The Chain
Hermione had been summoned from Defense Against the Darks Arts to the Headmaster’s office without explanation. Stiff-backed, she’d stood from her seat and passed Ron and Harry, the two of them gaping at her like knit-wits. Though, in this case, she had to admit they had every right to gape, she nearly had as well. As far as she’d known, their usual antics had been discrete and harmless. And she’d never met with the headmaster since the first prefect's meeting. An anxious pang shot through her at the thought of this summons having to do with some mischief she’d reluctantly allowed the boys to draw her into. She'd never hear the end of it from Malfoy. But if that were the case, would they not also be joining her to speak with Dumbledore? Ever more the reason why her mind, and her heart, raced as she passed into the corridor from the classroom. She alone made the journey to the Headmaster’s office.
“Pixie Puffs,” she said to the gargoyle. The thing leered down at her as if it doubted the password Professor Lupin had given her. But after a beat it moved to reveal a narrow, spiral staircase. She pulled her skirts in close and stepped into the stairwell. Each step she took was punctuated by her fluttering heart. She tried for a moment to think up some excuse if she had been summoned due to some stupidity she’d been involved in with Harry and Ron, but her mind drew a blank as she came face to face with the entrance to his chamber. She steeled herself as she grasped the door knob, probably better for her not to fabricate some excuse, she’d always been a terrible liar.
The headmaster’s office was a wonder, truly, the phoenix she’d noticed immediately, the books immediately after, and then the rest. But she couldn’t quite focus on the whole picture, her mind trying to puzzle out why she was here in the first place. The headmaster himself was seated at the large wooden desk towards the center of the room. She stopped short from approaching the desk, and his eyes lifted from a small scroll to greet her.
“Ms. Granger,” he said, “I’m so pleased you could join me.” He paused as he stood from his chair, and Hermione stumbled through her own pleasantries. He winked at her, and continued, “Don’t worry, I mean to enlighten you with little preamble.”
“I’ve received a letter - from the ministry of magic - stating that there is a titled wizard who has formally requested an apprentice. This man was a favorite among many teachers here at Hogwarts, and many in the Ministry believe he is destined for great works. In short, I’ve little basis to refuse this request,” he paused, “Could I tempt you with a fizzing whizbees?” He extended a small bowl towards her.
“Um, no thank you, sir,” she mumbled. He shrugged and continued after partaking in one for himself. “Well, Ms. Granger, you’re a bright witch - brightest of your age as many professors here would have it - and this is a very particular opportunity I can only offer a witch of age, and of maturity. The Wizard-in-question has a specific set of requirements for the apprentice, many of those you do not meet, but as headmaster, I feel you’ll fulfill much more than requested.”
“But professor-” She stopped short, reddening at her informality. The headmaster smiled, and beckoned her to continue. “I- this… This is my final year, sir, I’m not sure what I’ve to gain from apprenticing while I’m still enrolled, surely he could request a graduate? And how would I complete the N.E.W.T.s?”
“Practical as ever, Ms. Granger. Your completion of the year would be converted to an older tradition, one that has its own set of benefits. The apprenticeship requested is for one year, and on completion of that year you will be considered an accomplished witch, and if you so choose, you may take the N.E.W.T.s after the end of the apprenticeship.”
Hermione stared at the headmaster, and he gazed back at her with his half-moon spectacles, a faint twinkle there. She had the distinct feeling he was measuring her response even before she'd made it.
He seemed to believe this completely normal, but this tradition he spoke of, it couldn’t substitute for an education by a school full of highly trained professors. She ventured to speak again, “I’m not certain how this benefits me, Headmaster, you said that I apparently do not fit this wizard’s request. Yet, you say I’m the best candidate. And you speak about older traditions, but I can’t imagine how it will look if I forfeit my final year at Hogwarts to apprentice with a wizard I know nothing of.”
“In the time before Hogwarts was founded, wizards and witches operated by the terms of apprentice and master. It is a very specific bond, and while I will not force you, I suggest you for this position in lieu of another candidate being chosen. His making such a formal request to the ministry has forced my hand, I will need to supply an apprentice, and I would prefer it be someone of strength and good character.”
“Who requested this?”
Dumbledore thought for a moment, Hermione wondered, as she watched him, it seemed to her he made a show of weighing the outcomes of telling her the wizard’s name. And when his gaze returned to her, she was sure he’d already known what he was going to tell her.
