthcoming--but the fact remained that there were not many potions brewers in the world at the caliber of Professor Snape. Still, Malfoy was harmless when he thought Snape was doing all the naughty.

Draco lost his balance as the basket in his hands shifted violently. He swore and stumbled, just barely staying on his feet. Hermione eyed the basket warily; a furious hissing was coming from inside it. Draco shook it roughly in annoyance.

Hermione winced. She did not care what was in the basket, Draco had no right to treat it so cruelly. She quickly went through the list in her mind of permitted pets at Hogwarts. The cat or owl or toad was out. The hissing did not seem feline. The only other pets she could think of for which the restriction had been waived was Ron's rat, Lavender's rabbit, and Flora Jones' fruit bat. Draco Malfoy certainly was not supposed to have whatever creature he carried.

Sometimes being Head Girl had its advantages.

"What is in that basket, Malfoy?" she asked in an authoritative manner that instantly planted a derogatory sneer on his face.

"Wouldn't you like to know," he snarled.

Hermione snatched the basket from him. "Yes, as a matter of fact, I would like to know. I'll bet ten to one you've got a Slytherin mascot, and Professor Dumbledore never informed me of it, therefore it's forbidden."

"You can't do--," he sputtered indignantly.

"I'm Head Girl, Malfoy," Hermione said calmly, pushing her face in front of his. "You're just a prefect. You answer to me, and I answer to the Headmaster. I now intend to confiscate this as the Headmaster ordered."

"You can't--"

"Watch me!" Hermione turned on her heel. She stopped by to inform Ernie that she was confiscating a creature and that the train was not to leave until she got back from Diagon Alley. The Menagerie would no doubt provide a refuge to it.

"Feels like I was just here," Hermione muttered dryly, pushing through the streets in a hurried fashion to the Magical Menagerie. The snake had begun practically spitting in fury, and many of the animals protested as she ran in like a whirling dervish in one of the her plain robes--out of habit--hair curling around her face and an irate snake hissing like the very devil in her hands.

"Goodness gracious me," said the clerk, "what on earth--"

"I need your manager to confiscate. . ."

"Just a minute," the clerk stammered, quelling at the prospect of meeting an angry snake. He rushed into the back.

Hermione set the basket onto the counter. The snake had settled down somewhat and was now rubbing its scales restlessly against the weave.

A sizable man stepped out from behind a curtain, rubbing his hands together.

"Well, well, what do we have here?" the man asked. He ran a hand over his bald spot as he examined the basket from a safe distance. "We don't traffic much in snakes, what with the Dark Lord and all, but let's see what you have."

"Careful," Hermione warned, "I don't think it's very happy I took it away." The basket shook again.

"Looks like a big one." Hermione read his name tag: Conan Fitzgerald, General Manager. A big meaty hand grasped the top of the basket and pulled it off, wary of the sudden thrust of the snake's head. The strike missed and the snake bit down on air. "Feisty one, too. He must be cold, too; this basket isn't near catering to his needs. Jerry, my hook.

"It's been a while since I've looked at a fine serpent specimen, and this one looks as healthy and lively as anything. And handsome, too, look at the gloss of his scales."

Hermione had a perfect opportunity to see the slick brown back fading to a mottled cream on the belly as the snake rose menacingly from the basket--the hiss itself was more like a growl really, and it scared her to death--hooded and mouth open. It finally halted at five feet high, almost as tall as Hermione. Both she and Mr. Fitzgerald took a step back.

"You confiscated this from a student?" Mr. Fitzgerald asked incredulously. "What we've got here is a beautiful king cobra, doubtlessly wizard bred. He's got to be a good fifteen feet. Jerry, he's coming out of the basket, I need the hook. Careful, missy."

The snake uncoiled, still swaying upright and began slithering from the basket, its eyes determinedly on Hermione. Hermione could not look away; they were odd maroon eyes, glinting with a subtle intelligence. Hermione struggled to stay calm as it neared.

"Easy now, milord, we mean no harm," the manager directed to the snake; its ribbing had begun to pull in again, but its mouth remained open and it continued to advance. "Always address a dangerous animal with deference, missy. Maybe you'd better placate it; it's fixed on you."

Hermione's eyes were wide and her hands were shaking, her robes in tight fists, but the cobra was within striking distance, so she ventured a timid, "I was only doing my duty. Don't take it out on me."

He withdrew only slightly, but continued swaying.

"So he's an intelligent one," Mr. Fitzgerald said softly, admiringly.

Jerry did not come in, but he slid the hook through the crack of the curtain. Mr. Fitzgerald took it in his hands slowly and carefully. Hermione chanced a look. It was a standard snake hook except it could circle around the entire circumference behind the snake's head when applied, a little magical addition.

"Okay, easy now, milord, I'm just going to. . ." The snake whipped around, glaring now at the manager, but with a deftness that surprised the snake, the hook came right under the ribs and clamped around tight. The cobra immediately began writhing and hissing in its growling way as though he was being murdered. He stretched to bite, but he could not reach anyone so fettered. The manager stretched him out and grabbed his tail.

"Yes, finely bred indeed," Mr. Fitzgerald said, holding him out for Hermione to see. Hermione took another step backward. The snake's eyes were practically smoldering.

"I'd avoid his eyes, missy. The wizard bred ones are more captivating than others." The snake still fought half-heartedly, but if Hermione did not know better, she'd think it was almost smug. "I'd love to know who had this first, missy. These poisonous ones don't come cheap, and I'd reckon that in the wrong hands this serpent would be confiscated by more than just a Head Girl."

"As much as I'd love to divulge the boy's identity, we're sworn to silence about misdemeanors."

"Well, it would help, because I can't keep this one, missy. Wizard bred, it ought to go home in private protection. The law won't allow this sort for public enterprise. Sorry, missy, but I can't take it. Beautiful, though," he murmured longingly.

