Ferhð Mûðbona

Chapter 1: Anginn

Hermione boarded the Thestral-drawn carriages leading back to Hogwarts with a mixture of excitement, apprehension, and anxiety. She had been somewhat surprised to receive a letter from the new headmistress inviting her back to complete her seventh year. While she had participated in some of the remediation efforts to restore the castle following the Final Battle, the last she had heard the towers were still in a state of disrepair. Looking out of the window of the carriage, however, she could see that they were once again standing.

Perhaps the process was forwarded by the castle itself? All of the individuals who had attempted to repair the castle were inured to the fact that the school was sentient. Being able to connect your magic with that of the castle was the only way to ensure that the repairs remained stable and functional. Different individuals assisting in the repairs were able to do this to a varying degree. Hermione proved to be better than most; after she recognized the power and collective memory possessed by Hogwarts, she had learned to be willing to allow empathy to guide her magic. While she had not always been the type to rely on intuition or feeling, the war had afforded her experiences that made faith in magic and emotion easier to accept and adopt.

But she had not been able to stay for extended periods of time. She had been actively attempting to track her parents down in Australia, but found that they had moved sometime in the last year. All attempts to locate them had proven fruitless, so with a growing sense of desperation she had made multiple trips traveling to different cities in an effort to find them. She had looked in phonebooks, talked to dentistry professionals that she thought her parents might have networked with, and even attempted to scry for them using a crystal and a few strands of their hair. It had been months, though, and she had almost given up hope. Not to mention that certain individuals regulating international porkeys in both ministries were becoming rather annoyed with her persistent demands. Her recent status as a war heroine could only afford her so much.

Truth be told, she was glad of her limited role at the castle over the summer. Part of the clean-up had involved unearthing corpses from beneath the rubble, and helping to prepare graves. She had personally come across a decaying Colin Creevey and Elizabeth Farley, both a molted green and purple where the blood had settled, and could not stop herself from flinching at the sight of maggots feasting on the exposed abrasions in their skin. She was often accompanied by her former classmates, notably several Slytherin students who had defected, not participated in the battle, or who were attempting to make amends. She assumed they so often went with her because many of the other volunteers refused to associate with them, resentment and fear distorting their expressions whenever they shared a room.

She was grateful for their presence, past grievances aside. All of them- Draco Malfoy, Theodore Nott, Pansy Parkinson, the Greengrass sisters, Blaise Zambini, Gregory Goyle, Adelaide Murton, Nadia Blishwick, and other Slytherins of all ages- were distantly polite, but avid workers, despite…everything. And they were as obviously disturbed by their dead peers as she was, which created a macabre kind of comradery, although no one chatted enough to be considered friendly.

She knew their abrupt solicitous behavior was due to the influence of Severus Snape, who had miraculously survived Nagini's bite. Hermione had gathered Madame Pomfrey as soon as she remembered Snape's demise in the Shrieking Shack, and had gone back with her expecting to see a cooling body. Instead the school-nurse had found a pulse, shoved some Blood-Replenishing Potion down the Professor's throat as Hermione held his body in place, stroking his head and whispering reassurances, and sent a Patronus to St. Mungos asking them to prepare antidote that had been held on reserves. Madame Pomfrey had then put his body on a conjured stretcher, jogging towards Hogsmeade so she could apparate them both to the hospital.

The school matron's quick thinking, and the brilliant, if non-traditional Healer Pye had led to a relatively quick recovery. She had visited him a couple of times at St. Mungos. The first time he had been unconscious, and she had sat awkwardly in a chair beside his bed for thirty minutes before she scurried out, trying to remember what she had hoped to accomplish. The second time she arrived just after a host of Slytherins, and Hermione had accidentally heard him address the students around his bed for something that closely resembled a pep-talk.

He took measures to look at each of them in turn. His voice was stilted and quiet, the scars on his neck bright red around the surgical stitches, although healing was evident. "You do not need me to lecture you on what to do moving forward. You are Slytherins- we pride ourselves in being resourceful and cunning. Use those skills in order to build your way to the top, even if that entails briefly pandering to those currently in power."

Goyle spoke up, his gruff voice indignant, "What? We have to suck up to Potter?" He sneered.

The Potions Master turned to him with a disquieting stare. "I expect you not to make this any worse for yourselves. You should know what kind of language and actions will be considered impolite for the current regime. Don't offend anyone with the power to make your life difficult. Make public amends before anyone has the opportunity to assign culpability for the damages of the war. Immerse yourselves with those you can stand."

Nott added in his quiet, if monotone voice, "What about our cause? Their victory goes against everything we have been taught since birth. And in all likelihood, it will result in a backlash to Britain's most established pureblood families. I would not be surprised if the Ministry used this as an excuse to appropriate properties and magical artifacts." Several others students nodded, their faces concerned.

