A/N: I hope you're not ready to kill me for making you wait so long. ::blush:: But here it is, as promised! This chapter and the next. ^_^
I've been lamenting the impending end of this story, mostly to Tome Raider (who has consistently been brilliant and inspirational in guiding me in the writing of this. ::great big hugs for her:: ) and some to the folks at LJ. They've all been so supportive, and you readers have been awesome.
Standard disclaimers apply.
Chapter rating: R
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Chapter Forty: Turned
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She's afraid.
Harry felt it amidst the million other sensations he was experiencing.
Unable to move with the magic buffeting him from all sides; unable to reach out and hold her, he used the last vestiges of his strength to slip into her mind to soothe her.
Don't be afraid…
Confusion replaced her fear just before an overwhelming burst of song, colors, and lights overtook the magical landscape, moving and approaching.
He couldn't see past the magic anymore, but he felt her arms around him, holding him close and tight, her emotions a soupy mix of uncertainty trying to push past the thick veil of protectiveness.
The magical entity perched close, a thread of silver escaping it and touching the punctured skin at his neck.
It felt liquid against his skin, and from where it touched, soothing warmth, relieving cool, and all things wonderful flowed through him, spreading and washing over to Hermione and swirling through her body.
There was no pain, but the magic was too much, taking hold of him and filling him to bursting. He couldn't contain it, and he didn't know what his body was doing to cope. But he could see, and he watched, mesmerized, as the threads and ribbons of magic yanked something from within Hermione's body, drawing it away from her until it disappeared from the dreamscape.
He gasped, his muscles stretched to the limit. Fear for Hermione, yet his unwavering faith in magic, throwing him in a storm of confusion.
Hermione's hold on him loosened and the presence of her mind slipped from his grasp. Before he could panic and call to her, the magic exploded from inside him, knocking him into blissful unconsciousness.
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Yasmin paused, feeling a thrum of alien power pass through her as she sat behind the bars of her cell. It moved outward, like waves rippling away from where the pebble dropped in a pond. It was strange, without explanation, and perhaps she should have been worried, especially knowing that things like that didn't just happen. But other than that uncertainty, she didn't feel particularly alarmed; in fact, for a moment she felt warm and comfortable, the hunger inside her easing to a sated calm.
She closed her eyes, forgetting she was in a cell; forgetting that she hadn't fed in days; forgetting that her "brother" had abandoned his loyalties to her for promises of power from someone else.
It was a familiar sensation; something she had felt before but couldn't quite remember when.
Several heartbeats later, the comfort was gone and she was back in her cage, bodies strewn all over the dungeon floor with their throats ripped open.
Her hunger overcame her and she turned her eyes away from the blood. She could smell death, and while esoteric death added delicious flavor to the blood, vampires still wanted their blood to actually come from the living.
Looking up, she saw that the three Most Ancient Ones stood perplexed beyond the barriers of her cage, arching their eyebrows at one another questioningly before transferring their gazes to her.
Whatever she felt, they'd felt it too, and by the expression on their faces, they seem to be seeking an explanation from her.
"Well, don't go looking at me," she hissed.
"What in hell just happened?" Dendera asked fiercely, kicking aside one of the many dead bodies at her feet to get closer to the cage. "What did you do?"
Yasmin sneered. "I did nothing! How the hell am I supposed to do anything sitting inside this bloody cell?"
"Don't you be playing games with me, Yasmin. I taught you how to play them!"
Yasmin scowled. "And what game am I playing, mother dear? Tell me, because I'd like to know myself!"
"Something happened," said Nekhbet in a grim tone. "It's magic. The Old Magic. Older than us…"
Kalfani seemed ponderous. "As old as life itself."
Yasmin rolled her eyes. "I hate it when you lot talk like that. Who the hell talks like that in this day and age?"
Dendera glared at her. "You have something to do with this, I just know it."
Yasmin was getting annoyed. "Would you lay off on me? You're the one who has been orchestrating this entire thing. Isn't this part of your plan?"
Dendera's eyes flashed. "It can't-he can't…" Her voice trailed, teeth grit. "Tell me what you did and I'll let you live."
Yasmin gaped at her for a few heartbeats.
Let me live? Let me LIVE?
WHAT THE FUCK!
It angered her that Dendera thought she could be threatened with death, as if her vampiric life had ever been in Dendera's keeping. Dendera had never, ever had such a hold on Yasmin. Even when Yasmin was a young vamp, Dendera had known she could not frighten Yasmin into submission, not for anything, and certainly not for this.
