"If I had a world of my own

Everything would be nonsense

Nothing would be what it is

Because everything would be what it isn't."

-Lewis C. Carol

Down A Hole

By: Absinthe Dreams

It was one of those lackadaisical summer days where the sky seemed bluer, the cotton candy clouds almost cartoonish in their puffy perfection. The sun blazed, a golden orb lazily dragging across the sky, but Hermione found sanctuary beneath a giant oak. The leaves filtering the light into splotches and beams, as a delightful breeze ruffled her curls. The seventeen year old girl lay out in a decidedly unladylike fashion. Sprawled widely across the prickly grass, mindless of how it mussed her red pinafore skirts, fluffed with layers of white ruffles beneath the candy apple red cotton that ended at her knees. Showcasing her red and black striped tights. Her fingers held a book above her face, expression absorbed in thought as her eyes flew across the print. Her wild hair haloed her head in a splay of russet curls, one of which Ginny idly tugged, sighing in deep, relentless boredom.

"Hermione," her friend whined, having resorted to tugging her companion's hair after calling her name no less than five times, "it's been hours. Can't you put down that book for a while? We could play a game," she suggested eagerly. The red head tucked her own sleek strawberry hair behind the white band on her crown, looking darling and delicate in her dark blue puffy skirts and white ribbons in a way Hermione was certain she never could herself.

Would you like to play a game Hermione…?

Let's play a game.

Hermione blinked hard, perhaps she'd had too much sun despite her shady refuge. The voice that spoke was rough, jarring. For a silly moment she thought she almost heard it aloud. Setting her book aside, careful to place the flowery bookmark Ginny had made for her two summers past between the pages, she rose to a sitting position, stretching her arms and arching her back. She redirected herself to the real person staring at her insistently.

"What sort of game, then?" She asked indulgently. Ginny's powder blue eyes lit up and she grinned impishly, the expression transforming her into the mischievous girl Hermione had known since primary school. The one who was always dragging her into trouble, and then lying through her perfect pearl teeth to get them out of it again.

"We could play dice," at the crinkle in Hermione's nose the red headed girl relented with a sigh, "Or something more decent like cards."

"There's little point in dice when we have no money to bet," Hermione pointed out wryly. It was vulgar for women to gamble, but that hardly stopped Ginevra Weasley from doing as she pleased.

Ginny was a bit reckless with her reputation, but her bloodline was aristocratic in a way Hermione's own would never be, no matter how well she married. So the fierce girl was allowed her eccentricities due to her prestigious heritage, even as her family tried to curb her temperament by shipping her off to Hogwarts Preparatory for Young Women, a effort that was proving utterly futile. No one could stop the locomotive will power that made up Ginny Weasley, not her father, nor her numerous brothers, and certainly not her nannies or teachers.

"Fine, fine. So cards?" Ginny rose, brushing off her skirts in a flurry, always a ball of hyper energy. Hermione's lips twisted wryly and she nodded, letting out a large yawn that would have horrified the Headmistress, a dour and sensible woman named McGonagall.

"Yes, we should play cards," Hermione told her sleepily, leaning against the oak, it's rough bark catching at her thick curls.

"Be right back!" Ginny yelled, having taken off in a loping run towards the manor house. A large estate that had been renovated just four years prior into Hogwarts Preparatory, a well reputed reform school for young women. Hermione smiled and let out another yawn, wondering how she had become so sleepy in such a short span of time. No matter. She would merely rest her eyes until Ginny returned and they would likely only play a few hands. The spritely red head always grew quickly bored of things, and with any luck they would be done in time for her to sneak a quick nap before dinner.

Her eyes drifted shut, lashes dusting her cheekbones. The sunlight was just warm enough to keep her cozy, the tree softer than it should have rightly been. Her eyes blinked blurrily, and for just a moment her eyes glimpsed a tuft of albino fur, a streak of white bounded across the field of green strewn with butter yellow wildflowers and pink scattered blooms. Likely one of the rabbits the gardener had been complaining of, their greedy mouths gobbling the fresh lettuce and sprouts in the grey haired woman's well tended garden. Hermione smirked, eyes fluttering back closed, the lids feeling immeasurably heavy.