Professor Snape addressed them all. "Your parents did you a disservice. Is being a Slytherin about blood-purity? Or is it about achieving your ambitions? Engaging in appreciative networking? Using cunning in order to establish a power-base? Supporting each other amidst the obvious discrimination delivered at the hands of the other houses?"

It seemed to be a series of rhetorical questions, because he continued after a brief pause. "I am only a half-blood. The Dark Lord was a half-blood. And I am sure all of you know at least one Muggleborn with a modicum of talent or intelligence that might disprove theories of pureblood superiority."

Hermione was almost positive that was an indirect reference to her, and nervously moved a step further away from the door and out of sight.

Somebody made a sound similar to a scoff. Professor Snape responded with something similar to a snarl. "Regardless, Nott's observations are astute. Your families will soon be the scrap-goats and coin purses of the Ministry if you do not get it together and deny them the opportunity. It is no longer appropriate to forward your pureblooded doctrine, even if there is credit to the theory. Now is the time, ladies and gentlemen, to decide what is more important. If it is to support the superiority of your bloodline, by all means, act defiant in the wake of a new Ministry. However, if it is to regain the honor and prestige of your family and your house, I suggest you drop your cause and attempt to inundate yourself with those in power. You do not need make friends with them, but you do need to be polite."

More than slightly unsettled and afraid of being caught, Hermione decided to walk down the hallway and double-back until he was finished with his speech. Ten minutes later, on her way back to the room, she passed the line of Slytherins. Most of them ignored her, but a few stared and watched as she walked into Professor Snape's room. She did her best to ignore them, not knowing what to say.

Unfortunately, that left her completely unprepared to face the Potions Master. She took a few paces into the room, looked up at him, and stared at him in silence for several minutes. Eventually he sighed in obvious annoyance, closed his eyes and leaned back into his pillow.

Hermione quietly walked over and sat once again in the chair beside his bed. And once again had to wonder what she was trying to do. She knew she respected the man. She was grateful for all that he had done in the war. She was upset for not having come back to find him earlier, and that no one had bothered in her stead. She was annoyed with the fact that she didn't realize his true loyalties all of last year. But he had not been her favorite Professor. He had not liked her or respected her. He wouldn't care about her condolences.

Perhaps it was some strange obligation because she had been the one to find him?

She looked up from her fingers, and saw his eyes were still shut. He looked tired and sickly, his pallor unflattering against the pasty yellow hospital robes. His hair looked well-combed and less oily, if a bit longer than she remembered. "I'm sorry," she stated, quite accidentally. He opened his eyes a crack to look at her, a sneer curling his lips, and she had to force herself to meet his gaze in her panic.

She continued in a hurry. "I have made things difficult for you. I know that you don't really care for me or my opinions, and that the decisions you made in the war had nothing to do with me… But I still want to let you know that I am thankful you are the person you are. And I am glad you didn't die. I'm sorry I didn't have more faith in you."

Her fingers knotted together, Hermione stood up abruptly. They stared at each other for a moment before she nodded, and left without giving him the chance to speak. Walking out of the hospital she considered whether or not that could be considered selfish, and whether that nervous proclamation had fulfilled whatever need she had had to seek him out in the first place…

"Hermione?"

Her memory faded as she was brought back to the present. Harry's bespectacled face took up her vision, and he employed a sly grin as she frowned. "Who are you thinking about?"

Hermione ignored the implication in his tone and answered, "Professor Snape."

Harry's face soured as Ginny giggled beside him, before the lines straightened and he became more serious. "I heard he is back at Hogwarts this year as a Professor."

Hermione's head snapped back at his. "Really?" she asked, surprised. As far as she knew, Professor Snape had very much disliked his job. Now that the war was no longer holding him there, why in the world would he return? When he could go anywhere? And Harry's impassioned pleas had guaranteed that, legally, he could go anywhere.

Ron spoke from across the carriage opposite her, a scowl on his face. "He turned down the position of Headmaster? Or did the Governors kick him out of the running?"

Harry responded. "He turned it down. Minerva said she managed to convince him to stay on for at least one more year, as Slughorn left without any way to contact him. She wasn't sure whether or not he would stay any longer than that, though."

Ginny's frown was severe. "Well, good. He doesn't deserve to stay. It's unthinkable that they are even keeping him on now."

Harry turned to her with an imploring look. "Gin, he saved our lives!"

Ginny's face turned spiteful. "You weren't there last year, Harry. He could have stopped the Carrow's from getting carried away by torturing students, but he didn't. He didn't even try. I bet he enjoyed it. Stupid Gryffindors getting their comeuppance." She looked to Neville for support, but all he did was frown.

