Author's note: As of this chapter, I have seen Goblet of Fire and am blessing the movie Gods for an extraordinary piece of filmmaking. Comparisons with the book aside, I thought the movie was the best of the series. Dan acted really well. I mean, his acting ability wasn't really all that impressive in the last three films. Just that he was dishy, so I loved him, but he really came through in this movie. Those eyes of his… aiyayay! I don't think I could've said no to him if I was Cho! When she called him back and he was skittering and hoping she would say yes even after she said no… broke my heart. Krum, too, was hypnotizing, even without words. Ron was hilarious-better than before-but it was really the twins who won me over. The twins were perfect. Especially when Angelina was asked to the dance, then Ron attempted the same moves on Hermione, and he failed miserably, of course. I'm not particularly annoyed that there were so many things in the film that were changed from the book. I'd say we should get over it, as books and movies are two completely different mediums, and that we're only cheating ourselves if we use the book to color our enjoyment of a film quite well done. I know quite a lot of you don't feel the same way I do about it, but I guess we shall have to agree to disagree. With that, let's all kiss and make up because we're all Harmonians after all. ^_^
See my whole review here.
Special thanks to my beta-reader, Lady Diamond. ^_^ I swear, I gave this monster-chapter to her last night and I got it back this morning. She's awesome.
Chapter Rating: R
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Chapter Ninth: Homecoming
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Two hours after nightfall, Harry sat in the living room with Ron and wallowed in last minute angst.
"What if she takes one look at me and thinks that we can't work it out?" Harry asked, leaning back miserably on the couch.
Ron was about to answer when Harry was off again.
"What if I screw up one day and just happen to have a pizza and I kiss her and that just makes her realize it's all impossible?"
Ron frowned and tried again.
Harry sat up. "What'll happen when I'm older and wrinkly and she stops thinking I'm 'fanciable' and leaves me for some strapping young vampire who will never age?"
"For Merlin's sake, Harry!" Ron cried.
"What?"
Ron motioned to say something, hesitated and sighed. "Look, stop with all the stupid questions already. You have to settle down and take it one step at a time. We'll wait and she'll be at the door and… just take it from there, alright? Just calm down, for both our sakes. You're driving me spare."
"Fine. Sorry. I'm just a little wired."
"You're what?"
"Wired. Muggle expression…" He blew a breath through his lips and reached for one of the boxes of chocolate he got for her. The particular brand he bought was listed in the So Your Sweetheart's A Vampire book under "Chocolate Favorites". He thought maybe a homecoming present would be nice and comforting.
Anxiously, he got up and peered into the mirror. He didn't really dress up dress up, but he wanted to look a bit presentable. He had selected one of his nicer t-shirts, bought a decent pair of jeans that was actually his size and-shock and awe-new trainers. His hair was as impossible as ever, but he ran his fingers through it anyway, trying to beat it into submission.
He turned to Ron. "Do I look alright?"
Ron's lip twitched. "Er… you look nice?"
"Nice is what people say when they're too polite to say something bad, isn't it?"
"Well, girl friend, if you must know, those glasses aren't working for me at all."
Harry sighed, putting up his hands. "You're right. I'm being an idiot. It doesn't matter how I look. Hermione and I love each other and that's the sum of it. At least that's what those sappy romance novels say, eh? That it doesn't matter how you look, blah, blah, blah…"
"Actually, in popular romance novels, you don't really get ugly leads. They're usually very beautiful and handsome. Blokes like you and me are just secondary characters because we're ordinary, and the female lead never falls in love with us. We're just there for comic relief and sometimes one or both of us falls in love with her, our love unrequited, of course. We usually end up sacrificing our lives for the wo-"
"Exactly what have you been reading in your free time, Ron?"
"What? You've never heard of Fifi La Folle?"
"Who?"
"Author of the popular Enchanted Encounters series. Ginny has loads of them on her bookshelves. It's only a tad less racier than Crystal Claire Waters' Ensorcelled Wand series."
"You have got to be kidding me."
"Oh, not at all. La Folle still uses euphemisms for the unmentionables. Waters just lets 'er rip and calls it like it is."
"I meant about you reading them, Ron."
Ron reddened. "Oh… well, I-oy! I had no choice! Those nights body-guarding for dad, I had to keep myself occupied during the down times!"
"With Ginny's trash novels. Sure."
Ron was about to say something when he stopped and let his gaze drift beyond Harry's shoulder.
Harry turned and was looking out of the window where a car had pulled up in front of number 11. The car was a black Volvo.
Silently, they watched as the driver stepped out and opened the back-seat door.
Cicero emerged in a dark-grey business suit looking as impeccable as ever. He stepped back from the door and offered his hand to help the other passenger out.
The bushy brown hair was unmistakable and Harry felt his heart thumping loudly. He didn't know why he was so nervous. This was Hermione. His Hermione, and he shouldn't have to be scared that anything had changed. They'd talked in the last two days and they seemed perfectly alright.
I have nothing to worry about.
He watched her momentarily as she went to the boot, knocking on it. She had some things in the back, it seemed.
It was odd, but he did notice that there was something different about her. From afar it was rather hard to tell, but… her clothes. They were so-well, dark. Of all the times he'd known Hermione, she always wore something light, or pink, or pastel. Now, looking at her, there was nothing bright about her clothing. Her jeans were black. Her jumper was dark green and she seemed to be wearing a black, cropped leather jacket. He didn't even know she had one of those.
Tonks had taken care of bringing Hermione's clothes and he thought maybe it had more to do with Tonks than anything else.
Hermione pulled out her rucksack and a large book, probably the one Ron had given her. Fred and George's balloons had been reduced to two tiny, golf-ball sized orbs and tied to the back of her pack.
"She looks rather pale, don't you think?" asked Ron.
Harry shot him a scowl. "Well, what the hell did you expect? She'd come back with a tan?"
Ron reddened, realizing how stupid he had sounded.
Hermione let Cicero through the wards and led him to the porch.
Harry and Ron hurried to the front to meet them. They arrived just when Hermione was setting her load down on the console table. Cicero was just stepping in right after her.
Harry couldn't help it when he stopped at the end of the hall, seeing her for the first time since she had died in his arms.
She did look awfully pale; bloodless, with only a hint of blush on her cheeks. But the difference in her appearance went further than that. First there were her lips, redder than they'd ever been and protruding ever so slightly to accommodate the pearly little fangs, retracted though they were. Then there were her eyes. They were still brown, but they bordered on translucent, almost like amber from a certain angle. Sharp, penetrating, hauntingly ferocious. And finally her hair. It had always been bushy, alternating between waves and curls, but now it was-well, it looked almost like it was styled to be that way. Her chocolate-brown strands were glossy, curled and waved in the perfect places, alive with volume. It was gorgeous, but… strange, especially since it looked like she had red highlights in her hair. She had hardly ever bothered about her appearance before, but now she looked more like a sculpture, an alabaster statue made alive under a master artist's hands.
He should have expected it, of course. He had read how vampires woke from their sleep looking perfectly groomed, but it still seemed surreal.
She stared right back at him, frozen at the threshold.
No one said a word.
Then Harry saw something familiar flash in her eyes. It was the look he saw on her when she wanted him, and it was so powerful this time that it almost caused him to disintegrate on the spot. He could have let that look overcome him. He might have given in to the urge to take her in his arms and carry her up to the rooms to make wild, passionate love to her, but she suddenly closed her eyes, cutting the sensations off, and she swallowed.
Cicero whispered something in her ear, his lips moving to soundless words.
Harry frowned, their closeness unnerving him, but he bit back whatever jealous protestations he might have made, telling himself that Cicero was her healer of sorts, and that he was helping her in ways Harry could not.
She nodded, kept her eyes closed for a few more seconds before opening them again and smiling hesitantly. "Harry…"
Hearing and seeing her speak, his anxiety fell away and he smiled back, taking the first steps towards her. He didn't get far before she was in his arms, her face buried in his chest as she returned his embrace.
He finally had her back.
The sweet realization that talking to her was nothing compared to having her in his arms in complete silence made the moment more precious, and Harry didn't much care if they weren't the only two people in the hall.
