Unofficial Portkey Archive

A/N: Alright, I can't say this enough, but tome_raider just did an amazing, spectacular job beta-ing. I mean, you wouldn't believe… she picked out the errors, communicated her thoughts about certain passages and thanks to her, this chapter just improved-well, exponentially. (That's my new favorite word, by the way.) So thank you, tome_raider! You're brilliant.

I've also been blessed by Sheryl Bennett, a reader and poet, who was moved by "Forever Knight" to write her captivating and inspired poem Still if you leave me. I will let you readers experience the emotions. Read it here.

Chapter rating: NC-17

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Chapter Twenty-Eighth: Revelations

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There were times in Hermione's vampiric life when she desperately wished she could just faint daintily away and escape the horrible realities of certain situations. Like this one, for example.

She was helpless, watching as Lucien, her dear Shadow Kin, suffered agonizing pain before her very eyes, and Harry, the man she loved with everything she had, was jumping into mortal peril.

But of course, vampire or human, she was never a swooner, and so she was wide-awake, seeing all that was happening in slow, agonizing detail.

When Harry took the staff from Lucien's hands and Lucien fell to the ground, apparently alive, she told herself Lucien was going to be alright, even if her every impulse was to weep and rage at his evidential pain.

He'll make it. He'll be alright. That's what's important.

And the staff, seemingly reticent in Harry's grip, actually looked as if Harry's touch had neutralized it. For the briefest moment, Hermione had felt immense relief, but then Harry's scar began to glow bright purple, and her fear swallowed her like a tsunami.

Oh God, oh God, oh God, oh God, oh God, oh God, oh God!

She must have shrieked his name, the sound of her voice bleeding into the shouts of Ron and Solomon.

The magically lit torch-flames illuminating the dungeons danced erratically at the blast of chilling air that shot through the chamber.

Hermione could barely hear anything but the roaring wind; could barely see through the whipping of her hair.

There was an explosion, like a flash of red and blue lightning, and the pealing crack of thunder, just before she saw Harry flying backwards in one direction while the staff flew in another.

He was going to hit the stonewall and she screamed, furious and frustrated at her own helplessness.

"Delenio!" Ron cried, throwing a spell right where Harry was expected to connect with the wall.

The cushioning charm hit just before Harry slammed into the wall. Most of his body still hit hard ancient rock, but Ron had managed to cushion the back of Harry's head. At the very least, Harry hadn't cracked his skull.

If he's even alive… OH GOD!

"Solomon, take these binding charms off me now!" she yelled.

Solomon calmly released her.

Struggling to get up, she fought to center herself, scrambling in Harry's direction just before guilt flared. "Luc-"

"I'll see to him," Solomon said. "He's alive and he'll be fine. Go to Harry. Go!"

Thanking whatever God had blessed her with friends like Solomon, she rushed to Harry's side where Ron had just finished checking him.

"He's alive," Ron said.

She could have thrown her arms around Ron and kissed him speechless. The man had saved Harry's life with a spell she couldn't have cast any better.

Her relief was great, but brief. Panicked thoughts began to assault her: She should have been more alert; she shouldn't have given Harry the chance to bolt; she shouldn't have taken blood from him the previous night; she should have been faster… but she stamped these thoughts back, trying to focus on the situation.

Resisting the urge to gather Harry in her arms and cry her heart out, she delicately removed his sticky-charmed glasses, pocketed the spectacles and pulled his eyelid up to check his pupils. She held up her wand, cast a mild Lumos and held it to his eye. His pupils contracted very slowly, which was disturbing, but also encouraging. At that point, she was willing to take anything and work on building upon it.

The sound of the castle staff spilling from the entrance was lost on her as she checked Harry's vital signs. He was unconscious, and that was frightening, but she had to be optimistic, she had to tell herself that Harry was breathing, that he was responding to stimuli, and that he was bound to wake up sooner or later. Or else, she would just completely fall apart.

Ron looked over his shoulder at the arriving crowd. "That staff has to be put away. You stay here-"

"No, you stay here," she replied through gritted teeth. "Do you think I'd let you near that thing after what happened? Honestly, between you, Harry and Lucien, I'd be the first vampire to die of a heart attack, I promise you."

"But-"

"I think Harry did something to it that last second. Can you still feel the staff's presence?"

Sighing, Ron shook his head. "Go, then. Put the staff away, but I swear, if that thing acts up on you, I'm calling in the Order."

She nodded and looked to Harry, pushing his hair back tenderly in an unconscious gesture. "Don't let them move him unnecessarily, and if they must move him, tell them to keep him stable. We won't have him flung about and have them damaging his spine. He'd be furious if he wakes up paralyzed."

She only paused for a heartbeat to consider her own words. "Furious" seemed like a misstatement, of course, but knowing Harry, he wouldn't exactly be wrought with despair, so "furious" seemed most appropriate. Moody as Harry was, he never went down without a fight.

Pushing herself to her feet, she took the casing with her as she headed to the staff. She circled the staff cautiously. It sparked every few seconds, but it seemed to have lost the strength to emit that powerfully awful aura. Whether it was a temporary or permanent state, Hermione didn't wait to find out. She grasped the staff and felt its resistance. It sent a sharp current of pain right up her arm and the rest of her body, but she sucked it up with a potent oath and jammed it into its casing, slamming the lid shut and sealing it with the appropriate charms.

The oddest sensation overtook her; something she hadn't felt in a long time. Doubling over, her gorge rose and she retched. At first nothing seemed to come out, but the final painful heave forced out mists of dark blue aura, not from her gut, but from every pore of her body. It enveloped her thickly, as if trying to find its way back into her, before it drifted to the stone floor and dissipated without a trace. Hermione felt unbelievably weak and pained from it. She gagged a few more times before she finally collapsed to her knees, exhausted.

"Alright there, Hermione?" Ron called to her worriedly.

She sucked in the tepid air before she was able to muster a response. "Fine!" Which of course, she wasn't, but she expected she'd be alright in a few seconds.

When she felt she could walk again without her head spinning, she looked over her shoulder at Harry. Viktor was there, barking orders at elves, ghosts and the seemingly unflappable Wenceslaus.

She wanted nothing more than to go back to Harry, oversee his transfer to a healing facility, but everyone who could help was gathered around him, and Ron was there to make sure Harry didn't get swept in a flood of eager attendants.

Swallowing one guilt, she rushed to alleviate another.

Solomon had cradled Lucien against him, his sleeve rolled up as he gave Lucien precious blood from his wrist. Lucien, eyes still wild with pain, drank greedily. Vampire blood was not as healthy as human blood, but it was helpful for temporary replenishment; at least until human blood could be supplied.

Hermione could tell Solomon had just about given all he could, and kneeling beside them, she pried Lucien away from Solomon's wrist. Lucien was not going easy. He was weakened, but he still possessed ample vampire strength.

Lucien's vampiric eyes glared at her furiously and clawed at her ferociously.

His nails caught her cheek, drawing three claw marks that bled into the collar of her turtleneck.

"Lucien!" Solomon hissed, balling a fist to strike.

"No," she said calmly. "He's not himself. That was my fault…" She began to coo gently at Lucien as she pushed him away from Solomon. She tried her pheromones, and it seemed to work.

Solomon fell away, doubling over his wrist as he concentrated on healing the wound. He looked drained, but he would be fine.

Helplessly, Lucien fell for the lulling cadence of her voice. She let his head rest against her chest and circled him with her arms, pressing one bared wrist to his lips.

Lucien's fangs broke her skin, clamping down almost painfully before his teeth retracted and his tongue began to lap against her skin to catch her blood.

She let him feed like the child she sometimes thought he was. She smoothed his hair back with her other hand, coaxing him softly to take it easy. Relax. Drink what he can but not so quickly. There was time for more, later.

Above Lucien's head, she could seen them moving Harry in a competently cast Mobili Corpus spell.

She had to trust Ron to take care of Harry; at least for now.

My, how we've grown, she thought with a mixture of pride and regret. It had been so difficult to trust Ron before, mostly because he had seemed so prone to dwell on so many unimportant things even in the face of peril, but that dynamic of Ron had sustained her, too, because he was the perfect antidote to her damning seriousness; and that aspect of him was a reminder that they were still young enough to excuse his trivialities, or their immature bickering. Those days of childhood had gone past so quickly that they barely noticed it, yet she realized that they had come to a different point in their lives where she would trust Ron with Harry unconditionally. No, "Ron, don't do anything stupid!" or, "I swear to you, Ron, if you don't watch Harry's back--!" Now, she could leave Harry in Ron's care and not have to think twice about it, and because of that, she was proud of Ron.

