Abyss

Chapter 4

Voldemort waited patiently for some sign that the Malfoy boy understood his message, and he did not wait in vain. During a Potions class, Draco slid a note back with his foot. Voldemort lunged forward, snatching it, and hid it under his substantial bulge of a lizard Hermione had provided.

The note read simply:

6:40 pm Trophy Room: There's a secret room. Draco Malfoy.

Voldemort tossed it into the Gryffindor common room fire and slithered out the first open portrait hole. Most of the Gryffindor had become so used to him they even gave him a salutary greeting. The unexpected good rapport amused him.

He crossed the path of Mrs. Norris, who sniffed at him once in mild disdain and thought nothing of him. It was depressingly easy for him to maneuver. These people deserved the subterfuge occurring right under their noses to alert them to its utter simplicity.

The Malfoy boy was waiting for him and opened the door of one of the ever-moving broom cupboards. When the door closed and locked behind his tail, Voldemort transformed in a red fury. He flew at Draco and pressed his wand against the pale flesh of Draco's throat.

"You should be more than relieved that the Cruciatus Curse sets off preventive alarms these days. Otherwise, I would have you writhing on the floor under Cruciatus. As it is... Sanguinus."

Draco fell to the ground in pain beyond anything his father had initiated, though Lucius used the Hemorrhage Hex on him often. Draco grasped the hem of Voldemort's robes. The Dark Lord ripped them from the boy's fingers. Draco reached for the Dark Lord's boot in desperation and placed a reverent kiss upon it. Voldemort lifted the hex. Draco pushed away so that he sat against the closet wall, sweat streaming from his face.

"I beg forgiveness, my lord," Draco pleaded, still panting for breath. "I knew not what I was doing."

"That is the story of your family line, Draco Malfoy. Know this: I never forgive. The debt of neglect must be repaid." Voldemort glared down at the cringing boy in whose eyes he had once seen such arrogance. It gave a certain pleasure to see the spark extinguished in his presence.

"What of my Death Eaters?" Voldemort demanded.

Draco promptly answered, "They had to use the underground entrance. They await your command."

"Did anyone make the mistake of inviting Severus?" Voldemort asked.

"No," Draco replied with a sneer.

"Perfect. Tell my Death Eaters to remain where they are. A Nightmare Potion will soon be in my possession. You will make sure that Hermione receives that potion. Subtlety is vital. No force must be used, only deception. This duty can redeem you in my eyes. At least temporarily."

"My lord," Draco ventured, "are you sure you don't want an assassination of Potter?"

"Of course not," Voldemort snapped. "A cobra in the midst of Gryffindors? The boy has his suspicions."

Draco looked startled. "And Granger doesn't? She's the brains of the trio. I'd imagine she'd be the first with the strongest suspicions."

Voldemort smirked. "She harbors affection for me. She never felt threatened."

Draco began laughing spitefully.

Voldemort slapped him, the sharpened nails raking the face.

Draco stared at him in shock.

"The girl is important to my plan, boy! You can hardly understand what that means. You do not respect what she is capable of. Never laugh in ignorance, Draco Malfoy! It is despicable."

The boy's speech seemed to have fled.

"You will do as I command, boy," Voldemort said. "You will not question my judgment. You are bound to serve me, not advise me."

"Yes, my lord," Draco replied, fingering the thin stream blood now dripping down his cheek.

"Good. Deliver my orders to my Death Eaters and ready yourself for when I give you the potion." Voldemort transformed back to the cobra.

"Yes, my lord," Draco said. He bowed then once again opened the door for Voldemort and shut it behind them. The broom cupboard disappeared.

As Voldemort slithered away, he replayed the scene again in his mind as an impartial observer. He cringed as he saw his own impartiality concerning Hermione. The snake-charming spell clearly bound his mind as well as his body. And to imagine he had exhibited that particular protectiveness to Draco. Funny though, that the spell allowed him to kidnap her but curbed his tongue. But, oh, to cast a curse after having to abstain for so long felt so good!