“The Serpent.”
She’d heard this name spoken before, and the headmaster knew it as he observed her with a steady eye as she took a sharp breath. Harry told her, told her what the Serpent had done to his family. But that has been years ago, first or second year. She’d hardly thought about him as a reality outside of that. A man who cost the Potters their careers and wealth. A scar that had healed.
“And… what are the requested attributes of an apprentice with the Serpent?”
Dumbledore looked obviously unsurprised she’d asked this, and replied, “A wizard of age, not too bright-” Hermione scoffed, “-and from a specifically requested bloodline. There was more detail in the request, however you, just as I, was rather surprised at who had been requested. The Potters and the Serpent have had a contentious history, his rather public rebuke of Mrs. Potter’s work before Harry was admitted had lasting impressions on relations between muggle borns and purebloods. I wanted to offer this chance to you as, while I have my reservations, the Serpent is a man many admire and he has the ear of several ministry officials. If it is not you, and not Mr. Potter, then it may be another less worthy candidate.”
“You’re wanting to know why he’s requested an apprentice.”
“Quite right, Ms. Granger. But I won’t touch on my own curiosity, it has a voracity that wouldn’t be stayed by musings. I cannot refuse the ministry, as they have accepted the formal request, but I can direct who is sent as the apprentice, despite whatever request made by the Serpent. I ask you to attend this position, as you will not only benefit from the post, but exceed at disproving ugly notions some in our community possess. And in doing so, spare Mr. Potter, or whichever other witch or wizard who would have the misfortune of being chosen, the fate of being overshadowed by the master.” Hermione felt winded, but decided even as Dumbledore ended his explanation. She knew he could see it in her eyes, and added, “A stipulation that was made imperative by the Serpent, approved by the Ministry of course, was that once the appropriate apprentice was chosen, they would be made aware that they must leave their wand in my safekeeping.”
Her day from there on had been a series of visits to each and every one of her professors, studiously gathering together all books and any other materials she or they believed necessary to her success on her N.E.W.T.s. Hermione had been lucky to bring the little beaded back she’d made in sixth year with her, and so the burden of carrying everything was not prohibited by her lack of a wand. She gained the promise of every professor, even the begrudging professor Snape, to assist her should she write to them during her independent study.
Hermione was confident in her abilities to get herself through the N.E.W.T.s, but the thought of explaining her leaving to her friends, however, left her feeling nearly sick with anxiety.
She joined Harry, Ron and Ginny in the dining hall, her eyes catching Dumbledore, seated at the far end of the hall before she took her seat. He didn’t look at her. When there was a breaking Ginny and Ron’s bickering, Hermione took a deep breath.
“I’mleavingforanapprenticeship.”
There’s a pause, the three’s eyes snap to Hermione in surprise. She’d said the words so quickly, she thinks for a moment that they didn’t understand her meaning.
Harry is the first to speak, “You’re what?”
She takes another breath, more deliberate now, “I’m leaving for an apprenticeship. I’ll be leaving on Monday.”
There’s another pause while they look at her like they’re trying to determine if she’s attempting to joke.
“What are you talking about ‘Mione, that’s mental. You’re Head Girl, you can’t just leave!” Ron says.
“Ron’s right,” Harry is just as incredulous as he, “Hermione, when did this happen?”
“Today, when I was called out of DADA. The Headmaster said a Titled wizard has requested an apprentice, and he wished me to fill the role.”
“You, but ‘Mione, it’s N.E.W.T.s this year, he could’ve sent someone else, how are you going to manage?”
“I’ve already arranged it with the professors,” she explains, “The ministry already recognizes apprenticeships as a valid form of education, if a bit antiquated, but I’m still going to take the N.E.W.T.s, I’ve got all the books needed for independent study, and the professors will periodically send me work to ensure I’m on the right track. Moreover, I’ll be under a Titled wizard, I’ll be fine.”
“But do you want to go away for your seventh year?” Ginny finally speaks. Her look is discerning, and Hermione is almost certain that the smile she offers up is unconvincing.
“Absolutely. This is an opportunity that almost no witch or wizard gets now, and the Ministry has already approved of it. It will really make me stand out when I apply for work.”