Cards it is then...

Even as she drifted, the words jarred her, causing her to frown deeply, forehead creased. The voice was masculine, mocking, and almost vaguely familiar.

Just remember…

It's only a game…

And all games…

Hermione felt a sense of vertigo, her stomach flipping as if she was falling a great distance. She woke with a start, eyes flying open, the last word ringing harsh and sharp in her ears although no one was there to speak it.

End.

It was unnatural to be hearing a voice in her head. Certainly more so a man's voice that nagged with familiarity and yet remained elusive as ever. Frowning in earnest and pulling away from the tree, her amber eyes flickered across the sloping fields spotted with other oak trees much like the one she was near. No person was to be spotted. Not even Ginny, so she couldn't have possibly dozed off. At least, not for long. Heart racing, and stomach still in twists and knots from the odd sensation of falling awake, Hermione shook her head as if to clear it.

She was a sensible girl, not prone to fancy like Ginny and the others, she preferred logic and numbers, almost delighting in the rigor of British etiquette, save for when it demanded she act so docile it was demeaning and behave as if she were a fluffy piece of decor without a thought or opinion in her head.

After all, what was the point of women learning maths and languages if they weren't supposed to use them? To always act the simpering doll for their perspective beaus, is that what men truly wanted in their wives? Stupidity and a pretty face? It was while she was debating this long lamented tirade inside her head that she saw it.

"Crooks?" She called, catching a sight of the orange tabby darting by. Likely after a plump bunny. He wasn't supposed to stray too far from Hogwarts, or at least she didn't like him to. If he caught another rabbit he would be covered in dirt and blood and rabbit bits, the Headmistress was sure to fuss and insist he sleep outdoors. But cats hardly listened and her's perhaps least of all. "Crookshanks!" She called, rising and walking forward stiltedly as the flat faced feline paused and looked back at her. Almost as if beckoning her to follow.

Which was silly.

Cats didn't like being chased.

Likely as not he was taunting her with the idea of being willingly caught.

She approached, slowly. Crooks waited until the girl was mere steps away before his ears perked upward, spotting the white rabbit Hermione had spied earlier. He turned, expression intent.

"Oh no, Crooks don't," she pleaded. The cat, of course, didn't heed her at all. It sprinted, and with uncharacteristic impulse, Hermione gave chase, thinking only of running the rabbit off before Crooks could catch it. Her wild russet tresses flew behind her, wind tearing at their frothy mass and tugging wildly at her red dress. Loosely tied black ribbons trailing behind her as she streaked after the hopping menace. She cut Crooks off, for the cat was wary of being caught, so it skidded to a halt at the sight of her advancing at her breakneck pace, and she adjusted coarse, intent on running the rabbit to it's hole if possible. Or far enough through the fields that Crookshanks would lose interest in the long eared menace at any rate.

Hermione's blood pumped so furiously as she ran, she could hear the drum of it in her ears, throbbing hot and heavy. Sweat slicked her skin, her breathing coming in sharp, jagged pants and she nearly stopped, feeling spent, when all the sudden the rabbit abruptly stopped just feet ahead, turning to face her. It was a curious little thing. Ivory white with large, gleaming black eyes, and the funniest mark on it's fur. The shape...almost like a black snake, cut so perfectly in through the left side of it's fuzzy forehead and down around its eye that it seemed surreal.

The rabbit scratched it's ear, seeming to observe her in mute curiosity as she panted and grasped her knees, bent over and trying to catch her breath. Her complexion molted red from the heavy exercise in the noonday sun, hair a absolute bird's nest thanks to wind, she held the mass off her shoulders, sucking in deep, clean inhales as the cool soothing wind hit the back of her neck.