"I'll tell them what you did, Dendera," she said, shifting her gaze to Nekhbet and Kalfani. "I'll tell them how you let the Oracle manipulate you into doing what it wants. I'll tell them how you got so greedy for power that you were willing to tear our society apart, and how you used Janus so he could bargain his soul to your grand nephew. I'll tell them about how you took me so I can join your little play for power, because you know full well that you couldn't steal leverage from Nekhbet and Kalfani by yourself. I'll tell them that you've been plotting all this for more than twenty years!"
Dendera bared her teeth at Yasmin in fury. "How dare you? You owe me your vampire life! How dare you betray me-"
The other two ancients seemed surprised. Dendera had been keeping many, many things from them. And while at that moment, Nekhbet and Kalfani could decide to take it as Yasmin's word against one of the most ancient vampires of their society, power, and someone accused of wanting more that her share of it, was not an allegation they took lightly.
"Is this true, Dendera?" Nekhbet asked quietly.
Dendera's lips pursed, retracting from her own emotional outburst. "Lies."
Yasmin snorted. "Harry Potter has the prophecy that motivated all this. Go have a look at it yourself, and then have the Watchers ask the Oracle when it first gave the prophecy away, and to whom." Asking the Oracle wasn't exactly something one did on a whim. The Oracle wasn't a very generous entity, and if anyone dared to seek answers from it, one must know to ask the right questions-and must be prepared to suffer the consequences of obtained knowledge, which was why unsolicited prophecies from the Oracle were powerful as well as dangerous. Yasmin continued. "Then when you've confirmed the truth of that, go to the Hall of Records; have our connections in the Ministry look it up for you. Our connections are very good. How else do you think Dendera, and I, found out that Hermione was the Last Time Turner? If they can find that out, then they can trace the lineage of Tom Marvolo Riddle. You'll find him related to Salazar Slytherin."
"Salazar?" asked Kalfani, recognition in his gaze. "Dendera's half-brother?"
"The thirst for power runs in the family," Yasmin replied. She was definitely on a roll.
"None of that connects me to the vamp uprising. Janus has a mind of his own-"
"You can find out from many of these Death Eaters… the live ones-about how long their so-called Lord Voldemort has had Nagini," Yasmin continued.
Kalfani's frown deepened. "Nagini? Dendera's familiar?"
"Yes. Dendera leant Nagini to Voldy-poo to watch over him; tell her all the latest developments of her ambitious grand nephew. Nagini's been spying on Voldemort for eight years now. Dendera's been keeping tabs on her interest-"
"Don't you pretend that you didn't have any interest in this!" Dendera cried. "You did your own share of manipulation! You conspired with that Bulgarian-"
"Oh, please… Viktor Krum acted under the advice of Severus Snape, and Snape was Dumbledore's spy from the beginning. When you killed my Blood Kin, you gave him the opportunity to do what he had to do-conspire against Voldemort covertly. I only acted on instinct. I believed that Voldemort's camp had killed my Blood Kin and I wanted revenge."
"You are a liar, Yasmin ibna Omar," hissed Dendera. "You knew about that prophecy better than anyone. You saw the intertwined destinies. You wanted to help it along just as much as I did!"
"I went with what fate dealt me. I moved the pawns, but only according to the lay of the chessboard. I didn't cheat and move pieces around when no one was looking, which is what you did, and see what happened? You made the prophecy fulfill itself, and it went according to what the Oracle wanted; not what you wanted. I wasn't the one who had Hermione turned; it was you. I wasn't the one who controlled Janus. I wasn't the one who supplied the Catalyst, nor did I hone the Wielder. It was all your doing."
"You made Hermione go to Harry. You knew Harry and Voldemort would be the last two players in the prophecy!"
"Of course I knew that, and of course I wanted Harry to win, whatever his role in the prophecy was. I didn't know if he would win, at any rate, but you had Voldemort, and you were determined to make full use of him. I wasn't going to sit by and let you make a mess of vampire kind. Not without me having a say in it. I'm the master of the Coven of Isis, and the Coven of Isis has, for thousands of years, protected the balance between human and vamp. It was my duty. You? You just wanted the power."
Dendera gave a soft growl, fingers curling into tight fists.