"Ginny!" Luna called out with a furrowed brow from beside Ron. "He did help! It could have been so much worse…"

"Oh, don't get me started, Luna. You are too forgiving. I even saw you speaking to Malfoy a few weeks ago. They tortured you in their house! You do not need to be polite!"

Luna frowned. "Draco was behaving himself. And he didn't like locking any of us up. He sneaked us extra food more than once."

Ginny sneered. "Oh, well I guess that makes him a bloody hero, then, doesn't it!"

Ron stepped in to mediate. "Gin, do you really want to talk about that right now? I am more interested in Quidditch. Do you think they will let Harry and me run for a position?" The carriage stopped and they all got out and started walking towards the castle doors.

Ginny turned to him, obviously glad for a change in topic. "Well, why wouldn't they? Although if they don't, I suppose I get to be seeker." She turned to her boyfriend and batted her eyes. "Harry, dear, you wouldn't mind, right?"

Harry snorted, before bringing his hand down to stroke her head a few times. "Of course not," he stated, attempting to sound overindulgent. Ginny smiled in return, just as they reached the Great Hall. They took their seats, looking at the newly reinstated charmed ceiling with relief, and attempted to ignore the blatant stares from surrounding students.

The sorting happened quickly. No one was surprised by the very small class size, but made every attempt to ignore the obvious. Hermione elbowed Ron hard when Slytherins were sorted, and he started clapping with Hermione and Harry, albeit in an extremely half-hearted manner. It made Hermione uncomfortable that everyone clearly noticed their inter-house support, but she supposed that this was just something she would have to get used to moving forward.

They were introduced to their new Defense teacher as well. Remus Lupin had been another near-death casualty. He stated later that the castle had intervened, distracting his opponent long enough to give him the upper-hand. He had been alive to save Nymphadora when she was surrounded during the battle, and the last she had heard, the two of them and their son had settled into a nice cottage in Hogsmeade. The premature lines on his face weathered his expression, however, and he sat at the Head's table looking solemn and grim.

Before she knew it, they had eaten and were on their way to the common room. They were slightly ahead of the prefects and five new first-years that had been sorted into Gryffindor, and could hear their voices reverb on the walls. The walk was extremely unsettling. She could distinctly remember where the hourglasses had shattered, where a wall had crumbled, where various corpses were found… She tried to step around the place where Fred Weasley had died without seeming too obvious about it. The castle attempted to send her tendrils of comfort up her legs, and Hermione paused to stroke the nearest wall in thanks.

The Gryffindor common room was blissfully whole, warm and comforting, but dominated with various red things. She saw the color, grimaced slightly, and said her good nights. The eight years were given their own shared room, and pushing past the doors she saw Lavender Brown and Pavarti Patil sitting on a bed, their faces somber, engaged in a deep discussion. Lavender's scars were dramatic, running down her face and the side of her body, but the last she heard she wasn't exhibiting any signs of lycanthropy since she had been mauled by Fenrir.

She gave both girls a nod, and then stared at what must be her bed. Red sheets, red pillows, a red comforter…. A wave of her wand and the color changed to a calming dark blue. A whim passed, another flick, and stars appeared. She ignored the other girls soft inquisitive noises, and set about preparing for bed. She didn't even have the opportunity to close the curtains before she fell asleep, a tiredness settling into her bones.

She was walking up to the castle, her muscles sore as she saw dark, billowing clouds roll onto the horizon. The landscape was an expose of brown, red, and black; kicked up dirt in rocky piles, spilt blood splattered across rocks, and scattered fallen bodies from battle, the edge of their black robes picked up by the wind. She stopped in trepidation as one of them started to rise, his Death Eater mask tumbling to reveal the dark, steady eyes of a Lestrange brother. His head was little more than gaping, exposed flesh, the skin like peeling leather, as blood started to drip from his eyes and the ripped holes in his cheeks. Red dribbled past his chin. What little was left of his mouth sneered.

Hermione felt her heart palpitate in shock and fear as she took a step back, and quickened her pace to the castle as he started stumbling towards her. She gave a cry as other corpses started to rise, and broke into a sprint. Their skin was in various stages of decay and they stood unnaturally as barely held together pieces of flesh, bone shining through torn muscles and skin. Her panic mounted as she realized they were advancing far more quickly than they should have been able to. She pushed herself to go faster, anxiety causing her fingers to spasm, as she pushed open the doors leading to the entrance of the castle.

