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So far... The reborn Hermione befriended Harry and Luna at a much younger age and hopes to bring Ron and Ginny into their circle as soon as she can. Little Neville will be more difficult because he's girl-shy and envious of Harry and Hermione's close bond. Meanwhile, with Voldemort already dead, she is plotting to bring other dark wizards to her own form of justice. An incident at a firework display in Hyde Park provided her first opportunity. Now read on...

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Chapter 18

Devil's Deep


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Cover Up

"Hermione! How much longer are you going to be working up there!"

"Coming, Mum!"

A door opened and footsteps descended.

"You're driving yourself so hard it's probably illegal for a nine-year-old to do all those hours," complained Mrs Granger when Hermione finally walked into the living room and sagged down beside her father on the sofa. "What have you been doing these last few days? You look worn out."

"It's important, Mum."

"So are you." Mrs Granger sighed and began serving out helpings of shepherd's pie. "Anything we can do to help?"

"Not unless you have experience in law, biogenetics, dark magic, social engineering, and advanced potions and counter-potions."

"What!"

"Look, I know exactly what I'm doing but I have to work out certain things and apply it all over again. Which one's mine?"

"On the left. The plate in the middle is your dad's. Edward?"

"Mmm...? Right." Without taking his eyes off the television news he pulled a tray onto his knees and began absently forking food into his mouth. "She's off to visit to Reagen then," he munched cheerfully. "Don't know why she doesn't just marry him and be done with it."

"Who? The newsreader?" said Mrs Granger, sourly.

Hermione giggled. "You don't still fancy Anna Ford surely, Dad? She must be in her forties now!"

"Yes, but she's still got it."

"I wouldn't know yet, Dad – not until I get it again myself. Anyway, she'll be gone in a couple of years."

"Never!" cried Mr Granger, a forkful of pie halfway to his gaping mouth. "They can't get rid of Anna!"

"Margaret Thatcher, I meant," said Hermione, gesturing towards the Downing Street video that was showing on the box. "She'll resign."

"Are you serious?" said Mrs Granger. "But she's–"

"WAIT! WAIT! Turn it up, Dad!"

"New safety precautions are to be tabled after last Saturday's incident at Hyde Park in which gangs of teenage hooligans were seen to throw a biscuit tin full of firecrackers and aerosol canisters directly onto a bonfire. Three people died from the resulting explosion and many more were injured. A huge wave caused by the sudden collapse into the Serpentine of masonry blocks fortunately swamped the flames and greatly reduced the risk of further accidents. The famous London venue – which the Metropolitan Police Commissioner informs us can never be made completely secure – now faces a permanent ban."

"Masonry blocks my aspidistra!" cried Mrs Granger. "There was no masonry anywhere near to– did you see any? No! And no hooligans either. Everyone was well-behaved. And what about the smoke mark in the sky? And you said there were dark wizards! How can the–?"

"Mum! Mum! The Ministry of Magic always hush up these things. It's to do with the Statute of Secrecy. They wipe and alter people's direct memories and change the evidence. The police would only hear confused accounts."

"That's disgraceful!"

"Better than telling them that real witches and wizards are attacking people with evil curses."

"Hermione's right," said Mr Granger. "There'd be complete chaos and fear and who knows where it would end? Witch hunts? No, I can't see any way that ordinary people would ever get along with magical society."

The trouble was, with the Cathesis League having died at its inception, neither did Hermione.

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The Trial of Alecto Carrow

Three weeks passed before Hermione fully emerged from the spare bedroom, reasonably satisfied with all her preparations to put Alecto Carrow on trial for her crimes. Even then her mother insisted she have a complete day of rest with plenty of sleep before proceeding with whatever she was up to. The young girl did not resist, grateful that she need not endure any further sense of guilt for prolonging her captive's present state – death. For such is what it was. The heart no longer beat, nor was breath drawn. No dreams were dreamt nor comforts known. Yet the body continued to age. The condition of Living Death then, was a slice of someone's life – good and bad – stolen forever.