She turned her chin up, touching her cheek to his neck. She was warm there. Her soft lips touched his jaw, and she seemed hesitant, like she was testing herself, before pressing a firmer kiss on his skin.
Sensations rushed from the point of contact and Harry gently cupped her face so he could touch his lips to hers. It was a quick but tender kiss; a wordless greeting deep with emotion.
"Other people here, in case you forgot," said Ron.
Harry sighed and Hermione smiled, close-lipped as their foreheads touched.
She pulled away from Harry and went to Ron, giving him his own hug hello.
Harry cocked a smile and turned to welcome their visitor. He was instead scared half to death finding Cicero suddenly standing right next to him.
"Shite!" Harry gasped, falling a step back as he clutched at his heart. "Where'd you-"
Cicero looked apologetic. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have done that. I should have made some kind of sound-"
"You should've stomped, or… yodeled or something!" Harry said, still rather flustered.
"Won't happen again."
He felt Hermione's hand slide into his, tugging at him gently. Waves of calm rippled over him and he managed to smile at her.
"I've some welcome home presents for you," he said. "They're in the living room. Come on." He was about to turn to Cicero to invite him when Cicero raised a hand.
"Never invite a strange vampire into your home, Harry," Cicero said quietly. "Vampires will enter a house whether invited or not, but it's best that you don't express any verbal or written invitation. You don't want to lose what little advantage you have over them. Remember that."
Harry nodded nervously. He draped his arm over Hermione's shoulders as she slipped her arms around his waist, exchanging perturbed glances with her.
"It's alright," she whispered.
It was assurance enough and they walked to the living room, Ron on her other side tossing cautious glances at Cicero.
Remus emerged from the end of the hall and smiled. "Well, hullo, there Hermione! Welcome back!"
Grinning, Hermione went to accept his embrace after which they all sat down in the living room to discuss Hermione's homecoming.
Harry gave her the chocolates and her eyes sparkled delightedly, marred only by the tightness of her smile.
She doesn't like flashing her fangs, he thought morosely.
Leaning over, she put her lips to his ear. "Thank you," she said breathily.
He felt no breath from her lips, but her soft voice send tiny vibrations from his ear to the rest of him. He sighed and he could have happily melted into a boneless heap on the floor.
"Hermione." It was Cicero, and he sounded like he was reminding her of something, shooting her a pointed stare.
Her eyes widened for a moment before a blush put a bit more color to her cheeks. She pulled away from Harry.
He frowned, sliding his arm around her to keep her close, but she seemed to have put up an invisible wall of sorts and Harry didn't like it in the least. He dealt Cicero a mild glare but the older vampire only smiled placidly back.
Hermione passed the chocolate all around.
"Now," said Cicero. "I trust Hermione's chamber was taken cared of?"
Harry nodded. "Yes. Jaime was very helpful and Max's crew didn't give us a hard time at all."
"Good! And I assume you've kept yourselves well-informed on the matter of vampirism."
Harry grinned and shot Ron a smirk.
"Well, I know never to charge a vampire compound interest of more than 15% per annum," Ron said. "You folks hate that."
Cicero chuckled but Hermione looked confused. Harry whispered that he'd explain it to her later.
Remus took some chocolate. It was his favorite snack, after all. "I'm at least well-prepared to deal with emergency situations. I haven't forgotten what I learned from my days as vampire servant."
Hermione made to protest but Remus waved her into silence.
"Oh, don't you worry, Hermione," he said. "I won't be surrendering myself to your services in this lifetime, but you know I shall be there for you whether you like it or not. Kind of like how McGonagall would go about it, eh?"
She smiled, this time letting a bit of fang show through.
Harry wished she wouldn't be so self-conscious. He was a bit surprised that he didn't think the fangs too terrible. He supposed that retracted, the canines weren't threatening at all.
He ran his hand up and down her arm in a gentle caress and she responded by leaning back against him.
Cicero nodded. "You've great friends, Hermione."
"I know."
"In the next two weeks, you must pay regular visits to my office. Apart from our set appointments, you know you can reach me at any time should you… have any sort of crisis."
Crisis? thought Harry. If she does, can't she just turn to us? To Remus, at least?
But Hermione just nodded.
Cicero turned to everyone. "As for the rest of you…" He eyed them one by one. "Floo me if anything comes up."
Remus looked grave and Harry had to wonder what exactly Cicero meant.
Ron was more vocal. "Floo you? Whatever for?"
"Oh," Hermione said. "Nothing really. Just that if I happen to attack any of you unwarrantedly, you should let him know. Immediately."
Ron turned to her, shocked.
Harry wasn't quite as surprised, but he did feel wretched for her. He could see in her eyes that she wasn't kidding, and that it hurt her to admit such a thing. He couldn't be afraid of her. He simply couldn't. If she bit him in a mad frenzy, he figured he might as well go down with her, seeing as he'd be a total wreck if he lost her to madness, but he just couldn't see Hermione losing it that way. He believed that she was stronger than all of that. He only wished that he could make her believe the same thing.
Cicero did not contradict her. He rose from his seat, as did everyone. He shook hands all around and to Harry's discomfiture, exchanged cheek kisses with Hermione.
Harry knew they must have forged some kind of relationship being cooped up for three days in a dungeon, and he trusted Hermione enough to have no doubts about her fidelity, but it did bother him that she would have another bloke for a "best friend" that wasn't him and Ron. He knew he was being petty, and rather selfish, but among the many negative effects of her death, he supposed possessiveness was inevitable. He hoped it was only temporary. He didn't want to be a prat.
Remus offered to escort Cicero to the door and the three of them were left.
"It's great to have you back, Hermione," Ron said in a somewhat uncharacteristic show of warmth. "Didn't feel real, somehow, when we couldn't see you."
Harry smiled, idly running his fingers through her hair. He couldn't agree more.
"It's good to be home," she said softly. "When I was in the hospital, I was constantly afraid that Cicero was just lying about going back home. I thought maybe he was just telling me I can when I'd actually have to be spirited away to-I don't know-Albania and be made to live there the rest of my life."
That was too horrible to imagine.
"So…" she began, even softer still, her gaze lowering to her hands. "How different do I look? Do I frighten you?"
It broke Harry's heart to hear her ask such a question. He pulled her closer against him. "Hermione, no… we're not frightened of you. Right, Ron?"
Ron hesitated and Harry might have kicked him if Ron didn't regroup and say, "You do look different, but it would be stupid to be frightened of you. You're still our bossy little know-it-all, you know. Nothing's going to change that."
Her gaze rose and her eyes were liquid with tears, but she was smiling. "Git!"
"What'd I do?"
She laughed, and there they were; her fangs. Not nearly as scary as one would expect.
Remus returned minutes later and he cast Harry a meaningful look.
Harry nodded, taking Hermione's hand as he grew serious.
She stared at him, realizing that he had something important to say. "What is it?"
Harry turned to Remus and Remus just went ahead and said it. "The Auror Department and the Order want to get your statement about what happened that night at your parents' house. If you're willing, Shacklebolt will come here in a few hours to represent the aurors. I'll stand in for the Order. This is important, Hermione. I wouldn't have endorsed this if it wasn't necessary, but information is essential now, and we seldom have witnesses left to attacks like the one in your home. We need as much information as we can get."
Her grip on Harry's hand tightened ever so slightly. But for that, she was absolutely still.
Harry realized with mild horror that the look on her face was exactly what he saw when she lay dead in his arms. Apart from the fact that she was right there, talking to them, she was the picture of lifelessness.
He struggled to push that thought from his mind, reaching up to move some hair away from her face.
She blinked, shattering the stillness of her features. "It's-It's not something I want to remember. If I can erase it completely from my mind, I would, but I know it's important. I'm willing to do it. Will there be a pensieve handy?"
Remus nodded. "Yes. A pensieve will be necessary after we debrief you."
She nodded and Harry felt a slight tremble go through her.
"I'll be there with you," he said, giving her hand a reassuring squeeze.
Ron grinned. "You should've seen Harry setting the terms for this meeting. He flat out said it should be done here, that Moody can't be in it and that Remus will take his place. Tonks couldn't say no. He was brilliant."
Harry blushed as Hermione smiled up at him.