Her eyes fluttered. She was suddenly feeling very weak. There was a distant voice penetrating her thoughts and it sounded rather urgent.

"Hermione!"

She jerked, startled out of her reverie and she saw Solomon's face hovering over them. She was on her back on the dungeon floor, Lucien still feeding from her. She realized then that she had to pry Lucien off, or he would bleed her dry, and while it couldn't kill her, it would be a painful recovery. Pressing her free hand to Lucien's forehead, she pushed him back while Solomon pulled Lucien off.

Hermione watched Solomon cast a binding charm on Lucien before he hovered above her, brows knotted.

"Will you be alright?" Solomon asked.

She blinked lethargically, nodding. She thought maybe she wanted to be left alone for a while. There were too many overwhelming emotions now. She needed to regain her poise, and she needed to do it as quickly as she could. "I think maybe I'll stay here a while. You can go ahead and take him to the theater…"

Solomon frowned. "I'm not leaving you here-"

"I'm ordering you to go…"

"Dammit, Hermione!" Solomon hissed as he rose to do just what she said. Orders from one's alpha were followed almost unconditionally, and given the situation, it was clear that Lucien needed more help than she did. Still, it didn't mean Solomon had to take it quietly.

"Bloody stubborn… Harry's going to give it to me if he finds out I left you down here by yourself. You think he's going to care if you ordered me to leave you? Of course he wouldn't care! He's damn well unreasonable when it comes to you! Well, I'm going, but if you're not up there in twenty minutes, I'm coming back down here and I don't care if your alpha-tough attitude orders me to leave you here again. I'm taking you with me! Stupid, stubborn…"

Solomon left with Lucien, and Hermione smirked to herself. She was exhausted, really, but she had to be thankful for the fact that she was immortal, because if it hadn't been for that, she might not have survived the night.

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Hermione did manage to force herself to get up and go in twenty minutes. She certainly didn't want Solomon to waste a trip, and knowing Ron, he'd be getting worried about now, too.

True enough, she met Solomon in one of the hallways. He was already on his way to fetch her, and perhaps seeing that she was alright, began reporting on Lucien's condition without a word of reprimand about her ordering him to leave her in the dungeons.

Solomon advised her to go straight to Harry, as Lucien was well on his way to recovery.

Grateful for Solomon's friendship, she gave him an affectionate embrace and kissed him. Before she went searching for Harry, she put on a fresh jumper. The previous one had blood dried on it, and there was no point in worrying anyone about the wound that had long disappeared from her cheek. When she was dressed, she sought Harry.

Vasilka, the little ghost girl, told her that Harry was in his bedroom.

When Hermione arrived, Ron and Viktor looked up from watching the healer attend to Harry.

Ron seemed mildly startled.

"Are you alright?" he asked, brows knotting with concern. "You look… paler."

Viktor stared at her searchingly, probably trying to see what Ron saw and Hermione found that she was astonished about Ron's perceptiveness. It was no small thing when one's friend noticed the different shades of pale. Most couldn't tell the difference, and Ron noticing meant that he was paying close attention because he cared. It was the most touching thing.

"I'm okay, Ron," she assured him. "Thank you for asking, but Harry…"

Ron eyed her for another moment before nodding in the direction of the healer.

She waited with them, and after a while, the healer finally looked up.

"His vitals read normal," the healer said, his English thickly accented. "And his sleep… it is induced. A magical defense mechanism of sorts. I have no Occlumency or Legilimency background, but my tests show magical barriers to mental intrusion. He is protecting himself from something, and I cannot wake him without shutting his mind tighter. He must voluntarily come out of this state. When he does, give him one of these potions. It should help him feel better. Other than that, there is nothing to do but wait."

Hermione pursed her lips even as she took the potions, fighting back the urge to lash out at the poor healer and say something awful, like, "What kind of healer are you?" The healer didn't deserve it, and he certainly had to be competent in his profession if he could diagnose mental blocks without powers of Occlumency or Legilimency. She just felt on-edge. She couldn't bear the thought of losing Harry to anything when she had only just gotten him back.

She felt Viktor's gaze on her, and it was one of avid curiosity before he looked to the healer and said something to him in Bulgarian. The healer nodded before excusing himself, telling them that he would be in the study down the hall if anyone needed him.

"He's going to be okay, Hermione," Ron said. "He'll pull through. He always does."

Hermione thought Ron actually sounded quite certain, and staring at him, she saw no doubt-barely a hint of worry-in his eyes. And why shouldn't Ron believe? They had seen Harry pull more Hail Marys out of his robes than a priory full of Catholic nuns have from theirs.

Feeling strangely assured, she nodded and gave Harry one last glance before she finally looked at Viktor. "Something on your mind?"

Viktor seemed surprised that she noticed, and she found herself wondering if her six months with him had meant anything to either of them. It seemed like she had learned more about him from his letters than she ever did staying in the Krum castle.

Well, as she once told Harry, Viktor was a physical being-the least of which having to do with sex. He was far more eloquent when he was doing things instead of saying them. He was an athlete who was more comfortable slamming shoulders with opponents on the playing field than he was talking about his heart's desires. He wore this standoffish expression on his face yet he seemed to like being around people anyway, being just within the scope of their awareness. Perhaps it was the only reason she felt she could like him. He was never demanding; never probing; always listening, and when he knew he should, he took care of her. As if to say, "You know I'm not good at this, so I try, but I lack the grace even when I manage it. I play Quidditch. That's what I'm good at. Watch me play and that's when you hear me speak best." The problem being, of course, was that she hardly ever saw him play.

Viktor began to nod, halted and shook his head.

She arched an eyebrow. "Is that a Bulgarian yes or an English no?" One peculiar thing she learned about Bulgarians is that they nodded for no and shook their heads for yes. Odd, but true. Most times, Viktor did it the common way for her, but on occasion, he slipped-usually when he was nervous-and she found herself listening to him say "yes" while he shook his head vehemently.

Viktor actually blushed. "English no."

"Dobre li si?" she asked, speaking in his language to put him at ease. She asked him if he was alright.

He smiled wanly. "I am. Just many things on my mind." He glanced briefly at Harry and seemed to expel a small breath. "I must go ahead. I have a few things to attend to. I will be in my office if you need me, Her-my-own."

She nodded, watching him leave.

"Busy man, isn't he?" Ron remarked.

Hermione nodded, seating herself on the edge of Harry's bed as she set the potions on his bedside table. She took his hand and stroked the back of it with her thumb.

She hadn't yet taken the time to think about what happened to Harry in the dungeons, and the truth was, she didn't want to think about it, because it meant she might have to consider things that she had forced herself to block out in the last five years.

It was while she began to get lost in her thoughts that she heard Harry stirring.

She stifled a gasp as she held his hand tighter, leaning over him to get a glimpse of his emerald green eyes.

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Harry awoke from unconsciousness distinctly aware that his entire body felt like the Whomping Willow had beat the crap out of him. He had gotten beaten over the head too, no doubt, as it felt sore around the back, the dull ache spreading to the rest of his skull.

He was on a bed, of that he was certain, and he surmised that were it not for the feeling that the Knight Bus had just ran him over ten times, he might have been blissfully comfortable in the soft downy sheets. But as his life was wont to go, he had to take the good with the evil overlords who wanted to rule the world.

The staff.

The thought jolted him out of his lethargy and he jerked, causing a shock of pain to go through him. A painful groan escaped him and he cursed the day he was born.

"Hush. Relax. It's alright…"

Hermione's voice sounded distant, and he almost believed he was still dreaming, but as he opened his eyes, there she was, blurry, but real. He felt something slither over his face and knew it was his glasses. All became clearer, and he saw that her gaze was filled with concern, his hand clasped reassuringly in hers.

On the other side of him hovered Ron.

"Welcome back, mate. Took a bad spill there, you did."

Hermione shot Ron a dirty look but didn't say anything. She bent over Harry and placed her cool hand on his forehead. It actually felt soothing, the coolness against the warm, throbbing pain.

"Say something, Harry," she pleaded softly.

She looked so worried that he was almost inclined to think of a way to alleviate her anxiety, but there were more pressing matters, and Hermione was tough. There was no point in treating her with kid gloves. "Where's Lucien?" he croaked.

Her worry lines intensified. "Solomon and I brought him to the theater. He suffered a lot of pain, but he'll be alright now… he just needs to heal."

He could tell that worrying about him and Lucien had taxed her.

Immortal though vampires may be, in general, there was absolutely no telling whether something out there could kill them as effectively as chopping their heads off, staking them through the heart or incinerating them to ashes.

"Good," Harry said. "And the staff?"

Ron shot Hermione a worried look and Harry began to get worried himself, more so when her features froze over. Whenever she did that, it meant she was hiding something.