With a sigh, Hermione packed her bag with all she required for the ordeal ahead, bid her parents goodbye, and with a loud pop, Disapparated to the bell tower. For a time she stood gazing out on the small German town's square, more to put off the task ahead than to recover from the lengthy Apparition. The early December morning was already stirring with Christmas shoppers. There was no snow to soften the scene, yet the mix of Victorian with post-medieval architecture and quaintly-tiled rooftops did seem appropriate for a festive card. A Santa-hatted man behind a market stall solemnly rang a hand bell like a town crier before he began his spiel. Hermione could almost hear the words, for many a call and greeting carried up to her on the crisp air – even one sad goodbye at the bus depot entrance.

Reminded of her duty, Hermione turned and was gone in blackness. So black and enduring was the long Apparition that the holding cell appeared cheery bright when it popped into view, yet she clutched her chest and spun about-face, forgetful in her arrival of exactly where she'd laid Carrow.

"There you are, Sleeping Beauty," she breathed out in relief. Indeed, the dark witch had not moved one hair from the position and posture in which Hermione had left her. There was an innocent stillness about the woman that the girl thought it a shame to despoil.

Before removing the semi-masque, Hermione examined it more carefully than she'd had time before. Pulling away the witch's hood revealed the high, Zorro-like mask to be a dark frontal cap pulled tightly back and downward over the sides of the cheek bones in front of the ears and thence tied behind the neck. With the high gap above Alecto's snouty nose, the effect from the front was a true black arc covering the eyes and the wearer's intentions both. A spell quickly drew it off into Hermione's bag next to the wand she'd taken from Carrow in the park; she'd no stomach for trophies but they might be a useful reference.

The complete face belonged to Alecto Carrow sure enough, and she was welcome to it, thought Hermione, wrinkling her nose in disgust. A careful search – both physical and magical – revealed nothing of consequence on the woman's person except for a small knife which quickly joined her wand and mask in the bag. An impression of Voldemort's Dark Mark still showed faintly on Carrow's left forearm but no newer sign replaced it.

"It's time..." Hermione muttered, steeling herself to be ready. There could be no turning back after this.

The vial at the top of her bag transformed Hermione once more into her alter ego: Adam Brown. The next little bottle was even more subtle: Wiggenweld Potion. After first casting a strong binding spell upon her prisoner, she forced a precise amount of the antidote between Carrow's bloated lips then leaned back to observe.

The woman lay on a rock slab of convenient length and height, low enough that as the big Adam, Hermione could comfortably look down upon the captive. A long wheezy intake of breath was the first indication of life; the second was an unrepeatable oath, then the woman stirred, felt the resistance of her bindings, and cursed again as her eyes opened to squint upwards.

"Who the bludgin' shifters are you!" The head twisted around a little. "Where in damnation is this!"

"You are in the court of Devil's Deep to face justice for your crimes. I am your prosecutor and your judge. They call me Adam Brown."

"Brown? Brown, you say? Choke yourself then, Brown, you clueless lump. Have you no idea who you are dealing with? You're meat now. Meat for carvin'. Where's Amycus!"

"Was that your brother who was with you in the park? The one who ran away and left you to die? Thought it might be," Adam said smoothly. Now the moment had arrived there was no longer any trepidation, only calm.

"Alecto Carrow, you are under arrest on suspicion of various crimes including the torture and murder of many."

"And you'll soon join 'em at my pleasure!" Carrow's arrogant eyes roved up and down, sizing Adam up. "The bigger they are, the more they squeal! The smaller the brain, the greater the pain!"

Adam ignored the threat; there was a lot to get through in the time available. "The Triapetit will be used to commence your trial, that is, you must choose three questions from a list of ten to be answered after imbibing Veritaserum."

"Tripe–what? You're no judge. This ain't no court. An' I needn't take Veritaserum – I know me rights."