"I never doubted he could be," she said.
Her confidence in him meant everything.
"Well, we should get you settled back in," said Remus, rising from his seat. "I dare say the Weasleys will be coming by later on. Molly's been badgering me all afternoon… would you be willing to see them? I can tell them no for you."
Harry wondered if Remus wasn't falling into the servant role inadvertently. He read in the book that it was a matter of instinct for werewolves, and that their tendency was to fixate on one vampire master, so that they didn't have to be subjected to the orders of many.
"U-Um… it isn't that I don't want to see the Weasleys," she said, shooting Ron an apologetic glance. "Just… I'm not sure if I'm ready yet. I'm still… getting used to what I am."
Remus smiled kindly. "Molly will understand. A few more days, then. Now, I'll be in my study if anyone needs me. I've quite a few things to catch up on." He gave Hermione's shoulder a gentle squeeze before leaving.
"Harry," said Ron. "Why don't you show Hermione to her chamber. I'll go on ahead to the library and put it in order. It's gotten a bit messy without Hermione to keep it in order. I'll wait for you two there, alright?"
Harry was astounded and grateful for Ron's sensitivity.
Hermione remained expressionless for a moment before she stepped up to Ron and placed a delicate kiss on his cheek. "Thank you."
Ron looked like he was going to vaporize right there, blushing worse than ever. "Er, yeah… um, I'll be-er-up there." He turned and fled.
Harry suspected that kiss did more for Ron than Ron would ever be willing to admit. He stifled a sigh. He realized in the last three days that Ron was nowhere near getting over Hermione yet, and while Harry was glad that Ron opted to keep being their best friend in spite of it, it still pained Harry to see Ron suffer.
She turned to Harry, stepping into his arms and leaning her head against his shoulder. He held her close, looking down at her upturned face.
"I missed this, Harry."
Ripples of warmth coursed through him from the sound of her voice, like a cloak of soft fur wrapping itself around him and rubbing luxuriantly against his skin. And he had to wonder if it was a result of finally having her so near after what felt like a long separation.
It was, however, difficult to search for explanations when the sweet scent of her shampoo began to cloud his senses. Her milky skin felt soft beneath his fingers and his urge to feel her pressed very close to him grew overwhelming.
Drawn by desire, he tilted her chin up and kissed her, deepening as soon as their lips touched.
At that moment, lost in her kiss, he believed that he had absolutely nothing to worry about; that everything would be perfectly fine. They would make love. It would be perfect.
His lips traveled to her earlobe and he nipped at the soft flesh while his hand wandered beneath her coat to cup her breast. Her soft moan reminded him just how much he missed touching her, and perhaps just how much he needed to touch her.
Her name escaped his lips, his voice hoarse with longing, and just when he was resolving to physically pick her up and drag her to one of the more private rooms they had in the ground floor, she pushed herself away from him.
His mind, fogged by lust, refused to process it. He stared at her, confused, as he took desperate, desire-ridden breaths.
"N-No…" she said, her brows knotting.
He couldn't believe it. What did she mean no? Everything about what they were doing was saying yes! But he kept still, trying to make sense of what was happening.
His gaze fixated on her lips and he wondered if he was imagining things or if her fangs really were the tiniest bit more pronounced…
"I'm doing it again," she said softly, her tone filled with guilt. "Didn't you feel it, Harry?"
That made him more confused. "Of course I was feeling it! Why do you think I was kissing you like that?"
"That's not what I meant! Earlier, when you gave me those chocolates…"
He blushed. "Well, I've missed you, you know. I suppose… I suppose I shouldn't be wanting you like this so soon, but-"
"Oh, Harry," she moaned, frustrated. "What I mean to say is… I'm sorry, but it's just-it's me. I mean, it's you, too, but it's mostly me. I'm being…" She clenched her fists, searching for a word. "Vampy. I'm… I'm giving off vampire pheromones and you're so receptive to it! It just makes the entire thing more intense! Cicero said I shouldn't. Not while I'm new to all this. But I couldn't help it, you see! I love you, and I want you and you smell like me, which, for some reason, makes it so hard to resist…"
Pheromones? He stared at her, trying to make sense of it. Vampire pheromones? Well… SO WHAT?
"H-Hermione, it's not as if I wouldn't feel these things for you without the pheromones," he said desperately.
She shook her head, sighing. "Harry… there are so many things that need talking about right now. We can't-we can't do that if all we can think about doing is shagging."
The word "shagging" knocked sense back into him and the blanket of lust fell away from his mind. He paled, realizing just how much of a prick he was being. He fell back on the couch, head hanging between his shoulders. "Holy hell… you're absolutely right. It's all I can think about. I'm a bastard."
"You're not! Of course not! I just told you it was my fault!" Her voice had risen to that hysterical squeak of hers; the one she used when he and Ron weren't getting what she was trying to tell them.
He took a deep, calming breath. "Alright. Let's just settle down."
She gave an exasperated sigh, collapsing on the sofa chair across the couch. She wasn't looking at him. "You haven't been wearing my clothes, have you?"
"What?"
"Well, it's just that… my scent's on you, and it's not like you're using my perfume or anything like that… are you?"
"No!" He paused. "But I suppose… I used some of your shampoo."
"You did?"
"Well, it was there in your bathroom!"
"Why were you using my bathroom?"
"It's right there in your room!"
"Why are you using the bathroom in my room?"
"Well I-" He reddened. "I've been sleeping in your room, is all..."
She stared at him in surprise before she seemed to realize something. "That's why my scent's on you. You've been sleeping in my bed."
"Is that bad?"
She sighed. "No. Just a dreadful turn-on."
"That's… odd." He hadn't finished reading So Your Sweetheart's A Vampire. It was possible he hadn't gotten to that part yet. "Is that a vampire thing?"
"I don't know, Harry. But my sense of smell is sensitive to certain things now… I'd have to ask Cicero about this, though. I'm not sure what it means."
Harry's eyes widened in shock. "You'd talk about this to that pint sized-"
"Harry! Don't call him names!"
"Kid!?"
"He's two hundred years old!"
"Well, I'm sorry! But I don't know if I'm comfortable about you discussing our-our sex life with-with him!"
She frowned. "He's practically my therapist, Harry! I have to tell him things like this. For my own mental health!"
"Mental health?" He rose to his feet. "There's nothing wrong with you!"
She glared at him, bolting out of her chair. "Nothing wrong with me? Everything's wrong with me! Because in case you haven't noticed, Harry, I'm dead!"
"You're not dead!"
"I AM!"
"NO, YOU'RE NOT!"
"Harry-"
"Shut up! Just shut up!" He fell back on the couch, holding his head between his hands and closing his eyes. Hermione's not dead. She's not dead. She's alive. She's alive. She's…
"Oh, Harry…" The voice was soft, soothing and repentant. "Oh, Harry. I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry…"
Her arms were around him and he hadn't the strength to be stubborn. He buried his face in her shoulder and clung to her.
It was all very confusing to him. He was supposed to be happy she was home; grateful that she was alive. He was supposed to be strong for them both, because she had lost her parents and because she now had to live with this affliction. Yet he had crumbled so easily, and she was comforting him, and telling him she was sorry.
Her fingers were running through his hair and it was soothing to his frayed nerves. When he felt better he pulled away, looking into her strange new vampire eyes. They seemed almost feral; predatory, but he couldn't reconcile those concepts with his Hermione. At least, not yet…
She cupped his face in her hands. "I didn't mean to be a bitch."
He was startled by her expression. "You're not-you're not that. But I have to be stronger than this, you know. And I can be, I think. Just that-I think maybe you somehow caught me by surprise there."
Her brows knotted. "Am I so different?"
"I don't know. Are you?"
She sighed. "I want to think I'm the same in spite of this thing that I am-"
"You're not a thing."
"I'm a creature of the dark. I'm not human, Harry."
He sighed, but he wasn't going to contradict that. He took her hands. They were cold and very pale, but they were soft, and they squeezed his hands back. "So… so how are you… how are you going to feed? I can give you blood, you know. I can-"
"No…" she said softly, tenderness settling momentarily in her ferocious eyes. "I won't do that. I won't feed off you. There are people I can pay for that. If I take any blood from you at all, it's because… because I love you, not because I'm hungry. Alright?"
