Dark Days

Dark Days Chapter Twelve – Christmas alone

Hermione sat at the desk surrounded by a pile of discarded books. She had been sat at the same desk for days now going through book after book.
She now knew that the Mayor of Dorset (a wizard of little renown until 1941) had managed to transform himself into a flea. However a flea’s mass being somewhat smaller than a humans (particularly this human) the change was not successful. It was impossible to cram so much mass into so little, and he actually exploded, a matter of which his wife was most put out, as he had ruined their new carpet.
She knew that people desiring a canine transformation should drink the potion and perform the incantation under the light of the full moon as this tends to provide best results. And those wanting an avian other form should orm orm it at daybreak on the first day of spring with their faces towards the sunrise.
She knew that Max Makda of Chicago had performed the incantation incorrectly and missed out a minor ingredient of the potion and did not manage a complete change. Unfortunately he ended up stuck in a half-man half-bird form for the rest of his life. He spent most of it with a circus’ travelling freak show where he made his fortune and settled down to a nice quiet retirement in a rural backwater, however he was killed a year later by a religious fanatic who believed him to be the spawn of Satan.
She knew that women tended to become passive animals while men tended towards more violent or powerful animals, but she was still no nearer to discovering why she had no fixed animal at all.

She put her head down on the desk in disgust, resisting a rather strong urge to throw things at nearby walls and inoffensive people’s heads. Deciding that a change of scenery a str stretching of the legs was in order she put away the books and her writing things and headed for the elevator. There were two witches and a wizard with a bushy ginger beard already in along with a whole host of paper aeroplanes bearing messages from one department to another. She crammed herself into a corner to avoid any possible small-talk and swatted irritably at an aeroplane which was buzzing annoyingly around her head.

It seemed to take ages to reach the sixth floor down where the café was although it was really only a minute or two. Stepping out she was annoyed to find that the paper plane followed her, still buzzing persistently round her head, then as she made her way to the counter it gave one last regretful buzz down her ear and zoomed off to deposit itself firmly in the hands of an aging wizard at a table who was enjoying a quiet cup of tea, which the plane only narrowly missed.

“What can I get you?” asked the young girl at the desk.

“A coffee and a cheese sandwich with salad please.”

“Sure thing, that’s…$3.20 please.

Hermione dug the money out of her purse, paid the girl and took her food over to a table by the simulated windows. ‘Outside’ it was snowing and the street it portrayed was full of people wrapped up in scarves and hats and cars beeping their horns at teenagers dashing across the road without looking. She sighed, thinking mournfully of all the books she had looked through without a single ounce of success. The only ones left now on the subject where the fictional ones, and she held out little hope that they would contain any information, and if they did she would have no way of knowing if it were true. She sighed again and took a great mouthful of hot coffee, burning her tongue in the process. Perhaps she really did need the advice of someone else, of Dumbledore, but she was still reluctant to return to Hogwarts. Not quite ready to face her old life. ‘Outside’ a small blonde-haired girl fell over in the snow and her mother picked her up quickly and brushed her down. Hermione watched with them walk away together and feelings of loneliness welled up inside her. Maybe it was time to return home. But another voice inside her kept saying, “Not now, not yet. Give it time!”

* * * * * *

At Hogwarts Cho stood amidst a disaster area while Harry stood to one side laughing hysterically.

“It’s not funny Harry it’s going to take me ages to tidy this up.”

“I..I’ll…help,” he managed to gasp between laughs.

“If it wasn’t for that bloody cat it wouldn’t have happened in the first place!” she scowled.

The bloody cat in question was perched somewhat sheepishly on the windowsill regarding the mess with a mixed air of amusement and apology.

“He’s lonely, he misses Hermione,” said Harry finally getting control of his giggles.

“That’s no reason to go trashing our Christmas tree,” she said, although much of the anger had gone out of her voice, and Crookshanks, feeling more confident leaped off the windowsill and paraded through the mess towards the door and mewed to be let out. He’d spent the morning playing with the baubles on the Christmas tree and all in all he felt that it had been a rather successful morning, well, discounting the fact that he’d actually ended up knocking it over and breaking several things.

“Poor beast, I sometimes wonder how much he knows about what’s going on.”

