The Lady, or the Snow Leopard?

by Ibex's Lyre

*SNICKER* I failed a thought check or something. I meant to put Hazel tree, but instead wrote Hickory in chapter 3. I fixed this error, along with some others I found.


Anyway, I know it's been a long time, so I'll just jog your memories: the quote at the very beginning in italics is way back in Chapter 1 of The Lady of Shalott, towards the end of the first dream sequence.  Actually, this chapter has quite a few references to the other story. That's why it's a sequel, I guess. I plan to weave this story into something infinitely longer than The Lady of Shalott was, but I need time. I haven't even begun to get the main plot underway, deal with a lot of foreshadowing I used in the original story. However, I don't know exactly how my internet connection will be during the summer term, and one can never calculate the little snags of the soul that bog the translation from thought to story down, but I will try. And perhaps we shall see how the Ibex plays her Lyre.

Chapter Four: And the Fury Crows Spaketh (How a Lion becomes a Leopard)

She was not alone. How Hermione knew this, she was not sure, but she could feel it… Like shadows. Among the ash and the holly, the snow continued to gather as the cat and the woman remained still as the moss gathering stones around them. "What game were they playing at?" she whispered, for she had realized in an instant that the sirens had teased and taunted her the entire time about her most sacred of all desires: to learn the secrets of the animagi. Ever since the first day of Transfigurations class, ever since she had first understood the raw potential of being a witch. And the sirens, jealous of the mortal ways, had found a game to play with Hermione.

It was an infusion of old ways with even older ways, her only chance for survival in this new world. Never, all three warned her, never offer your body even when it seems like it is the easiest way, because then you lose faith in yourself and lose sight of who you are and your inner animal, lose your hearing of the plants and trees. Never let them know that you can hear the plants and animals, and understand them, because then they will try to use you and then you'll be trapped forever.

Were they speaking the truth? Could she really hear animals, understand the thoughts of plants? The inner animal was clearly a reference to being an animagus, but who had ever heard of listening to it? Besides, as Snape had pointed out, the sirens were ever fond of messing in the world of wizards and magic. But try as she might, their words still echoed through her mind. Maybe, just maybe there was a little truth to the words they had spoken. Or perhaps, despite what everyone had hoped, perhaps she still was insane. "Why else would I be out here in the darkness during a December storm?" she asked Crookshanks, who merely purred.

The harsh cawing of ravens startled Hermione, and she looked up as two landed upon the stump of a fallen oak, and watched her intently.

But she is insane, croaked one to the other, and cocked its head.

But she is insane, agreed the other, and shook its wings nonchalantly.

You'll not find your mind here, continued the first, and the harsh noises it emitted seemed to be laugher.

No, we've never seen one of your kind ever, laughed the other one, even as Hermione threw snow at them and made the two fly away. When she was sure they wouldn't be coming back, she glared at Crookshanks.

"And why are you purring?" she hissed. If this was another fit of insanity, she was sure going to get answers. Who knew, they might come in handy.

Because we're all waiting for your birth.

"Oh? And who are 'we'? And what are you talking about? I was born years ago!"

You and I and he. We.

Irrationally, Hermione wished Snape was there. To take care of her, to grab hold of her mind and make it sane again. To hold her like he had once before, so safe and tucked up against his robes and his chest. But he would never do that again because he had purposely severed his mind from hers. He had betrayed her.

Still… Still, she it was almost as though she could feel his sarcasm, his mocking raise of an eyebrow, suggesting that she couldn't do it, that she couldn't transform her body. The thought, though somewhat reassuring, put a grim look on Hermione's face. Yes, that's exactly what Snape would do--belittle her every efforts and laugh at her most secret desires. Which was why she was going to transform, or horribly disfigure herself trying. Just to spite him. And he would probably call her a foolish little Gryffindor whelp afterwards, but the pleasure of using arcane knowledge to get results would be worth any humiliation he offered.

The grim look turned into a sneer, as she whispered, "Well Professor, we'll see who can do what after all." It no longer mattered whether she was just having delusions or not anymore; her mind was set on her task.

The darkness stirred softly around her, as if waiting to see whether she would indeed succeed.