He didn't know exactly what to say to that. "Maybe I can accompany you when you go out to feed, or something?"
She smiled shyly. "I'd-I'd rather you don't, Harry. For the next couple of weeks, Cicero will help me with that, but eventually, I'd have to do it by myself, and I'd rather be alone, really. I don't want anyone seeing me… not like that. I don't think it would be pleasant for you or anyone human I know."
"But alone? I don't want you to be alone out there. And really… I can take it, I think. It's you. I won't ever be afraid-"
"No. Just no. It's not… Harry, there's something you have to understand about feeding-"
"It has sexual undertones. I know. I read it in the books."
She lowered her gaze and he noted a very slight blush coloring her cheeks.
"It's not something I'm thrilled about," he went on quietly. "But you need it to survive, and if you won't take my blood, then I suppose you'll have to take from someone else."
She touched his face with her fingertips. "I wish there was another way. There isn't. And the worse part is human blood is so much more expensive than a Shrimp Wonton at the local Chinese restaurant." She smiled, hoping her levity would help take some of the tension away.
He cocked a weary smile. "That's almost funny."
She placed a soft kiss on his lips. "My poor, serious Harry."
"As opposed to Ms. Killed Or Worse Expelled?"
She smiled. "My priorities have changed a tad since then."
"No! Really?"
She gave him a delicate pinch.
He chuckled, taking her by the shoulders and running his hands up and down her arms. "Hermione, do you need help… you know, to pay for the human blood? Because I can support you, you know. What with… well, my parents and Sirius and-"
She seemed surprised. "Oh, Harry… you really are-you're the sweetest, most generous man, and I love you for it, but no. I just won't be a kept woman."
"Kept woman!"
She giggled. "Won't that be manly of you, though? Lord it over me and pay for my breast implants."
He felt blood rushing to his face. "I would never-your breasts… you know I love them."
This made her giggle even more. "Why, thank you, Potter. That's encouraging."
"But I really don't mind-well, alright fine-keeping you." He felt himself grinning broadly. There was something immensely satisfying at the thought that he could take care of her that way. Must be some kind of male, foraging instinct.
She shot him a glare, though she was smirking. "Thank you, but no. I've job prospects, believe it or not, and I'll be meeting with a potential employer, soon."
That was a surprise. "Really?"
"Umm-hmm!"
"Doing what?"
"Well, see, I'm not quite sure, but said employer thinks she has use for me. At this point, that's good enough for me."
He frowned. "But what if-what if the job's unsavory? I don't wa-I mean, you should do something you like to do."
She shrugged. "If I don't like it, I won't do it and I'll find some other employer. It's no big deal, Harry. But I've a feeling I might like this work. The employer thinks that I'd be suited to the 'goals of their organization'. Besides, Cicero thinks I should give them a try."
His frown deepened. "Oh, well, if Cicero says it's okay…"
"Harry, please stop being jealous of him. He has helped me so much already and I'm seriously considering retaining him as my therapist for-like forever!"
"Great," he muttered.
"Harry…"
He sighed. "Fine. Sorry. I know he's helped you a lot and for that I'm grateful. His looks remind me too much of Draco Malfoy, is all. Buggery little... anyway, I'll live. I know he's a good chap. I'm just being moody."
She smiled, rubbing his knee affectionately. "Thank you." She kissed his cheek and stood up, taking him by the hands. "Now, can I just see this chamber of mine? I don't particularly look forward to sleeping in a coffin, but Ci-my therapist-"
Harry chuckled miserably. I suppose I'm going to have to live with Mr. Junior G.Q. being in her life.
She went on. "-said I'd get over my silly notions of it once I have a good day's sleep in it."
"That's one way of looking at it, I suppose."
"Actually, it's the only way to look at it without totally freaking out. No matter what anyone says, it's still as creepy as hell to have coffins in one's home, don't you think?"
"Well, unless you own a funeral parlor…"
"Eh, true. Did you at least have the sense to avoid pastels?"
"I… sort of went for the silver and dark blue theme…"
"Ah, I just knew I could trust your judgment, my love. And you so cleverly avoided red and orange, too! I'm impressed."
He almost sputtered in laughter at that. He hadn't nearly given her motif that much thought. All he knew was that blue and silver was safe and that she liked blue in the first place. "Yes, well, you know… fall colors were so last season…"
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Visiting the chamber turned out to be more upsetting that Hermione was willing to admit. In spite of her vampirism, the thought that the coffin in the dungeon was hers and that she would have to close herself in it like a corpse, awoke in her that primal, mortal fear of death. If she could be sick, she would have vomited, unfortunately, as far as vampires went, getting sick was out of the question. The chamber had been turned into something as cozy, after a fashion, coffin notwithstanding, but she took one look at the room at the threshold, stared for two heartbeats and turned quickly around to leave. She, of course, ran right smack into Harry who thought she hated it.
"N-No, it's exactly how I would have fixed it," she said, hustling him back into the hall and away from the room.
She felt stretched, and mortified and horrified at the same time. It felt like the fact that she wasn't human anymore was being constantly pounded into her head, as if she could forget.
She stood with Harry, in the hallway, the light of his wand just missing the glow of torches from her chamber. The concern in his eyes had her fidgeting under his gaze.
"What's wrong?" he asked.
Though unable to meet his eyes, she managed a weak smile. "Nothing's wrong. I just… the coffin gave me the willies, is all. Cicero didn't exactly have his coffin in the same room as mine at the hospital. He put it in some corner of the dungeon where I couldn't see, so I haven't exactly gotten used to the idea that…" She sighed, folding her arms over her chest and rubbing her shoulders. "And when I think about it, it's just so bloody ridiculous for you, isn't it? Your girlfriend sleeps in a coffin."
He gave her a thoughtful squint. "I wouldn't call it ridiculous, actually. Morbid comes to mind, but that's only because coffins get a bad rap. It's actually quite comfortable in yours."
She stared at him, blinking in astonishment. "You tried it?"
"Well, I didn't close it…"
"Good lord, you're serious, aren't you?"
He shrugged. "I had to make sure it would be comfortable for you, you know. And it's got this neat device on the inside where you can adjust the softness of the-"
"You're mental, Harry. Abso-bloody-lutely out of your mind! But I love you. I love you to death, and coming from me, that's no exaggeration!"
He seemed surprised by her last statement before he laughed.
She threw her arms around him, her weight sending him crashing against the wall. He gave a soft "Oof!", but before he could complain, she was kissing him and pressing against him nicely. She wasn't about to tear his clothes off quite yet. They were in a dungeon, and there was a coffin in the next room. She wasn't that kinky, but he had to be rewarded somehow. If she were more confident about keeping her fangs nipped, she would have happily gone down on him right there, but as it was, she was still fighting to control many of her vampire urges.
She had to stave the constant hunger, which she had to admit wasn't so bad right now. She could hear the beating of his heart, and caught flashes of the blood rushing in his veins, but she had fed before she left the hospital, and the pangs of hunger were fleeting. What she found most challenging right now was keeping her pheromones in check, and it was almost impossible to keep her fangs from extending when Harry had aroused her desire in the living room. Cicero told her that she would eventually find it easy to control all of her vampire impulses, but not so soon after being turned. Her body was still bursting with the initial surge of activated vampirism.
Harry groaned as he kissed back, holding her tight against him with his hands clamped to her bottom.
It was amazing how his response felt like he had pheromones of his own. One of the many things she had learned about Harry was that when he felt intense surges of pleasure, his thoughts sometimes darted into hers. Just in bits and pieces, really; usually in flashes. Sometimes pictures; sometimes words. This time it was words, and what a string of them, too! A mix of erotic, romantic and downright naughty words spilled into her mind, and even if words failed him, there was always that bulge that was now making its presence known. She hadn't realized just how much he had missed all of her until then.
As much as she wanted to ease that ache in him, all of that had to wait. Her fangs were already beginning to extend, and it was that which brought her back to her senses. She was in no condition to be making love to Harry. She could hurt him.
She pulled away apologetically, willing her fangs to retract.