The interrogation continued up until they stood at the entrance of the Head Boy and Girl’s dorm. Ron, frustrated, had left, but Harry and Ginny persisted with her all the way to the entrance. Hermione was steadfast, refusing to divulge too much information about the wizard she would apprentice under. She can’t imagine what Harry would think to know she would be studying under the Serpent. Ginny, too, for that matter. But when she’d finally escaped into the peace of her dorm, the weight of her decision nearly crushed her. She looked at the dimly lit room, and regretted not being able to stay in Gryffindor Tower this year.
She placed her beaded-bag on the study table at the back of the room, and began unpacking the contents. She’d need to carefully pack her things, her clothes, personal belongings. Crookshanks finally made an appearance, jumping onto the table and leering at her. She let out a little choking laugh, “Hey Crooks, at least you’re coming with me.” She’d not asked Dumbledore about him, but she was taking her cat with her, there would be no argument there. She scooped him up, and hugged him tight even as he gave a yowl. But he settled down, and allowed her to hold him as tears began to fall. She should never have accepted the proposal. She would miss Hogwarts dearly, what had she been thinking?
“Well, Granger, becoming more of a pack rat than usual,” that voice startled her out of thoughts. Crookshanks hissed, and leapt out of her arms. She hadn’t heard Malfoy enter, and had only moments to wipe the tears from her eyes before she was accosted by him. She turned, readily meeting his sneer with a glare of her own. He stood just feet away, looking around her to the contents of her bag sorted and stacked on the study table.
She was too weary to warn him off his attack though, “finally moving back to Gryffindor Tower then? Or giving up on magic all together? The latter would do you good,” He hissed.
“It would do you good,” she replied, “Go away Malfoy, I’ve got things to do.”
His sharp eyes finally met hers, and he stopped short before speaking, and studied her a bit longer.
“Crying, Granger?”
“Shut up, Malfoy,” Stupid, stupid Malfoy, of course he’d notice.
He smirked, and leaning forward, “Aw, Granger, you can tell me, who called you a mudblood this time?” Her hand went reflexively to her wand pocket, and found it lacking. How stupid she was to accept Dumbledore’s proposal. Her gesture hadn’t gone unnoticed. “Finally learning some respect then? Don’t want to turn your wand on a pureblood?”
Hermione turned from him, and furiously began to shove all her neatly sorted books into her bag. There was silence at her back, he’d made no move to leave her and no move closer. It infuriated her more, he would take every opportunity to revel in the harm he causes.
“Out with it then, what are you hiding?”
Hermione paused for a moment, his tone hadn’t been particularly biting just then, and had it been any other person she may have accepted in good faith. But this was Malfoy. She piled the last of her books into the bag and turned on him with a glare.
“I’m sure you’ll be pleased enough come Monday, goodnight Malfoy,” She brushed past him and to her room door. Crookshanks slipped into her room as she stepped in, his bushy tail barely escaping as she slammed the door behind her.
Sleep didn’t find her until very late that night, and Hermione didn’t allow herself to cry again, preferring to keep herself busy packing and when that was done, filling a scroll with her planned study regime. Perhaps the Serpent would take exception to this when she arrived as he may have already planned it in advance himself; yet she’d much rather attempt to determine the hours in a week she’d need to master Advanced Transfiguration - wandless - than think of the afternoon’s decision.
And by first light, Hermione was far less rested and feeling more thoroughly tired than the day before. Crookshanks jumped on her. She groaned at the sudden weight on her chest, he was clearly ready to begin his day. She batted him off, dragging herself from beneath the sheets. Hermione peeled herself out of yesterday’s robes, and glanced at the clock by her bedside. 10:12 am. She’d slept through breakfast. Hermione groaned and kicked the pile of clothes at her feet, they went flying and Crookshanks hissed as he dodged a sock.
A sharp knock at her door cut through her moment of aggravation, and the accompanying sneering tone turned any lingering aggravation outward instead, “Wake up Granger,” Malfoy hissed through the door, “Potter and the weasels have taken to blockading the porthole, go run them off before I do.”
Crookshanks paced by the door while she hurriedly readied herself to meet Harry and the others. Dressed and ready, she stepped towards the door and pulled it open, and walked nearly head first into Malfoy.
She flinched back, and shot him a nasty look, “Malfoy! Why are you still standing here?”