"It's packed," she replied coolly. "It's in its case."

Harry struggled to sit up, and Hermione and Ron scrambled to help him. He glanced at the clock and saw that he hadn't been out that long. He took a moment to steady himself and Hermione handed him some potion. It looked like a Pepper Up and smelled like it, too. He took it and felt instantly revitalized, most of the pain waning from his body.

Propped by pillows, Harry asked them again. "How did you manage to pack the staff?"

"I did it," she replied. "It was no big deal. It seemed neutralized when I put it in its case."

"It made you sick," Ron told her accusingly.

Hermione looked up at him and glared. "It was nothing. I'm fine."

Harry's brows knotted. Though she appeared to be well, he wondered whether he should say something about risking such things, but he supposed he was in no position to make such lectures, as he had an even worse tendency to jump into the worse situations.

"Are you alright, then?" he asked her.

She nodded. "Perfectly alright. The staff… it didn't feel dangerous anymore when I put it in its case. I mean, I felt-it was still alive but-did you do something with it--?"

He almost laughed at that. "Something" seemed appropriate enough. "I fought with it. I fought with the dark entity. I think… I think it tried to get inside me."

"Ho, boy," Ron murmured, and Harry got the distinct impression that his words also meant, "Here we go again."

"Oh, God," Hermione whispered, looking terribly frightened.

This was very unsettling. In the last week, he'd grown to understand that Hermione didn't scare easy, and that even when she was afraid, she still looked ready to kick arse, but the look on her face now suggested despair; something that frightened him, and as a general rule, he didn't scare easy, either.

"Your scar was glowing purple, back in the dungeon," she said. "Did you know that?"

"No," he replied, his hand involuntarily rising to rub at it. "Purple… that's new, but you understand when I say that nothing about this scar shocks me anymore."

Ron scoffed. "Yeah. Almost like a running joke, isn't it?"

Harry grinned. He liked that. Running joke.

Hermione seemed less pleased. "You ought to take this more seriously. Harry, it makes no sense that the entity would want to possess you. It just doesn't. What put Voldemort's soul in the staff in the first place required very strong; very dark magic. It required murder. So even if a severed soul wanted a new vessel, it couldn't just go ahead and do what it wants. It would have to, in effect, make a new Horcrux, which is empirically impossible."

"I don't think it was trying to make a new Horcrux, Hermione. I think it was just trying to possess me. You know, like with Ginny..."

"It was not trying to make a new Horcrux," she said. "But I… I don't think it was trying to possess you, either. In any case, Ginny wasn't exactly being possessed. It used her, yes, but it was mostly taking her life essence, like a vamp would, so that it could gain existence. And given that, it's pretty safe to say that Ginny was a rather random choice. This entity, the one in the staff, zeroed in on you. Both did, it seemed. The entities wanted you and no one else."

Harry recalled how the staff acted in ways that were only apparent to him and he had an awful feeling in the pit of his stomach that Hermione was right. He had already figured that the staff had trapped him, but it was only now he considered the fact that the choice hadn't been all that random. If it just wanted to possess someone, it could have chosen a wizard who might not have the ability to fight it back, like Ron, for instance, who had no Occlumency training. Or maybe even Viktor, who had been in its possession for quite some time now.

The fact that Harry was a more powerful wizard seemed inconsequential. As the diary proved, it would take anybody who was susceptible to its charms. Harry was in no way susceptible to the staff's bidding, yet it had insisted on taking him.

He recalled the night before, when the staff had reacted, somehow affecting his scar. None of them had seen it, and for some reason, that seemed to put a particularly scary twist to Hermione's words, even if he wasn't grasping the entirety of what she was trying to say.

So what was Hermione trying to say, exactly?

"I've… been thinking," she said, looking vastly uncertain. "For quite some time now, actually, about your scar and how you got it…"

His eyebrow arched, a distant memory making its way into his thoughts. He wasn't sure why he was remembering it now, but he did. It had to do with something in her journal. Hermione had just come home from the dungeons of St. Mungo's where she had gotten initiated by Cicero, and that night, she had written a journal entry in the library while he and Ron slept in the lounge area. It was the following day when he discovered the same entry and he read it on the sly. She later made a copy of that entry to leave with him and Ron.

The entry contained Horcrux theory, a theory that ultimately guided them to find the other Horcruxes. Harry had extensively used that entry throughout the five years of his search, and perhaps in his constant referral to it, he could recall parts of it almost by rote. There was a digression in her discussion, something she labeled as a notation, something that had, on more than one occasion, made him wonder about what it meant.

"You've been thinking about it since five years ago," he said carefully.

She seemed surprised. "How did you know?"

"Your journal, one of your first entries, and one of the most important, too. You mentioned something about how Voldemort gave me this scar, and that you dared not write what you were thinking until you had facts to support it, because it might taint future thought-processes unnecessarily."

Realization gleamed from her gaze.

Ron frowned. "Can you please just skip over this Harry and Hermione mind reading and get to the explaining already?"

Harry stifled the rolling of his eyes and opted to exchange exasperated looks with Hermione, but she wasn't meeting his gaze, and she was biting her lower lip looking terribly worried. He reached for her hand and squeezed it. "Hermione?"

Her brows knotted as she looked up at them. "The night Voldemort came to your house at Godric's Hollow, he killed your parents and he tried to kill you, instead he left you with a scar, marked you as his equal and hurt himself in the process. Many believe that your mother's love protected you, Harry, and I think it did to a great degree, but what if something else happened that affected Voldemort's Avada Kedavra? This ability you have now to wield magic with incredible skill, especially when you most need it… I think even as a baby, you had it, Harry. You did something that deflected the curse, or perhaps you took it, and turned it into something else. You said that the magic still needs something to work with before it could let you do those amazing spells, and perhaps that night in Godric's Hollow, the magic did have something, and it used it to save you, even if it was just meant to buy you more time..."

"That's all speculation, Hermione. Nobody knows what happened that night, not even me."

"Yes, but-look at your scar, Harry. You can already tell just by looking at it that it isn't ordinary, and it has proven to be particularly extraordinary. It reacts to Voldemort in various ways, particularly when he's near, it lets you feel what he's feeling and it lets you see what he's seeing."

He couldn't understand it quite yet. "Hermione, what--?"

"I'm saying-I'm saying that somehow, that scar is a link to him. It binds you somehow."

Harry sighed. "We already know that."

"Y-Yes, but have you ever wondered why, Harry? I mean, really wondered? So he cast a spell on you and you survived it. Dolohov did the same to me and I don't have a link with him."

"Oh, but you don't have a scar," Ron pointed out.

Hermione arched an eyebrow. "Just because you couldn't see the mark, it doesn't mean it didn't leave a scar. When I was human, the effects of that hex never completely left me. There were nights I felt pain from it. Not often, but every once in a while it would act up and I would have to take a pain reliever."

Harry's insides twisted at that and he most definitely recalled that awful evening he thought he had gotten her killed. Later, his grief over Sirius would overshadow the intensity of that brief moment of dread. She had seemed fine, after all… "I-I didn't know…"

"And don't you dare feel guilty about that, Harry," she said sternly. "That wasn't your fault, anymore than Sirius's death was. Anyway, the point is, the hexes that caught us both left an impression, yet yours created a link to Voldemort. Scars don't do that, Harry. They leave a mark, yes. A reminder, perhaps, but they don't create psychic links."

Ron frowned. "But Voldemort had cursed Harry with an Avada Kedavra. That in itself makes the curse different from yours-"

"We don't know that it was an Avada Kedavra. Everyone just assumed that it was and that Harry survived it, and even if it was an Avada Kedavra, what in an Avada Kedavra would cause Harry to have a connection with Voldemort? What property of the spell would make the scar sensitive to the presence of the one who put it there? What aspect of Avada Kedavra carries with it the ability to transfer certain abilities, like Parseltongue, to the curse's victim?"

"Well, how should I know?"

"The books," Hermione enunciated, "tell us that Avada Kedavra simply kills. It takes life. It uses a caster's hatred to make it effective, and there's nothing about it that would support a theory that says it transfers power from one wizard to another. Avada Kedavra takes, it doesn't give. That scar gave Harry the ability to have a link with Voldemort. The 'curse' seemed to have given Harry the power to speak with snakes. Whether or not Voldemort hurled an Avada Kedavra at Harry that night, it wasn't an Avada Kedavra when it connected with him, and that scar isn't just a scar. I believe, most of all, that Harry's magic did something to whatever curse Voldemort hurled at him, and Harry's magic must have changed it. That's why he survived. That's why he's here to fight Voldemort right now. Besides… unforgivable curses don't leave scars."