"Shoo," she snapped at the rabbit. Wiggling her fingers at it to startle it. It remained. Stubborn beast. It seemed arrogant, although how a rabbit pulled off a imperious expression she would be hard pressed to explain. It didn't twitch or startle. Merely stared. Yet there was something in it's demeanor that spoke of haughty self assurance, the way it's eyes half slitted at her perhaps, or the way it rose on its haunches and cocked its head at her. As if to say What?

"Go on, bunny," she clapped her hands, hard. The rabbit remained. Stubborn. Aloof. Staring at her. "Do you want Crookshanks to catch you and rip you to pieces you silly thing?"

It sniffed, tiny nose twitching once, and then something happened Hermione could not explain. It opened its furry mouth, exposing sharp little rabbit teeth, and spoke.

"That cat could try," the rabbit drawled in a perfect, aristocratic accent. "But I don't have time to play with your pet, I am already very, very late."

Flabbergasted, Hermione's jaw went slack as the tiny white rabbit dug into a pocket of its fur and produced a tiny pocket watch, it's silvery chain gleaming in the sunlight. Gobsmacked, she rubbed her eyes, feeling decidedly uneasy as she continued to see a talking rabbit examine a time piece, before she realized the only logical explanation.

"I'm dreaming," she announced, certain of it. "I'm dreaming, and you're just a figment of my imagination."

The rabbit replaced it's watch after snapping the face of it shut and gave her another slitted glance.

"That's what you lot always say," he mused cynically. "Dream away, then, Mudblood. The Queen of Spades doesn't like to be kept waiting, so I must be off."

"What did you call me?" Hermione demanded. Even if this was a dream, there was no excuse for rudeness.

"Mudblood, it's what we call all you top siders, you stink of that red mud running through you. Now if that's quite all, I really am late." The rabbit twitched its nose, and gave what might have been a rabbitish bow, before he turned to hop off.

"Wait!" Hermione called, not sure why she felt compelled to follow the rabbit still. Yet she couldn't not follow it.

"Not bloody likely, the Queen isn't patient and I'm in no mood for one of her games," the rabbit snapped, not pausing it's pace and she scowled at it's back. So rude. Why was she dreaming of such a rude rabbit? And what could a rabbit possibly be late for?

"Please," she called, jogging to keep sight of it, "Just a moment!"

"No time," he uttered curtly, and before her eyes a large rabbit hole simply appeared in the ground. Not to say she suddenly saw it there. No. The ground itself seemed to open up, the grass peeling aside and the earth crumbling beneath it.

"What a strange dream," Hermione muttered, pushing back her untidy curls and sighing as the rabbit leapt into the hole without pause. Vanishing into the large abyss. A moment later a orange flash of fur darted to the edge of the hole.

"Crooks, no!" Dream or not, Hermione could not repress the overprotective feeling she had towards her pet. Crookshanks was her most beloved companion, and seeing him at the edge of a hole that lead heavens knew where set her into a state of instinctual alarm. Knowing it was just a dream, strangely enough, did not distill her panic

Approaching softly, so as not to startle her cat, she made her way to Crookshanks side. Clicking her tongue soothingly she bent over to catch the rascally feline, only to have it dart between her legs. The motion upset her balance, and her lunge went too far, sending her toppling head over heels, skirts flying in the air in a manner that would have caused her etiquette teacher, a toadish woman by the unfortunate name of Dolores Umbridge, to faint dead away. The girl tumbled quiet hard, so hard, in fact, her upper half slid over the edge of the hole. She didn't shriek, because it wasn't in her nature to do so, instead she let out a silent gasp as she stared wide eyed down toward the inky blackness. Just as she went to inch carefully backwards the earth under her fingers gave way, letting go to the black void below and releasing her to the weightless terror of falling.

And with the sound of a very undignified yell of alarm, Hermione Granger fell down the rabbit hole, tumbling towards her fate in the company of blind darkness.

A/N: Hope you enjoyed the first installment of this little plot bunny. Rest assured there is more. I've written far ahead to ensure regular updates and Tomione goodness will ensue, so hang in there with me for the build up. Reviews are of course, the crack of the writers world, and I don't have a beta so feel free to point out errors and I will do my best to fix them.