“I expect he knows most of it,” said Harry, “He’s a surprisingly intelligent cat.”

“Yes, anyway you. I thought you were going to help me clear up this mess.”

“I am,” said Harry looking confused, “But you haven’t started yet.”

“I know dear, but I just need to have a bath, so why don’t you get started while I do that and I’ll help you when I get out.” She stretched up to kiss him and made her way to the bathroom. “Do try not to make too much noise darling.”

Harry stood there for a while looking bewildered and then sighed resignedly and took out his wand to begin straightening the tree and mending baubles. It didn’t take too long after all and since Cho was still in the bath when he finished he decided to surprise her and get well and truly into the good books by getting breakfast. Not actually cooking it you understand since even boiling an egg was beyond Harry’s abilities. Since leaving the Dursley’s all manner of cooking ability he had ever possessed seemed to have vanished without trace. So flinging some floo powder into the fireplace he nipped down to the kitchens where Dobby and several other eager house elves brought steaming platters of bacon, sausage, toast, eggs, coffee as well as cereal and a jug of orange juice.

Before he left Harry noticed the sleeping form of Winky, far gone in drink huddled by the fireplace. He felt a great upsurge of pity for the poor house elf. She had never taken to life at Hogwarts and longed for the days when she had served Barty Crouch. Dumbledore had eventually managed to wean her off the butterbeer, but she still had relapses from time to time and this seemed to be one of them.

Taking the tray more firmly in his hands he said goodbye to the house elves and decided not to risk flooing back with a tray full of food so he thanked the elves once again, refused Dobby’s offers of help carrying the tray and set out to walk back to his rooms.

Cho was still in the bath when he got there so he set the table and transfigured her a rose which he placed beside her meal.

“You’re going to turn into a prune if you stay in there any longer Cho,” he called into the bathroom.

“I’m getting out now,” she said and emerged moments later wrapped in a thick white towelling robe. “What smells good?” she asked.

“I brought breakfast.”

“Ooo a man who cleans and brings me breakfast, I’m liking this I should leave you too it more often.”

Harry shook his head, “Nah, it wouldn’t be the same if you had it all the time, whereas now it’s a nice surprise!” He grinned impishly and bent down to kiss her and then directed her over to the table.

She saw the rose and kissed him again, “I think you’re going soppy and romantic in your old age Harry.”

“I know terrible isn’t it?” he replied and began to pile his plate with bacon and eggs.

* * * * * *

The prisoner in the corner was only vaguely aware of what was going on around him. Half comatose and almost completely indifferent to any events that may take place, he no longer cared what happened to him. The voices outside were raised and hurrying feet clattered along the corridor, eager to get their job done and get out before and more retributions came from their master.

“The prisoner has to be moved,” growled a deep husky voice.

“This is insanity, where the hell are we going to move him to? This is the safest place we have to hold him,” this voice was higher, less gravely but still undeniably a man.

“So how come spies got in then?”

“We don’t even know if they did or not.”

“Do you want to tell that to the big boss?” he growled.

“No thanks I saw what he did to the two guys that were on duty on the night it was supposed to have happened.”

“I heard about that; poor bastards. Took them hours to finally die I’m told. I tell you something when he gets pissed off he doesn’t do it by halves!”

The prisoner they talked off was lifted bodily off the floor and slung over a man’s shoulder where he hung limply. He was carried out of the filthy, stinking room that had been his residence for the past few months and carried down a black and winding corridor. From there he was dumped in a car, knocked unconscious and the car began to move, taking him away from the place where his only friends knew to look for him.

* * * * * *

Hermione decided not to take a taxi back to her hotel but to walk through the busy bustling streets of New York. The snow had long since been ground to slush by the passing of many feet and what was left now lay in grey heaps in the gutters. Thousands of people bustled about frantic in their attempts to get everything they needed at the last minute for the upcoming holiday, carrying bags and bags of toys gif gifts and seasonal foods and decorations. Hermione walked sadly through them all, she’d never spent Christmas alone before, never had no-one to buy for or to share a meal with and the prospect was profoundly depressing.

She had no idea when she looked back how she found the hotel, or how she got there alive as she paid almost no attention to her surroundings or where she was going. On one occasion she nearly walked out into a busy road and only the timely hand of passer by saved her from the wheels of a yellow taxi cab.