And that he had begun making mistakes: trying to bite Draco, distancing himself from Harry, trusting Malfoy. It appeared that one of the only things he had done right was winning Hermione's fondness. Now he hoped he had not made a mistake in giving his Death Eaters this mission. They had succeeded in subtlety before, but the best of them all at the art was the traitor. Severus' deception did not anger him--it was, at worst, interesting--but it certainly became inconvenient at times. He regretted the loss, and Severus would feel the wrath of the Dark Lord, but Voldemort himself was quite indifferent to betrayal as long as work continued to get done.

Work, hopefully, was getting done as he returned to the Gryffindor common room.

~888~

Hermione swims in a vast icy lake. She begins to tire. She is fully attired and the clothes weigh her down. She rips through them until she is adorned in a light slip, which allows her to float more easily.

Fingers wrap around her ankle and she jumps, eyes flying open. A head rises from the water. The skin has become gray, the veins bright against the transparent covering. She supposes the face was masculine at one point, but now the cheeks hang from the bone and the eyes had been eaten from their sockets. The flesh of his lips had also long since been nibbled away and he was leprous. The edges of his fingers and ears and nose were rotting off. Those fingers trail sensuously up her leg, and he continues his eternal, terrifying grin.

He pulls her under, and she gives her last gasp of real air before being completely submersed. The corpse pulls her closer and tries to kiss her with what is left of his lips. She struggles and breathes in water. His mouth forces hers open. From his decaying body comes poisoned air that Hermione gulps in gladly. His leprous hands paw at her breasts, and as the poison takes effect with a dizzying languor, she sees he was severed from his waist down. His legs drift by as she dies.

Hermione was used to waking from her nightmares covered in a light sheen of cold sweat, but that feeling of dread and a terrible excitement in the pit of stomach she could never accustom herself to. Tired of jerking awake with her, Belthazar now napped in the afternoon and waited at night for her to wake up before returning to his slumber without interruptions.

The increasing revulsion and emotional intensity told her that her counter-curses with which she experimented were not working. It was difficult to continue facing fears every night. She wanted more than anything to have a true good night's sleep, but still the curse kept her from healthy rest. Dark circles appeared under her eyes. Ron noticed the difference, and he alerted Harry to the fact. Now they kept teasing her about studying too hard for her N.E.W.T.s she was going to ace anyway. Hermione marveled at the shallowness they expected from her.

She had begun the Nightmare Potion, which was devastatingly easy to brew, but unlike the Curse, it had a known antidote that she was simultaneously concocting in larger quantities. Belthazar was helping her by keeping her focused. When she needed extra steady aid, he provided his body as a brace. He pointed out the next ingredient or drew her attention to difficult instructions. In fact, without him, Hermione knew she would not have been able to make the potion, at least with the mental state she was presently in. She could not explain the gratitude she felt for Draco's snake.

He was beginning to shed and lose his fangs. She collected the skins and set them where she kept potions supplies. Not only were they used in many potent potions, they added a pleasing atmosphere. When his teeth loosened and fell out, Hermione charmed holes through them and threaded them onto a leather string as a bracelet for good luck. She wore it on the same wrist as her other good luck charms she had kept from all her Forbidden Forest visits: her amulus of collected stones, her silver rings... she had even had the lycanthe tattooed over while in Switzerland. Her parents had rolled their eyes but dismissed it as a phase, and allowed her to have it done if that was what she really and truly wanted. It had been done on the palm of her sinister hand. But she liked the result, no matter that it would fade eventually. Harry and Ron inquired about its significance, and at first Harry had looked indignant because of Lupin until Hermione explained the protection acted against the beast, not the man. McGonagall had seen it once and snorted, but Hermione had spoken about it at length with Professor Flitwick. Some of the boys thought it looked cool, but she had not had it done for fashion, but for herself and for practical reasons. She suspected only Dumbledore could ever know the true significance, but he never asked. She did, however, treat all these adornments with almost a true talismanic reverence. She was unsure how lucky they were, but they kept danger from her in the Forbidden Forest, and she liked them.

She stroked Belthzar's scales after a quick shower that was routine after the nightmares. As the weather turned even colder on top of the extensive storming, Belthazar drifted closer to her pillows for warmth. If it became much colder than this, Hermione was going to allow him under the quilts. That should be better. And she fell asleep--pure, dreamless sleep--her hand still on Belthazar's scales. Suddenly, her eyes snapped open. She sprang from bed, disturbing Belthazar this time. He hooded in irritation.