"Rights? You have the right to ignore this, for one thing." Adam hovered a large sheet of parchment horizontally above her so she could read it easily. "But if you refuse to choose three, then Questions two, six, and seven will apply. You have ten minutes to decide."

Turning his back on her, Adam walked away, out of Carrow's restricted view, and kept very quiet.

"You've gone off your rocker, is what you've done! Stuff your questions! I ain't answering nothin' and you can't make me!"

A barrage of wild cursing followed for almost two minutes – then silence abruptly descended on the chamber. Adam knew Carrow was finally reading the list and he thought through it himself once more, hoping he'd chosen well:

1. Are you using any measures to counteract or evade or misdirect the effects of Veritaserum?

2. In order of severity, and most serious first, what crimes have you committed?

3. How did you carry out your worst crimes?

4. What secrets must you hide from this court?

5. Who are your criminal associates?

6. What crimes have your criminal associates committed?

7. Who is the ultimate leader of the gang known as the Black Arc?

8. The court may show leniency. Have you any regrets or remorse for your crimes?

9. If you are released from custody, do you expect to commit further crimes?

10. Then exactly why do you deserve punishment?

Listening intently, Adam could hear the woman muttering some of the words to herself so he'd a good idea when she was near the end.

"Jus' these?" wheezed Carrow.

"Only three of those are allowed under Veritaserum. I might still ask other questions without the truth potion but you will be free to lie or refuse to answer. However, you should be aware that I'll draw my own conclusions from your responses or lack thereof."

"And you have to stick to the three I choose?"

"Yes."

"And I go free if you've got no proof?"

"That's right."

Alecto smirked and went quickly over the list again. "One... seven... and ten!" she cackled.

Adam, who had already turned to observe her expression, froze in surprise. "Are you... sure? Check the numbers can change your mind."

Again, the woman cackled. "Got to do my three, don't you! Come on then, let's 'ave yer!"

She was still cackling with glee when Adam tipped three drops of the potion onto Alecto's eager tongue. He waited a minute or so then examined her eyes. The vacant stare was unmistakable. Besides, the first question would eliminate any doubt whatsoever:

"Alecto Carrow, are you using any measures to counteract or evade or misdirect the effects of Veritaserum?"

"No!" wheezed Alecto. Was there a hint of merriment in her tone?

Adam hesitated over the next question. Why had Carrow permitted this one?

"Who is the ultimate leader of the gang known as the Black Arc?"

The long wheezy expiration carried with it only two breathy syllables and a stark, stabbing punctuation, "Haaaa–rrrreee – Black." There was insufficient air left for laughter but a dreadfully-prolonged coughing bout ensued giving Adam time to turn away, mind racing.

Harry? Harry Potter? Had the woman found a way around the serum's influence and was amusing herself? Or had the real leaders spread the belief amongst their lower supporters? Adam struggled against asking for a while – there was nothing to stop her except a strong moral compulsion – then resolved to stick with the plan. Only one question remained. It had intentionally appeared vaguely worded – enough to trap Carrow – while actually being quite explicit, but would the witch be compelled to answer it literally if she was too stupid to understand its true meaning? Perhaps emphasising might help:

"Then exactly why do you deserve punishment?"

The cough dried up to several painful chest thrusts. The woman's amusement had instantly evaporated and for a few moments she appeared to be fighting the compulsion to answer – in vain:

"Because I tortured and murdered Freya Golbrun of eighteen Beswick Crescent and her disgusting Muggle brother Kyle."

"Because I helped my brother cook another Muggle, name of Bradley, till he split and juiced."

"Because me an' MacNair and a recruit I only knew as Rob, we made tunes hanging seven Muggles in a scale but I didn't care to know their names except they squirmed and squealed a nice song long enough for our entertainment then good riddance."

"Because I used my knife on–"

And on and on she condemned herself while Adam's quill flew across and down a confessional scroll damning Alecto Carrow to never see daylight again nor any mortal person save the one passing judgement on her soul right there.

