Title: Deeper Down The Rabbit Hole
Author: A. Linnea Elindor
Story: With the Grangers in hiding and Harry unable (read: unwilling) to leave the Dursleys for Grimmauld Place, Ron, Ginny and Neville happen upon a diary that may lead them down a path they can't turn back from.
Disclaimer: This story borrows gratuitously from the worlds created by J.K. Rowling and Terry Pratchett. Some things may have been changed to fit into my warped plan (for example: I know Granny Weatherwax had no children. This is not stopping me), but rest assured, I still give the listed authors total credit for their imagination and in no way claim it as mind. Any characters you do not recognize are mine... probably.
The thin blankets were tangled around his legs. Harry grunted as he scissored his legs, trying to separate them from their cotton prison. He rolled over onto his stomach and buried his head deep into the pillow, his glasses pressing uncomfortably into the bridge of his nose.
Deep breath. Another. Focus.
Harry pictured a bright white light in his mind, eradicating every thought, every feeling, every sensation from his mind in a blaze of energy until all that remained was black. He let himself swim in the black, looking for any rabbit hole he could travel down that would empty into the mind of the man- no, the entity; he wasn't a man anymore- of a megalomanic mass murderer. It was exactly what he wanted to be doing on the balmy July evening. Harry rooted deep, searching for that familiar pull into a past; a present; a future that included the haunting figure of Lord Voldemort.
Deep breath. Another. Focus. Nothing.
Harry turned back over and ripped the spectacles from his face. They clattered on the hardwood floor, echoing in the dark. Sweat beaded on his forehead, Harry pulled his night shirt off and lay on the bed. He pounded the bed sharply with his fist and sat up in bed. He reached out with his right hand to grasp the picture frame. Once, the silver frame only bordered a moving memorial to his parents, but now, it held the picture from his parents wedding.
James sneaking kisses, placing them on her lips, her cheek, her neck. Lily holding onto James's arm with one hand and with the other rubbing her stomach, a knowing smirk on her face. Remus draping his arms around an unknown woman, whispering something into her ear and winking at Sirius. Harry's fingers tightened around the silver as he watched Sirius move across the black and white photograph. Dark hair flapping in the wind over jovial eyes he knew were blue as the rushing river. Winking back at James. Flirting with unknown bridesmaids. Nudging Pettigrew.
Harry could feel the fires of his anger stoke at the sight of the young Peter Pettigrew. The stocky, short towhead of a man looked absolutely incongruous with the dirty, evil bastard of a year ago. All smiles; straightening his tie and nudging Sirius back. He couldn't think of words that could express his absolute hatred of the man that had sold out his parents, sent Sirius to prison for 12 years, and had stolen the protection his mother died for from his blood. And yet, the death of his parents could never be as devastating as the loss of Sirius. Sad, but true, Harry thought. He hadn't known his parents- he had known Sirius, and while he was only a godfather, that fact gave Sirius the slight edge of being the fuel that drove Harry to finally go on the offensive and try to claw his way into Voldemort's psyche.
Harry put the frame down reverentially on the side table and rolled to the other side of the bed. Reaching down under the bed, he uncovered a book and dropped in onto his lap. Bunching the pillow as much as he could under his head, he flipped open The Best Offense Is A Good Defense to where he had last read and twirled his wand in his fingers. Lifelike diagrams moved across the page depicting shielding charms that bounced spells in controllable manner. Harry tracked the movements on the page with his wand tip, rolling the words off of his tongue. He closed his eyes and traced the movement in the air, muttering the words under his breath. The tip of his wand glowed gently and a small, filmy bubble grew from the end, encasing Harry and the bed as it expanded. Unable to prove if it worked, he ended the spell and flipped the page. Onto the next one.
Hermione clutched her quill, her hands slippery from the sweat that came with the hours of scribbling she had done. The rich mahogany floors and expanses of book shelves buried the sound of the scratch of dried keratin on parchment as it had done for hours. She slipped a bottle of water from her satchel and drained the meager contents, letting it plop down onto her bag carelessly. Books stacked high on either side of her hunched frame. She was thinner than she had been at the end of term- a healthy dose of near-death experience coupled with a continuing diet of fear would do that to anyone, she'd imagine. If she had been the superficial type, she might have taken advantage of her new figure. As it was though, she was a bit preoccupied.