Harry shook his head. "I still don't understand-"

"A Horcrux"-she continued-"is the tearing of one's soul through the taking of another life. That torn piece of soul is then placed in a vessel, usually an object, but the theory is that so long as the vessel containing the soul is on this plane, the rest of the soul is anchored, and it cannot really die and move on to the next plane, which is death, so that implies that the soul and its fragments aren't actually separated. The pieces of the soul are torn, but not severed. They're still connected. They're linked."

Harry stared at her, swallowing nervously. Linked…

"The piece of Voldemort's soul in the staff wasn't trying to find a new vessel, Harry. For it to be able to do that, it would at least have to cast a kind of spell that would make the object inhabitable for a soul fragment, and that doesn't seem feasible. Even the diary, which seemed so intelligent, couldn't cast spells, much less powerful spells. Besides, if the soul fragment in the staff could change vessels at will, it could have just transferred itself into any random object all these years, but no, it did no such thing. I don't think it waited for you, Harry, but when you fell within the proximity of its power, it sensed two things about you. One, that you were already an inhabitable vessel, and that two, there was something inside you that was drawing it to you."

Harry's heart began to palpitate at the unsavory direction her words were leading them to. "Something?"

"Like calls to like," she said, her gaze becoming liquid with tears. "It felt the presence of Voldemort's soul fragment in you, Harry. I think-I think that night at Godric's Hollow, Voldemort inadvertently turned you into a Horcrux."

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She could feel the horror of Ron and Harry bearing into her.

One of them was going to start yelling soon, and if she knew them both at all, it would be Ron who would yell first.

"That is the stupidest thing I've ever heard, Hermione!" Ron yelled.

Sometimes, she hated being right all the time, and right now, after everything she'd said, she'd never wanted to be more wrong in her life.

Harry's hand was gripping hers almost painfully. "Th-That can't be right," he gasped, staring at her wide-eyed. "You can't be serious!" His voice had risen as well.

She blinked back her tears, knowing very well that this was not the time to be weak of will. "Why would I joke about something like this, Harry? I've been turning this thing over and over in my head for five years. I've every reason to think it was true, and the only reason I could think of that it wasn't was the fact that I couldn't prove or disprove it! And then suddenly there's this, and that spell Silvia and Paolo told us about…"

She could see Ron and Harry processing her words as they stood there, flabbergast.

"The soul harvest, spell?" Harry asked. "What does that have to do with this?"

"I'm not sure," she said, frustrated. "But I find it hard to believe that a 'soul harvest' spell playing into this situation is completely unrelated to the possibility that you're a Horcrux, Harry."

"Have you found anything about the spell, then?" Ron demanded.

She glared at him, wanting to tell him to stop badgering her; that this wasn't her fault, but she bit back her aggression. They were all trying to cope with this revelation. "Not the spell, exactly, but I've done research on soul spells, and harvest spells. Soul spells necessarily rely on the presence of a living soul as a key ingredient. Soul spells fall under dark magic and is generally called Necromancy. Because one's or someone else's soul should never have to be tampered with, doing so creates travesties of life, like Inferi, or Horcruxes, or perhaps even to some degree ghosts, dark creatures and oracles. 'To harvest' necessarily means to remove or extract from something cultured, living or recently diseased…"

"So are you saying Voldemort's going to take back his soul from me?" Harry asked.

She shook her head. "That doesn't make sense. What for? Horcruxes, per se, aren't meant to be extracted. They anchor a soul and they're used to haul him back out from the veil of death. That the diary tried to live through Ginny was incidental, because we both know that when Voldemort was reborn in the graveyard during your fourth year, they didn't have to use up the soul in a Horcrux to bring him back. He still has the main fragment of his soul with him, which is how he could exist, after all."

Harry frowned. She could tell he was getting impatient. "What does this soul harvest spell have to do with me, then? You said so yourself that it all had to be related!"

"I don't know, Harry. I just… it's all guesswork. I need more time, I suppose. I haven't exactly exhausted the Hogwarts library…"

"What if there aren't any answers there, either?" Ron asked.

Hermione had considered that. "One or both possibilities can be true: First, it's like the Horcrux spell: Dark enough to be banned from print and the academe. Second… it's a new spell, manufactured for Voldemort alone."

"Maybe we should ask Horace Slughorn about it," Harry muttered. "That ought to be interesting. A Horcrux asking Slughorn about another spell he probably wouldn't want to talk about…"

She looked at him ruefully. She wasn't much for bringing him happy news, these days. It was always something morbid, or awful.

"It's not your fault," he said softly.

She didn't know if he had read her mind or if he saw it on her face. Either way, she appreciated what he said. "This is all just theory, anyway. Contrary to popular belief, I don't always want to be right. Especially not on this one. Harry, if I'm right and you're a Horcrux-"

"Yeah. I'd have to-"

"Don't," she said. "There is no 'have to,' right now. Until we know more, we will not succumb to 'have to.'"

He sighed and Hermione had that fourth year impulse to throw her arms around him, but he pushed the sheets back and got on his socked feet. She resisted the urge tell him to lie back down; that he'd only just woken up. Ron certainly showed no inclination to stop him as Harry went to the fireplace and poked the logs.

When he seemed to have rekindled the flames enough, he sat on one of the lounge chairs and stared broodingly into the fire. Ron didn't look very upbeat, either.

She didn't know what to say to them. Perhaps she should have shut her mouth. Perhaps she shouldn't have shot off like that without more proof. It's still all conjecture, after all.

"What do we do now, then?" Ron asked.

For a moment, it looked as if Harry wasn't going to speak, but then his mouth opened, and Hermione could see in his eyes a sense of purpose. Harry was going to tell them what to do, and she felt rather awestruck that he could even think at a time like this. She waited eagerly for his response, but there was a sound at the door, and there stood Viktor looking terribly uncertain.

Viktor caught her gaze for a moment and saw an all-too familiar glimmer there; a look she hadn't seen from him in a long time. But he tore his gaze away and looked at Harry. "I am glad to see you are awake. I should send in the healer, I think, just to make sure you are alright, yes?"

Harry's face was bereft of expression as he returned Viktor's gaze as he shook his head. "Thank you, but I'm fine. His Pepper-Up potion worked wonders."

"Good." Viktor's eyes returned to Hermione. "May I haff a moment with you?" he asked, his accent thickening all of a sudden.

His timing was horrible, of course. She looked at him apologetically. "Viktor, I-"

"Ako obichash."

Hermione stared at him in mild surprise. He sounded nervous, because he tended to forget his English when he did.

"Please," he had said.

"Pravilen," she replied, nodding. She looked at Ron, then at Harry, apologetically. "I'll only be a minute," she said.

She stood there, not moving, and she realized that she was waiting for Harry's reaction; almost waiting for him to say, "It's alright. It's not a big deal."

She heard a chuckle, but the sound hadn't been carried by the air. It was a sound that rippled through her mind, and it was Harry. Of course it was Harry. "So long as you promise not to run away with him…"

At that, she stifled her own chuckle as she flashed him a contrite smile. She should have known he wouldn't be so petty. Though really, sometimes, it was hard to tell when Harry got jealous and when he didn't.

She went to the door and crossed the threshold, joining Viktor out in the hall. Viktor did not even bother to close the door, putting the two of them in plain view of Ron and Harry.

Viktor began to speak to her in a rush of Bulgarian.

She had learned many of the most common phrases, and perhaps a bit more than that, as well, but she was, in no way, as fluent as Viktor thought her to be at that moment.

"Ne razbiram," she said gently, which meant she couldn't understand. "Too fast. Too many."

He stopped, sighed and smiled wearily.

She hadn't noticed that weariness until now. Maybe he had been hiding it? Putting up a front? Viktor was actually quite good at that, mainly because he was quiet enough when he was perfectly fine. It was hard to tell apart his various moods.

"I am sorry for what has happened," he said, gesturing vaguely to Harry.

Well, Viktor was nothing if not polite. It was just like him to take the blame for the chaotic events because it happened in his home. He had done the same thing, a long time ago, when a visiting guest had cut his hand examining the Krum antique weapons collection. Viktor had apologized.

Stifling a scoff, she waved her hand in a gentle dismissal. "It's not your fault."

Pausing a moment, he glanced one more time into Harry's room before continuing. "You are together again?"

His question surprised her, this time. Not because it was too personal, but because it implied he cared. "Yes. We are."

Viktor gave her a small smile. "I am happy for you. I know you love him much. I always knew. There was…" He groped for a word and muttered, "Kak shte kazhesh tova na Angliski…?"

How do you say this in English…?

"Emptiness," he continued. "In your soul."