His hold on her waist tightened. "Oh, please, no," he said in a hoarse whisper. "Don't say we can't."
"Harry, in case you're forgetting, there's a coffin in the next room."
"And would you believe that completely slipped my mind in the last few seconds?"
She sighed. "Ron's waiting in the library."
He leaned his head back against the wall, closing his eyes as he took a deep, cleansing breath. "Coffin, Ron. Coffin, Ron. Coffin, Ron…" He looked at her. "Alright, I think I'm fine now."
Well, that was bound to get him out of the mood.
She had to laugh softly at that. She took his hand and led him back out of the dungeon, making their way to the library in comfortable silence.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
It was Ron who had the pleasure of giving Hermione back her wand.
Harry thought it was only right Ron should, considering it was Ron who remembered that she'd want to get it back.
When Ron rolled Hermione's wand across the library table in her direction, he had forgone any kind of ceremony. It rattled between him and her and she stared at it, a smile growing on her lips to match Ron's as her vine wood dragon heart's string wand crept steadily towards her.
"Thought you'd miss that," said Ron, smirking.
She snatched her wand up like an old friend and transfigured one of the chocolate truffles into perfectly carved chocolate lion. She set it on his hand as he laughed and popped it in his mouth.
"I can't do a lot of things anymore, you understand," she said with a wan smile. "Like I… I can't ever make a Patronus or… or apparate…"
Harry felt stricken, and by the look on Ron's face, so was he.
She hastened to comfort them. "But I can still do loads of important magic, really. I can still conjure things and I pretty much have all of my transfiguration powers intact. Besides, when the two of you get your apparating licenses, you can side-along me."
Harry took her hand and squeezed. He was sad to hear she can't make a Patronus, but he supposed it made sense. A Patronus could hurt her.
"Then again," she continued. "Cicero said I'd be developing a few vampire powers of my own. I don't know what they are, yet, but I hope it's not as disgusting as being able to communicate with maggots."
Ron made a face.
Hermione nodded morosely. "It happens." She turned back to examine one of the many books Harry had about vampires.
Nearby, she had a bunch of other books she had already pulled from the shelves, possibly relating to horcruxes.
Harry had to admit that seeing her this way relieved him. She was back, and it was still her. It had to be. Her books and her cleverness were her defining traits. If she had lost that in her vampirism, he didn't know how he'd cope.
"These are excellent books, Harry," she said, skimming through Underworld: Vampire Society. "I'd love to read them, too. I'll squeeze them in between my research."
It made him smile to hear her make these plans.
Life goes on, after all.
He thought maybe he'd tell her about that other book later, when Ron wasn't there to overhear.
She had turned to a chapter in the Underworld book entitled Coven of Power and was tracing the sparkling aquamarine image of a naked winged woman on her knees holding up a huge orb. The woman's wings flapped lazily, but they were always extended, and the orb floated above her outstretched hands, bobbing slowly up and down.
He leaned over to give it a better look. "What is it?"
"Isis," she replied. "Holding the Eye of Horus."
"Sounds Egyptian."
"It is. Isis is the Egyptian feminine archetype for creation: rebirth, ascension, intuition, psychic abilities, higher chakras, love, and compassion. Horus is her son and represents traits of kingship, revenge and victory. Horus's eye, whether or not he has it on him, sees all. Isis having the eye balances his avenging spirit and together they're keepers of righteousness."
"Interesting," said Ron.
"Do you really mean that?" she asked.
"Not in the slightest."
"I thought so."
Harry smiled and hurled a crumpled piece of paper at Ron with a wave of his wand. "Well, I'm interested. What's this got to do with vampires?"
Hermione explained to them about vampire origins and vampire organizations.
"So in this Coven of Isis," began Ron, who was supposed to be uninterested, "the birds rule the roost and the blokes sort of grovel at their feet? What's in it for the men? Do they at least get some?"
She arched her eyebrow disapprovingly.
"What does the Coven of Isis do in the first place?" Harry asked before Hermione blew a vein.
She made a point to turn in Harry's direction, as if he was the only other person in the room. "I don't really know. Cicero didn't want to say, so I'm hoping this book will be more forthcoming."
"Well, is it?" He moved closer to her so he could read over her shoulder.
They turned to the book together, and Harry had to admit that in spite of his genuine interest, it was difficult to concentrate on the book with her so near, so he didn't actually get to read all that much.
He was pushing some of her hair off her shoulder when he caught Ron's eye and Ron made a vulgar motion with his hand, like he was wanking something off.
Harry replied by glaring at him and flashing his middle finger.
Ron laughed.
"Boys, I'm right here. Just because I'm not looking at you, it doesn't mean I don't know what you're doing."
Harry rubbed her lap affectionately to appease her. "Ron's being a git."
Ron smirked. "That's right. Blame me. 'What does this coven do? I'm really interested, Hermione. You're so pretty I've forgotten how to read. Let's just quit this and snog like mad!'" He had pitched his voice comically for the monologue.
Hermione couldn't help but laugh and just for that, Harry could forgive Ron the ribbing.
It didn't mean Harry had nothing to say about it, though. "Oy! You're cramping my style, Weasley!"
"He calls it a style?"
Hermione giggled. "Oh, stop it, Ron! I think Harry's cute."
Harry stuck his tongue out at Ron.
Ron scoffed. "Well, Harry, I don't care what you do. She still gave me the chocolate lion."
Harry was well on his way to making a full retaliation when the library door opened and Lupin came in.
"Shacklebolt and Tonks are here," he said. "They're setting the pensieve up in the drawing room. Hermione?"
Harry felt her hand creep into his, squeezing with near-painful pressure. He put his arm around her, pulling her close. "I'll be there with you, and if you can't go on, you don't have to. Don't worry about what Shacklebolt might say. I'll deal with him, alright?"
From the corner of his eye, he saw Remus flinch. Harry knew they couldn't let Hermione back out mid-way through debriefing, but the main reason Harry asked to be there was precisely so they couldn't force her to go on if she didn't want to. He wasn't going to let anyone make her do what she didn't want to do.
She stared up at him, saw that she could trust him to take care of her and nodded.
They rose from their seats.
Harry kept a firm hold on her hand as they went to the drawing room.
Tonks was waiting for them outside. "Shacklebolt's inside," she said. She turned to Hermione and gave her a welcoming embrace. "It's good to have you back."
"It's good to be back," Hermione whispered.
Tonks cocked a smile and patted her shoulder. "Thank you for doing this. This can't be easy for you."
"It's important. It has to be done."
Tonks nodded. She stepped back and gestured for Ron. "We can wait it out in the other room. I've got some tea going and I brought treacle tart."
"Bless you, Tonks," said Ron, following her as they left.
Remus led them through the drawing room doors where they found Shacklebolt seated on the couch, testing his quick-quotes quill while the glow of the pensieve rippled in the dimly lit room.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
There was a strange quality to Hermione's eyes as she told them what transpired. While she didn't exactly sound detached, she wasn't bursting into tears, either. It was as if she was desperately clinging to that strange middle ground, where she might be able to hide her emotions. She never let go of Harry's hand and he willed himself to be strong for her, because he had a feeling that if he let on about how horrified he was, she would break down completely.
When she was done telling them what happened, she began to tell them what she thought.
"I think daddy invited him into our house," she said faintly. "It's the only way he could have gotten through the wards around the attic. I don't know how he did it, but apparently, he'd been speaking to them beforehand, yes? They'd been talking long enough for Janus to gain an interest in me. He was interested enough to defy Voldemort's orders, anyway."
"So you really think You-Know-Who did not order your turning?" asked Shacklebolt, not raising his eyes from his parchment pad. Every so often, his jaw tensed, usually after Hermione said Voldemort's name.
"He didn't. From the things Janus said, Voldemort wanted all of us dead. There's no practical reason for me to be turned, anyway. Turning me would only serve to anger those dearest to me and my theory is that Voldemort thrives on the darker emotions if he can't get rid of emotions completely. To him, anger and hate can breed power, so in his mind, if his enemies learned to nurture these emotions, they might be more formidable. It's just a theory on my part, but I dare say it makes some sort of sense. If I'm wrong, the fact still remains: my death would have served his purposes far more effectively. He'd have proved that the Muggle-born have no place in his society and he would have-he would have hurt Harry very, very badly. At any rate, I think Voldemort was furious when he found out what Janus had done."