Who was she, anyway?

She was Hermione Granger, Daughter of Dentists. She was smart and outgoing, willing to share any knowledge she discovered with those who would listen. She was a witch, clever as they come, who loved life and learning. She was fierce and courageous, stealthy and strong in her own way. She had read the books on transfigurations, she had watched Professor McGonagall the few times the teacher had shown off her own ability. And she finally was sure she knew who she was.

It was cold, but she ignored even her own frosty breath. Inhale. Exhale. I am not a dragon, nor am I a deer. I am sleek, intelligent, a hunter of the snows. In the farthest reaches of her mind, there was a slight numbness. She didn't know what was supposed to happen, or what it would be like, but she stilled all her fears. Eyes closed, she continued. What had the mouse said? It's not hard if I let you. What was the difference between a mouse and a witch? As the urge struck her, she stretched and felt as though her spine became longer, her fingers shorter. The cloak she was wearing seemed to swallow her body, and where before she had only a small bone, she now had a long furry tail. When Hermione managed to crawl out of the oversized cloak, exhausted and overheating between her fur and its thick material, she had the dim sensation that she had succeeded… and that something had gone awry during the transformation. But she was novice, and could not hold her animal form for more than a minute before the human in her became evident once more, and fur became freezing flesh.

In the moonlight, to the sounds of happy purring, Hermione fell into the depths of oblivion. And she was right, something had gone awry.

After all, who had heard of a snow leopard with the draconic wings of a bat attached down its spine?

Dim glimpses, intertwined with feverish nightmares. Hell creatures with sneering expressions and glowing eyes.  Overlarge, leathery, webbed, and veined outer arms, and spotted furry inner arms… Demons dragging her through the forest with ire so strong, it filled her mind and threatened to burn away her very soul. But even in her nightmares, she dreamed that the mental bond had never been broken, and that somewhere somebody felt a bit of concern for her well-being.  That too faded back into darkness.

Hermione awoke to Christmas morning with the smells of warming cider in the air and puddings, and all things wonderful to be eaten--dimmed by the runny nose and the cold she was having the joy of experiencing. In fact, she felt rather ill. Compounded by the fact that it was nearly noontime and her parents had not yet bothered to wake her (or she them) when she had uncharacteristically slept the morning away, and the fact that she could not remember how she had wound up back safely in bed, she assumed that she probably was sick. Mysteries of mysteries, one that would probably never be solved, Hermione braced herself for the attempt of making it downstairs to where her parents would no doubt be waiting.

She was much relieved then when Mrs. Granger, with the psychic-ness of a mother, was to be heard coming up the stairs with Mr. Granger holding a armful of presents following behind.

"Oh, poor dear, you're finally awake! How are you feeling?" said Mrs. Granger, who set down a bowl of beef soup (presumably with chunks from the roast they must have made before they had realized that she was sick, Hermione mused) and pressed her hand on her daughter's forehead. The food smelled both good and nauseating at the same time, and Hermione was honestly not quite sure whether she wanted to devour the food or void the few contents of her stomach.

"Sick," was what she managed to respond with, and then looked around curiously. "Where is Crookshanks, mum? Dad?" She couldn't remember much of the previous night, or even if her cat was safe. A short lived pang of guilt rushed through her, to be killed by the memory of Crookshanks leading her on, not the other way around.

Her father arranged her presents around the bed and helped prop the pillow up behind her back like a nervous hen, before pausing to answer. It almost made Hermione smile to think that after all these years, she was still her parents' little girl.  "That old tom? The silly thing had gotten himself locked outside last night, and is now claming the fireplace to be his own. He'll be fine after he warms up a bit. Now what do you say, shall we eat and open gifts? Crookshanks even brought you one!" he said with a smile.

"Yes," replied Mrs. Granger testily. "A beheaded bird of some sorts, the filthy creature. Now come on and see what St. Nicholas brought this year, shall we?"

Hermione smiled. Who wouldn't say yes?