She felt her cheeks flush. The thing about Viktor was that in order to improve his English, he had taken to reading poetry, so when he groped for words, he came up with things like, "Emptiness in your soul." Not that he was wrong. He was, in fact, disturbingly accurate most times, just that words like his tended to strip down one's emotional defenses instantly.

"Th-There was," she replied awkwardly.

He nodded. "It is important to fill the emptiness, yes? It is important to have someone in your heart. At times it can be a weakness, but they give you strength, as well. Harry is a good man…"

She looked at him questioningly, wondering why he was telling her this.

"I… have my heart filled," he said. "By my children. Jaroslav and Todor are my life."

Hermione stared intently into his gaze, and she saw fear. It struck her like a bludger. "What are you trying to tell me, Viktor?" she asked, her tone purposeful.

He turned away from her, unable to meet her gaze now as he began to speak in a low, whispering tone. "My brother and sister… have joined the Dark Lord's cause, and they have taken my children as hostage for my cooperation."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It took everything in Hermione's Coven-honed willpower not to strike him and show him how utterly devastated she was with him right now. She kept telling herself that they had his sons, that they had forced him into doing this. That he had no choice and that she might have done the same for her children. It was difficult, but she forced herself, and she had to listen to his words.

His sister, Vanya, and his brother, Vasili, had made clear their intentions of joining Voldemort's side a few months ago. Viktor had been against it; opposed it. He had begged and argued for them to change their minds; to do it for their children, but his siblings were set in their ways, utterly convinced that Voldemort's way was the best way. It was, after all, how their father had tried to raise them: Purebloods for purebloods. Power from pure-breeding.

Viktor had been... difficult in that respect. His father had always blamed his mother, never Viktor. Viktor was his prized son: International Quidditch Seeker; strong; immovable.

"It is only a phase, this sympathy for Muggle-borns and Half Bloods," Viktor Krum, Sr. had often said.

Viktor, his nature reticent, had let his father think so.

His mother, the Gods rest her gentle soul, could hardly be "blamed" for his "notions". While Viktor could somehow attribute his "softer" views to his relatively more compassionate mother, he believed that his alternative perception of Muggle-borns and Half Bloods was nurtured by none other than Quidditch. He had learned much more than flying and catching snitches on the Quidditch Pitch. Engaging other teams, many of them with talented and amicable Muggle-born and Half Blood players, taught him that though many factors shaped one's character, blood was the least of them.

It was a concept he had hoped to impart to his siblings, but he had lost all hope of changing their views when they told him that they would become Death Eaters.

Concerned for his brother and sister, Viktor decided he would pretend to be on their side, but perhaps not entirely convinced of his loyalty, they took it upon themselves to make sure that Viktor would not step out of line. They took his children, and perhaps to mock him, knowing he was too weak to do his niece and nephew harm, left their children, Stefanya and Gavril, with him. Besides, what better spies than children who would not lie?

The staff had been given to them for safekeeping, and they tasked Viktor to house the staff in the Krum castle dungeon. It had been sitting in the dungeon for weeks now, and Viktor had, in the last few months, been dreaming and plotting of ways to use the staff to get his children back. It wasn't until three weeks ago that he found his opportunity.

A Death Eater meeting had been held in the castle, and among the Death Eaters was none other than Professor Severus Snape.

~~

Viktor stood by the hearth, staring listlessly at the fire blazing underneath the portrait of his great grandfather.

All around him, Death Eaters, his brother and sister among them, talked and partook of wine from the Krum cellar. There were vampires as well, prancing about, radiating fierce beauty wherever they mingled. Greyback's werewolves, the ones who weren't servants to the vampires, walked among them.

These were people he never would have welcomed into his home before. Now he had no choice, because he had to play the part, lest his children suffer the consequences of his convictions.

As he desperately wished for the heat of the flames to warm the deep chill in his heart, he felt a presence beside him.

Pulling his gaze from the fire, he looked up and found a hawk-nosed, pale-faced man with oily black hair and the coldest eyes he ever did see. This man was familiar; one he had seen from long ago.

His memories of that time were marked by her, the bright young girl who had spoken to him and looked past the International Quidditch player, listened past the poor English, and saw more than a surly, stocky young man who would sooner catch a snitch than make friends. He was in Hogwarts for the Triwizards Tournament, and while Hermione Granger had been the one person in that entire competition that he wanted to please, he had remembered faces and names. There was Harry Potter, Cedric Diggory, Fleur Delacour, Albus Dumbledore, Barty Crouch, Sr., and one professor, whom his Headmaster from Durmstrang seemed to have looked upon with such high regard: Severus Snape.

"I was made to understand that your father entrusted the keeping of this castle to you before his untimely death," Snape said in his clipped and haughty tone. "Unusual, as you are evidently the youngest among your siblings."

Viktor nodded. "He saw that I loved this home more than Vanya and Vasili ever did. They think this home archaic. They prefer the newer mansions, and so my father made sure that this home would not be sold so that my siblings could buy new ones."

"That must have displeased them."

"It did." Viktor then had to wonder if his siblings hadn't decided to join Voldemort simply because they hadn't gotten their way. It occurred to him that they were just the type to do such a thing. He stifled a sigh.

"Interesting," Snape began with an arch of his eyebrows. "You are unlike your siblings in many ways, I think."

"I suppose I am."

"For instance, you would soil yourself by cavorting with that Mudblood, Hermione Granger."

Viktor gave a start, reacting instinctively to such vicious slander. He grabbed the collar of Snape's robes and whipped out his wand with his other hand. He shoved the tip of his rigid hornbeam underneath Snape's chin just as he was about to demand that Snape take everything he said back, when Snape spoke in an unaffected, silky tone.

"My, my, my… a Death Eater sympathetic to the Muggle-born. How utterly magnanimous of you."

Viktor froze at Snape's words. He could feel the eyes of his siblings on him; curious, anxious. They did not want him to embarrass them. And there were other Death Eaters, too, who seemed to have taken a slight interest in his odd proximity to Snape.

Slipping his wand into the sleeve of his robe with a sleight of hand, Viktor stepped back and away from Snape, glaring at him one last time before looking back to the fire. "Old habits. I am done with M-Mudbloods. I serve the Dark Lord and his ideals, now."

"Indeed. He is the salvation of our world, isn't he? He will save our magic from extinction…"

Viktor's lip curled ever so slightly as he replied. "Da."

"It is for the good of… your children, yes?"

Viktor's jaw clenched, and he stared at Snape, wondering whether the man meant what he said literally or figuratively. Was Snape testing his loyalty to Voldemort? What game was he playing?"

"This wine you have," Snape said, swirling the red liquid in his wine glass. "It is exquisite. Is this the only one you procured from its vineyard?"

Viktor wasn't a man of particular social skills. Unlike his father, he wasn't adept at interactive niceties or the subtle intonations of context, but he knew a request for private conference when he heard one. The question now was… would he oblige it?

He appraised Snape's appearance. Snape didn't look physically formidable, but Viktor had learned that it was those like him that usually knew how to wield magic most successfully. It would be dangerous to be alone with Snape, but really, he'd had to put up with so many things already. Death was almost a welcome escape.

"I will show you to our cellar. Would that interest you?" Viktor said.

"Indeed."

Viktor lead the way. It wasn't a particularly long walk, and both of them, it seemed, were taking brisk strides. He could feel the eyes of every painting following them curiously and when he got them to the cellar, he shut them both in, barred the door and grabbed Snape by the throat, shoving him against the door and glaring at him.

"What do you want from me?" Viktor hissed, wand out and ready to hex.

Snape looked amazingly calm. "You're about as awful a Death Eater as you are an excellent Quidditch player, Viktor Krum. It's plain, at least to me, that given a choice, you'd hex every Death Eater that crossed the threshold of your castle."

"I ask you the same question, then. What do you want from me?"

"Do you want to save your children, Krum? Or more importantly, do you want to save the Wizarding World?"

Viktor did not speak, and he did not release Snape from his grip, but he did not tighten his hold on the man's neck, either. "Go on," he said.

Snape held out the sleeve of his robe, exposing a pocket. "Inside this pocket, you will find a letter. You must get the letter to Hermione Granger. I know you have a way of reaching her. You cavorted with her once, didn't you?" He said this with an unpleasant sneer, but Viktor did not hurt him for it.

Viktor reached into Snapes robe and pulled out the envelope. It was unmarked.

"Only Granger can unravel its contents. A precaution, I suppose. In this business, not everything is what it seems. As for saving your children… well, I have three words for you: Harry Bloody Potter…"

~~

Snape told Viktor exactly what he should do to stay free of suspicion from the others. Viktor must seek audience with the grieving Yasmin ibna Omar, newly robbed of her Blood Kin. Tell her that he possessed the last Horcrux of Voldemort.

