"The sadness. The self-pity. The dark tentacles of the murky sea monster only I could see." – Wendy Wunder

Beneath the Surface

The sky was as clear as crystal. The sizzling sun was left free to spread its gleaming rays across the lake, its waters scarce in motion. In a way beautiful to see, the water drops gained a rich shine of the miniature diamonds under the blinding rays for an instant before they returned to its standard grayness.

That sight was a salve for the tired heart and mind, Harry needed to admit. It was what forced him to spend yet another sunny afternoon floating on a makeshift (the creation of Bill's skilled hands) raft across the peace-imbued lake, taking his time to admire the withered leaves as they left the trees naked on the shoreline, rushing into the embrace of depths.

The autumn was unnaturally warm, as if the summer was unwilling to disappear. Harry could feel the drops of clean sweat sliding down his forehead, but he didn't bother to remove them. His hand was dangling over the edge of the raft and his warm fingers were touching the surface of the chilly lake.

If someone asked Harry what he wished to do the most, his response would be simple. He wished to stay forever sprawled across the rough wood and allow the slightest of breezes to caress his cheeks, letting the rays empty his mind, tossing the gloomy thoughts to join the leaves amid the water.

It was the only recluse Harry had, the only thing in this world that promised him peace and oblivion. As a bird flew above him and filled the air with a shrilly cheep, Harry inwardly cursed himself for enlisting among the volunteers who offered to help rebuilding Hogwarts. It was a right thing to do, his mind constantly reminded him, but his heart was rebelled with the stubborn force.

It was too painful for him to observe the broken columns and charred stones, the hole-riddled floors and torn apart tapestries, as if attacked by the merciless claws of a chimera. It brought him back to the time when the people flooded those corridors, laughing, talking, arguing, yelling… Most of those people were now dead, their empty bodies left to become rancid under the heavy layers of soil.

Here, Harry was free. Free to dream about the world in which Voldemort never existed, in which there was no place for death and sorrow. He closed his eyes in silent resignation, welcoming the darkness that reigned behind his eyelids.

Harry didn't know for how long he was sleeping, but the different, thicker shade of darkness behind his tightly closed eyelids helped him to conclude that the sun was no longer shining above him. In a slow motion he tried to unglue his eyelids, sticky with sweat.

His heart leapt as his eyes fell upon the scenery in front of him. The sky was pitch-dark, a lone star hanging high on the sky, shedding the weak light across his new surroundings. His raft was nowhere to be seen and around him was a realm of sand, which was stretched out as far as his eyes were able to reach. The lake was no longer around him – it was now in front of him, looking as distant and unreal as the part of a fairytale. Propping himself up on his elbows, he tried to understand what happened to him.

After a few strenuous moment of thinking, which came off as something paralleled only by torture, Harry concluded that he fell asleep and the tricky lake probably tossed his raft on to the shore, along with him. He twisted his tousled head around, trying to spot his raft.

He was unable to find a single trace of it, and the lack of trees around him indicated that he was swept far away from the place where he fell asleep. This surroundings were unknown to him, the air being as heavy and oppressive as if imbued with a peculiar sort of mind-slaying venom. Maybe it was just his imagination, but Harry could feel his lungs shrinking in a desperate attempt to catch the needed quantity of the precious air, which stubbornly eluded him.

A loud splashing sound broke apart the shroud of silence that covered the empty night, and Harry's heart skipped a beat or two as he became conscious that the sounds were coming from somewhere close to the lake, or from the lake itself. He jerked his head just in time to see something sliding into his field of vision above the water – something that sharply contrasted the velvety blackness – something silver.

"Who's there?" Harry piped up, trying to drag himself on his elbows away from the shoreline.

His question got only silence as an answer, which made him think that 'what' would've been a better choice than 'who' – the reason for his silly fear was one of the lake inhabitants.

The calm surface of the water filled with bubbles, the weird event followed with a gurgling sound, as if something – someone – was laughing beneath that water.

