Quidditch League Fanfiction Contest: Season 3, Round 6
Team: Pride of Portree
1) (dialogue) "So… what exactly is that?"
12) (word) keyhole
Genre: Fantasy
Disclaimer: Characters and world of HP are not mine, though I do hug them at night and call them George.
Beta Love: fluffpanda, the Most Gracious & Merciful
Personal Grammar Nazi: Moka-girl - Heil, Moka-girl!
-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-
The World Beyond the Keyhole
At first Hermione thought she was going insane. It was the most logical conclusion when she found herself peering through keyhole after keyhole in the middle of the night. Somehow, and she had no idea how or why, every time she put her eye up to a keyhole, she saw visions of a fantastically different world. It was a world with purple grass, aquamarine and crystal-clear water, and islands that floated in the sky.
There was still the off-chance that she was completely delirious and hallucinating after Neville's potion had blown up all over half the class with bright green hallucinatory fungus. Professor Snape had justifiably reamed poor Neville until he might as well have crawled along the floor with his belly to the ground, had he not already been stuck to the floor. At that particular moment, everyone had silently agreed with the disgusted Potion Master's assessment of Neville. Few had escaped being covered in stinking green pieces of fungus, after all. Hermione had admitted to herself that, despite Neville being likeable as a person, she would probably not sit so close to him in Potions again. Madam Pomfrey had confirmed that no lasting harm had come to the students within the blast radius, and the hallucinatory fungus was apparently only an issue when consumed raw.
However, all of her speculation about Neville brought her back to the present; she was seriously beginning to question her sanity. No one else from Potions class was wandering around Hogwarts peering into random keyholes, which seemed to rule out potion-induced hallucinatory visions. That left either non-potion-induced hallucinatory visions or the possibility that the strange phenomena going on whenever she put her eye up to a keyhole was really happening. Hermione wasn't sure which of the options she preferred.
Rubbing the area between her eyes in a circular motion, Hermione shook her head and put her eye to the nearby keyhole. Visions of a fantastic view of old-growth forests, a shimmering waterfall whose water vapour formed distinctive rainbows, and glistening cerulean rivers filled her view. She pulled away, rubbed her eyes, and looked again.
There was a Muggle saying that the definition of insanity was continually repeating an action and expecting different results, and Hermione was beginning to think she was certifiably so. Epic landscapes with tranquil streams and inspiring waterfalls were not something normally found on the other side of doors, yet here she was, seeing visions of what could arguably be a scene out of one of her childhood fairytales.
Hermione continued down the corridor, on her Prefect rounds. From time to time, she stopped, her hand curling around her wand as sounds of the forest in the keyholes filled the air around her. Smells that didn't belong to Hogwarts wafted into her nose, but just as she nearly grasped what they were, they dissipated and vanished.
'Perhaps,' Hermione thought to herself, 'all I need is a good night's sleep.'
As she mumbled the password to the Fat Lady and stumbled into the Gryffindor Common Room, she saw Ron chatting excitedly with Harry instead of doing his rounds.
She muttered goodnight to them both, and shuffled up the stairs. She barely remembered to undress before her head hit the pillow, and she was swallowed by blessed oblivion.
-o-o-o-o-o-
Waves of purple and teal grass fluttered around her, rustling in the wind. A great flight of dragons soared just under the cloud cover above her. An impressive ivory drake with a wingspan that seemed to be as long as the width of the sky roared as he chased his black and white mate. A smaller, pale, cream-coloured dragon flitted after them. The young dragon was dwarfed by the expansive size of its parents, but what he lacked in mass he made up for in speed. He zipped to and fro under and around his parent's expansive wings.
The sky was lapis-lazuli blue and it took her breath away. She heard the roar of water behind her and turned to see a towering twin waterfall. It rose upward to several floating islands suspended, impossibly enough, in the air. Turquoise water rushed down from one island to join with water that sparkled like liquid diamonds as it fell. Below the islands and in front of her was a lagoon surrounded with cliffs.
The grass rustled and Hermione jumped as a herd of colourful, wooly sheep appeared and trotted up to drink at the water's edge. Every sheep had different coloured wool. Hermione picked out white, grey, pink, blue, lavender, and all manner of colours in between.
"Baaaaa," one sheep said. "Water is cold today."
"Water is always cold," the other replied. "Never warm. Never."
"Water for drinking, not swimming," the fluffiest golden sheep Hermione had ever seen muttered.
Two large otters surfaced, spreading ripples across the tranquil surface. "Speak for yourself, friend."
"Hail, Mr. and Mrs. Granger," the flock of sheep greeted. "Fine day."
The otters waved their webbed paws and swam close to the shore. "Where is that budding grandson of yours, Augusta?" the male otter said. He sounded just like her father.
"Baa," a grey, woolly ewe replied. "Tripping over his own shadow in the grass as usual. Nothing like his parents, that one."
"Oh, don't be so hard on the child, Augusta," Mrs. Granger scolded, twitching her whiskers at her. She clambered onto the bank and shook herself off. "His parents denied Tom many a meal. Not many sheep have such bravery. He'll come into his own soon enough."