The light behind her illuminated the castle entrance. Scattered bits of crumbled wall littered the floor, and light reflected off the outline of more broken bodies. As soon as she got nearer, they stood on their feet and started to follow her, and she clutched her wand in desperation. She recognized Fred Weasley with horror, the white of his eyes an unsettling yellow as he walked, mindless of exposed entrails slowly falling out of the gaping hole in his abdomen. Descending from the staircase she saw what she thought might be Vincent Crabbe, his large frame difficult to make out from all of the burned flesh, his eyeballs a disturbing contrast to the red, broiled face, his expression locked in an eternal display of agony.

The only free avenue was towards the dungeons. She rushed down, flying past the Potions Classroom and Professor Snape's office. She wasn't at all familiar with the doorways leading further underneath Hogwarts, and she traveled a ways before Bellatrix Lestrange's cackle to her left encouraged her to push open the door to her right. She saw more stone stairs leading into pitch black. She hesitated, but Bella's singsong, "Mudblood, play with me!" forced her to close the door and light her wand.

The sides of the staircase were slick with moisture and the stone musty, and Hermione was careful to tread deliberately. As far as she knew, there were no levels to Hogwarts below the dungeons (outside of the Chamber of Secrets). It eventually led to a chamber of sorts, intricate rune circles overlapping in a complicated pattern in the middle of the room. As soon as she stepped off the last step, she felt a burst of magic as all of the nearby candles and torches were lit at once and illuminated what she hadn't been able to see by wandlight.

Piles of corpses and human skeletons scattered throughout the room. Some hanging from the ceiling in shackles. And then, in the center of the runes, a wash of black like a visible miasma formed into an old woman wrapped in moth-eaten shawls. She peered at Hermione from behind stringy grey strands, and smiled with several missing teeth.

"ðês uferian êower?" she stated, tilting her head forward in a severe fashion.

Hermione took another unsteady step into the room, and the old woman's body dissolved into black and reformed as an attractive young man, his eyes bright blue and his hair dark and curling.

"Canne yfel ædan êower?" he asked, licking his lips in obvious anticipation. Hermione froze and attempted to take in the room. The walls were made of carved limestone, but were cracking at the surface. Rune settings and wards were wrapped with care around the man, but there was an obvious weathering around the corners, and a couple runes were barely there at all. The room was covered in dust, and the state of the corpses seemed to be suspended; from the smell, none of them seemed to be actively decomposing.

The man seemed to be scrutinizing her just as intently, noting the wand pointed in his direction and the wary, grim set to her face. "Salazar âsendan êower?"

Her eyes snapped to his at that. Salazar? How old was this room? How did she get here? The hairs on the back of her neck started to stand, and she had to stop herself from hyperventilating. She didn't recognize all of the runes, but she recognized the placement. Similar patterns existed in grimoires that detailed how to bind demons.

Hermione started and accidentally took another step forward as loud thuds thrashed against the door at the top of the stairs. The doorknob rattled, but Hermione was looking forward in horror. Her foot had accidentally stepped on some runes while she was trying to balance herself, and she felt herself being sucked forward. The young man was now a little girl, no more than six, wearing a sick grin with eyes that glittered in triumph.

"Wæcnan," the girl stated imperiously, wriggling her fingers is a come hither motion.

Hermione tore herself away, even as she felt her very essence begin to seep away from her body into the cracks in the floor. She flew up the stairs, and the door tore open. Sybill Trelawney stumbled down the stairs, an old woman with glazed, blind eyes and crooked teeth underneath periwinkle gauze.

"Blood need be spilt, and hands grasped if this castle is to remain intact. Divisions mended and hostility broken, as four united the words are spoken. Caution be warned of this tale, of those the devourer inhales. Souls remain lost, adrift in the curse, their bodies to rot and magic aspersed."

Hermione missed a step as she reared back in surprise, and shrieked, falling into a black shroud. And then she shrieked and pain erupted as she was stretched and shredded, losing herself in the dark amidst never-ending screams and wails…

Hermione started awake, the last of her screams echoing off of Hogwart's stone walls. She looked across the room, chest heaving, and could not stop herself screaming again as a figure moved across the room towards her bed. She reached under her pillow for her wand, and just barely stopped herself from crying out when she felt it was missing. She frantically looked over the side of the bed, saw it had rolled a few feet underneath, and grabbed it in desperation. By the time she had it grasped in her fist, swinging it around brashly, the image of a curious young Dark Lord had vanished.

Instead she saw her irritated and cranky housemates looking over at her in exasperation. Hermione took a few deep breaths, gave them a quick apology, and flicked her wand at the curtains. She spent the rest of the night awake, tensing at every creak and groan, repeating the instructions to various Potions in her head. She tried very hard not to remember what she was fairly sure was a prophesy from her dreams.

To be continued...

A/N: I would like to apologize for my inadequate attempts at reproducing credible Old English. Please bear with me- I am doing research and trying to learn. To those that are curious, the title means Soul Devourer.

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or any of its franchises. Unfortunately.