His lip curled, “I haven’t been. But I was becoming concerned that you were as deaf as you are annoying.” Hermione rolled her eyes and pushed past him.
“Finally!” Ron’s voice boomed as she emerged from the dorm. Hermione smiled, seeing Harry, Ron, Ginny, Luna and Neville waiting for her. Ron had thankfully neglected to bring along Lavender it seemed. Ginny rushed forward and hugged Hermione, “We’re going to make this the best weekend at Hogsmeade you could want!”
“Yeah, ‘Mione, Ron and Harry even went down to reserve a table at the Three Broomsticks before breakfast,” Neville chimed in.
“Harry and Ron were going to use bombarda if you didn’t show after another five minutes,” Luna’s droll voice broke in.
Hermione snickered as she turned to them both, “Is that true?”
The two of them looked sheepish, but it was Harry who spoke, “We were worried about you, ‘Mione. You didn’t seem too happy yesterday.”
“And just imagine Malfoy’s face,” Ron chimed in.
“I’m surprised you’re capable of any imagination at all, weasel. Granger, I thought I told you to break up the blockade, not join it,” Malfoy hissed as he exited the dorm. There were steps echoing down the corridor just then, and the shrill voice of Pansy Parkinson and Malfoy’s other cronies too.
“Come on, Hermione,” Ginny linked her arm, “Let’s go.”
Hermione shot Malfoy one last glare before turning away.
Her friends had delivered on their promise and more so, as the day wore on, Hermione regretted every minute that ticked by. She wanted the day to go on forever and yet it seemed barely a blink of an eye before she and her friends were crowded into a booth at the Three Broomsticks, on their second round of Butterbeers. Several bags and boxes took up nearly a third of the table from all the varying shops in Hogsmeade. They had made a rather large, collective, purchase from Honeydukes, and wrappers and candy boxes were piled into a heap in the center of the table to make room for their dinner plates. Hermione had already had two helpings of chips, and was tempted to order a third.
There was so much laughter and banter, Hermione could almost forget this would be the last time, in a long time, that she would have this.
Almost.
When they’d finally returned from Hogsmeade it was well past dark, almost at curfew. And it was well after midnight when she finally rolled into bed.
The next day flew by as well, Hermione having spent most of the day with Ginny in the Gryffindor tower, though going to watch Quidditch practice for part of the day.
It was when she and Ginny were walking back to the castle that Ginny asked her, “Hermione, do you really want to go?”
"This is a great opportunity, I'm lucky to have it," she replied with a smile.
Ginny grabbed the sleeve of her robe, stopping them short of the courtyard gate, her expression was almost grave as she continued, "I understand that, but is this what you want? It happened so suddenly, you decided in a day, I just feel it’s happened all too quickly.”
Hermione blinked, and turned slightly from her, her eyes stung for a moment. She took in a breath, trying to determine the best thing to say. It was hard to form a believable story that Ginny, possessing everybit the instincts of a lioness, would take as fact. And Hermione herself had never been a good liar.
“It was sudden,” She agreed, meeting Ginny’s eyes again, “but I made the choice of my own volition, based on what the Headmaster told me. It will be hard, and… and I do regret my decision. That he even offered this to me. But it truly is a good opportunity, and I will still take the N.E.W.T.s, owl you lot as much as possible, and I’ll be off at the holidays, I can come to the Burrow at Christmas if your parents would have me.”
Ginny’s eyes looked back and forth between Hermione’s, and she didn’t say anything for a moment. Then, she dropped her gaze to the ground with a huff, closed her eyes, and then looked back up with a smile, “Of course you’re welcome at the Burrow, Mum’s already planned on you being there.” Hermione returned a smile, and they walked to the castle talking of all the things they were going to do over the holidays.
After dinner Hermione joined Harry, Ron and Ginny in the Gryffindor common room, and along with many other Seventh years and the assistance of some smuggled fire whiskey, had shared drinks and stories of their time together at Hogwarts. Hermione almost sobbed when it turned twelve and she knew she needed to get back, she hugged her friends, and refused offers to be accompanied back to her dorm.
Hermione stumbled back to the Head Boy and Girl’s dorm. She made quick work of any final packing she had left, and just after one in the morning she laid down to sleep.