When Viktor asked him what a Horcrux was, Snape told him it was unimportant; that Yasmin would know, and that Yasmin would see the merits of this information, especially driven by vengeance and Oracular prophecies. From thereon, Snape would expect Yasmin to act accordingly, and that somehow, it would involve having a nice little Hermione and Harry reunion.

"Depend upon it," Snape had said. "You will have Harry Potter in your home soon enough. You can either seek his help in getting your children back, or you can betray him, giving him over to the Dark Lord. Either way, I don't care. But if you're smart, Krum… you ought to be thinking in terms of the long-haul. Harry Potter will need all the time he could scrounge to prepare for his meeting with the Dark Lord. The end is fast approaching. What you decide might very well determine the fate of the Wizarding world."

Viktor did everything Snape instructed him to do, and he had gotten this far in the plan. Now came the time to decide what path to tread. He reached into his robe and pulled out an envelope.

Hermione saw that it was unmarked.

She grabbed his wrist and pushed back the sleeve of his robe. There, on his arm, shimmered the Dark Mark. She glared at him. "Why should I trust you, Viktor? You brought us here by means of deceit. Everything you've done from thereon brings your motives to question."

His eyes were filled with shame, but it did not contain regret. "I was afraid for my children. I dared not deviate from Snape's instructions for fear of being found out by the others. He said that if I contacted you or Harry Potter directly, that it would instantly put everyone on alert. Their attention was not focused on Yasmin. It was easier-and safer-to meet with her secretly."

"And do you expect me to believe that Severus Snape, the man who murdered Albus Dumbledore, would help our cause?" she hissed.

"I do not know, but everything he has told me, until this point, has been proven correct-"

"Correct, indeed, but trustworthy? He has manipulated everyone, even went so far as forcing Yasmin to do exactly as she was expected to do. I know my Coven Master, Viktor. She would not have been so predictable if she didn't have her own reasons to fall for it. Did Snape tell you anything else?"

"He dared not. And I dared not ask."

She hardened her heart, dropping his wrist roughly. "That staff hurt Harry and Lucien, and because Solomon and I had to give Lucien blood, we would be too weak right now to protect ourselves, Ron, and Harry against other vampires. You knew this would happen to us. You knew that if we had to fight, we would fail-"

"I am not so malicious as to betray you so badly, but I-I admit that I had been greatly undecided about the matter until now. I contemplated giving Harry Potter over to the Dark Lord, when Harry Potter least expected it, but I… I have been speaking to his best friend, Ron Weasley. Harry Potter… he can save us all, can't he?"

Hermione bit back her rage. She hated it when people completely disregarded the fact that Harry was a person, that he had a life, and people he loved, that when he wasn't being a hero, he was a man who didn't deserve to be used, or abused, or expected to shoulder the responsibility of a world that couldn't care less for him if it weren't for the fact that he was destined to fight for them all. "Yes. Yes, he can. He is the only hope of the Wizarding world, but tell me why you deserve his help. You have been dishonest, and manipulative, and worst of all, you looked me in the eyes and carried on this awful charade. How could you lie to me, Viktor? I've never given you reason to deceive me. Even when you wanted children of your own, we had an understanding, that-" She shook her head. "How could you?"

Viktor tried to touch her but she stepped back, slapping his hand away.

"Don't," she told him, glaring at him. "Don't touch me."

She had ceased whispering now, and the sound of the slap had Harry and Ron jerking to attention from where they sat.

They were there in a heartbeat, Harry stepping between her and Viktor while Ron stood by, ready to pounce when Harry told him to.

"What's going on?" Harry asked in a dangerously soft tone.

Viktor gave Harry one cautious glance before he met her gaze over Harry's shoulders. "Her-my… Her-my-own-nee, please… Molya te. I am begging you… my sons… they have my sons." And much to her awe, he dropped to one knee, head bowed, hands to the floor. "I risk their lives by telling you this… Molya te."

He was begging, and perhaps some part of her heart, no matter how wounded it was from his deceit, truly understood his reasons. And even without Viktor explaining why he was telling her this, she knew why he did it, because Viktor was no different from anybody else when it came to what Harry inspired. Just like the rest of the Wizarding world, Viktor knew that Harry was their only hope of a life without fear of their sons being held hostage; or their fathers getting killed; or of lovers dying for them. Harry was their only hope of a life without the shadow of evil ruling their lives.

Harry and Ron said nothing, staring at Viktor in shock.

Steeling her feelings of betrayal, she went to him and held her hand out. "Give me the letter."

Viktor did.

She broke the seal and scanned the words. It explained to her in quick detail what the Soul Harvest spell did, pointing out relevant theory so that she would understand how it worked and so that she would believe it was feasible. The contents of the letter gave her both hope and despair, and of course, at the bottom was the signature of none other than Severus Snape.

She knelt at eye level and grabbed Viktor's chin to yank his gaze up, and with barely a warning, she searched back into his memories. Hours, days, weeks, and finally that evening Severus Snape told him what he should do. She heard no words, but the images coincided with Viktor's tale. She fast-forwarded, finding that he did, indeed, speak to Yasmin, and finally, she searched through his memories of last night as Viktor sat in his study, contemplating near to tears over the unmarked envelope he held in his hand-and which she now held in hers-the fate of Wizarding world, as she and Harry made love for the first time in a long time.

She had seen enough. She pulled back and stood. "Get up," she hissed.

He did.

"Have you told them that we're here?"

Swallowing, Viktor shook his head. "N-No. Of course not. I have prevented Stefanya and Gavril the floo, but soon they will want to speak to their parents, and they will tell Vanya and Vasili that I have very interesting visitors…"

Nodding, she stood to face Harry and Ron.

Ron scowled. "What the hell is going on?"

Choosing her words, Hermione told them everything Viktor confessed to her. She could see their reactions as she spoke, saw Ron cast murderous glances in Viktor's direction, saw how Harry refused to look at Viktor while he seethed. In the end, even with her feelings of betrayal, she spoke in Viktor's behalf.

"They have his children. Who knows what we might have done put in the same situation? Ultimately, what matters are the choices we make in the end. He chose to trust us at the risk of losing his children forever. I have already decided I would help him. You do not have to decide the same." She prayed that Harry would not hate her for her decision. There was a time in their lives when they would always go the way the other did, because neither wanted to be separate from the other. In a romantic sense, that seemed like a good thing, but perhaps in other ways; ways that might ultimately make the feelings of the heart develop and mature, it was healthier to have a minds of their own. She hoped Harry saw it that way; that he would embrace the truth that even if she loved him with everything she had, her convictions were important too.

In a second that seemed to last a lifetime, something softened in Harry's gaze.

She felt his hand snake to the back of her neck and he gently pulled her to him, so that his lips would be on her ear.

"This is why I love you," he whispered, pressing a kiss to her cheek before letting her go. She smiled, wanting nothing more than to grab him and snog the hell out of him right there.

Harry trained his gaze on Viktor Krum. "I'm going to help you get your children back, and Viktor… you'd better understand what you're getting yourself into."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Hermione had two good reasons to find Harry. One, she needed to speak to him about Snape's letter and two, she was feeling terribly stressed, and therefore randy. She wondered how she was going to satisfy both objectives without sacrificing one for the other.

She found Harry in the fencing room in the dead of night, barefoot and meditating, the poor man having no idea that she was planning an assault that very moment.

Earlier, after Harry had finalized plans with Viktor, Hermione had to see to Lucien in their theater chambers. She felt that she had neglected Lucien enough, and that she had to make her Shadow Kin understand that just because things with Harry had changed, it didn't mean that she was going to let them fend for themselves. She gave Lucien the attention he deserved, soothing his aches as best she could and lulling him into a restful sleep.

After she'd spent a bit of time talking to Solomon in the way that made them such close and affectionate friends, she became acutely aware of how much she missed Harry, and she took that opportunity to find Harry to have some alone time with him.

The feeling of longing fast became something more primal, and by the time she found him in the fencing room, she was about ready to jump him and shag his brains out.

A woman with a mission, she fluffed her hair, unzipped the top of her jumper as low as it could go, and lastly, made sure her bra did what it was suppose to do to her breasts. She was going to speak to him about Snape, so it was best to look like a slut the whole time, just so their talk wouldn't completely steal his mojo.

She slipped into the room soundlessly, hoping not to disturb him until he was through, but he opened his eyes as soon as she fell within the perimeter of his consciousness, and he didn't seem to mind her intrusion, because he smiled and invited her to come closer with an indicative tilt of his head.