"I'm so sorry, Belthazar, I just... the most brilliant idea, got to check, so I might wake you up again tonight. I'm putting the curse back on myself. Pesaduis obscurus," she chanted, pointing the tip of her wand toward herself. Then she closed her eyes and said, "Pesadia luminata."

Then she jumped under her covers and looked into Belthazar's strange maroon eyes. "This may be it, Belthazar," she whispered. "Say whatever prayer you know that this will work. And you know what's really ironic? I can't tell anyone about it even if it works. Pity, really."

After the positive adrenaline rush from the epiphany, it was surprising that she drifted into unconsciousness almost immediately. When she woke up that next morning, she was once again elated. She had not encountered a single nightmare. She added her new antidote into the book of curses and potions as she had done on other pages. She was pleased to be able to counter yet another popular curse.

Maybe one day she could reveal her discoveries to Voldemort's adversaries.

Until then, she would seek as many counters and antidotes as possible. The day was not far in coming that any help for the Order would be welcome.

~888~

Hermione finished the Nightmare Potion later that week. For the last three days, the potion had to be stirred in an infinity sign every six hours (why the direction had to say "in an infinity" and not "in a figure eight" continued to elude Hermione). Near the end it was a clear, thin liquid that weighed a little less than water. Because only a small dose was potent, Hermione bottled the resulting brew in tiny vials, three dozen in all, with two vials of antidote for each one. The rest she destroyed with a wave of her wand. Then she put the vials into her store cupboard. She loved having her own laboratory.

Belthazar watched her avidly during the end. Hermione did not mind, nor did she notice when one vial of Nightmare Potion went missing during one of her breaks or when a corresponding vial of antidote disappeared as well. Had she taken a whim to clean house and happened to feel the area under the cupboards that needed dusting (as they did), Hermione would have found the vials underneath the potions cupboard itself. Yet that evening after dinner saw the vial of Nightmare Potion leave in the maw of a king cobra with red eyes.

~888~

Hermione was eating breakfast while reading old N.E.W.T. exam essays and descriptions of trials, like Hermione was supposed to--though it could not be denied that she enjoyed some light reading every once in a while--Draco Malfoy strode up to the table.

"Quidditch this afternoon," he drawled, putting his elbows on the table very close to Hermione's food.

"Thank you for stating the obvious," Hermione said, picking up her milk. She held it in her hand rather than drinking as she added, "Please move."

Draco shrugged but stayed where he was. "You took my snake, I'll take your space." Then he sat down next to her, pushing Lavender to the side. Lavender stuck out her tongue and wrinkled her nose. Then she and Parvati continued their gossip--no doubt about the scandalous acts Hermione and Draco were committing on the side.

"You going to cheer your mates on, Granger? I'm sure it's for their lady fair they work hard. And they do have to work so hard against Hufflepuff..."

"None of your business, Malfoy," Hermione said, turning a page in her book and taking a sip from her cup. She paused as she noticed Draco's eyes on her mouth as she drank. "What?"

Draco shrugged again, then grinned, "Just thinking about what it's like to be your drink."

Hermione choked on the second sip of milk she took.

"Okay, what joke is this? Who dared you to come over here?" Harry said irritably.

"Very chivalrous of you, Potty, protecting the weaker sex."

Hermione slammed the cup down, causing the milk to slosh over the sides. Draco took the cup and glanced at it ponderingly before taking a drink himself, expressing almost burlesque appreciation.

Ron, who had been spluttering in anger until now, stood and prepared to throw the jelly bowl at Draco's head, but Hermione took the cup and tilted it, causing the milk to pour into Draco's lap. She would have liked to pour it on his head, but then it would have hit Lavender as well.

Draco jumped, but then smiled and laughed. He lifted his milk-dripping hands to Hermione's mouth. Hermione bent backward and pushed Draco off the bench. He fell back, still laughing.

"Guess that's a no, Granger," he mocked. "Until next time." He walked out of the Great Hall to change, shaking his head in mirth.

Hermione, Harry, and Ron exchanged bewildered looks.

"What was that?" Ron asked, still clutching the jelly bowl like a grenade.

Hermione blinked. "Search me. Insanity?"

"Probably," Harry agreed, and they returned to their breakfast.