Harry was surprised at that.
Remus and Shacklebolt stared at her.
"And you believe this because…?" asked Remus.
"Harry's scar. When it hurt, Harry saw Voldemort punishing Janus for something. I think I'm the reason for it."
"How do you know all that?" demanded Harry.
Hermione cast him a mildly displeased look. "I made Ron tell me. You promised him you'd tell me about your scar if it hurt you, but you didn't. Don't blame him. I made him swear to watch over you and he was just doing what he thought was best."
Harry frowned, but he was only slightly concerned about Ron letting the cat out of the bag. "How did you know it was Janus whom I saw?"
"I saw his face too, and from what Ron told me, our descriptions match. Except for the tattoo, maybe. I didn't see his tattoo."
Harry turned away from her, struggling for control. I know who he is, he thought viciously. I've seen the vampire that did this to Hermione…
"Harry will have to confirm the match," said Shacklebolt.
Remus shot Shacklebolt a disapproving look, leaning over his chair to speak. "But the question remains: Why would Voldemort be so angry? It can't just be that he thinks Harry's anger will give him an advantage. It's plausible, but Voldemort's too arrogant to let on that Harry's rage could actually be a threat to his grand plans. Harry, you're the one with a link to Voldemort. Do you have any idea at all?"
Harry snapped out of his thoughts and shook his head gravely. "All I know is he was angry, and Voldemort saw fit to punish Janus."
"Is Janus dead, then?" asked Shacklebolt.
"I don't know."
"He's not," said Hermione quietly. "If he died, I'd know."
Harry's brows furled as he looked at her. Her eyes momentarily glazed with that strange translucent vampire quality before they faded to their usual color. Hermione had told him that she had a residual psychic link with Janus. He hated that she did, just as much as he hated having Voldemort connected to him.
Remus seemed vastly troubled by this, but did not give voice to his particular concerns. "These are useful leads, I think, and we'll follow them. There's something in Voldemort's anger…"
"But first…" said Shacklebolt. "Hermione, are you familiar with how a pensieve works?"
She nodded, taking out her wand. In the next few seconds, she managed to extract the memory of that night from her mind. The silver thread was tinged with something Harry had never seen before. There was a trail of red laced within the strands of memory, like blood. He did not say anything about it since Hermione didn't seem alarmed, but he could tell even Remus and Shacklebolt found this strange.
She released the swirling memory above the pensieve and tapped it down so it would fall into the bowl.
"Harry," said Shacklebolt. "You have to go in so you can confirm Janus's identity."
A bolt of terror shot through Harry and Hermione's eyes widened.
"NO!" she cried. "Y-You can't let Harry see it!"
Remus glared at him, a hint of warning in his gaze. "Kingsley…"
Shacklebolt was unaffected. "He has to, or we might be going on a wild goose chase following this lead. It's a thin enough lead as it is. I don't even know where to start following it."
Hermione clasped Harry by the arm. "You said you'd stop it if I can't go any further. You promised. I can't keep going anymore, Harry. I want this to stop right now."
Harry was about to say something when Shacklebolt interrupted.
"Harry, Hermione's part in this is done. This doesn't concern her anymore. This is about you doing what you have to do. Whatever you decide now won't directly affect her, but if you refuse to look into that pensieve because you're afraid, our information tonight will be incomplete. That could mean lives. If you want to be responsible for those lives-"
Hermione's eyes flashed ferocious and she hissed at Shacklebolt, her fangs elongating as she spoke. "Don't you dare burden Harry like that! Don't you dare!"
Shacklebolt was taken so much aback by her appearance that he actually gasped, inching away.
Remus made a move to intervene but Harry shot him a warning glance. If anyone was going to calm Hermione, it was going to be him.
Harry reached up and put a hand on her shoulder, giving it a firm squeeze.
Her furious gaze darted to him. He hesitated only for a heartbeat before he leaned over and spoke softly into her ear.
"Hermione…" He kept his voice gentle and undemanding. "There's no need for that, love."
"He-"
"He didn't mean it. And he can't hurt me. I'll be fine."
She remained still for several more seconds before she blinked, her anger deflating as she did. She began to look regretful as she leaned away from Shacklebolt.
To Harry's great astonishment, she began to move away from him, too, her gaze downcast to avoid his eyes. He held her fast just as she whispered apologies for her outburst. She did not struggle against him as he pulled her close.
Harry shot Shacklebolt a scowl as he crooned soothing words in Hermione's ear, her head on his shoulder.
When the tension in her shoulders eased, he met Shacklebolt's still-shocked gaze above her pate.
"I'll look into the memory," he said gravely.
Relief slid over Shacklebolt's features.
Remus wasn't above relief, himself. As much as the kind werewolf would want to spare Harry the anguish, this information was too important to be set aside for personal considerations.
"No…" Hermione breathed, her fingernails digging into the skin of his arm. "I don't want you to see…"
"I have to," he said. "I'll be alright."
She shook her head but his only response was to pull away from her to go to the pensieve.
Shacklebolt stood beside him. They would enter the memory together.
Harry exchanged looks with Shacklebolt and together, they bent over the bowl.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Hermione's scream assaulted him, and it sounded ten times more terrified than the first time he heard it.
Harry almost swooned at the horror of it all. The bodies… the blood… her screams. And while darkness cloaked the room, there was still enough light for him to see. Oh, how he wished the darkness had blinded him, but there was moonlight from the windows, and his gaze fell upon her frightened face as the vampire sank his fangs into her tender throat.
After he had drunk his fill of her, the vampire spoke words of approval, and helpless against him, Hermione had no choice but to drink his blood. Her struggles to push him away were futile, and Harry's rage gripped his heart and mind.
His eyes ached from fighting back tears and his breathing had gone ragged with emotion.
Blood poured from her neck, soiling the front of her gown, and her teeth were stained crimson.
The vampire introduced himself after a fashion just before the whisper of steel cut through the milieu of sounds. It was a Japanese sword. A long, silver blade, curved ever so slightly. It flashed in the darkness and sang just before Janus plunged it all the way through her.
Harry couldn't help it. He turned away, unable to bear the shock of pain that so evidently exploded from her eyes. He squeezed his eyelids shut, his knuckles white with strain.
"Potter!" Shacklebolt said beside him. "You have to look at his face!"
Oh, God, he thought, struggling to get his emotions under control. Hermione…
There was a second sigh of steel, followed by Hermione's sob of pain and all Harry wanted to do was clamp his hands to his ears.
"Potter..." Shacklebolt sounded terribly impatient. "It's either you I.D. him now or we do this again. Do you want to do this again?"
Gods, no! Harry summoned what courage he could muster and looked through clenched teeth.
Janus tossed Hermione aside like a rag doll and turned away from her.
It was then Harry saw the same man in his vision, his vicious beauty glowing pale in the dim light.
Janus…
"Is it the same man in your vision?" asked Shacklebolt.
Harry didn't trust himself to speak. He just nodded.
That was enough for the auror.
A great explosion rocked the attic and Harry and Shacklebolt flinched on instinct. The gaping hole in the wall cast moonlight over the gruesome scene.
Wind blew through the opening and hit Janus's still form. His black blouse, underneath a flapping black leather coat, was held close by two dragon-shaped clasps just above his abdomen. His blouse blew open, exposing the swath of skin between his bellybutton and the low rise of his black leather pants.
For the second time, Harry saw the tattoo. There was more of it to see this time, and Harry could decipher just what the image was. They were the open jaws of a serpent, fangs extending long and low.
And then Janus was gone, as if he had disapparated without a sound.
Harry saw himself emerge from the attic stairs, stumbling frantically to get to Hermione.
He didn't want to see Hermione die again. Once had been enough.
"I'm done," said Harry, and without even checking to see if Shacklebolt would follow him, he swept himself out of the memory and out of the pensieve.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
He was paler than Hermione had ever seen.
Harry emerged from the pensieve looking like he had stared death in the face and lost a part of himself in the process. Shacklebolt looked less ashen, but his expression was grim.