"If he lives long enough," Augusta the ewe replied with a sniff. "Why my son chose to adopt, I'll never know…"
"Hush, Augusta," a ram scolded. "He's your grandson."
The grey-wooled ewe rolled her eyes and put her muzzle down to the clear water to drink.
There was a larger rustling in the grass and a lanky young lion with slightly awkward proportions stumbled out into the clearing. His paws were oversized compared to the knobby legs they were attached to. It was obvious that he still had a lot of growing to do. His mane was patchy; he was too young to sport the magnificent and full mass of hair worn by full-grown lions. He padded up to the water and began to lap at it with his large tongue.
"Neville, you're growing like a weed," Mr. Granger greeted.
"So big, and look at that mane you're growing," Mrs. Granger agreed.
"Hullo, Mr. and Mrs. Granger," the lanky looking lion said somewhat sheepishly. "Is your daughter here?"
The otters shook their heads, snuffling the lion on the side of the muzzle and grooming his face with their paws.
"Nay, Neville," Mrs. Granger said sadly. "She has not Awakened yet."
"It would be so much easier if she were an otter like we are," Mr. Granger said, "but we would not trade her for the world."
"Hear that, Augusta?" the old ram with purple wool ribbed. "Love what you have been given, not what you wish you had, right, Mr. and Mrs. Granger?"
"Quite so, friend," the otters agreed. "We raised her as best we could. Now, it is up to her to choose what world to walk in."
"Still in the Dreaming, my friends?" a voice called from the opposite bank. A well-groomed billy goat dropped his head down to drink from the lagoon's clean water.
"Aye, Albus," Mr. Granger replied.
"A phase all of us must experience, I fear," the billy goat said sagely. "I have no doubt she will Awaken soon and choose the path she was born to walk or fly as the case may be."
"But, we don't even know what path will be hers to walk," Mrs. Granger complained, wringing her paws with worry. "What if she ends up like… like… Tom? Thinking she's a… human?"
Mrs. Granger's voice cracked with emotion. Her whiskers twitched as she rubbed her paws together.
"Now, now, Violet," Mr. Granger placated. "No daughter of ours would be like that. Tom had a hard life. His parents abandoned him. It's no wonder he dreamt that being a human would be better and clung to it as a mark of superiority."
"He is a scourge on this land, challenging his prey to impossible riddles and then eating them when they get the answer wrong!" Mrs. Granger wailed. "He thinks he is superior to everyone! He thinks—"
"Shh, shh," the male otter said, licking her muzzle softly. "There now. Our Hermione will make the right choice, my love. We raised her right. Her teachers are proud of her."
"Even that awful, grumpy—"
The male otter clamped his paw over his mate's muzzle. "Even him. You'll see, my love."
There was a series of low-to-the-ground rustles in the grass as a gang of red-furred weasels bounced out of the brush and approached the shore.
"Good morning, my friends," the largest male greeted cheerfully.
Two identical looking weasels chased each other to the shore and tussled, splashing water everywhere.
"Fred, George," a larger, female weasel scolded. "Mind your manners. What have I taught you?"
The two young weasels held their heads down. "Yes, mum, sorry mum." They perked up as a smaller weasel crept out of the grass and pounced on the little creature mercilessly before he could come up for a drink. As the young male weasels tussled in a rolling ball of fur and teeth, a tiny female weasel bounced up to the shore and took a drink.
"Good morning, Mr. and Mrs. Granger. Good morning, friend sheep. Oh, and good morning, Headmaster."
The older goat flopped down on a sunning rock on the shore. "Good morning, young Miss Weasley," the goat said with a twinkle in his eyes. "It is good to see you. Are you enjoying your holiday before returning to school?"
"Yes, Headmaster," the young female weasel said with a bob of her head.
"How are things back at that Burrow of yours?"
"We dug out a new room in the Burrow so I don't have to listen to Ron snore anymore," the young Miss Weasley squeaked happily.
"That must be wonderful," the goat noted, smiling as her embarrassed parents shook their heads at her.
"Shush, Ginny," the larger female weasel scolded. "Don't be bothering your Headmaster with such trivial things."
"It is no problem at all, Molly," Albus said, wrenching a plant up from its roots and chewing on it lazily. "Ah, I do so love lemongrass."
A falcon's scream broke the peace over the lagoon, and all the animals looked up with wide eyes.
"Tom comes!" the young falcon called out, banking sharply to fly over the rest of the forest. "He comes!"
"That was Harry!" Fred and George cried out together. "He's never wrong about Tom!"
"Scatter everyone!" the otters yelled, slapping their tails against the water before disappearing deep into the water to whatever hidden refuge lay beneath.
The sheep fled into the long grass. The weasels disappeared in the opposite direction.
Hermione was rooted in place as the wind kicked up around her. The grass rustled wildly as though mighty dragon wings were beating nearby . A loud hissing noise surrounded her, and as she turned her head, a great snake with glowing red eyes had pinned her in place.