She was up by seven, her head ached and her mouth was dry. She rubbed the sleep out of her eyes, Crookshanks hopped in her lap and to her surprise gave her an almost humanlike glare. The surprise of it brought on a fit of giggles, she grabbed Crookshanks and hugged him, “It’ll be alright, Crooks.”
She was dressed and out the door by half past seven, all her worldly belongings packed into the little beaded bag by her side. She’d considered attempting to put Crookshanks in as well, just in case Dumbledore would object to her taking him, but decided against it for fear of his claws. He’d have content himself to allowing her to carry him.
She ate breakfast with Harry, Ginny, Ron, Neville and Luna; she’d laughed at Harry and Ron, how washed up they looked this morning. Neville and Luna gave her their goodbyes at the entrance of the Great Hall, but Harry, Ginny and Ron accompanied her to the clock tower courtyard. The day was beautiful, light and airy, the trees with just the barest autumn tinge.
Headmaster Dumbledore awaited her by the center fountain, Hermione saw Headmaster’s eyebrows raise on their approach.
“I’d expect nothing less than a farewell party from your friends, Ms. Granger,” He said, “when you are ready, you will find what you need there.” He motioned towards a small green velvet box. It laid on the edge of the fountain, unnatural against the soft green moss and grey stone. “I know you will excel, and thank you for accepting this task.” He nodded his head towards their party and with a swish of his robes turned from them and left.
“I suppose that box is the portkey,” said Ron, he stalked over and peered down at the thing, as though it were a magical creature ready to jump.
Hermione turned to Ginny and Harry. Her eyes burned, and suddenly she was being hugged by them both. Muffled footsteps preceded Ron’s joining in, squeezing extra hard. They parted, and Hermione was wiping tears from her eyes.
“I-I’m so sorry, I- You must write to me. Even you, Ron. Ginny,” Hermione’s voice was a weak trembling thing, “If he doesn’t write to me, make him.”
Ginny laughed, and agreed she would.
Hermione turned and approached the small box. Crookshank padded beside her, smart cat. She turned back to her friends, her family. Her lip trembled, and suddenly they were hugging her again.
“It’ll be alright, Hermione,” Harry said, “We’ll see you on holiday.”
“Yes, yes of course,” Hermione stepped back. She looked at all of them, at Ron and Ginny, at Harry. “I’m going to miss you all very much.”
“We’ll miss you,” Harry replied.
“Alright, alright, come on Hermione, we’re Gryfindors, right? Time for your new adventure,” Ginny slapped her on the back, rough and Hermione hissed.
“Gin- I’m not on your quidditch team,” She huffed. Ginny grinned back.
Hermione scooped up Crookshanks, and checked the beaded bag at her side one more time before sizing up the velvet box.
It looked like a jewelry box. And she reached for it with a shaking hand, not looking forward to the telltale pull of a portkey. But just as she was about to touch the box- it popped open. Ginny gasped behind her. Inside was a glinting, silver chain, big enough to be a bracelet. It held no adornment, but nevertheless stood out loud from the black velvet on which it rested. She glanced back at her friend, Harry caught her eye first, and gave her an encouraging nod.
She turned back, and again, reached out.
The chain was ice cold against her fingers, and instantaneously she was pulled out of the courtyard.
For several, terrible seconds she was thrown about- jerked here and then there. Her only tether to the moment was the sharp sting of Crookshanks’ claws in her shoulder.
And then it was over.
Hermione dropped Crookshanks as she was thrown into bristling grass. Her hands clasped at her temples as the world still spun around her. What a vicious portkey. Her knees ached from the fall, and her stockings turned damp from the wet grey grass. She pulled her hands away from her face, sitting up slowly.
“Crookshanks?” She called, “Crooks, where are you?” She swiveled, searching for any sign of his orange fur but the grass was nearly as tall as she while kneeling. She could see no no sign of his bottle brush tail, ears or even a whisker. A pit felt to open in her stomach. Moving to stand, a deep throb at her temple meant only a nasty headache was to come, and she sat back in response. “Crookshanks?” her voice cracking with rising panic.
An orange blur shot out from the bush, landing squarely in her lap.