Harry's lips unwillingly curled up into a smile of disbelief as his heart skipped a beat. He was certainly getting crazy – there were no reasons for the fear of anything that could've been in the lake.

Then why something feels oddly out of place?

He wasn't allowed to develop his wonderings. At that instant, something broke apart the water. The reason of his fear had decided to show herself.

The first thing that came into his sight was someone's water-soaked hair.

The second thing – the familiar visage and a pair of sharp, chocolate-colored eyes.

Harry blinked in an attempt to understand what had just happened.

"Hermione?"

Hermione hadn't reacted on his words. A wry smile was twisting her lips, the one that repugnantly reminded him of Hermione that not so long ago came to life from that horrible locket.

"What're you doing here in the lake? How –"

He never finished his question; his mouth remained open, he lost control over his jaw.

Hermione lifted up, the upper part of her body leaving the shelter of water.

Hermione would never go swimming without a swimsuit.

That was the only thing Harry could think about as his wide eyes observed the shameless sight in front of him. There was nothing that covered the upper part of Hermione's body, her milky-white skin eerily gleaming in the darkness. Just a few strands of her hair were sprawled across her breasts, but they didn't leave a lot to the imagination.

"Hermione, what do you think you're doing? Are you completely crazy? What if Ron finds out about this?"

The surprise quickly gave way to anger in Harry. They were all still fighting with the wisps of war that remained in their minds, they were struggling to repair the damage that was done, and she was wasting her time doing such… he didn't have a right word to describe that.

Hermione blinked, her eyes twinkling with nothing short of amusement. She remained mute, as if her tongue became equally worthless as her usually bright mind.

"Impossible," Harry muttered as Hermione dived back down into the water.

He stood up and prepared to leave Hermione to her stupidities, when another splatter disturbed him.

"Are you doing this to irritate me or what?" Harry snapped as Hermione once again appeared, this time an inch away from the shoreline and uncouthly grinned at him – something she had never done before –

Then came the instant when the dread gained a battle against his mind, and his knees sunk down on to the supple sand.

Hermione crawled on to the shoreline, the lower part of her body moving in serpentine lines, sending silvery gleams into the night.

Something was utterly wrong – Hermione was his friend – not some fish-like creature. But why did the scales cover the lower part of her body, then?

"No…" was the only thing Harry managed to mutter.

Hermione was slowly crawling her way towards him, and now he had a perfect view of the pristine skin of her back and the shimmering scales that ended with a pair of long fan-like fins.

"Hermione, what's wrong? Had you intentionally transfigured yourself into this creature, or –"

Another question Harry didn't get the chance to finish – Hermione was faster than him. With an air of a predator cat she slithered beside him, gluing her lips on to his and sealing his voice.

Harry attempted to protest – he wasn't supposed to allow this to happen – but his hands that tried to grab her narrow shoulders and push her away were captured with an uncanny shuddering force and trapped above his head. The next instant he was falling down and his back collided with the sand that lifted in a dust-like cloud under his weight.

Harry attempted to wriggle away, but that scaly thing – not Hermione, he was sure of it – climbed up on top of him, shocking him with the raw amount of strength. He wasn't a person who gave up even in the hardest situation; he was doing his best to keep his lips sealed, not allowing the intrusive tongue to trick them apart.

Hermione wasn't showing any signs of giving up either. Her teeth were littering his lips with bites, sending the wave of pain through his mouth. He could feel the scent of blood filling the still air, and the pain her sharp nails invoked as they raked down his chest, tearing through his thin shirt and digging right into his sensitive skin.

He couldn't help but shudder (he cursed himself inwardly for doing so) as her nails trailed circles across his navel and her tongue flickered across his mouth. He did his best to ignore the movements of her scaly parts, cold and slimy against his legs.

Soon he became conscious that his hands were no longer trapped, but why he couldn't move them?