~888~

Draco's next move was at lunch, but Hermione took hers in her rooms, so the drugged pumpkin juice sat at her place until the house-elves disposed of it as waste. This left him the option of dinner, but when she saw him coming, Harry and Ron slid closer to her and Neville, Seamus, Dean, and Ginny glared at him. He backed off. He decided the last time to strike would be when she was alone.

That night, long after the Quidditch game (which Gryffindor won, but not by much), Hermione fulfilled her Friday night duties as hall monitor. She was wary because she had passed Filch so many times she suspected Mrs. Norris had an eye on her. She was wearing the open velvet robes and velvet dress ensemble, which she wore every Friday, and it was the most flattering of the seven black robes. Filch did not even hide the direction he was looking.

So when one of Filch's broom cupboards opened and a hand pulled her in, she felt paralyzed with fear that Filch's lanky hair would brush her shoulder and his gnarled fingers would clasp her waist as his filthy mouth would close on hers. She was more than surprised when a finger was pressed against her lips and she heard Draco shush her. She was not sure, however, if this situation was any better.

Her pessimistic outlook was confirmed when contrary to Filch's cracking lips against hers, they were substituted for the lips of a youth. He had her pinned against a group of mops that poked uncomfortably into her back. She squirmed to get free, but Draco only deepened the kiss, nibbling at her lower lip. He apparently made her bleed, too, because something warm trickled along her lip and into her mouth.

His mouth then wandered downward, relishing the skin of her throat. His hands ran up her back, savoring the feel of her shoulder blades then moving to the curves of her collarbone.

"Hermione, I never expected..." he muttered into her neck. His hand cupped one breast and squeezed gently as his tongue laved her earlobe.

Hermione finally got a grip on Draco's shoulders and shoved him away hard. She could not see him, but she heard the clatter of brooms against dustbins and buckets. She fumbled for the knob, and as her hand closed around it, Draco's hand crept up her skirt. Hermione gave a little scream then twisted the knob. She stumbled into the torchlight of the corridors. Draco continued to pursue her. Hermione licked the dampness from her lips before turning to face him, wand in hand.

The threat was superfluous as Belthazar slithered up, swaying and hooded and growling like a dog. Draco froze and backed up, holding his hands in front of him as if they would stop Belthazar from attacking. Belthazar took his place before Hermione and glared at Draco with fangs bared.

"All right," Draco said, "I won't touch her again."

The growling continued.

"It's finished, okay," Draco insisted, a note of hesitation creeping into his voice. "This won't happen again."

Belthazar gave one last hiss before whipping around and herding Hermione down the hall and away from Draco.

After they had turned the corner, Draco smirked. He had never so enjoyed a mission before. He regretted not being able to savor the moment a little longer before pouring what was left of the altered Nightmare Potion in. He didn't stake his life on it, though, and went about his business.

~888~

Voldemort thought Hermione would never sleep. She worked late into the night on a new project:

Like the Nightmare Curse and its corresponding Potion, her next focus was on her fears. She had read about some of the favorite curses the Death Eaters used during Revels and invasions and ambushes. Though the Unforgivables were high on the list, sex curses were also prevalent. To be perfectly honest, the subject excited her to some degree, even as it disgusted her. She was sure if she were confronted with the various situations, she would not be so stimulated.

While she knew there really was no counter for these spells due to circumstantial obstacles, the knowledge of them as well as possible charms and curses the victim could use after being charmed could still be useful. The problem was finding them. Erotica Alley could probably have her answers, but the street next to Knockturn Alley was incredibly difficult to get to these days. She could try correspondence, but there was too much of a chance the questions would be intercepted by Aurors. So she stole Parvati's collection of magazines that centered on sexuality. Hermione nearly threw up, but she found some fairly good charms to lessen the pain or heighten the pleasure as well as make the man really enjoy the flesh to the point of beneficial distraction. How Hermione hated reading about them all, but the length of the list cheered her up a little.

Even then she did not sleep. She went out into the common room to work with Neville, Harry, and Ron on turning Colin or Dennis Creevey into porcupines. They all marveled at Hermione's obvious mastery at the transfiguration spell.

"How do you do it?" Ron said in awe as she demonstrated obvious mastery at the wand-waving.

"I watch Professor McGonagall and I copy her," Hermione explained, shrugging. "What's so amazing about that?"