She sat as near to him as she possibly could, tucking one leg to herself as she propped her other leg behind him. She leaned her elbow on her knee so she could play idly with his messy hair and bent over just right to show him what properly engineered under-wire brassieres could do.

He made a contented sound in his throat, leaning over to press his lips and his tongue on her neck.

He really is a quick study, isn't he? she thought with feral delight.

She closed her eyes, smiling as she let him seduce her. Goosebumps rippled down her back and it was becoming increasingly difficult to check off her to-do list in proper order. She stifled a giggle at her thoughts.

To Do… who?

His hand came up to grope her and she pursed her lips to keep from laughing.

The boy doesn't waste time.

"I didn't come here to snog, Harry," she lied.

"Oh?" he drawled as he continued to kiss her. "Could have fooled me… God, these low-riding trousers are dead sexy…" As if to prove his point, his hands artfully grazed the skin just beneath the waist, hooking his finger into one side of her thong panties and snapping it teasingly.

She yelped and laughed. "Harry! You-oh…" She took a few moments to appreciate the finer points of having Harry's mouth sucking on the delicate flesh of her throat before she gently pushed him away. "I came here to talk about Snape's letter."

For a moment, he looked like he wasn't going to listen, but in the next second, he was sighing and leaning back. "Talk about killing the mood…"

She gave him an apologetic smile, pulling out the letter from within her bra. The way his eyes followed the trail of her hand and stayed just a few heartbeats longer on her cleavage was proof enough that the mood wasn't quite dead yet.

Hiding her smirk, she gave the letter to him.

He took it, opened it and stared at it. "It's blank."

Hermione's eyebrow arched. She looked at the letter and saw that it was, indeed blank. Evidently, there was a charm on it, and she was quite impressed with the spellwork. The ink had been charmed to sense her magical signature, maybe? She wondered what personal object of hers Snape used to make the charm work and she shuddered at the thought that Snape would even have anything of hers that was personal.

Reaching out, she touched her fingers to the edge of the parchment, and sure enough, the words appeared.

Harry's eyebrow arched as he looked at her. "Please tell me Snape didn't happen to get hold of your unmentionables." Evidently, he was thinking along the same lines, or maybe he was just really horny right now.

"Unless he rummaged through my clothes hamper while I was in Hogwarts, no, I don't think he used my knickers to mix the potion that charmed this ink, Harry. I'm guessing he used one of my test-papers. I bet he's just the sort of potions master to keep things like that for ingredients: Eye of Newt dried under the light of a full-moon, Lilies plundered from the grave of a murdered man and Test-Paper from a Vampiric Know-It-All student."

"Waste not, want not." Harry read the contents of the letter and frowned. "This tells us what a Soul Harvest is… first question: Should we even trust this letter?"

"I don't know."

Harry nodded, as if to agree with what she said. "Second question: Why? Why would he write the details of the spell and send it to you?"

"I don't know," she replied again.

So much for the Know-It-All.

"Was this some elaborate plan to give us the wrong information?" he asked.

She shrugged. "Maybe. Perhaps he's trying to manipulate things the way he manipulated Viktor; the way he manipulated Yasmin…"

"Just like Snape, innit?"

"Yes," she replied. "But what if he's doing it because he isn't actually on their side, Harry? What if he's playing the double agent again?"

"He murdered Albus Dumbledore."

She considered his answer and sighed, wondering why she even bothered to try to make angels of demons. Perhaps deep down inside, she didn't want people to look at her and instantly think she would rip their throats out and drink their blood. Everyone deserved a second look. That's what she wanted to believe, at least. The reality was not as nice and comfortable.

"He did, didn't he?" she replied.

Harry's gaze grew distant, and for several moments, Hermione thought he had forgotten the now, so lost in his thoughts. She traced some of his hair off the top of his ear and that seemed to snap him back to the present.

"You know…" he began quietly. "I've watched that memory many times, that night Dumbledore was killed. I watch it in my pensieve. And every time I did, less and less of it makes sense."

Her brows knotted sympathetically. She whispered his name with compassionate concern. He'd seen too many people he cared for die. Why did he insist on seeing it over and over again?

"No, you don't understand," he said. "I don't mean-What I mean to say is, every time I watch it, I see things here and there that don't add up. Like Dumbledore, for example. He was the most powerful wizard there was, Hermione. Why in the world would he beg mercy from Snape? Snape is-well, Snape isn't exactly Dumbledore caliber, is he? Dumbledore could have done Snape in if he really wanted to, even in Dumbledore's weakened state, but it seemed to me… it seemed to me that night, he didn't want to. He was begging Snape… to what? What did he want Snape to do? Spare him? Or kill him?"

She stared at him, worried. "Harry-"

"When I told Dumbledore that night that I wanted to go to the cave with him, he made me promise to follow his every command, even if the orders were to 'flee', 'hide' or 'go back'… even if his orders were to 'save myself', he made me promise I would listen. What if… what if I wasn't the only one he forced to make such a promise?"

She frowned. "Do you think he made Snape promise? Do you think he wanted Snape to kill him?"

Harry gave an exasperated shrug. "I don't know, but there had to be a reason Dumbledore trusted him unconditionally. When Dumbledore was weak and powerless, he didn't look for McGonagall; he didn't look for Hagrid, or Flitwick, he looked for Snape. Snape was the only person Dumbledore wanted to see. He trusted Snape for years, and that night, he trusted Snape with his life, and I couldn't reconcile it with the fact that he would trust someone so completely only to have that person betray him so badly. And I think… I think that night, Dumbledore knew he was going to die."

"Harry…"

"And now Snape tells us this, on top of everything else. The Soul Harvest… just when you think there's nothing worse than a Horcrux."

Hermione took his hand and squeezed it. "Count on Snape to create something so abominable and then brag about it."

Harry laughed bitterly. "Do you believe it could be done? This spell?"

She gave it a brief thought. "The theory is sound. It says here the spell requires an object, a sacrifice and a catalyst…"

"And he wants me for the sacrifice, of course. How very dramatic."

Hermione didn't think it was drama, but did she really need to remind him that she feared he was a Horcrux, too? It was odd, but for the first time in her life, she really wished she could talk to Snape. The man had had the foresight to address the letter to her. Not to Harry; not to Lupin; to her. Then again, Harry and Lupin were not exactly his favorite people, and he had to have had a grudging respect of her intelligence, having taught her for six years, trying to cut her down at each opportunity yet failing at it and having no choice but to giver her an O… at least he acknowledged she was smart enough to comprehend the finer points of his spell, assuming it would work. Or perhaps…

Perhaps he knows I would understand exactly what would make the spell work when everyone would think it isn't possible…

That thought, as she earlier decided when she first read the letter, gave her a sense of hope and despair. If her theory about Snape's spell was correct, there was a chance… yet, if Snape's spell failed and her theory about Harry as a Horcrux was correct…

I couldn't lose him. I won't let it happen. If I have to, I'd-

She stopped her train of thought. What, Granger? Turn him? Could she? Was she brave enough? Was she cruel enough?

Harry deserves a full life. A mortal life. A life he could look back on and say, "Well, that was a really good run, wasn't it?"

It was bad enough that she was desperate to make his one life, with her, wonderful, for as long as she could help it, even if she didn't know how she was going to do it, but if she had to force him to pay the price of immortality… would she be able to forgive herself? Would he be able to forgive her?

"Oy," he said gently, cutting through her reverie. He brushed some curls off her forehead. "Chin up. You look like someone went and got expelled."

She stared at him in mild surprise then she smiled contritely. "You and Ron will never let me live that down, eh?"

He shrugged. "It's all we have on you. Everything you said and did after that was just pure brilliance."

She grinned. "Even spew?"

"That's S.P.E.W. to you, miss. Oh, excuse me-Ms."

She laughed at that, realizing that she had missed laughing like this with Harry. "Well, Ms. Perfect isn't really perfect, as you well know. I've done some pretty stupid things in the last five years…"

"Mistakes I'm well on my way to forgiving completely."

"But not forgetting."

"Forgetting, too. It was part of our deal last night."

She arched an eyebrow. "Oh? Do you mean to tell me that you're willing to forget that I left-"

"Forgotten."

"That I dated Vik-"

"Completely Obliviated."

She smirked. "That I slept with Ron?"

"EXCUSE ME?"

"Kidding."

"That was not funny."

"Yes, it was. The look on your face was hilarious. And shame on you for believing it for even a second."

"How do you say, 'You are a sick and twisted woman,' in Bulgarian?"

She was just about to translate when he yanked her to him by the back of her neck and kissed her in such a way that assured her that he had indeed, forgiven and forgotten, at least for the duration of their amazing tongue-lock.