Despite the fighting was in his blood, this fight was the one he was losing. He didn't know how or when he opened his mouth, but he felt her tongue, warm and pliable, twisting around his. He gave another twitch, trying to buck her away. She didn't look bothered at all, sucking softly on his tongue, her nails travelling towards the waistband of his pants.

Hermione broke the kiss, her strangely glazed eyes staring at Harry. For the briefest of instants her parted lips hovered above his and her rapid exhalations tickled his sweat-covered face. He thought that something miraculously returned her the sanity, but that feeling didn't last long –

Hermione slithered down, raising the clouds of sand as she did so, her white hands latching on to his trousers.

In a half-paralyzed state, Harry feverishly shook his head, the only thing he was capable of doing. It took her just one brisk movement to tear the material apart, oblivious to his silent plea.

This can't be real…

Even though his mind desperately wished to believe so, his body couldn't deny the feel of her shaky breath, hot against his crotch, and the warmth of her tongue that left a trail of saliva as it flickered across his burning flesh and –

And the world spun around Harry in a swirl of silver before the blackness enveloped his eyes.

Harry woke up with a start and the first sound that greeted his ears was that of his own scream. In vain went the attempts of Madam Pomfrey to calm him down with her words, thus she resorted to calming him down with a mixture of draughts.

We found you stranded on the shore…

You had a fever…

You were hallucinating…

Don't worry over it, it happens…

You were just too tired…

None of the words that made sense pierced through the thick shell that now surrounded his mind. None of the explanations the Matron, Ron (who found him), and Ginny came up with forced him out of his memories.

Harry had tried to explain what had happened to him, but they had refused to listen.

They just couldn't understand what happened. They failed to see why Harry turned his head back in shame whenever Ron and Ginny cast him a look. They were stunned into silence when Hermione entered the room and Harry urged her to leave with a chain of uncharacteristic swearwords.

They didn't know, and perhaps it would be the best if they remained in the blissful lack of understanding. It wasn't like they would believe him.

Harry had tried to amuse himself with various duties and hobbies, all in the attempt to tear his thoughts away from that night. It presented him with no results and he found himself wandering off towards the shoreline of the lake at nights when everyone slept, staring at the water for hours.

Who was going to be the next victim of that monstrosity, he often wondered. How many were in the same situation? Was Hermione the only one of that weird kind, or there were others?

If that was the case, who they were? Fleur? Why not, she was always different from the others. Parvati? Or, he dared to think only in the most horrid moments, Ginny?

He stood stock still, his arms flat by his sides, beside the lake. It seemed calm, innocent, but who knew what else it hid behind its crystal surface.

As if the heavens decided to give him a solution to that mystery, a strong beam of moonlight fell upon the lake, illuminating something not even five inches beneath the surface –

A hand – the same hand that caressed him in a way that wasn't normal once, not so long ago.

The surface of the lake bubbled again and the pallid hand bolted up high into the air, but this time, Harry wasn't going to fall prey to it. That horrible monster wasn't going to lay its slimy hands upon him again…

A couple of birds that nestled high into the branches of one willow next to the shoreline weren't allowed to spend the night peacefully cuddled next to each other in their nest.

A beam of emerald illuminated the night and ignited their small brains with fear they couldn't understand. They had flown away. The color green couldn't be seen anymore and the night returned to its familiar color of black.

A/N: I wrote this one-shot a couple of months ago, during one of many sleepless nights. I was re-reading Dagon, and got an idea to include something fishy into one of my fic. It is weird and it maybe slightly doesn't make any sense, but I usually try to make such fics feel somehow psychedelic.

I enjoy writing stories that either involve gory horror, or more subtle, mysterious one, like this fic. If you like it, I've plenty of such stories where this one came from, just waiting to be published.

Do drop a review and let me hear your opinions if you feel like it. I hope you enjoyed reading as much as I enjoyed writing this.