Crookshanks glared up at Hermione with a wounded look, as if to say, “How dare you drop me?” Hermione broke out in a large smile and she let out a hitched laugh. “Oh Crookshanks!” She trapped him in a hug despite his yowling protest. “I’m so sorry I dropped you, I’m so, so sorry Crookshanks.” His fluffy fur was cold and wet, he looked deflated, compared to what he looked on departing Hogwarts. The pit of panic that had opened in her stomach churned, forming into a knot of regret for having not stowed him in her bag. The very possible mauling the action may have provoked would have been far preferable to dropping him in the brush.
They stayed like that for some moments, Hermione still reeling from the fall. As the moments stretched, a light drizzle meant it was time to get up and find the Serpent’s home rather than remain in the brush. She set Crookshanks down and stood.
The world opened up above the hip-high grass, and an ocean-like expanse of grey-green spread around her for as far as she could see. The grass rippled with the wind. She looked to the west. This ocean of grass abruptly dropped away, and beyond was the deep blue waters of the sea. On the horizon, a storm blackened the waters below and blotted out the sun above. It was sweeping in roiling grey clouds. Hermione turned again, looking for her destination but saw nothing. From her vantage, she could see miles around unobstructed, yet there was nothing.
Where was she?
The rain picked up, and her hair whipped around her face. She stepped back, turning away from the wind, and felt a crunch under foot. Her eyes darted down and caught a silvery glint under the heel of her loafer. The portkey. She removed her foot, and crouched. Crookshanks brushed against her thigh, his fur was thoroughly wet now. Hermione bet the two of them equally resembled each other, as she could feel her curls getting heavy with rain. And though the wind was not as bad down in the grasses, she could feel a chill crawling up her back.
She stared at the portkey, would it take her back to Hogwarts, should she touch it again?
Had it brought her to the wrong place?
“Oh, what should we do Crookshanks,” Hermione groaned, she hugged her arms to herself, smoothing her hands over the gooseflesh of her forearms. Crookshanks batted at the silver chain, and turned his great golden eyes up at her.
“What is it, Crooks?” His answering meow was rather unenlightening, but he batted at the chain again.
She bit her lip, and then pulled Crookshanks towards her. If the portkey did drag her back to Hogwarts, she was not leaving her cat.
Hermione held her breath, and touched the edge of the portkey.
Nothing happened.
“Alright…” She mumbled. She drew up the chain, part of it had been mashed into the dirt, and the silver was now tarnished at one end. She pulled the dirty thing into her palm, holding it closer, unsure of what to do with it. She shivered, wondering for a moment if she could manage a warming charm, and the chain thrummed in her palm.
Hermione gasped, jerking back. The chain fell from her hand, nearly landing on top of Crookshanks’ head. He hissed and dodged away, glaring at her as he retreated a few steps into the grass. She muttered a distracted apology, eyeing the chain. Hermione had felt a thrum, but it wasn’t quite physical. It felt like it had almost moved within her magic. “What kind of magic are you,” She whispered, retrieving the chain from the dirt and grass. She cupped it in her palm, it didn’t feel dark. She paused, and huffed out a laugh, “Of course it isn’t dark magic.” As if in answer, the chain thrummed again, again not quite physical. Hermione parted her lips, concentrating on the peculiar feeling. Was this the magical signature of its owner? Perhaps she could use the chain to channel her magic, find the caster of the portkey charm, and find the home of the Serpent. Still, she felt uncertain of her ability to cast even the most basic charms without a wand.
Crookshanks nearly seemed to growl, Hermione looked up just as the rain picked up. A large, cold droplet struck her square in the forehead. “Bollocks,” She hissed, and saw that Crookshanks was huddled in the grass, trying to stay as dry as possible. She didn’t have time to think if she could or couldn’t. She needed to get Crookshanks out of here.
“Alright, a tracking spell.” Hermione sucked in a breath, concentrating her magic at the palm of her hand. The chain sat warmed, as though beckoning her magic. Then she cast, “Appare Vestigium.” Her skin pimpled as a shiver ran through her that had nothing to do with the cold. Hermione could feel her magic rippling, going taut as it pooled in her right palm.
Her hand spasmed as an icy pain shot through her wrist, and clenched down on the chain. Hermione gasped, and trying to unclench her fingers, they would not move. She used her other hand, trying to pry her fingers open, they would not move. Her hand was tight, painful, burning as her magic seemed to pull away from her. “Merlin, what’s happening,” She hissed. She tried again to pry her fingers apart, but the rain made it impossible to try to grip her fingers and the cold made her left hand feel blunt and uncoordinated.