After the presents were opened and wrapping paper discarded upon the floor in the very joyfully spirit of the season, Mr. and Mrs. Granger left their daughter to sleep off the sickness she had accumulated. So they closed the curtains and tucked her in, took down her tray and made sure she was safe. Her mother even jokingly suggested to check for redcaps and hinkypunks underneath the bed, but Hermione, with a sleepy smile, declined. It was a semi-desperate parental wish that their daughter wasn't growing up so quickly, and a way to assure themselves that Hermione was indeed safe and sane. And even though they chose to consciously deny it, somewhere deep in their minds they still wondered if they were the sane ones. After all, having a child witch who not only apparently was one of the more brilliant ones in the school, but also managed to get herself constantly in and out of impending doom every year without fail--let alone being friends with the supposed savior of the world was quite a bit of information to accept over morning tea.

The warm sounds and familiar smells lulled Hermione into dreams of love and home. Somewhere between sleep and simple oblivion, Crookshanks entered the darkened bedroom to sleep on his mistress and rumble with feline comfort and concern. Everything was calm until--sometime in the early hours of the morning, Hermione woke up with the indescribable feeling that something was wrong with her body and that she would feel infinitely better if she simply ran as fast as she could to the--

Bathroom.

She waited until the waves of nausea subsided and her now empty stomach to calm before she dared to clean herself up. It's amazing how exhausting being sick is, Hermione mused as she slowly trudged back to her bedroom, alternately thanking and cursing the old house's thick walls that had apparently prevented her parents from hearing her sickness and coming to her aid. Well, it had saved her dignity, anyway, even if now she had to battle with a pounding headache and running nose. You'd think being a witch would mean I'd be able to brew up some potion or think of some spell to cure me, but no… It would have to be a very comfortable day in hell indeed for Snape to teach his classes a potion that didn't have some inherent evil in it, and even she knew she had no interests in medicinal magic whatsoever…

"I guess I'm just stuck sick, with muggle medicine," she said to Crookshanks as she opened her closet to get another blanket for the bed.

Two eyes glowed back at her from the darkness, making her gasp and jump back slightly. Only then did the curtain-thinned moonlight reveal the hell beast from her nightmares. The creature, with feline arms and huge, leathery wings, was hanging upside down from the bars that ran across her closet, with fangs revealed and a look of utmost contempt in its eyes.

It glared at Hermione. Hermione stared back. And suddenly, a smile came across her lips. "I know what you are," she whispered to it. "I read about your kind in a book--although I must admit I never thought I'd find one in my closets. You're a wyvern, and Professor Dumbledore must have sent you." Puzzle solved, Hermione let her good humor show through. The triumph on her face diminished slightly, however, when she saw a sneer (she didn't even know bats could sneer) began to form.

35 points for your ineptitude, Miss Granger, and try again, came the ghost of a whisper through her mind.

"Now I know I am sick, if ever there was doubt in my mind," she laughed quietly and patted the wyvern on the head. It hissed with marked displeasure. "I think I am going to sleep now, for I obviously need it. If you're hungry, there's food in the kitchen, and I still have some sweets left over from earlier…"

She crawled under her sheets and fell asleep almost instantly, leaving the wyvern to glare at her balefully from the darkness.

***

Morning came with a surprise--moreover, with her mother screaming up a storm. It awoke Hermione up with a fright and forced her to abandoning any pretense of feverish illusion as she realized that her mother was panicking and that there really was a wyvern in her closet.

In a way, the sight was almost comical. Mrs. Granger had retreated to Hermione's doorway, alternately screaming for help and threatening the creature inhabiting her closet. The wyvern was hissing and flapping his wings malevolently, but remaining stationary in the closet.  Neither Mrs. Granger nor the wyvern seemed exactly pleased with the current situation, and Hermione was sure that if she didn't do something quick, neither would like the results.

So she rushed out of bed despite the protests from her stomach, and ran to her mother. "It's okay, it's okay mum!" she said breathlessly, hoping her voice of reason would pull her mother out of panic and into sanity. "He's my friend! Hagrid and Professor Dumbledore sent him to make sure I stay safe!"

The name 'Dumbledore' seemed to calm Mrs. Granger down slightly. "Why on earth would he send such a beast? I mean, couldn't he have had the decency to send something more… human?"