When she had fully recovered from the truth potion, Carrow began hurling a stream of abuse once more at the big man, but in his deep voice he spoke over her curses. Whether she heard was not Adam's concern.

"Alecto Carrow, you have been found guilty of gross misuse of magic, multiple acts of torture, grievous bodily harm, and cold-blooded murder. You are hereby sentenced to lose your magic and serve a term no less than life in Azkaban Prison. Alternately, as an act of compassion, you may choose to serve out your days in a more humane confinement or else elect a merciful death. Do you wish to decide now?"

"... yer'll be ripped apart and sewn tergether with rusty needles, stripped an' scalded on a daily basis an' I'll be there laughin' 'n' giggling at yer, yer gret lump o' horse dung – but YOU won't be. Oh no! Yer'll scream like a baby for yer mama but yer ma'll be swinging by her toes over a vat of hungry rats leaping at her ugly slut face and–"

Carrow scarcely drew breath but continued her verbal abuse without pause while her face remained screwed up in a terrible fury. Only when Adam, wearing Herbology goggles, approached with a potion goblet and the genetically-modified hirudo squirming on the end of a wand did she stiffen, cringe, and squeal in fright, "Wassat! WASSAT! Keep it away from me!"

"It won't hurt or harm you physically. There's no pain at all. But you may drink this first if you wish. It's a Draught of Peace to relax and calm you."

"NO! GET AWAY FROM ME! I DON'T WANT YOUR FILTHY POTION!" Carrow squirmed within her bonds and turned her mouth away as far as she could.

Adam sighed and carefully lowered the wand. "Are you refusing the tranquillity potion? It will make things easier for you – but it's your choice."

"Stuff it. Who the bludgerin' dog's doo are you anyway! Why 'you wearin' them goggles! You can't make me! You've no right! Don't you have any idea what they'll do on you when they find you out? They'll get me out of here soon enough!"

Adam replied, "I regret to tell you that likely they believe you're dead. Amycus saw your body break awkwardly over the bench. The Ministry only recovered Rowle's corpse but the Muggle authorities gathered up the rest of the dead. Since you've not returned, your accomplices will assume the worst."

Alecto fell silent for a moment, then turned her head back to stare at the big man beside her. "You're mad! Daft as a doormat! Wassup with yer eyes? What you goin' to do with me, eh? You can't keep me 'ere! You can't!"

"Not here – this is just a receiving cell. I told you: Azkaban. Or you can choose a more comfortable prison without Dementors. Your final choice is death. It's up to you."

A long wheezy cackle began the reply. "Azkaban? You can't. You're not the Ministry."

"Enough talk. Will you accept this Draught of Peace, yes or no?"

"I'll accept your tongue wriggling on a plate, is what I'll accept, you arrogant, pig-mouthed filth!"

"I'll take that as a 'no'. Bad choice."

Adam slipped the vial back into a pocket and, raising the wand once more, he leaned forward.

Carrow screamed as she once more caught sight of the hirudo squirming on the tip of the wand. "What you got there! Keep it away!"

Adam's huge fist grabbed under Carrow's jaw and thrust up to hold her head still as he carefully moved the wand towards her face. Unable to utter aught but a muffled wail, the dark witch squeezed her eyes tight shut and squirmed vigorously.

"It you'd open your eyes it could get inside more easily," said Adam patiently, but Carrow only squirmed the more – so hard in fact, Adam was afraid she'd injure herself, but he couldn't stop now. Gently placing the writhing worm upon her left eyelid, he watched its multiple feelers probing below the edge of the lid, and the slithering, silvery body soon followed.

An awful animal noise was now coming from the terrified Carrow's throat, and Adam had to lean more of his weight onto her jaw to keep the woman steady. Finally, the swelling of the eyelid subsided as the creature squirmed its way around to the back of the eyeball.

"RELAX!" bellowed Adam, as he released her head and backed well away before removing his goggles. "The optic nerve lies within a tiny tunnel through the cranium. It's the only way in. The parasite will squeeze down it without harming you in the slightest. Once its proboscis tastes the brain, the worm will move between the back of your eyes and grind a shallow cavity in the bone so it can nest comfortably against the inside of your skull. You'll feel nothing, so stop worrying – it needs you to live."