The auror began to gather his materials.
Remus put a hand on Harry's shoulder to nudge him out of his catatonia. "Alright, Harry?"
Harry blinked, swallowing as he nodded and turned away from the pensieve. His eyes met hers and for a moment, Hermione thought he was going to start shedding tears, but he didn't.
There was definitely something changed in him.
He took her by the hand and gently pulled her close.
She didn't even wait for him say anything. She simply slid her arms around him and initiated the embrace. He held her and she buried her face in his chest, breathing in the scent of him. There was a tinge of blood to his smell, and she knew the hunger was growing again, but she could hold back for a little longer. For now, he needed holding as much as she did.
It was several seconds before she heard Harry speak again.
"Are we done here?" He was asking Shacklebolt.
Shacklebolt nodded. "Yes. I'll bring the information in for processing. Thank you for yours and Ms. Granger's cooperation."
"You'll let me know if there's anything?"
Shacklebolt frowned. "Let you know? Everything's on a need to know basis, Potter. You aren't-"
"I'm not what? I'm not authorized? I think I am. I'm just learning that now, actually. The Order thinks I'm authorized, so if you're going to tell Remus, or Mr. Wea-Arthur, or McGonagall, you get to tell me. If you don't, I'll ask Remus, and he'll tell. Unlike some people, he wants me on the Order's governing circle."
Hermione looked up at Harry in surprise. His expression was bereft of anger or stubbornness. He was calm; collected. He was stating a fact, not fighting to be noticed. He did not avert his gaze from Shacklebolt's glare and while his shoulders were tense, she noticed that he was running his hand in soothing circles on her back, as if he was calming her in this admittedly discomfiting situation.
This was a side of Harry she had never seen. She had witnessed him take charge before, but only with his peers, like in the D.A., or when he was captain of the Quidditch team. With the elders, he was usually just sulking and being angry or even being very, very respectful. Now he was standing up to Shacklebolt, and she was pleased to note that Remus was watching it all happen with barely veiled delight.
She looked at Shacklebolt, her expression going haughty. She was proud of Harry, and she was daring Shacklebolt to tell Harry no.
"You're not in the circle yet," said Shacklebolt.
"There are four of you in the circle now. Three have no objections to making me a fifth. If you want to get technical on me, three out of four is a winning vote."
Shacklebolt glared as he gathered his things irritably. "I'll see what I can do, Potter."
"Thanks, Kingsley. That's very kind of you." Harry sounded anything but grateful. He sounded like he had been completely entitled to the information and that Shacklebolt should have known that.
Shacklebolt stormed out, yelling for Tonks to come on out because he was done for tonight. They heard him stomping through the hall and down the stairs.
Seconds later, Tonks emerged with Ron behind him. Ron had treacle tart in his mouth while he held an ugly yellow mug with piping hot tea.
"What's up with Kingsley?" Tonks asked.
Hermione didn't know if Tonks was just pretending she hadn't listened in on the conversation. Tonks had been with Ron, for goodness sake. As if that wasn't incriminating enough.
"Harry grew a backbone on him," replied Remus, completely oblivious to any foul play.
Harry reddened and Hermione grinned in spite of her suspicions. "He was brilliant, Ron. You should have seen it!"
Ron took the tart from his mouth and raised the mug. "Been there, seen that. Harry seems to be getting the hang of this leader thing. Should we give him a t-shirt? A nifty one that says, 'I respect your feelings but I'm still your boss, twat.'"
Hermione laughed. The elders tried to maintain their dignity by pursing their lips.
"I'd never wear a t-shirt like that," said Harry. "I'd wear 'Allergic to stupid Dark Lords', though. Or better yet, something that says, 'Kiss my dementor, Voldie'."
She giggled. Remus and Tonks gave in and laughed with her.
"That's not funny," said Ron, grinning in spite of himself.
"Come on… say it," said Harry in needling tone. "Say Voldie. You know you want to."
Ron sneered. "Quit toying with my emotions, Potter."
"I'd love to stay and see this milestone of Ron's," said Tonks, "but Shacklebolt's teed off enough, so I must go see to him downstairs. Remus, you are obligated to suffer with me because we are in a deep and meaningful relationship."
"Ah, yes. I knew I should have read the fine print."
"Come along, Moony."
Remus followed and closed the drawing room doors as he asked Tonks, "Do I get a biscuit for following orders?"
To which she replied, "That's only for dogs, sweetheart. Wolves get nothing for their efforts."
Closed into the drawing room, Hermione sat on the couch with Harry while Ron sat on the nearest lounge chair.
"Tonks and I heard everything," said Ron. He went on when Harry arched a questioning eyebrow. "Extendable ears."
Hermione knew it.
"Naturally," replied Harry in a dry tone.
"You two alright?"
She frowned, shooting Harry an anxious look. He smiled and put his arm around her, squeezing her shoulders.
"I'm fine," he said. "I'm more worried about Hermione. Love, was it too much for you?"
"Only when he made you… made you look."
Sadness and regret shone from his gaze as he pushed some of her bouncy brown hair behind her ear. He cupped her face, brushing the pad of his thumb tenderly on her cheek.
"Don't worry about me," he said quietly, but the pain in his eyes said otherwise.
She made no protest as she cast her gaze down, wishing that Harry hadn't been forced to watch as Janus murdered her. If it had been the other way around, she probably would have gone mad.
She looked up and caught Ron watching her. He averted his eyes almost immediately.
For a brief moment, she wondered if Ron had worked out his issues about her. She couldn't tell herself for sure that he had. She peeked at Harry and saw that he was still looking at her. He had missed Ron's wandering eyes completely.
"I'm going back to the library," she said. "Do you two want to come or are you going to bed?"
She knew Harry liked it when she mentioned the library. It was something of her that he was intimately familiar with. Seeing her or thinking about her with books seemed to confirm that she was still the Hermione he knew. It was no bother to her, anyway. She still loved books and she still liked doing research.
Although it did occur to her at that moment that her waking hours were their sleeping times.
Harry's eyes did light up and Ron cocked a grin.
"So what are we researching tonight? Horcruxes or vampires?" asked Ron.
She smiled, rising from her seat. "Horcruxes, I think. And if Harry would be so kind, he can bring over the locket so we can give it a look."
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Hermione looked up from her scribbling on the library table and saw her boys fast asleep. Ron was sprawled out on the couch and Harry was bent comfortably on his sofa chair. Each had a book plopped unceremoniously and haphazardly on their laps. They'd been asleep for a few hours, but Hermione had let them. She was quiet enough not to disturb their slumber, anyway.
One of the many things about being a vampire was that she could remain perfectly and utterly quiet. She could move, but her movements were all calculated, graceful and soundless. She didn't breathe anymore, for one, unless she sighed and gasped out of some kind of habit. And everything about her was as still as death. She could move about so quickly that she was almost apparating, and she wouldn't make a sound.
She'd been trying to find ways to destroy horcruxes and she might have some useful theories. But while she searched for answers to that question, she had also managed to make interesting notations on possible Founder possessions that could have been used as horcruxes. She found herself writing an essay of sorts, justifying a particularly warranted pattern to Voldemort's choice of objects.
~~
Consider the following objects: Tom Riddle's Diary, Guant's Ring, Hufflepuff's cup (pending verification) and Slytherin's locket (pending authentication). The pattern to the objects connected to Slytherin, and conversely Voldemort, is Longevity: A diary preserves memories, a locket preserves legacy and the ring, a gemstone, is linked to a number of things timeless, like heritage and, more importantly, ageless-ness. Most gemstones share properties of non-decay. They can last for hundreds-thousands of years looking exactly the same. Of course, an uncut stone would be too crude for one such as Voldemort, so he needed something set as jewelry, and his ancestral ring was perfect.
Hufflepuff's cup was a trickier study. A cup could symbolize anything from bounty to water to emotion. The problem obviously lies in pinpointing how the cup would symbolize Hufflepuff. A plausible theory would-of course-be Hufflepuff's loyalty, but how does a cup symbolize loyalty? It then occurred to me that the answer could be found in history, through hundreds and thousands of years of rituals. Looking back, there have been thousands of congregations, meetings, initiations and groups that have used the "communal cup" to symbolize unity. A single cup would be passed between several lips to indicate one's affiliation to their chosen brethren. It seemed that the association of loyalty to the cup began to make sense. Besides, even Voldemort values loyalty. If not for loyalty, he wouldn't have Death Eaters begging to suck his dick.