Yasmin kept her expression stoic, stifling the triumphant smile on her lips. "And for what, Dendera? Our society isn't a democracy, but a vampire who orchestrates the breaking of vampire curse would gain influence, and power. To seal the power, you'll need someone like me; someone with muscle. And after you've gathered enough power from your faithful vampire followers; after you've utterly destroyed the vamp-human balance the Coven has protected for thousands of years; you'll get rid of Nekhbet and Kalfani. Wasn't that your plan?"
Dendera whipped to the other two ancients. "I would never-"
"Oh, shut it, Dendera," said Nekbet softly. "You'd cut off our heads the first chance you got."
"Nekhbet and Kalfani can confirm the veracity of everything I've said, of course," Yasmin continued smoothly. "God forbid I'd get caught lying. I have no inclination to stick my head on a chopping block. And I'd like to live another thousand years at least, thanks very much.
"Why did you not tell us about all this from the beginning?" Kalfani asked her, frowning.
Yasmin laughed, thinking that the answer should have been obvious. "I knew there was something going on, but I did not know for sure who it was. At first I thought it was just Janus, but I realized someone was telling him to do things and… well, it took a while for me to figure it out. I think maybe I wanted Janus's master to be Voldemort, but it just didn't fit. Janus would never take orders from a human. Someone else had to be telling him what to do… somebody vampire. I denied the possibility for a long time, but eventually I admitted it to myself… it had to be one of you. It had to be one of the most ancient. I didn't know for sure who, and perhaps I should have known it was Dendera… but you can hardly blame me for trying to prove otherwise. Dendera has cared for me these past five hundred years… well, in her own fashion. At any rate, if I was going to accuse any of you, I needed quite a bit of proof, don't you think?"
Dendera shook her head, turning to her colleagues. "Surely you can't be buying into her half-truths!"
"Very disturbing half-truths," said Nekhbet. "If you had succeeded, everything she said would have come true."
Yasmin paused. "If you had succeeded…" Nekhbet had said.
Does that mean Dendera has failed? But how did they know that?
"There is no twisting of the Oracle's words," Nekhbet continued. "You should have known this, Dendera, being so old. Your roles had been established from the beginning, and while you've managed to convince yourself that Tom Riddle might have been what you wanted him to become, because perhaps his role could have been interchangeable with Harry Potter, that isn't the Oracle's way. Harry Potter still did what he was supposed to do, regardless of whether Tom did what you wanted him to do or not."
Dendera looked like she was going to explode from anger and frustration.
"Hold on," Yasmin said. "Forgive me for being the five hundred year old, but what do you mean by saying that Dendera has failed? Is Tom Riddle dead? Has Harry Potter killed him?"
Kalfani shrugged. "We do not know if Tom Riddle is dead, or if Harry Potter killed him, but that magic we felt earlier…"
"The Old Magic, you said?"
Kalfani nodded. "Tom Riddle could not have cast it. He hadn't…. the heart for it."
Yasmin stared at them and realized then what "Old Magic" meant.
As old as life itself…
"At any rate," said Kalfani in a silky tone. "The last time we felt that same magic, Tom Riddle fell-for the first time. How long has it been? Twenty years ago? Maybe a bit more…"
Yasmin let out a breath of amazement, finally remembering. "Twenty-one years ago. The Oracle said the magic had come from Godric's Hollow and cast by a woman…"
It was easy going into Ministry records and reports to find out who lived in the quaint house of that little Wizarding town. The death of the family that lived in it was the talk of the whole Wizarding world, after all.
Lily, James, and Harry Potter had lived in that home for a year before the mad man they called Voldemort killed them.
Or tried to.
"Old Magic…" said Yasmin, amazed. "Harry Potter did it, and you failed, Dendera. You will not get the power you wanted. What will happen to you now?"
Dendera was about to speak, but Nekhbet cut her off. "That is something for us to decide."
Dendera's lip twitched but that was all the emotion she showed.
Kalfani turned to Yasmin. "If what you've said is true, Dendera's fate shall be yours to decide, as well."
Yasmin wasn't going to pretend she wasn't shocked by this. From the look on Dendera's face, she was as astonished about it as Yasmin was.
"That is absolutely unacceptable!" Dendera cried.
"Says who?" Kalfani asked, eyebrow arching.
It was then Dendera realized that she was at the mercy of Kalfani and Nekhbet; perhaps Yasmin, too.
Yasmin only then learned why her society's Most Ancient Ones had never gotten away with abusing their power. There were checks and balances among the powerful, too. There were those, like her, who brought to light the tipping of the balance, and those like Dendera were made to explain. When the explanation was not satisfactory…
In the classic words of our forefathers: Heads will roll.