A low-level, continuous gurgling, groaning wail rasped from between Carrow's lips, punctuated now and again by a high-pitched squeal. Had her mind snapped? Adam himself felt rather sick. It had not gone as well as hoped. A Snorkack scarcely noticed anything other than a momentary itching in the eye when the parasite first slipped under the lid. But then Carrow wasn't a Snorkack; she was a cowardly, stinking Slytherin.

As he waited through the next half hour, he studied the confessional scroll, at the names and incriminating testimony there, and wondered how others would take the treatment; it was only a bug after all. Repulsive yes, but a mere tickle and not even as uncomfortable as a visit to the dentist. Should the tranquiliser be enforced in future? Cruelty had not been the intention.

"Why?" came the pathetic murmur. "What you do that for?"

Adam frowned. "If you'd listened instead of ranting you'd know! You've misused your magic and don't deserve to keep it. Can't you feel anything yet?"

The response was only a sullen silence for a while then a long, dreadful scream began... and finally tailed off to a pitiful whimper. Adam nodded to himself. A witch can feel her magic if she pays attention: its ups and downs, surges and strengths and... its gradual exhaustion when overworked. The loss through leeching must seem similar – but far, far worse.

"How long?"

"Perhaps another hour; it varies."

"No, you thick gargoyle, how long will it be gone for after that?"

Adam shook his head but did not reply.

"How long!"

"Don't worry about it. You'll not be able to use it in Azkaban anyway."

"There's no way you can do that." This time there was doubt in her tone.

"You'd better decide. I recommend the new prison, if you know what's good for you."

"What prison? Where? There ain't no such!"

"Devil's Deep! You're almost in it right now! This is one of the smaller receiving chambers but the cells are much nicer: plenty of space to move around, reasonable food, lots to read, and... no Dementors. Think about it."

"Read? You mean books? What for?"

Adam blanched a little in astonishment. "Everybody likes books."

"Talk. Nothin' like a good natter – better 'n a book any day. Who else is in this prison o' yours?"

"You've excluded yourself from all decent company. Your contempt for others makes you unfit to share your miserable life with anyone."

"No! There's plenty."

"You've never been in Azkaban, have you?" barked Adam. "Did you imagine you'd spend your time chatting with the other inmates? You might listen to them, yes. Hear their distant screams and moans and mad ramblings in the few periods when they're not dumb, deaf, and blind to everything but horror – curled up on the cold stone shaking with frightful visions. No, mostly you listen to your own worst fears crawling up your back day and night without respite or hope or purpose. Despair is your only company in that foul place. Is that your choice?"

Within her bonds, Alecto shuddered.

"Death then? Is that preferable? You've always lived a pointless existence, accomplished nothing worthwhile, progressed nowhere. Of what use have you ever been to anyone, even yourself? It would be a mercy to end your miserable life."

"I can't be on me own," Alecto finally murmured, half to herself.

"Be glad of a few living Muggles to talk to now, I expect? Sorry you killed so many decent conversationalists, right?"

"Never been on me own. Can't. Need to talk."

"Yet you've lived your life risking the loneliness of Azkaban at every step!" cried Adam. "You can't have believed you'd never be caught!"

"Can't read."

"Of course you can!"

"Can't read just to read... Don't want to... can't... live."

"It's your magic draining away. Making you feel depressed. That will pass."

Within the limits possible to her, Carrow shook her head from side to side. "Neither prison."

Adam blinked. "You mean...?"

"Who'll be executioner? You?"

The unexpected choice coming from the very first captive made Adam quail. "You can't be serious!"

"Do it. Before my magic's all gone."

"Doesn't work like that. All who request a merciful death are given one month's grace to provide an opportunity to reconsider."

Adam raised his hand and cast a detection spell. Carrow's magic was almost completely spent – and she had no wand.