Her room seemed smaller and colder somehow, and the prospect of tomorrow and the day after with no one to see, and watching everyone around her spent their special day with family and friends was not filling her with particularly warm and fuzzy feelings. She didn’t even have the library to console her, although she had taken out several books about potions to cross reference her own, and the A-Z of becoming an Animagus just to make sure there was nothing useful in there.

Deciding that she may as well do something profitable with her evening instead of just sitting around moping; she made up her mind to concentrate on the practical side of changing form. Carefully locking the door and closing the curtains, she pushed all the furniture against the walls to give herself ample room and sat cross legged on the floor. Trying to clear her mind she focused on the change. Her arms began to shrink and grow feathers but the rest of her body remained the same, when nothing else began to happen she quickly focused on her human form and returned to normal. Getting up she began to pace irritably around the room.

“Okay Hermione, think! When you want to return to human you never have a problem but when you try to change form it never works. There has to be a reason for that.”

She stalked the length of the room, running her hands through her already tousled hair.

“Think about it logically, what do you do differently?”

She flopped down on the bed with a thud and pulled the pillow down to bury her face in it. She lay there for some time, occasionally banging her head back on the bed as if that would somehow jog her mind towards the right answer.

“Well, when you’re changing back towards human you know exactly what you should look like and so concentrate harder, maybe that helps.”

She tossed the pillow aside and began stalking the room again. She stopped suddenly and once again had to resist an urge to throw things or hit something. That seemed to happening quite a lot recently.

“You are so mentally challenged Hermione, when you try to change form you’re not concentrating on any animal because you don’t know what you’re supposed to be, so maybe if I concentrate it’ll help…”

She grinned exultantly and then caught sight of herself in the mirror on the wall, but you’re talking to yourself again, and in third person. NOT a good sign!”

She shook her head and sat down on the floor again to attempt the change once more.

Closing her eyes, she focused on one particular form, a snowy owl. She had spent so much time with Hedwig, Harry’s faithful owl that she could picture her in great detail. Then drawing a deep breath she focused her will and began to melt into the shape, keeping it in her mind every second, her eyes screwed shut. She shrank slowly towards the ground, brilliant white feathers sprouting everywhere, her face lurched forwards and hardened into a beak and her fingers, hands and arms melted together into long, graceful wings. Cautiously she opened her eyes. The detail she could see was amazing; every speck of dust, every hair of the carpet was in perfect focus. Hooting gleefully she took off from her perch on the floor and circled the room in a triumphant victory dance. She circled several more times before realising that owls were not usually heard in a room of one of New York’s most prestigious hotels and decided that she should probably shut up and change back.

She landed on the bed and shimmered back into her true form.

“That was so cool!” she breathed.

* * * * * *

The prisoner had finally reached his destination it seemed. He had been thrown in a dark corner and left there. He had no concept of how long the journey had taken or where he was now. He could hardly remember who he was never mind anything more complex. There was a dim memory of a time when he was not here. There had been a name then, Snape, Severus Snape he had been. It had been a long time since he had thought of that name, of that life. It felt like years. He had held on to his identity a long time. Longer than most of the prisoners who had come and gone from the cells either side of his but eventually he had forgotten, or almost forgotten. But daily torment had gradually taught him not to think of who he was or his old life, but just to concentrate on staying alive. One name however had never faded from his mind. Hermione Granger. That name was often all that kept him sane. That and the firm belief that she would come for him. But the chances of that seemed slim now. Apparently someone had found their way into his last hideaway. But how could they find him now? He tried to push away the thoughts that he would be here forever. That they would not come and he would be left to suffer and scream and die.

The heavy door in front of him opened and a tall lean man and coldly beautiful woman stepped through. He closed his eyes and refused to look at them. Pushing every thought out of his head he tried to push further up to the wall, his arms clasped protectively around his legs which were drawn up to his chest.

“Look darling, I don’t think he’s pleased to see us! I’m hurt, aren’t you?”

Jai’mea flicked her raven black locks out of her eyes and purred, “Indeed I am. And I was so looking forward to this visit. What a shame to spoil it by his inhospitality…”

Voldemort grinned and leaned back against the wall. “So, how do you like you’re new apartment?” What? Not impressed?”