There was more to being among the Most Ancient Ones than just being a thousand years old, and there was more to being the master of the Coven than just being-well, the Coven's master.
Or being the Brotherhood's Master. Or…
Yasmin wondered if Basil Sigismund of the Blood-Kin of Ramses would be held accountable for his part in the war. She was displeased to realize that he might not. He picked a side, but he still did so under orders of Dendera. There was very little blame in following the wishes of one of the most ancient ones. Basil would be put on probation, probably for as long as two hundred years, but that was about it.
It's just as well… at least I know now that he isn't to be trusted.
Nekhbet eyed her carefully through the bars, a slight smile pulling at the corners of her lips. "You will need to be removed from this cage."
No shit, Sherlock."That would be preferred."
She exchanged looks with Kalfani and he nodded.
"This is no place to settle… matters with Dendera. We will go to my mansion. It is comfortable there, don't you think so, Dendera?"
Dendera didn't reply.
"We will go back out of this dungeon, and we will have Yasmin removed from her cell. We will not harm these humans. There is no need to. Do you understand what I am saying?" He was addressing all of them, not just Dendera.
Yasmin figured she could endure. "I'll need to feed when I get to your mansion, Kalfani. I haven't been fed in days."
Something like disapproval flickered in Kalfani's eyes, and for a moment, Yasmin thought she had been too fresh, but Kalfani's gaze shifted briefly to Dendera, and Yasmin realized that she already had Kalfani and Nekhbet on her side.
She stifled a smile of satisfaction.
Things were definitely looking up.
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Her blood tasted like no other-good things brought after a long, tedious wait, like promises fulfilled after years of heartache, or a warm, dry hearth to come home to after walking through a bone-chilling blizzard. The taste was sweet-wine on a cold night, or Butterbeers to toast a victory. It was all he ever wanted and he hadn't even known it.
It was a distinct memory, but he wasn't quite sure what it meant.
He opened his eyes to a torch-lit dungeon and felt quite disoriented.
He realized at once that he was on an extremely comfortable bed, but he also noticed the manacles on his wrists and ankles. It was confusing to be relatively comfortable at the same time being shackled and chained.
There were too many things he knew he should be worried about, but his thoughts were swimming in a slow drift. He couldn't quiet grasp what he should be thinking about first.
He stared at the rough-stone ceiling of his chamber, trying to blink himself back into cognitive thought.
He swallowed and realized that his throat was dry. He needed water.
A face came into his line of sight. It was a man, strangely familiar. It took a moment, but Harry remembered the man's name.
"Ambrose."
A tiny smile formed on Ambrose's lips. "I'm glad you remember. How are you feeling, Harry?"
"Thirsty."
There was a thoughtful look on Ambrose's eyes, so distinct that he paused noticeably before he nodded and shifted to take something from the table nearby.
Moments later, Ambrose came back with a covered cup, a straw poking out of its top.
Harry tried to sit up but found that he was feeling a bit too weak for it. Ambrose helped him, putting pillows behind him so that Harry could lean back comfortably.
Ambrose placed the cup in his hand and Harry gladly drank from the cup. The water was cool and refreshing, and almost immediately, his mind began to clear.
"Do you remember what happened?" Ambrose asked.
Harry paused, trying to piece the memory together. "I killed Voldemort."
Ambrose nodded. "That you did."
"Is Hermione alright? Ron? Everyone?"
Ambrose hesitated and Harry's heart did a flip-flop. If Ambrose didn't talk soon, he was going to start hyperventilating.
"Hermione is healing. Ron is alright. Tonks and Remus are perfectly fine…"
Harry knew half-truths when he heard it. "What's wrong with them? What's-"
"They're all alive, Harry," Ambrose cut in gently. "They'll be fine. Hermione was suffering from something when we found her, and her condition frightened all of us a bit, mostly because we weren't quite sure what it was, but Elena had the brilliant idea of giving her Iron Disulfide, just to boost her strength. It worked. Hermione will be fine. She is on her way to a full recovery."
Harry's lips pursed, blinking back the wave of anxiety Ambrose's news brought him. "You shot her up with Hemo Skag?"
Ambrose seemed thoroughly surprised.