"Finite," he said, and Carrows bindings fell away. Adam offered her no help as she struggled to sit up on the slab and look around. Pathos gave way to sullenness, and as the woman swung her legs over the edge of the block, a cruel vicious expression slowly replaced the sulk. Adam braced himself, then put his wand away.

Carrow eased herself up onto her feet, testing her strength, looking round at the holding cell-come-makeshift-courtroom. While gazing at the ceiling she nonchalantly sidestepped a little closer to Adam. He did not move away but busied himself replacing the scroll and ferreting around in the beaded bag.

With a screech of rage, Alecto hurled herself at Adam, one hand clawing towards his face, the other scrabbling in the pocket where she normally kept her little knife.

THUD!

The big man's fist jarred her head sideways and Carrow fell like a slop sack to lie whimpering upon the ground, one hand still weakly searching in her pocket.

"Looking for this?" Adam pulled his other hand out of the bag. In it was Carrow's little knife – the same one she'd used on– "The punch was for Neville and Hannah, you sickening excuse for a witch!"

"Who? Wha...? Yer ravin'! Think yer a gent, do yer, with all yer fancy talk? Hittin' a lady? Yer nothin'. NOTHING!" Carrow ranted on for a while, "Hittin' a lady? What rotten manners fer a big bloke! P'uh! Punchin' a woman in 'er face!"

Adam laughed. It was quite a girlish laugh. "Somehow, I have no problem with that whatsoever! Quite enjoyed it actually."

With one huge arm, he pulled the woman up to her feet then off her feet. He held her there swaying like a sodden cloak for a few seconds, then they both dematerialised and were sweeping through the solid rock. Several empty caverns they sped through without stopping until at last they burst into a huge rock chamber with an enchanted blue sky, and a gentle, pleasantly-changing breeze carrying a variety of subtle fragrances to gratify the senses. Here, Adam dropped the woman, and she staggered away from him, rubbing her jaw.

"All the instructions and guidance you need to know is written at the front of the enchanted book you'll find over in that sleeping alcove you see there. After that, I suggest you try reading The Count of Monte Cristo for starters – it might give you a new outlook on life. Not that it matters. I'll be back in one month, and then I will kill you."

With that, Adam was gone, and Alecto Carrow, former Death Eater and late member of the infamous Black Arc, was now an inmate of Devil's Deep, and utterly desolate.

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—oOo—

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Author's Notes

I've made good progress this last week so perhaps I can maintain the weekly publication of chapters. I know I've done it before but mostly it depends on inspiration and the flow of ideas. All I do then is write it down and fiddle about with it. STOP PRESS: Stats and reviews have been broken so I held this chapter back until they were fixed.

I don't directly do requests but I can be influenced by good feedback. There have been requests for more scenes with Harry/Hermione & family situations as well as for Harry/Luna. Well I do love Harry/Luna but obviously it can't happen in this story – but I do have other plans for Luna (no, it's not another Harry from an alternate universe!) As for scenes – they are written primarily to progress the story so I don't usually do Harry/Hermione scenes without a reason. However, it is their love story so I'll keep this in mind for opportunities, and anyway, they'll naturally be more together at Hogwarts.

Last chapter, Skye pointed out in a review that Luna was more neat and tidy in an old photo when her mother was still alive. Thanks, Skye. That makes sense and I wished I'd thought of it earlier but I'm not going back over published chapters to change it. Instead, I'll work it into future chapters because whereas her mother might let her be more of a free spirit when she was very young and at home, now Luna is growing up and going out into the world and making friends, her mother wishes her to be more presentable. Not that this will be too radical. Luna will still be Luna and I've not ruled out cork necklaces and bare feet on occasion! But for more formal meetings she will often be better groomed.

Thanks to everyone for comments and reviews. These are most welcome and very encouraging. Let me know of any weaknesses or faults – I'm always trying to improve my writing so feedback is really useful. :)

– Hippothestrowl

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