"Then where should I take it?" Hermione asked, a tension developing in her stomach as she anticipated the worst.

"Well, the way I see it, you've got two options--you can turn it in to an Auror, and they'll likely have it put down. Or you can take it to Hogwarts and have Dumbledore decide. If all else fails, it will probably find a home in the Forbidden Forest."

"But I just confiscated it, sir, I can't very well bring it with me," Hermione protested. "And it's poisonous, how can I--?"

"Snake-charming spell, fairly routine," Fitzgerald interrupted. "Think you're up to it? It needs a great deal of power behind it."

Hermione did some quick thinking. She wished she could talk to Dumbledore now, but the Express was most likely getting impatient and she did not want the snake to be put to sleep just for being born a serpent, so she sighed and said, "What's the spell?"

"Wonderful, missy. They're wonderful familiars, someone is going to love it."

"I have a familiar, but he's at home. Please, Mr. Fitzgerald, what is the spell?"

He held out the snake and said, "It's 'pareo,' full circle swish. Go on, it's getting restless again."

Which was a dramatic understatement. It was practically thrashing its way through the hook, and the manager was nearly losing his tail.

"Missy!" the manager urged.

Hermione unsheathed her wand and pointed it at the cobra. With a deliberate stroke of her wand, she declared, "Pareo."

A flash of green light encircled the snake, then extended out until it enveloped Hermione in its glow. It smelled of vanilla extract. Then it disappeared as though it had never been there.

"Well, missy," said the manager, in awe of the limp snake in his clutches, "I've never seen it work like that."

"Did it work?" Hermione asked.

"Yes, yes, the green light is indicative, but this one must be a powerful familiar. You sure you don't want it? It'll complement you wonderfully."

"No, thank you," Hermione replied. "How can you tell he's safe now?"

"Well, until you apply the countercharm, it cannot harm you in any way, it can't leave you, you have full control on how far from you it can be. Unfortunately, there still isn't any way to communicate with it. You don't happen to know a Parselmouth, do you?" he joked. His smile faded when she responded in the affirmative.

"Good luck then, missy. Here," he released the hook and the snake slid from the restraint. "Call to it."

"Milord," she whispered hesitantly, feeling a little silly. "I've a train to catch, so if you could. . ."

Obediently, the snake slithered to her and began wrapping itself around her from the legs to her shoulders. Hermione was stiff with fright.

"Don't worry, missy, he's just trying to get warm. He'll not harm you." He took out a sheet of parchment and began writing a note permitting her to carry the snake to Hogwarts. "I've some equipment, free of charge, you might like to have, and you need to know its habits."

"Could you write those down, too? I am quite frankly late for the Hogwarts Express, and it's waiting for me."

"Of course. I understand completely, missy. Jerry!" he yelled, then whispered the paraphernalia he wanted Jerry to fetch.

A few minutes later, Hermione had Apparated back onto the Platform 9 ¾ where Ernie was wringing his hands in worry. When he saw the giant cobra wrapped around Hermione, he gulped and took a step back.

"I thought. . . I thought. . ." Ernie stammered.

"Not one word, Ernie," Hermione said, thoroughly aggravated by the whole affair.

"But. . ."

"I have a note, and I'm going straight to Headmaster Dumbledore when we get to Hogwarts. Now please, I have nothing on me, you don't see anything."

Ernie raised his hands in defeat. "Okay, Hermione, but the prefects are waiting for a briefing. Do you want me to do it if you're. . . like that? You know. . ."

Hermione made to hug Ernie for understanding, but caught herself in time. "I'd appreciate that," she said, brushing her hair from her eyes, very aware of the extra weight she was carrying on her arm.

"You go on, Hermione. I'll talk to the front and we'll get started. I hope you know what's going on with that--that. . ." he could not finish, so he just boarded the train. Hermione followed him shortly after, struggling with the case of supplies Mr. Fitzgerald had given her.

She opened the compartment Harry and Ron reserved for themselves.

"Hermione!" Ron shouted, jumping back at the vision of the snake dropping from her frame and rearing up at Harry, hood open again.

Harry scrambled away, hissing furiously at the snake, which caused the growl coming from the cobra to grow louder.

"It hates me," said Harry bluntly, still against the wall. Hermione had taken the snake's lower neck and pulled it back. She was muttering to it gently. "Where on earth did it come from?"

"I confiscated it from Malfoy. He probably wanted to poison you in your sleep," Hermione said.

"It really doesn't like me, 'Mione," Harry insisted. "It keeps saying. . . well, not really saying, more like a picture of biting me and killing me on the spot. It's not comforting, Hermione. Don't bring it in here!"

Hermione tutted and sat as far away from Harry as she could. "Don't worry, Harry, I can keep it from you. Watch." She pulled it around her waist, and it curled closer, taking in her warmth. "I'm not going to keep it or anything."

"Hey," said Malfoy from the compartment door, "that's mine." He grabbed for it, but the cobra lunged for him. It was only sheer luck that it hit the door rather than Malfoy himself. Hermione did not have an antidote for the venom readily available.

"It obviously does not want you anymore. I'm putting it into the Headmaster's hands, Malfoy. I recommend you return to the prefects' compartment."

"My father gave me that," Malfoy said sullenly, now on his guard.

"And I'm taking it. Your father should know better." Hermione turned away from the boy, but the cobra kept growing, so Malfoy took advantage of the dismissal and left.

"Are you sure about this, 'Mione?" Ron asked, nervous at the way the cobra had suddenly relaxed and slithered more tightly around her.

"I'm not going to keep it, Ron," she repeated firmly. "There's no reason for anyone to be concerned at all. Besides, aren't you supposed to be in the prefects' compartment?"