Given that perhaps this wasn't the most appropriate time to be making love, Hermione acknowledged this undeniable truth by kissing him back even harder and pulling desperately at his jumper. They had talked about Snape already, and evidently, she hadn't lost him amidst that unsavory discussion.

They made love last night. This was something else entirely, which was just how she wanted it for the time being.

Take one for the team? she thought rather snarkily. Okay!

He leaned back, whipped off his jumper and undershirt, and proceeded to peel off her top.

"I know this probably isn't the best time for this," he said, throwing her jumper over his shoulder and kissing the valley between her breasts. "As we have loads of more important things to worry about, but it's the stress, you see, and really, what matters is that I love you very much, so what I'm trying to say is, even if it seems like I just want to shag-"

But Merlin, the boy talks too much sometimes…

In the Wizarding world, "Please" wasn't the only magic word there was. There was Incendio, Alohomora, and perhaps, if one was so inclined, Incarcerous. And then there were the other magic words, which Hermione employed immediately in view of the situation.

"Shut up and fuck me, Potter," she growled. "Fast and hard."

"Oh, God, woman! I love you for saying that!"

It worked like a charm, and Hermione was always proud of her Charms class O.

Harry hooked his fingers to the waist of her pants and yanked down, dragging her to lie back on the fencing room floor beneath him.

Oh, my! How delightfully Neanderthal of him!

And he was unhooking her belt from its buckle and undoing her trousers with skilled speed.

She smiled lecherously. "Can't disappear clothes, yet, Potter?" Because one would think he would if he could.

"Definitely can. But doing it by hand is much more fun and a helluva lot sexier."

That increased her desire exponentially, and she kicked off her shoes in a hurry just so he could pull her trousers off without impediment.

Clad in nothing but her black lacy under-things and the gun holster strapped to the small of her back, Harry, on his knees, leaned back and surveyed her from his vantage point. He grinned, pleased at what he probably considered his handiwork.

She smirked, liking it that he had his shirt off and she could see the even lines of his chest while the pendant she gave him dangled between his pecs. The wand holster on his left forearm and the silver stiletto knife on his right weren't bad accessories, either. The pendulum-like shape of the vial chained around his neck pointed down, as if to say, "That way lies very happy things." She didn't doubt it for a moment.

Licking her lips and fangs, she reached out and pulled him to her by the front of his jeans.

Their lips came together and they couldn't kiss hard enough.

His fingers raked through her hair, tangling with the strands as he held her firmly. She felt a pull at her scalp and she found that it was intensely arousing.

He tugged. She gasped. And he was kissing her exposed throat. She moaned something. She wasn't sure what. It was hard to think when Harry was taking charge like this. It was difficult to make much sense of anything because she was really enjoying being the submissive one.

His hand untangled from her curls, and the lonely relief of his loosened grasp was over-shadowed by the sliding of his hand to her back, just where the clasp of her bra was. She felt the press of his hand there and he lifted her to him, her back arching just when her bra was undone and his free hand was tossing it away. It was that same hand that clasped one breast while his mouth fell upon the other. She could feel the velvety movement of his tongue on her nipple and the erotic suction of his lips.

Hermione thought her senses were going to blow. There she was, helpless and in Harry's control and he wasn't even fully undressed!

She had a desperate need to have that visibly tented crotch of his pressed against her, but he was bent over, his knees to the floor, and there was this distance between his trapped cock and her knickers-clad, aching-

"Door," she gasped, remembering that she hadn't locked it. "Anybody could walk right-"

She heard something slam, then shriek, like a dead bolt being forced through a rusty grate. Benches and chairs scraped against the floor as they crashed and piled against the fencing room door.

Well, that took care of that.

"Not like it would have made much of a difference," he grumbled against her skin as he undid the clasps of her holster and slid it off her. "If anyone walked in on us they could very bloody well watch."

She thought maybe she should be scandalized, but realized that the thought that Harry could be so lost on pleasuring her that he wouldn't care about anything else, had her completely lost in naughty fantasies.

Impatiently, she bent up her knee between his legs, just so she could have the arch of her foot sliding against the caged little-well, not little at all, really. Poor bugger HAS to get out and do some damage NOW.

He groaned something incoherent, something that sounded like "Bloody hell," but in a good way. He set her down, leaned back on his knees and began to undo his belt and trousers rather frantically.

Sitting up, she pushed his hands back and undid him herself, conscious and aroused by the fact that he was watching her do it, even while he removed the holsters from his arms.

She smirked up at him, keeping eye contact as she pulled, pushed and yanked. She didn't even bother with stages. She just dragged his trousers and boxers down to his hips just when he combed his hands into her hair and kissed her again.

Lying back, she wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him down with her, the weight of his body pleasing against hers.

Amidst their desperate kissing, she managed to hook her toes to the waist of his boxers and trousers so she could push it completely off him.

Now he was completely naked. She could feel his erection through the fabric of her silken knickers, and he groaned in frustration.

Pushing back and away from her, he leaned back on his knees again, pulled her knickers off and threw one of her legs over his shoulder. She barely mustered a gasp of approval before he drove into her, as fast and hard as he probably dared without coming too soon.

The force of his thrusts felt fantastic, and for a while they just reveled in the sensations. She wondered over and over, as if the thought kept resetting itself in her head, about how she was able to live without this kind of sex in the last five years.

There was the act, and there was even pleasure, but nothing so mind-blowingly exhilarating, like this. She hadn't, in the last five years, been so moved by the thought that she would give everything, and do anything for the very man giving and doing everything and anything to her at that very moment.

She couldn't stop looking at his hips, how he moved against her with his tight muscles pressing against her softness.

Without breaking stride, he took her hand and laced their fingers together intimately for a moment before he turned his grip over. With his hand over hers, he pressed her fingers on her clit and circled both their digits lightly over it.

Her eyes rolled back into her head and she moaned.

He circled their fingers around her nub a second time, pressing a little more firmly just when he made a subtle shift with his hips. That changed everything.

OH. MY. GOD!

That was it for her. She came. It felt like her head was imploding while the rest of her was swallowed by a wave of pleasure.

He groaned, tossing his head back as he moved desperately for a few more heartbeats before he tensed. His fingers dug into her thigh and he pressed himself against her, a defeated, guttural cry escaping from him.

Seconds later he had collapsed atop her, his sweat pleasant against her newly flushed skin.

She felt strangely warm; like she was actually going to break out in a sweat. It was a sensation she hadn't felt in five years, but it was welcome.

Harry gasped for breath, his face buried in the crook of her neck and shoulder. She wrapped her arms and legs around him, loving the feel of him inside her when they were both so vulnerable.

Lazily, she trailed her fingers through his hair.

"Harry," she whispered. "Oh, Harry, that was wonderful."

He murmured something in reply, something like a cross between "yeah" and "uh-huh."

She gave him another moment to recover.

A minute later, he lifted his head from her shoulder and kissed her soundly, just before he rolled both of them over so that he had his back to the floor and her lying on top of him.

She smiled contentedly and lay her head on his chest, closing her eyes briefly and purring when his fingers began to idly caress her hair.

"I don't suppose," he began, "Viktor would be so very annoyed if he finds out that not only did we scorch his guestroom furniture, but now we've basically abused his fencing room…"

She opened eyes and saw the haphazard pile of fencing room furniture, and perhaps even a fencing mask or two… and really, a whole bunch of other fencing equipment. And they weren't just actually piled like someone had thrown them there. They were… well, they seemed stuck on the door, the way socks clung to everything when Muggles took them out of the washer-dryer.

"Did you do that?" she asked, amazed.

He looked and she saw that he seemed a little bothered, but not at all surprised. "Probably. My magic seems to go wonky when I'm-you know-doing, er, with you…"

"That's hot."

"Yeah."

"Well, do you know how to take it down?"

"You mean un-sticky it?"

"Yes."

"You know what's weird? I can actually put everything back where I got it."

"Everything?"

"Every single one."

She smirked. "Now you're just making me jealous of your mad magic skilz."

He chuckled. "I'm serious. I'm telling you, I can do it."

She studied him carefully before leaning over to give him a sultry, seductive kiss. "You know what, Harry? I totally believe you."

And she did, because Harry was pure, amazing, and breathtaking magic.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

END PART 2

A/N: Now, I know I told a bunch of you that there isn't a Part 3… but I realized now that there has to be, not because anything has changed in my outline, but because I realized that I came to a sort of conclusion, which was the Harry and Hermione relationship and a few major revelations; and have now arrived at a critical part of the story, which is THE WAR. So for reasons of PURE FORMAT, I've set up the rest of the chapters as Part 3. Now, Part 3 probably won't be as long as part 1 and 2. I say probably because I don't want to jinx it and find myself dragging you all into another fourteen chapters. Lol.