The thought of Professor Dumbledore doing something so mundane made Hermione laugh. "Come on, mum, this is the same person who approves of Pumpkin Juice as a nutritious part of a balanced diet."

"I suppose," came the wary reply, as Mrs. Granger continued to size up the wyvern. "Although I still don't know why…"

"It's alright. He's… my friend. And he kept me good company throughout the night. Please let him stay?"

"…" came the reply, but Hermione knew she had won. Mrs. Granger finally shook her head in defeat, and left the room muttering, "I suppose it's alright as long as he's house trained… I'm going to have a nice little chat with that man if he thinks he can…"

Quickly, before her mother could come back in and change her mind, Hermione locked the door and slumped down against it. Her head seemed to pulse as she bit back wave after wave of nausea and struggled to breathe through a clogged nasal passage. A desperate need to understand what had happened a few nights passed came across her like no other necessity had. Were images of fur and wings but a feverish dream, or were they real, like the hellbe--wyvern? Speaking of which…

Eyes opened once more showed the beast had seemed to settle himself and was giving her an almost mocking look. "Don't push your luck," she muttered, and would have gone back to bed to sleep of the rest of her fever save for the urgent need to use the restroom. Any restroom. When she entered back, the creature had shut his eyes again and seemed to be sleeping. And so did she.

***

The precious few days of break were nearing, and with it, Hermione noticed that the wyvern seemed to grow… not agitated, exactly, but upset. So upset that it was palpable, tangible. That it seemed to pulse in her mind and had the effect of making her upset as well. It almost reminded her of the short time that Snape had been bound to her thoughts. The understanding with herself and with the world around her seemed to have faded, but she was aware that it was not gone, either. Hermione still knew the occasional thought of Crookshanks, still had to endure the constant laughing of the crows. Perhaps this empathy with the wyvern was much the same?

As if sensing her thoughts, the creature inhabiting her closet snorted and buried his fox-like head underneath his wings. Hermione shrugged and continued packing her things. In the morning, she and her parents would leave for London and the Hogwarts Express, which would take her to Hogwarts a few days before the beginning of the new term. And from there? A soft sigh escaped her lips. And from there she would become a student once more, bound by the dungeons for safety and security and a fear of something she didn't believe in. Voldemort was dead and gone, and only a fool would seek to chase after the powers he had hoped for. After all, what did a girl like her have to do with the insane powers he had held? She had killed him through insanity and nothing more.

Before she knew, the afternoon and it's thin wintery light had waned into evening, and the silver snows upon her window enchanted the shadows on the wall. A call from downstares told Hermione that it was supper time, and that she should go downstairs for her leavetaking meal. Indeed it was to be one of the last she had with her parents; when the end of term came, Hermione would be a fully fledged adult witch beginning her search for a job and the start of her own life. Her parents seemed to understand, for the atmosphere of the meal was subdued and quiet. Tearful without tears. There was no way to hold back time, either, and the meal was over. Hermione helped with the dishes for one last time, hugged her parents goodnight, even brushed her teeth with the gag toothbrush she had received for Christmas, as she had received for all her other Christmases.

The night deepened and so she slept.

In the early hours of the morning, when the winds blow the branches and cause them to scrape across the window panes, when the spirits of the great ice wind stir and the denizens of despair sing through the cold, Hermione came slowly to consciousness from a nightmare that had burned through her thoughts. The tapping of the great, searching branches upon her windows startled her into a heightened state of awareness and halted the breath in her lungs. Something was… not as it should be… Yet, try as she might to focus, the urge to sleep was great. The warmth of Crookshanks against her leg, the still figure of the creature in the closet.

Tap tap tap came the sound against her window. Like beak and claw trying to break through.  Tap tap tap. Come here flightless one, and watch the moon glow. Come here flightless girl, and open the window

It--they beckoned from beyond. A flash of something that sparkled like a burning star haunted the snows outside and drew Hermione in a dreamlike daze towards the closed glass. We have for you knowledge and truth, but you must come and take. The crows of fury and hatred sat on the branch outside her window, knowing that she would come and open the way into her room.