The room was high up this time, which improved the quality of the air, although nothing else was improved.

“I really wanted to install you in a nice slimy dungeon somewhere, knowing how much you like dungeons, but there just wasn’t anywhere safe enough, so this was the next best thing. And now that you’ve been moved I have no fear of you being found and me losing one of my favourite toys…”

Severus glared contemptuously at this which only made Voldemort laugh. “Well well, looks like he hasn’t lost all his fire after all.”

“Can I play now?” purred Jai’mea.

“He’s all yours…” Voldemort watched her approach Severus with an almost childlike glee. He did appreciate watching her work. It was almost more pleasurable than doing it yourself, and certainly afforded much less physical exertion.

* * * * * *

Hermione had pushed all the furniture in her room back into its appropriate places before deciding that it would actually be a good idea to experiment with this. Since she hadn’t automatically changed into one specific form did that mean that she would be able to alternate between forms? Settling herself back down on the floor she concentrated hard on another form. This time a large ginger cat with bandy legs.

It seemed harder this time, she focused hard and lost track of everything else she was doing and just concentrated as hard as she could on the image of her beloved cat, her eyes squeezed tightly shut.

“Come on, come on…” she murmured.

Long moments passed and when she opened them she was almost surprised to notice her changed vision. She turned her head to look at herself and saw a tangled mat of ginger fur glaring back at her and a long bushy tail.

“Meow?” she asked, before realising that as a cat she couldn’t vocalise her thoughts in any way that would mean something to her.

Testing out the form she leaped up on to the bed with a graceful ease. The power of this form was incredible. She moved with such an unconscious grace and sophistication, and as cats go Crookshanks was not really one of them, so she marvelled at what other cats must be like. From the bed she leapt the (now huge) distance to the chest of drawers and squirmed her way under the curtain so that she could sit on the windowsill and gaze at the world below.

She must have sat there for half an hour at least. Just alone with her thoughts, watching the tiny dots that were people bustle about on the dark streets below. There was something very restful about being a cat. Her own mind sti still present, but the mind of the cat was there too, even as the owl’s had been. It was pleasant to let the cat’s mind dominate for a while. All her worries seemed insignificant now. The cat could just take over and give her a break. It was nice not to think about things other than the importance of keeping ones fur well groomed and how irritating it was to have to disturb oneself for humans. Other important thoughts revolved around how good mice tasted and the best way to suck up to humans to get out of trouble and get extra treats. Nothing earth shaking or painful. In many ways it was better than sleep for relaxing and riding her mind of her troubles. She now understood her Minerva’s fondness for her other form.

Eventually deciding that it would probably be good to get something to eat she regretfully changed back to her human form, luckily remembering to jump down from the windowsill beforehand.

She switched on the light, noticing for the first time that she had been sat in almost total darkness and unlocked her door. Looking down at her clothes she decided that it would also probably be a good idea to change before dinner as the dining room of the hotel rather resembled a palace interior. The clothes in her wardrobe she had conjured up with thought to this however and her new clothes resembled those of a queen, so she should fit in splendidly.

Choosing a long red dress and sedate heels with a simple diamond pendant, she swept out of her room with the elegance of an empress. The dining room was mercifully quite quiet by this time of the evening and she chose a table in the far corner, away from other diners, not wishing to be disturbed. The food of course was exquisite and she was mercifully left alone and undisturbed by unwelcome companions. Her decision to have a drink in the bar afterwards was perhaps not the best in the worowevowever.

The bar, unlike the restaurant was busy, so she found the quietest part she could and ordered an archers and lemonade. A man with beach blonde hair and bright blue eyes watched her curiously from his table of friends. When it was clear that no-one was with her he sauntered over, a smile on his face that quite clearly meant that he thought he was irresistible and wasn’t used to being contradicted.

“Drinking alone?” It wasn’t really a question, more a statement of fact.

Hermione glared at him contemptuously. “How observant of you!”

“Let me buy you a drink doll.”

“No thank you,” she spat. “And don’t call me doll.”

“But hey, I don’t know your name. Maybe if you tell me that then I won’t have to call you doll.”

She didn’t answer him but downed her archers and signalled the barman. “Tequila please.”

