Erroris of Vestri Mores
By Shadow Ballad
A/N: Thanks for the reviews, Barb8, AngelaDanton, and Dragonero! If you reviewed after I wrote this, well, sorry I couldn't include you! Youthree are great…and very perceptive. And you both asked for longer chapters, so here you go!
Chapter Four: Into the Abyss
"Hermione, you're going to be late for breakfast!" a voice shouted, ousting Hermione Granger from her deep contemplations. Shifting parchment covered in equations aside, she scooted to the edge of her four-poster bed and snatched the scarlet bathrobe hanging next to her bed, throwing it on over her dressing gown. Peevishly she walked to the dormitory door, opened it a sliver, and glared down into the common room.
At the foot of the stairs to the sixth-year girls' dormitory stood Ron and Harry, fidgeting about as all boys at their age were prone to doing. They both knew better than to try and get inside the dormitory, but Hermione was irked enough to try casting Imperio and making them do it just to see them fall. Maybe a good laugh would lighten her mood.
"I don't care, Ronald!" she called down frostily. "Food isn't important to me at the moment when there are bigger things about to happen!" Before she slammed the door, she caught sight of the surprised looks her friends were giving her. Allowing the heavy door to smash shut, she gave an internal sigh and turned back to the work spread across her bed. Honestly; did all boys think about nothing but food?
Her stomach chose that moment to rumble loudly in protest. Already in a foul mood do to lack of sleep and high anxiety levels, this served to only anger Hermione further. Cursing the traitorous organ (and feeling quite stupid afterwards; after all, it was inanimate), the bright young woman gathered her parchments together. I'll look at them as I'm walking to the Great Hall; that way, not one solitary minute of my time shall be wasted.
After gathering her uniform from the neat, organized chest at the foot of her bed, Hermione dressed quickly and left the dormitory, parchments clutched protectively to her chest. A few first-years a little slow on the uptake of Hogwarts life cornered her to ask for directions to the Great Hall, and after indulging them, Hermione felt strangely calmer. Perhaps helping people was the solution to her current state. Yes, that was it.
"But then, I'll need to help someone out a lot to feel perfectly fine," she grumbled to herself moodily, shifting the parchments and glancing at them absently as she strolled down the hallways.
She noticed it just after passing Flitwick's office.
The equations had changed.
Stopping dead in her tracks, her heart pounding against her suddenly constricted chest, Hermione ran a finger along the equations. Please…oh, please NO… Brown eyes widened in horror at what the parchment revealed.
Whatever horrible thing the equations had predicted the night before had suddenly come to pass.
Quickly releasing a breath she didn't realize she'd taken, Hermione darted away from Flitwick's office with alacrity that would have dazed a Muggle track coach. She ceased to see people in her way, barreling past them without so much as her usual apology. Only one thing crossed her mind.
Professor Vector must be told. Immediately.
So engrossed was she in studying the parchment, hoping against hope that the equations were lying, that she didn't notice which corridor she had flown down. The mural on the wall depicted Barnabas the Barmy trying to teach trolls to dance the ballet. This bit of information, however, was never noted as something else had just caught the young witch's attention.
One of the lines her magical equations had conjured was directly linked to Professor Snape.
He was a part of this disaster.
Skidding to a sudden halt, Hermione perused her work again, frantically connecting equations to lines and people. Her heart was hammering somewhere near her throat as the severity of the situation came tumbling upon her in a wave of grave realization. She had to find Professor Snape, now – or what, she didn't know. Whatever it was, the alternative was horrible.
Hermione spun rapidly on her heels, taking a dozen steps in the opposite direction before coming to a sudden stop once again. Shouldn't Professor Vector be told first? After all, what if Hermione was wrong and she had somehow misunderstood the equations' meaning? A small voice at the back of her head furiously told her that this couldn't be a possibility, but she didn't fancy bursting down into the dungeons, running into a well and healthy Professor Snape and losing five hundred points from Gryffindor the second day of term, either.
What to do?
Help him, you silly nit, the voice in her head cried out shrilly, what if he's in trouble? This intimate conversation with herself instantly decided Hermione's course of action. Turning the other direction toward the dungeons, she only got another dozen steps before another dire thought crashed into her mind: What if she was too late? What if whatever had happened to Professor Snape was potentially fatal, and was eating away at his life as she stood here dithering? She was the only one who knew anything was wrong, for Merlin's sake! What she really needed was a shortcut to the dungeons.
It was at this moment that the brilliant witch suddenly noticed her surroundings. A tapestry showing Barnabas the Barmy attempting to teach trolls to dance the ballet, and failing horribly. She knew this corridor.