She ran a hand through her bush of hair and, pulling a neatly sharped pencil from her bag, she spun her hair into a messy bun. She pulled out a parchment from underneath her pile and began checking off books. Applications of Advanced Potions Theory; Thaumatological Dynamics; Predicting Possible Side Effects in Experimental Magic; Flesh, Bone, Blood, Love- Theories in Spellwork and Sacrifice; Arithmancy in Motion- Equations for Life; and A Study of Transfiguration and Anatomy were checked off of the list, and she slipped the book off the very top of the left hand pile- Protect Yourself: A Guide To Personal Defense into her bag. She gathered up her parchment and neatly added them next to her book and strolled out of Worthing-Hartford Library on the Professional University of Magic campus. "An excellent choice, Miss Granger. Standard text for Auror training everywhere." Hermione stopped and let the suited gentleman catch up with her. He was easily into his 30's, his dark, closely cut hair was free of gray, but his green eyes were already crinkling at the edges. He wore a charcoal gray suit, the jacket open and revealing a pressed shirt and brilliant blue tie. "That is why I chose it, Mr. Green," Hermione answered, resuming her pace towards the entryway into Muggle Victoria, British Columbia. Mr. Green tapped the bricks in the wall and they danced apart to reveal a dilapidated store room and at the end, the gleaming steel doors of an elevator. Hermione stuck her wand into a inconspicuous hole to the right and the doors slid open. They rode up several floors and reemerged in a decadent corridor. Clipping down the marble, gleaming pillars and cherry panelling, one would hardly guess that this building housed the entrance into wizarding Victoria instead of some high-powered, Fortune 500 company. But it did, and Hermione in her fluttery skirt and Mr. Green in his business attire hardly looked out of place as they walked out onto the muggle streets.
A towncar awaited their arrival and the two ducked into the black Lincoln. It was a short ride from the wizarding border to the ferry and then a longer one from Victoria to Vancouver by boat, and then on to the new Granger estate outside of Whistler. Hermione and Mr. Green had discussed the stuff she had been looking through in Protect Yourself; Mr. Green giving a few quick demonstrations despite the confines of the back seat. Hermione drank it up, furiously taking notes on wand movements on the parchment balanced on her knees. The towncar rolled to a halt on the gravel of the driveway and the door swung open. The three story home looked out of place among the trees- the pale green aluminum siding looking about as earthly as a tin Christmas tree. The balcony overhanging the two car garage carried two, carefully trimmed hydrangea bushes and the figure of Mr. Granger. Dressed in a ridiculous, red-gingham apron with lacy ruffles and waving a spatula, he smiled before dipping back inside. Hermione trampled up the steps, licked her hand and placed it on the large metal plate outside the door. The black plate above it projected her name in a flash of red light, and the door faded into a faded tan mist. She stepped through and the door resumed it's original form.
They had been there for three weeks. Two weeks after the end of term, death threats started arriving at the house- letters by owl, a howler or two. Crookshanks had turned up on the front steps, dead by the Killing Curse, finally signaling the authorities. After light security had been assigned, the ultimate threat was made. The Dark Mark turned up at the Granger's dentistry practice, the receptionist's heart cut out and removed- without breaking the skin.
Despite Dumbledore's best efforts, he could not convince the Grangers to go into hiding. They did, however, realize that staying in Britain would not be the safest decision in the world. So, in conjunction with the astoundingly helpful Canadian wizarding body, the Grangers vanished from the British Isles and reappeared in a quite expensive cottage in the woods of British Columbia. The entire downstairs converted into a surveillance room; the extra bedroom converted into a panic room; magical id panels at every possible entrance into the house; a permanent house guest in British Auror Matthias Green; and three Canadian Aurors on the grounds at all times- every precaution had been taken to protecting her family. Had Hermione not been preoccupied, she might have wondered why such opulent measures had been taken to protect her family. But as such, she was a bit singleminded.
Nathaniel Granger was incredibly fond of movies. Perhaps the word obsessive would be more appropriate- every Friday night was movie night in the Granger household, and despite being pretty much barred from outdoor activity, the miracle of digital cable kept the tradition strong. It was on such an occasion that Hermione happened upon one of her father's favorite directors in his newest movie. She had slid down next to him on the couch and let him throw an arm around her shoulders, tuking her gently under his wing. She watched the blood and the majesty; the determination and dedication with an awed and calculating mind. She watched for hours, noting the lack of compassion and the emotional detachment with which the hero cut down every person to stand in her way. By the end of the movie, she was convinced.
She wasn't going to Kill Voldemort. But she was going to Kill Someone. With the man who nearly killed her rotting away for the moment in Azkaban, she'd settle for the nearest Death Eater. Any Death Eater. She hoped it would be Lucius Malfoy; as long as it wasn't Bellatrix Lestrange. She was for Harry or Neville, preferably both.
So, Hermione was preparing. She ransacked her parents library of surgeries on video (father's impulse buy) and watched them endlessly, devoiding herself of any squickness she had for the dicing of the human body. She had Mr. Green training her on hand to hand combat. And her mental library of spells was only exceeded by the knowledge she now had on the movement and nature of the fundamental particle of magic- the thaum. 'Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me,' the old adage went. She was never fooled twice.
Author Notes: Here I go again- testing the waters. Show the love for the writing style cause obviously, you can't show the plot love yet -