Movement.
There was movement in her palm.
“What-”
Crookshanks hissed, ears pinned back and his eyes blown wide.
From the side of her clenched hand emerged something black and cold. It drew back, moving around the back of her hand, and came up the other side. She was staring into the black slitted eyes of a snake. Her mouth gapped, transfiguration? How?
Her hand moved again, opening to reveal the rest of its coiled body. The icy pain moved up her arm, she could feel it in her neck, the tendons there aching and spasming painfully. She couldn’t move. She didn’t want to move, her magic-
The snake uncoiled itself, encircling her wrist again, its tail trailing up the middle of her forearm. She gasped as it constricted painfully around her wrist. It watched her, black slitted eyes unblinking. Then turned its attention away. Her hand lay open in its coils, her palm open to the sky. The snake dipped its head towards the center of her palm and struck.
Two hot needling fangs burned through her palm, she screamed, falling backwards into the tall grass. The rain beat hard down on her as she spasmed, clutching her arm as the burning pain traveled from her hand through her wrist. She couldn’t see, couldn’t open her eyes. She clawed at the snake, despite the icy pain that shot down her left arm. But it was useless. It constricted so painfully around her right. She tried to pull at the head, to pull its searing fangs out of her but she felt nothing. Breath hitching, Hermione wiped her eyes with her forearm, trying to get the water and hair and tears out of her eyes and looked in horror at her right hand.
The snake’s head was melting into her palm. Those black slitted eyes blown wide. She felt her skin burn everywhere the snake touched. Starting at her palm, its body sank deeper and deeper into her hand and wrist. She watched as its coiled body disappeared, leaving behind a blackened skin. All the way up her forearm, to the end of its tail.
The icy pain subsided, but she felt a sudden blow of physical and magical exhaustion. She touched her palm, she could still make out the details of the snake, its eyes, its scales, but burned onto her skin. It was in her.
What had just happened?
Her mind reeled, her mentor would have a lot to explain.
She looked from Crookshanks and found him eyeing her closely from the brush.
Hermione was about to call for him when she felt a pull deep within her. Deep in her magic. Her diaphragm compressed, she was winded. But the pull drew her to her feet. She turned to where the grassy moor dropped away to the sea.
A black tower commanded the cliffside where it had not been before. It was not tall, but wide, imposing, like a fortress. It stood taller than the black stone walls that surrounded it. That is where she would find the Serpent, she knew this to be true. The snake burned, feeling as though it had constricted on her wrist. She looked down at it, but found it still in the same place, its head at the center of her palm, its tail trailing around her wrist and down her forearm. She wanted to claw it out of her.
Her magic contracted and she felt again pulled towards the tower.
Hermione let out a shaky breath.
“Crookshanks, that’s where we need to go,” She looked over at him, still huddled in the brush. He studied her, as if he wasn’t sure.
“Crookshanks, please, let’s go,” Hermione said. She took a step away from him, towards the tower, and he followed wearily. She nodded, “That’s a boy, Crooks, let’s get out of this rain.” She turned and started making her way through the tall grass, lightning cracked in the distance. Hermione minded her right hand, she didn’t want anything to touch her there. Her skin was intact, but she felt like she had an open wound, she felt like her skin was torn and would never heal. She felt that, if anything touched it, the snake would tear its way to her heart.
It took several minutes to get through the grass and past the wall’s gates. She and Crookshanks were soaked through by the time they stood at the bottom of the tower’s entrance. They looked up the short flight of stairs at the massive doors. They were set back into the stone nearly a foot, dark and looming. Hermione wasn’t sure if she should try knocking or if she should just try to open them. She’d have to go up the stairs either way.
But, as soon as she stepped up to the entryway the doors groaned, and parted inwards. Hermione took another step, unthinking, before noticing Crookshanks was no longer by her side. She looked back at him, he seemed to shrink away.
“Come on, Crooks,” Hermione was wet, and cold, and frankly ready to be done with this whole ordeal. She walked back down and scooped him up, Crookshanks yowled and spat at her in protest, but she trapped him to her chest with her left arm.
Hermione turned, and marched up the steps into the dark tower. As soon as she’d passed the threshold, the massive doors slammed behind her.
And everything was black.