It held the Room of Requirement.
Without giving the situation further thought Hermione frantically walked briskly three times in front of what appeared to be bare wall. Her thoughts focused on a shortcut to the dungeons, any at all would do. The third time a door appeared, and with a cry of mixed anxiety and excitement Hermione darted inside.
The Room today was small and made entirely of stone. It also happened to be entirely empty, save for a descending staircase in the centre of the room. Whipping out her wand, Hermione muttered "Lumos!" and mounted the staircase, perched on the top stair and gazing down into utter darkness.
A deluge of uncertainty threatened to drown the would-be rescuer as she gazed down into complete darkness. Her feeble wand-light hardly did anything to light the way down the dank passageway. She was on the seventh floor…it would be a long walk to the dungeons; what if she tripped and fell the entire way down? Hermione shuddered at the thought. What she really needed was a slide.
On cue, the staircase suddenly was no more, and a pleasant slide one would find in a Muggle children's park took its place. Relief flooded Hermione's veins, and without further adieu she swung her legs onto the slide and gave a mighty shove into the tunnel.
Two seconds later, she desperately wished she had taken the stairs.
"Ahhhhhhhhhhaaaaaaaaaaa!" she shrieked at the top of her voice, holding her parchments in a vice-like grip as icy wind clawed at her hair and stung her face. The slide absolutely refused to be anything resembling normal! It twisted and turned, had large bumps that sent her flying, and would shoot what seemed straight down all in a matter of seconds.
What seemed like hours of this terrifying ride later, Hermione suddenly became intimately acquainted with a hard, dank stone floor. She yelped as her elbow came in sharp contact with a wall, scraping the skin raw and leaving an ugly red mark on her arm. She slowly got to her feet, her legs as wobbly as if she had just been put under the Jelly-Legs Jinx. "Nox," she muttered after steadying herself, tucking her wand into a robe pocket. Taking another glance at her Arithmancy equations – they hadn't changed one number, she noted unhappily – she gathered her patent Gryffindor courage and charged out of the small area she had landed in and out into what she could only assume were the dungeons.
What a horrid place for a common room, she thought as she ran through the corridors, desperately looking for something that resembled Professor Snape's chambers. With accommodations like these, no wonder the Slytherins were a cranky lot! Hermione scampered up the corridor, oblivious to many pairs of eyes watching her from a sliver in the wall.
By now Hermione was wringing her hands in frustration, having not come upon a single door along the entire corridor. She tried to push down thoughts of Professor Snape lying mortally injured somewhere she could never access, but they kept popping up every second.
Why are you doing this? a little voice in the back of her head unexpectedly asked as she continued her search. After all, he never gives you the points you deserve to earn in class, and he's always so mean to Harry…
Feverishly Hermione squashed these thoughts down, bludgeoning them with a retort of her own: He's a teacher, not a monster! Even he needs help sometimes! Never once, due to her concern for a teacher, did Hermione stop and wonder how very peculiar it was to hold a conversation with oneself.
As a matter of fact, she only stopped because she suddenly ran into something very solid and landed smartly on her bum, a small ache beginning to pound in her arms where she had collided with the object.
That object, it turned out, was a stone wall, and next to her right hand was a slightly opened door engraved with the Crest of Slytherin House. This, she decided, must be Professor Snape's quarters. She picked herself up from the floor, and after a moment's hesitation – these were a professor's private chambers, after all! – she pushed open the door and stepped inside.
He eyes were met with total blackness accentuated only by the torchlight let in by the open door. A harsh, fetid odor assailed her nostrils at another step, causing her to double over gagging. Something was definitely wrong here.
"P-professor Snape?" she called out in a tiny, hesitant voice, absently setting her parchments down on a small end table and taking another step into the room. No dry, scathing remark answered her, nor came there a furious reprimand for entering a teacher's private chambers unbidden.
In fact, there was no sound at all.
Now feeling supremely uneasy, Hermione slowly made her way into what she soon discovered was the living room. Her eyes caught sight of a floor-to-ceiling bookcase crammed with fat tomes, each positively bursting with knowledge. Hermione's mind cried out as a dying man in a desert would for water, and before she knew it she was halfway to the bookcase, ready to delve into the delicious wisdom when a faint groan froze her in her tracks.
It came from the bedroom, which no light shone into. Fleetingly she wondered if the professor was still in bed. Blushing profusely at this thought – seeing her Potions teacher in his night things wasn't on her to-do list – she made to leave when another groan reached her ears.