"The fact it works," Ron suggested.

They worked on the spell until about one o'clock in the morning when Ron succeeded in giving Dennis quills.

She almost collapsed on her bed, once again startling Belthazar from his accidental slumber. "It's been a long day, Belthazar, even for me. It felt strange not to do anything on nightmares. I almost miss it."

Belthazar butted his head against Hermione's brow in frustration.

"Sorry, I know I've been keeping you up at night. It should stop soon, okay?" Hermione rubbed the area behind his head. Belthazar's eyes seemed to glaze over in delight. It should not have felt so good, but it did nonetheless.

"That's for being there when Draco went mad. I don't know what's gotten into him," Hermione mused. "Usually he calls me ugly because my front teeth used to be a little big. But that he'd... pull me into a broom cupboard... I don't understand it..."

She fell asleep still in her robes, Belthazar hissing soothingly in her ear.

Then the real nightmares began.

Voldemort did not expect the bubble of despair that expanded from the inside. He realized he was experiencing Hermione's bad feelings. He growled in irritation. He would have to get her to lift the charm. He could not continue this way. But how was he to torture the child into relenting without actually touching her violently or cursing her or even watching his Death Eaters torture her? He had not been so lucky when Draco had cornered her in the cupboard. Her distress had called to him as it did now.

As he transformed into himself, Voldemort watched her eyelids flutter. There was something delicate about her while sleeping, though the way she was dressed robbed her of anything innocent. He had not expected Draco's approach to giving Hermione the potion. Maybe having the Malfoy boy follow his father's footsteps had its strategic merits.

Now, however, the work was his alone. He took his wand from his sleeve and murmured a lifting spell on Hermione so that she hung limply in the air. He took the antidote for the Nightmare Potion from under the potions cupboard, storing it in a pocket. Then, he shifted the cupboard, pushing it out of the way of a hidden shaft through which he crawled as he directed Hermione ahead of him. He magicked the cupboard back to its place and shut the door to the shaft before continuing.

The experience of crawling through the small tunnel littered with the bodies and bones of dead rodents, while degrading, was oddly satisfying much more than maneuvering through toilet pipes. As a leader, he did less on his own than he had at the beginning, before the Death Eaters. It was why he made visits to the Forbidden Forest his exclusive domain, just to have something to do besides sit and plan and curse and endure constant false subservience. The Lestranges, Avery, Nott, and Franz were the only servants of his who he felt proclaimed their loyalty with fully sincerity. But none but Bellatrix were capable of the precise tasks Voldemort required, and Voldemort knew Bellatrix was mad.

Finally, the shaft that he had used as a child to sneak about unnoticed, even by Pringle, abruptly opened into a room pierced in the middle by a spiral staircase. Voldemort wanted to go to the dungeons, so he directed Hermione's body downward. Her robes began to slide up her legs with blood rushing to her head, so he turned her around so that she descended feet first. Voldemort followed her.

The steps seemed to last forever as they passed room by room by room, but Voldemort knew they were close when the walls became damp and mossy. It was several stories later that his feet his flat ground. There were four stone doors and Voldemort exited through the one directly ahead of him. He halted Hermione and peered through the corridors, extending his extra sense that he had acquired from Nagini's poison. He smelled no emotion in the air but Hermione's fear with which he had grown quite familiar during her nightmares. With the coast clear, Voldemort slunk through the halls until he found yet another secret shaft, though this one led immediately into another room, one as large as the Great Hall, connected to the Chamber of Secrets, a chamber that extended much farther than anyone could ever conceive without the use of Parseltongue.

Inside lolled his Death Eaters. Someone had conjured a buffet table, others beds, or chairs. At Voldemort's entrance, everyone froze except those in the throes of passion. Voldemort led Hermione to one of the beds. She muttered in her sleep as he released her from the charm.

"Is this your 'mistress,' my lord? My, a fine piece of flesh," ventured Rosier.

"You'll not lay a hand on her," Voldemort instructed. "No one touch her without my permission. She is under the Nightmare Potion, and I will wake her when I desire to do so. Until then, stay quiet and amuse yourselves. Wormtail," he called.

"My lord," Wormtail answered, approaching his master hesitantly.