“Hey look maybe we got off to a bad start, I’m Brad.” He held out his hand to shake, she ignored it. He pulled up a bar stool and ordered a Jack Daniels and coke.

“So what are you doing in New York then?”

“None of your damn business.”

“Hey look I’m only trying to make polite conversation here!” He flashed a b a beaming smile revealing rows of pearly white teeth.

“Well it may have escaped your notice but I’m not that interested in conversation, polite or otherwise. All I want is to finish my drink and be left in peace.”

“I’m here on business myself,” he continued ignoring her. She stared at him in disbelief. “I work as for an independent fashion designer. I’m here to publicise his new line.”

She stoically ignored him and continued with her drink. “Look I’m making an effort here to be friendly, could you at least give me a little in return?” he asked.

“For god’s sake how many times? I don’t want to talk to you! I don’t care if you’re here on business or pleasure. I couldn’t care less if your name is Jim, Kaine or Mary. I just want to be left alone!” She got up to move andcaugcaught her arm.

“Hey, I just thought you looked lonely. And you’re a good-looking woman, bad-tempered maybe but pretty damn gorgeous. Why don’t we go up to my room and then we can get to know each other without all these people around?”

She stared at him in utter amazement andppedpped in closer. Looking up into his eyes she murmured, “You are disgusting. You’re an immature pig who has no respect for other people’s wishes or needs,” her eyes flashed angrily. “On a further note you are also not my type, I prefer men, not slimy blonde-haired beach-bum boys and certainly not idiots like you. Moreover if you don’t get your hand off me right now I promise you that you’ll regret it!”

He removed his hand somewhat shocked at her response. “Hey chill out babe…”

He never got the rest of that sentence out; almost imperceptibly Hermione drew her wand from her bag and paralysed him where he stood. She didn’t care at this point that anyone may have seen, or what he’d think when he got back his senses. All she cared about was getting back to her room with a minimum of fuss. That done she turned back to the bar, downed the last of her tequila and waltzed gracefully out of the room. As soon as she was clear of the bar she released the spell on Brad.

His senses came rushing back to him all at once and he gazed around in bemusement at where the woman before him had gone.

When Hermione reached her room she was in a towering rage, bloody men and their fucking pride and egos. All they bloody cared about was sex. Although when she calmed down and thought about it she decided that it was actually quite amusing and collapsed into helpless giggles for a while.


Christmas Eve dawned bright and early, but Hermione felt profoundly depressed. With nothing to do all day and no-one to visit she was definitely feeling the Christmas blues. It was very tempting just to stay in bed and sleep till it was all over. Just to curl up in a ball and pretend to not exist was definitely sounding like a nigh on brilliant plan. The faint rattle of wheels however told her that the maids were already en route to clean the rooms so she regretfully dragged herself out of bed. The clock on the wall said 10:37, she had missed breakfast. Sluggishly she wandered into the shower in an attempt to wake herself up and then pulled on some warm clothes.

When she emerged from ththrothroom a young girl was busy stripping the sheets from the bed and putting fresh ones in their place.

“Good morning Ma’am,” she greeted Hermione cheerfully.

“Good morning,” said Hermione as she rummaged around for her bag. Some serious retail therapy was definitin oin order, and as she had conjured up a large amount of American money and could make more at a moments notice, money was no object. It was really a rather nice prospect to be able to go out shopping with no restrictions on what you could or couldn’t buy and how much to spend.

It was bitterly cold outside and she milled around in the streets with hundreds of frantic last minute shoppers. Inside the big department stores long queues of impatient children waited to see Santa Claus, excited at the prospect of a day of presents and sweets and good food.

It was hours and hours later that she finally returned to the hotel, arms aching with the weight of many bags holding many pairs of shoes and more clothes than she would ever need. Brad was in the reception area and she groaned inwardly as she saw him and tried to hurry past unseen. Fortunately he didn’t notice her, or if he did was too embarrassed from the teasing his friends had given him last night, or too freaked out to approach her and she passed without incident.

Trying not to think of tomorrow and her first ever Christmas alone she packed her new bought things away and sensibly decided to order room service rather than go downstairs again. She sat at the window as she waited and watched the world go by. Outside it had begun to snow and tiny crystalline flakes floated lazily past the window to the floor far below.