Surely he could just be having a nightmare? Shaking away this foolish thought immediately after thinking it, Hermione bravely summoned all the courage she could muster and strode purposefully toward the bedroom.
Before she could even register the dark mass hanging oddly near a desk, she found herself once again on the floor, this time flat on her face. Hermione yelped in pain as she met the stone floor for the third time that morning, and made to push herself up when her hands came in contact with something sticky. Screwing up her face in disgust, she sat on her knees and wiped her hands on her robes, only to find that they, too, were coated in the substance. It was a second later before comprehension hit her like a bludger: this was blood.
With a squeak Hermione was once again on her feet, wand out and lit to show a great portion of the floor around her covered in the viscous fluid. The entire front of her robes was coated in scarlet, as were her hands. She lifted one up to inspect it, and choked in panic as she caught sight of something that would haunt her for the rest of her life.
A man was hanging in chains suspended from the ceiling, attached to his wrists and neck. His torso was caked in dried blood; not a spot of flesh could be seen amongst the angry scarlet jacket he wore. The left wrist held in the shackle was hideously broken, as were the fingers. His shoulders were held at an odd angle, seemingly dislocated, and Hermione couldn't help but wince at the pain Professor Snape must be feeling. Yes; she had come to the obvious conclusion that the broken man hanging before her, covered in his own lifeblood, his hair bloody and lank against his face, was none other than her Potions Master.
For a few heartbeats Hermione stood gazing in shock at the scene, hands pressed to her mouth and heart viciously flogging her constricted throat. Suddenly she was standing face-to-face with the injured professor, not knowing or realizing when she had moved. Frantically she pressed two fingers against his throat, heavily disconcerted by the blood dripping slowly out of his mouth. Nothing. Almost in hysterics, Hermione crammed her fingers further into his neck, praying to any deity that would listen for him to still be alive.
An excruciatingly long second passed, and then – a slight beat! He was alive; Professor Snape was ALIVE! His pulse was slow and faint, but he was alive!
Relief flooded over her in a swift deluge, carrying all her remaining strength with it. Without realizing what she was doing, Hermione wrapped her arms around Professor Snape's bloodied torso and laid her head on his shoulder.
As soon as the weight of her head touched his abused shoulder, the Potions Master let out a scream of agony, frightening Hermione so much that she jumped away and slipped in another puddle of blood.
Flinging her arms like a deformed windmill, she managed to land on her knees instead of her bum. The professor was fully conscious now. Low, guttural moans wracked his throat, and his thin frame shuddered with pain. "Professor!" she exclaimed, rushing over to him and lifting his chin gently in her hands so she could see his face.
This, however, was apparently the wrong thing to do, judging by the reaction Professor Snape had to it. He yelped and jerked out of her grasp, but not before she caught sight of his eyes – pained, and brimming with fear she had never seen there before. Hermione suddenly felt a burning fury toward whoever was responsible for his condition. Severus Snape, a proud, quiet man, never showed fear; never allowed anyone to see any sort of weakness in him. To reduce him to such a horrid state was a sin worthy of the innermost circle of Hell!
"Don't worry, Professor," she said soothingly, though her voice was shaking with overpowering rage. She was loath to touch him again, due to his previous violent reaction, and settled instead upon whispering a string of encouraging words before rising to her feet and removing her wand from her pocket. "I'll help you."
She surveyed the scene before her with extreme scrutiny. The spell used to bind the professor and hang him from the ceiling was unknown to her. This greatly irked the brilliant student, as not knowing something was her greatest irritation. It resembled the Incarcerous spell, but that usually produced ropes, didn't it? Whatever spell had been used, it was a type of binding curse, and Hermione was almost certain that it was Dark magic. Just the thought of it curdled her stomach.
There was only one way she knew how to help, and even then, it might not work. Worse, it might hurt the already gravely injured professor even more. She anxiously twisted her wand in her hands, which had become rather sweaty. Finally, Hermione decided that there was nothing for it but to try the only spell that might work.
"I'm sorry if I hurt you, Professor," she said to the dark man, who groaned in what sounded like an attempt at speech. She didn't have time to decipher it, however, and with a deep breath she levelled her wand and shouted, "Finite Incantatem!"
Professor Snape gave an unearthly howl as the chains attached to his neck and wrists became a brilliant red, burning his skin before they disappeared and deposited their prisoner into a bloody heap on the floor.
"Professor!" Hermione called out, rushing over to where he lay unmoving.