"Go to the Gryffindor Head Girl's room in your Animagus form. When you arrive, you'll see a cupboard in the private laboratory. In that cupboard, are small vials filled with a clear liquid and vials filled with a powdery blue liquid. Take a vial of clear liquid and pour half of it into the drain. Then place the vial onto the night table. Next, take her books and clothes and put them into her trunk at the foot of the bed. Leave the tank as it is. Shrink the trunk and its contents and bring them back here, again in your Animagus form. Was that simple enough for you to understand?"

Wormtail ran over the instructions once more through his head. Then he nodded and changed, scurrying out of the room.

"Is that the Mudblood all this fuss is about?" a low voice drawled in disgust. "If my son..."

"Your son, Lucius, has paid his debt for his folly, and the blame is not entirely on him." Voldemort whipped around and shouted, "Sanguinus!"

Lucius Malfoy collapsed, writhing and screaming and rolling his eyes at the extreme pain flowing within his blood and erupting in his veins.

"Had you instructed your son properly, he would have known it was I he carried and not some poor beast. Because of your mistake, I was treated as an abused pet and lost to the Mudblood."

"Please, master," Lucius wailed, "you don't--this Mudblood--top of class--brains of Potter..."

Voldemort sneered. How pleasant to see the high-class son of a whore plead for respite. "I know all that, Lucius, I lived with her for months. What of it?" He lifted the curse.

Lucius panted for breath as he replied, "Can we not use the girl against Harry Potter and the Order?"

Voldemort sighed dramatically. "Lucius, Lucius, do you think me so simple I have not considered any of this? Why do you think Hermione is here rather than alone in Gryffindor tower, or dead? Of course I will use her against the Potter boy. Unfortunately, she knows as little of the Order as we do. They never admitted her in. It is worth noting, however, that she acted illegally to work against us. Banned books, banned potions, banned spells--she has experimented with them."

Lucius raised an eyebrow. "Really? That self-righteous brat, that high-minded bitch, studying the Dark Arts?"

Voldemort nodded. "So when they finally realize she is missing, they will enter her room and find the remains of the illegal Nightmare Potion she obviously concocted herself. This will stop them in their tracks as they wonder whether she has thrown in her lot against them. They will be more concerned with her allegiance than her whereabouts so that we'll be able to return to the fortress without their interference. Then we can extract information from her until there is nothing left. She can be used as a false bargaining chip, or even as a weapon. She is a powerful young witch, but intrigued by Dark Magic. Imagine the look on Dumbledore's ancient face when he learns the extent his own Gryffindor pet, a Head Girl, has delved into forbidden arts." Voldemort chuckled at the thought.

"The girl," Lucius said, "if she is merely a bargaining chip, she could be added to the Harem. She is young, strong, healthy, and pretty."

"What is it to me if you have your women?" Voldemort dismissed. "But I foresee she will have other uses. Avery will stare at anything that moves and all Nott cares about is that her breasts are half falling from her bodice. The whole affair disgusts me."

"We go a long way back, the Mudblood and I," Lucius hissed, his words a savage caress as his eyes raked Hermione's face. "I have long wished to teach her her place."

Voldemort scowled, but repressed the increasing protectiveness of the snake-charming spell. "I'm afraid," Voldemort said, "the first coercion will be done with Crabbe and Goyle. It is their brute force I'll need first. You'll sink your teeth into her flesh after the interrogations. It is there you will redeem yourself from your error."

"My lord," Lucius began, "I beg your pardon, but why must we not harm the girl yet?"

Voldemort's passive mood swung into a violent temper. "You wish to teach Hermione her place? You'd do well to learn your own. You do not question my commands, you obey them! Now get out of my sight!"

Lucius ducked away from his master's notorious wrath and left Voldemort and Hermione alone. Activities that had halted during the exchange resumed with a wary, respectful eye on their master. Soon Voldemort sat on the edge of the bed where Hermione continued to sleep. If she did not wake in another few hours, he thought as Wormtail returned with the goods, he would give her the antidote. He had altered the potion to follow a time limit, but he was growing impatient.

Enjoy your nightmares, little Hermione, Voldemort thought wickedly. You'll not see anything so pleasant for a while. He wanted her awake when they stole her away for the horrors elsewhere.

Out of curiosity, Voldemort cast the Descrier spell that let him drift into her mind as she dreamed.

----