"Foolisssssssh youth," the snake hissed, his giant coils moving around her, blocking her escape. "The wise flee when danger beckonssssssss."
Hermione's heart beat wildly. The others hadn't seen her, but somehow, this serpent—Tom— knew she was there.
"So, what are you?" the snake crooned. "Ah… still a Dreamer. Still naive and pure. How delicious. The taste of Dreamers are the best. Their unfulfilled dreams all the more glorious. They taste so much sweeter cut off before they can fall from the tree." The snake tightened his coils around her, cutting off her breath.
"Invoke the challenge!" Hermione heard in her mind. "Invoke the challenge, Miss Granger!"
"I…" Hermione gagged, gasping for air.
"Yessss, child," the snake cooed. "Your death will come soon enough."
"I invoke the challenge!" she gasped, coughing as the serpent's coils suddenly ceased crushing her ribs.
The snake hissed lowly, red eyes glowering at her with a flickering crimson glow. He pulled his head back, fangs receding. "Not even out of the Dreaming and you know of the challenge," he hissed. "Very well, Dreamer, one riddle I shall give thee. You will have one chance to avoid my strike and survive your… rebirth."
The serpent yawned, his fangs extending either in threat or boredom; Hermione wasn't sure which.
"My tines be long,
My tines be short.
My tines end 'ere,
My first report."
Hermione's eyes widened. The snake was literally giving her a riddle in exchange for her freedom. Tines… were like branches. Branches were in a tree. Surely it would be a tree? Wait, no. Report… was it a written report?
"You do not have forever, Dreamer," Tom hissed. "Anssssswer."
Hermione's heart beat ever faster. Her mind whirled as she tried to decipher the rest of the riddle. A tree's branches would not end on the ground, they continued under the earth as roots. The arms of the sun did not make sound. A tine could be a point, like the end of a trident or a pitchfork…. Wait. A fork. The serpent was tightened his coils, squeezing her until her head spun.
"I… have an answer!" Hermione choked.
"Oh?" Tom hissed back to her. "So… what exactly is that, hrm?" His coils tightened again.
A fork that made a sound… thunder followed lightning's forks. Sound would be the report!
The serpent was rearing back to strike.
"LIGHTNING!" Hermione screamed, her eyes closing, expecting the giant serpent to damn all protocol and kill her anyway.
Hermione opened her eyes. An ebony black horn was pressed into the serpent's mouth, countering the attack. . The horn glistened in the sun, and Hermione realized it was attached to a horse... no... not a horse... a unicorn! The curled point was as obsidian as the rest of him, but she could see an oily rainbow sheen on its surface. The unicorn reared up on his hind legs, and two dark, feathered wings unfurled. They snapped loudly as they spread, readying for flight.
"Get on my back, Ms. Granger!" she heard in her head. "Now!"
Hermione wasted no time. She leapt onto the beast's satin back and clung to his mane as he took off, his great wings pumping as he left the ground. The sound of Tom's loud, angry scream at being denied his meal filled the air.
Hermione grasped the silken mane between her fingers in a death-grip. Her eyes squeezed shut and her heart raced inside her chest as she panted frantically.
"You can open your eyes, Miss Granger," the voice told her.
She obeyed, and as her panicked heart finally calmed, she realised how beautiful it was flying through the sky and looking down at the earth below. She also suddenly realised that she recognized the whispery voice that had saved her life.
"Professor?" she whispered into his mane.
The black flying unicorn snorted as his wings broke from the straightened position, and he banked sharply into the thermals. The flight continued in silence, and the unicorn she swore was her Potions Professor carried her onward to an unknown destination. Despite her earlier terror, she found herself revelling in the freedom of flight. She wanted to be able to join him with her own set of wings more than anything. But moments later, she felt her eyes growing strangely heavy. No matter how hard she tried to keep herself awake, she could feel her consciousness slipping away from her. Her hands began to loosen their grip upon the alicorn's mane before blackness swallowed her once more.
-o-o-o-o-o-
Hermione opened her eyes and found herself standing in the empty corridor of Hogwarts. Before her was a smooth wall, across from a tapestry of trolls in tutus. As she stood there, the wall before her rippled. The shadow of a falcon and an echo of its sharp cry flew across the stone wall. Hermione felt a sharp pang of need to rejoin the land from her dream.
The stone rippled and a massive doorway formed in the shape of a giant keyhole. Vast open grasslands, floating islands, cascading waterfalls, and a familiar tranquil lagoon beckoned. Somehow, she knew that stepping into the door would not be a mere trip into the Room of Requirement. It would be Home. It would be the Real world—a world of dragons and talking animals, fantastic creatures, lions raised by sheep, and an ebony black flying unicorn who called her to the skies.
'I must be insane,' she mused to herself. Or, perhaps, it was time to embrace a new reality much as her eleven-year old self did when she had received her letter from Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.
Hermione Granger squared her chin, closed her eyes, and stepped through the keyhole door into the future that waited beyond and the destiny she had only begun to dream.