~~
Hermione found herself smirking at that. Ordinarily, she would have considered the phrase revolting, but dying and rising tended to take the edge off certain trivialities. And frightening as the Death Eaters were, she really did think they were a bunch of sniveling, groveling dweebs fighting over Voldemort's scraps.
Besides, in many ways… I'm now more frightening than they are.
She continued to write:
~~
Through this theory of association, it is now incumbent upon us to realize what sort of objects would represent Godric Gryffindor and Rowena Ravenclaw best as far as Voldemort's values goes. I can only guess that Voldemort would not choose attributes that he did not find important. Therefore, Gryffindor's "bravery" cannot be a point of reference.
As far as the last two founders go, your guess is as good as mine, but I shall postulate.
Ravenclaw's most defining trait was knowledge. She sought answers and believed in the power of knowing. Knowledge, itself, is a benign concept. Voldemort, worldly as he is, would consider something more apparently useful in Ravenclaw: Intelligence. There are a number of things that could be associated with intelligence: Books, a tree, an owl, spectacles… The first three objects are out of the question as far as horcruxes go. They are vulnerable, easy to destroy (as was made evident in the second year when Harry destroyed the diary) and if not destroyed by something or someone else, they can be destroyed by time. A book can decay; a tree can wither away and an owl can die. An ideal repository for one's soul these objects do not make. Spectacles are out of the question, as well. Rowena Ravenclaw did not wear glasses. Even if she could have taken them off for portraits, her glasses would have been mentioned in the books if she had them. I would, therefore, have to speculate about symbols that could not have been so obvious: A diamond, a compass rose, or perhaps a quill.
Gryffindor-his hat and sword scrapped out of the picture-leaves very little to the imagination. Voldemort would not admire Gryffindor's bravery. He would, however, admire Gryffindor's ability to do battle. Gryffindor would have been a man of action, unsaddled by matters of strategy and planning. So maps and charts would be improbable. I favor the theory of weapons, or better yet, something protective: Shields, or armor.
Another possibility crossed my mind for a brief moment, mostly related to the night Voldemort gave Harry his scar, but I dare not print such thoughts as of yet. Its particulars are unsound and largely without basis. Unless I find something to support it, it is not worth recording in detail, lest they taint future thought processing. Noting that I did have this particular deviation is necessary, though. For future reference.
~~
She leaned back on her seat and checked the time. It was three thirty in the morning. At around five thirty, she would have to retire to her chamber.
I'll have to sleep in a coffin. How dreadfully morbid.
Reservations about coffins aside, Cicero did tell her that she would eventually grow more attached to the darker concepts of the universe: Death; fear; pain; viciousness.
"You won't turn evil, you understand," he had said. "But such matters would not seem so beyond you any longer."
She didn't know if it was something she could appreciate, but she supposed that if she had to sleep in a coffin and drink living blood, it only made sense that death, fear, pain and viciousness would seem less daunting.
Her fingers ran along the leather jacket slung on the back of the seat beside her. She had had the jacket for ages, but she hardly ever wore it. Her mother had bought it for her; said it would serve to add sophistication to her look since she liked wearing jeans so much. Hermione hadn't thought much of if before, but now she liked it exceedingly.
Leather, she thought, almost affectionately. Dark leather. Used to be something alive…
She shook her head, shutting her eyes and willing the strange thoughts away.
Her gaze fell on Harry and Ron, hoping to draw calm from their peaceful forms.
So it caught her completely off-guard when she began to smell the sweet scent of their blood. Their heartbeats thumped in her ears and she began to see beneath their skins; where their blood pumped warmest.
Harry, in particular, was irresistible. Her mind was already making promises about the ecstasy of taking from her human lover. How he would be sweeter than sweet and so blessedly warm and alive.
Her fangs began to lengthen and she could feel her eyes going vampiric.
"Oh, God," she whispered, rising to her feet to leave the library in a hurry.
She hurried away from the library doors, gliding down the stairs with the single purpose of putting floors between them and her.
Cicero had told her that this would happen; that she would look at her human loved ones and occasionally want their blood. Harry, especially, since thoughts of him were associated with carnal things.
Hermione was determined not to let her bloodlust with him win. She would tear out her own throat if that's what it took. She would never, ever take from Harry like that. She would never drink his blood to sate her hunger. She had promised him she would only do so for love, and even that did not sit well with her.
"Taking blood from your human lover is a very intimate act," Cicero explained. "Oh, a lot of vampires do it casually, of course. It's the same concept as sex for humans. A lot of humans have sex whenever they feel like it, but it doesn't remove from the fact that giving your body to someone is intimate. It could be very special, though some choose not to make it so. You, as a vampire, can have sex with someone without taking blood. We are still capable of-well-climaxing in the usual way, just that taking blood is another way of achieving that. It goes without saying that making love with another vampire might lead to an exchange of blood, but unlike taking blood from their humans, vampires do consider vampire blood exchanges very significant. Exchanging blood with a vampire sets temporary psychic links between vampire lovers. It only becomes permanent after several years of doing it with the same vampire on a daily basis, but the fact remains: You don't do a vampire blood exchange with just anyone. Your lover would have access to your thoughts and feelings, if only for a brief period after sex. It's not something you'd want with someone you do not trust unconditionally."
As she recalled Cicero's words, it occurred to her that whenever he explained something relating to coping with Harry, he always led the conversation to her association with others of her kind. She didn't know if he was just being informative or whether he was actually trying to tell her something, but she was under the impression that Cicero thought that she would eventually separate herself from her human life and join the vampires completely.
She didn't want to think about it that way, but it was a nagging thought.
Hermione went to the kitchen and activated the lights. She sat at the table and realized she had no real reason to be there. Ordinarily, she would be rummaging through the refrigerator and making herself some tea, but that wasn't the sort of thing she could do now.
"Bullocks," she muttered. She'd have to go back to the library, but she didn't want to if her hunger was overcoming her.
There was nothing to do but sit there.
It was several minutes of silence before she heard a commotion at the kitchen window.
She looked, startled, and saw a raven tapping on the pane. The raven had a note attached to it.
Curious, she let the raven through and it stuck out its leg, the letter dangling from it.
Gingerly, she took the note. She was about to offer it a treat when it simply hopped out and left.
She watched it go before turning to the letter.
The seal was one she had seen before.
The coven…
She broke the seal and saw two words.
Its impact was immediate.
~~
Look outside.
~~
Frowning, Hermione went to the living room and cautiously peered out to the street.
At first she saw nothing. The moon seemed to have been covered by clouds making the night blacker than usual. Then she realized that there should have been streetlights, or even lawn lights from the neighbors. There was nothing but darkness.
Momentarily forgetting her hunger, she thought about alerting the others concerning the state of things when the moon suddenly broke free and cast rays of pale light over the streets.
It was then that Hermione saw it; a thick traveling mist blanketing the street. It gathered at the foot of a lamppost, twirling upwards like a tiny tornado and coalescing at the top of it before dissipating as quickly as it came.
In its wake was a woman in dark clothes perched calmly and gracefully atop the streetlight; hair flowing and blowing as if drifting in water. Her eyes glowed purple and she was looking straight at Hermione.
Hermione blinked, and the figure of the woman grew absolutely still; no sign of life.
And then Hermione heard it; a voice in her head so captivating that she would have wanted to wrap herself in that voice and die.
What does a vampire have to do to get an invitation around here? the voice asked, followed by a mental chuckle.
Hermione knew, to the very core of her darkened soul, that she was staring right into the eyes of Yasmin ibna Omar al-Khwarizm, Coven Master and Keeper of the Blood.
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A/N: Officially, this chapter has 13,213 words, from "Chapter Ninth" to "Keeper of the Blood". You are now 13,000-words more read. Lol!
Buffy reference:
Buffy: You don't just sneak up on people in a graveyard. You make noise when you walk. You... stomp. Or yodel.