"What, you think I don't know what your vamp drugs are?" Harry asked, quiet in his anger. Who he was angry at, he wasn't sure. For all he realized, he might have been angry with himself, that Hermione had been put in such a situation; that they had to give her narcotics just to keep her alive. "I know about your drug-culture, too," he hissed. He felt like rambling, and Ambrose showed no signs of stopping him. "Hemo Skag-vamp heroin. Demon Dust-silver sulfide powder. X2-vamp ecstasy, liquid form. Red Ice-crystal-meth for vamps…"
He let his thoughts trail, hanging his head between his shoulders as he ran his shackled hands through his hair in weary frustration. He took deep, calming breaths. He felt a hand squeeze his shoulder.
"It's going to be alright," said Ambrose. "We gave her medicinal grade… well, as medicinal as could be, at least. It was all we could do, and it worked, thank goodness. Don't worry about her getting addicted. It doesn't work that way. And somehow, I can't see Hermione snorting Demon Dust or freebasing Red Ice, can you?"
Harry looked up and smiled weakly. "No, I can't. I just-I'm a bit out of it right now… and Ron's alright? Tonks and Remus, too?"
"Tonks and Remus are good. Remus wered and suffered the usual injuries, but he'll be fine. Tonks is still over at Azkaban, keeping things in order. Ron's generally…" Ambrose sighed. "George Weasley's in critical condition and Fred Weasley… finally passed away in his sleep."
Harry found no words, closing his eyes to hold back the sting of tears. Fred hadn't been living for a long time, and his passing was something everyone had been expecting for a while, but he was a casualty of war, nonetheless. Was George going to follow his twin? How many more had died? How many more had gotten seriously hurt? "And the fighting? Is it over yet?"
"For the most part, it is," said Ambrose gravely. "The Death Eaters were unable to take the key locations, thanks to your Legilimens. We surprised them by being prepared for their attacks. There aren't any organized attacks anymore. With Voldemort dead, most of the vamps and weres have been backing off from the fight, but some of them have taken up with the few Death Eaters still at large, and they're making a mess of things here and there. It's not completely over. They're inciting sporadic rioting, but they're finished. The Auror and Hit Wizard Departments have issued decrees that they could handle the situation, and they are indeed taking care of it. The Brotherhood and the Coven still have a few units out, just so we can round up the remaining vampire and were separatists. The general chaos should be all over in another day."
Harry's brows knotted. "How long have I been out?"
"Twenty-four hours. Not long."
Harry nodded, ponderous. "Why am I shackled to the bed? Not that I couldn't enjoy that sort of thing, but considering the circumstances…"
Ambrose cocked a tired smile. "Well, it's standard procedure for situations like this. It's nothing personal."
"Situations like this… what does that mean?"
"Well, Harry, it means you were bitten, that you're in the Special Cases ward of St. Mungo's, and I'm your Initiator."
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Hermione woke up to the familiar silk lining of a coffin, and for a moment, she felt like it was any other evening in Grimmauld Place, but then her memories came rushing back like a cyclone and wide-eyed, she bolted out of her coffin.
She practically tore the lid off its hinges scrambling out of the casket, but she was caught completely off-guard when she felt two strong hands holding her by the shoulders.
Her first instinct was to lash out, hissing angrily with fangs drawn, but the soothing voice that slipped through her panic touched reason, and she realized she was being held by Elena, and the beautiful woman's voice began to make sense.
"You must calm down, Chica. Easy now. Hush…"
Hermione steadied herself, taking in some air and then breathing it out in a soothing pattern. Little by little, she became more aware of her surroundings. She wasn't in Grimmauld Place. She was in someone else's home and Solomon lingered nearby, looking horribly anxious.
She didn't dawdle. "Where's Harry?"
Before Solomon could speak, Elena cut in. "How do you feel? Any pain? Weakness?"
Hermione frowned, annoyed. "No. I feel fine, now can you please tell me-"
"Good," said Elena. "You might need a follow-up shot of the Iron Disulfide, but at least we know there aren't any negative-"
Hermione processed the chemical name and her reasoning took on a decided edge. "Wait, did you just say Iron Disul-you shot me up with DRUGS? Solomon-"
Solomon looked like he was going to disappear into thin air, the way he shrunk back behind Elena.
"It is medicinal grade," interrupted Elena, squeezing her shoulder a little harder. "You needed it. You weren't waking up, and you wouldn't stop bleeding. The Iron Disulfide worked for you the way Steroids work for humans-it boosted your strength, even unconscious."
"I was afraid you would die," Solomon piped in, sounding half-apologetic.