She only got a few steps when a voice suddenly called out, "Locomotor mortis!" Hermione's legs snapped together, and with a yelp of pain she found herself once again on the floor.
"Caught you in the act, I did!" a sneering voice gloated. "The Headmaster will surely expel you for this, missy!" Alarmed by the savage glee in the voice, Hermione turned as far as she could. There in the doorway stood the caretaker, Argus Filch, and none other than Draco Malfoy, wand pointed directly at her.
The blonde Slytherin's expression was one of fury mixed with pleasure. "They'll have you out of here for this one, Mudblood!" he whispered savagely.
Utterly confused, Hermione managed to shift so she was facing Filch and Malfoy. "Whatever do you mean? I was – "
" – no excuses this time, Granger!" Malfoy interrupted gleefully. He cocked his blonde head to get a better look. "I'll remember this in my mind forever: the day that conceited little know-it-all got expelled…" He sounded absolutely delighted.
"But what did I do? You can't expel me for not doing anything!" Hermione protested, face paling by the second.
"For attacking a teacher, Granger," Malfoy sneered, his pointed face lit up in glee. "I have to say I never thought you would stoop so low…Potty and Weasel, now those two I could imagine…but you?" He shook his head in mock admonition.
"What? You think I…b-but I couldn't…I'd never..!" Hermione spluttered, realizing that Filch and Malfoy though she had attacked Professor Snape. "I CAN'T be expelled!" she exclaimed lamely, eyes large with fear flickering between the jeering faces of her two accusers.
"That is up for Headmaster Dumbledore to decide," Filch replied nastily. He ordered for Malfoy to light a fire while he kept a close eye on her (As if I'm going anywhere with my legs locked together, she thought dully). Malfoy did as he was instructed and then changed places with Filch, who Flooed Madam Pomfrey and Professor McGonagall.
Throughout their entire discourse, low moans of pain could be heard in the background. Despite her situation, Hermione was extremely angry at their treatment of Professor Snape, and blatantly told them so. "He's injured! He needs you help him right now, not yell at me!" she growled from the floor, wishing that she hadn't dropped her wand when she fell and that Malfoy would stop watching her every movement. "He's your Head of House, Malfoy! Don't you care?"
"Of course I care," the blonde Slytherin drawled. "But there's nothing I can do for him, so there's no point in crying over it like a bloody Hufflepuff," he added cynically. "Now shut up before I blow your head off."
Hermione had a sharp reply on the tip of her tongue ready to beat the little Snake into a simpering ball, when Madame Pomfrey and professors Dumbledore, McGonagall, Sprout, Flitwick and Gershwin stormed into the chambers in a whirl of robes. Hermione managed to grab her wand while Malfoy was occupied with the new arrivals and rid herself of the Leg-Locker Curse. Standing up, she turned to come face-to-face with a very tight-lipped Minerva McGonagall. Relief flooded her at the sight of her own Head of House, whom she knew to be a fair and understanding woman.
"What have you got to say for yourself, Miss Granger?" the Transfiguration professor demanded in a voice akin to ice. The relief she had felt just seconds earlier immediately vanished by the cold tone in her teacher's voice. Professor McGonagall thought she had attacked Professor Snape too!
Suddenly a heavy pit of despair weighted down her stomach, slightly overwhelming her with a fit of nausea. Hermione slowly lowered herself onto Professor Snape's bed, turning beseeching eyes onto Dumbledore when she was certain she wouldn't sick up. Light blue eyes met her own stare, but they were completely without their usual twinkle.
Suddenly, the situation became even more dismal than she could ever have imagined.
"Sir, I…I can explain."
A/N: Ohh…evil cliff hanger! Mwahahaha! So, how did you like it? Loved it? Eh…thought it was fine? Hated it? Please let me know!
Various horrid essays, demonic government projects, evil psychology teachers, and wonderful fencing lessons may get in the way of regular updates from now on, but I still hold to my original vow. As long as at least one person likes this, it WILL be updated (how often I can't say at the moment) and it WILL be finished, if it's the last thing I do!
Next chapter: Hermione explains why she's in Snape's bedroom, Snape is attended by Madam Pomfrey and taken to the hospital wing for treatment (finally! Poor Snape!), Slytherins get angry, and Hermione discovers something about the equations that doesn't add up…
Tune in next time, and until then, please follow the eleventh commandment: thou shalt review Ballad's story! Lol. Oh, and my sis drew a chibi of Gershwin, so if you are interested, the link is http/www dot fanart-central / pic-285922 dot html, except don't put in the spaces, use "." where dot is and add ":" and "/" after the "p".