Through the darkness, in the whispy beams of moonlight, it was such a simple thing to unlatch the windows and lift up on the--the next conscious feeling she had was being flat on her back with the wind sucked out of her lungs.  In front of her she could see the Wyvern in full fury attacking the small flock crows that threatened to rip him apart with their sharp beaks. Everything seemed so surreal, it things couldn't  be happening--else her parents would have woken up from the loud commotion, right? With the window open, cold air filled the room caused her breath to steam in clouds. Crow after crow came in, some beckoning her on, some diving straight for her hellish savior, and never once did she think to use her wand.

What's wrong with me? What am I becoming? Am I still insane? And why hasn't Crookshanks woken up? Is there something wrong with him as well?

Come to us, come to us, we know where your kind belongs.

That thought frightened her like no other could have, and she froze, listening to the sounds of dying crows and smelt mammalian blood.

A crow, or perhaps it was a raven--it was hard to tell as mangled as it was, flopped to the ground, not dead, but not quite alive anymore. Cautiously did Hermione pick it up, and after contemplating the weight of one life against another, snapped it's neck, and let it fall to the ground. It was the first that had entered the room, and the last to have fallen victim. Hermione looked up at the wyvern who's breath steamed in the frigid air. It looked down at Hermione, with a look somewhere between contempt and veiled concern. For a moment, it clawed at its own hide as if trying to escape before squeezing through the open windows and flying off into the night.

And she was left alone again.

***

Winter break, though slightly better than the summer holidays only because Harry did not have to go home, was highly overrated.  Aside from it being lonely as both Ron and Hermione were away, there was nothing particularly interesting to do.  Aside from Hermione's supposed insanity (as much as he cared about her, he still had a hard time believing that she had not only killed Voldemort, but also been in any grave danger--this was Hermione after all! She was never the one to run head first into anything that could be considered trouble), nothing huge had really happened. Nobody, with the possible exception of Draco, had tried to kill him all year long. Quidditch was the same as always, with prospects of being beaten yet again by Slytherin.  As such, there was really no mystery to solve or enemies to plot against and it was boring, which left him to wander the old hallways after curfew by himself in hopes of finding something to do. Anything. Even cleaning the owl barn for Filch.

If I was smart, I'd be studying for NEWTS, but I'm not. Best leave that to Hermione.  Speaking of Hermione, Harry wondered how she was doing. He had noticed that his friend had been a bit preoocupied during the few weeks leading up to the break. It was probably nothing.  After all, Hermione was a big girl who could take care of herself, even if she did happen to have to live with the nastiest person in all of Hogwarts. Speaking of Snape… It suddenly occurred to Harry that he hadn't seem the man at all lately. It was very uncharacteristic of the man to miss out on an opportunity to torment James Potter's last living heir, but Harry supposed that there was a first for everything. Even if it was a bit odd to think that perhaps the man had a personal life outside of the school as well. Really--

"Well, Severus," came the crisp voice of Minerva McGonagall heading down the hallway in the opposite direction as Harry, who quickly dodged behind one of the old suits of armor that bedecked the hallway, "as impressed as I am with your form, I am still unclear as to why you could not change back. I believe you are right in wanting to immediately inform Alb…" Her voice floated unintelligibly on the air, punctuated by some assuredly scathing remark by Snape before finally becoming inaudible.

Heart beating faster than nomal, Harry took a few deep breaths to calm himself and rejoice in the fact that there was finally a new mystery to solve.  And something about Snape for once. Just wait until he told Ron and Hermione! Oh, so this year wasn't looking so bad after all!

************************************************************************

Anyway, so I know it's not the definition of a wyvern, but I couldn't really call it a dragon or a griffin, either. And because I have finals, I'm not going to change it either ;p

I realized as I reread this, that there's an awful lot of sleeping in this chapter. *Sigh* Oh well. I think I hate this chapter a lot, but it has to be written before I can get to the good plot. I'm warning you all though, I'm getting to the point where I just may rewrite the whole stupid story over the summer, because I'm growing weary of feeling so mediocre about it. I think both I and it would benefit from a good rewriting…