An irrational wave of anger came over her. "I'm a vampire, Sol. I wasn't going to die-"
"You didn't see what you looked like," said Elena. "It wasn't Solomon's fault. I was the one who decided to give you the Skag. And nobody knows for sure what can and can't kill a vampire, Chica. Forgive us if we did not want to risk it."
Hermione gripped the edges of her coffin, her temper on the verge of exploding.
"The anger is from the drugs," Elena continued. She didn't bother to explain further.
Like I need an explanation for my aggression. "Tell. Me. Where. Harry. Is," she said through her teeth. "Now."
Elena sighed. "He's in St. Mungo's."
Finally, an answer. "Special Cases ward?"
Elena nodded.
Hermione swallowed, her emotions warring between guilt and relief.
I've turned him… oh God, I've turned him!
He's alive. That's what's important.
But I don't know what I've turned him into… is he still the Harry I know? Or have I turned him into a raving, murderous vampire...?
Hermione buried her face in her hands. "Oh, God…" She hadn't given it proper thought, turning him as she held him, dying in her arms. Now, in the calm of this unfamiliar room, she began to realize the true repercussions of what she'd done. Harry was going to be a vampire. He was going to want blood, and he could only walk in the dark. She couldn't even fathom how the Wizarding World was going to treat him, even if he was still his relatively normal self. He killed Voldemort, but Harry Potter as a vampire? She wasn't sure if his deeds could outshine the stigma of being a dark creature in the eyes of the judgmental Wizarding World.
He wanted a normal life, instead I've taken it away from him.
Hermione blinked back her tears. "Has he risen yet?"
Elena and Solomon exchanged looks.
It was Elena who replied. "Last we checked, he has not. We are due an update in a bit, but since the time he lost consciousness, it has been twenty-four hours."
Hermione was startled quiet. She didn't know what to make of that.
Twenty-four hours?
Humans turned within a few hours of the blood exchange. For twenty-four hours to lapse…
Her stomach dropped and the tears began to spill. "Are you-are you sure he's ali… going to rise? I've never-I've never turned anyone before. I might have-perhaps I did it wrong…"
Elena looked helplessly at Solomon and finally, Solomon stepped forward.
"I'm not very sure about-" He stopped and rephrased. "Ron tried to explain it, but he's just as confused as everyone. He was here earlier. He's alternating…"
"Solomon, please." Hermione flashed him beseeching eyes. She didn't think she could take any rambling right now. She needed answers.
Solomon understood. "Harry's not dead. He-well, he was, for several hours he was dead, but they checked him for Veneficus and he had it, so they moved him to the Special Cases ward and… he just began to live again. He had a heartbeat, and he began to breathe, and he began… but he wouldn't wake up, and he still has the Veneficus. Nobody can explain what's happening. All we can figure is that you did turn him, but something must've happened when Fawkes-"
"Fawkes? What about Fawkes?"
Solomon peered at her anxiously. "Don't you remember? Ron said Fawkes came, just after you turned Harry. He wept on Harry's bite. I swear, Ron said you were watching it happen!"
Hermione's head began to hurt when her mind went from zero to very, very fast in a vamp second. She didn't remember Fawkes, but she did remember many things and it didn't make the puzzle any easier to comprehend.
"I'd like to go to him," she said, choosing her words well. If she demanded Solomon to take her to Harry, Elena might declare her a raving lunatic and prevent her from going. As it was, Elena did not look pleased by her little declaration. Perhaps she needed to sound more passive. "I'd like to be brought to St. Mungo's, please, so I can talk to his doctors, and talk to his initiator… who did they get for him?"
"Ambrose took him, free of charge," said Solomon.
Hermione couldn't help but flash a sardonic smile. "Of course he would."
Elena seemed confused.
"The Brotherhood of Osiris wants to pirate Hermione from the Coven," Solomon explained.
"Ah," said Elena with a knowing nod.
"It's important to me to get to the bottom of this," Hermione continued, finding that she could step out of her coffin without stumbling on her slightly wobbly legs. No one helped her. No one dared. "I want to know what's going on and why Harry isn't waking up. May I?" She tacked on the polite entreaty as an afterthought, and it worked.
Elena's displeased features softened and she sighed. "I will find you both Wizards so you can Apparate."
"By car is fine."
Elena gave her a slightly bitter smile. "I will get you some Wizards." She left the room and Solomon approached Hermione's casket.
He took her hand, running his thumb over the back of it as he peered at her intently, as if checking to see if she was really alright.
Hermione couldn't help but appreciate his concern. "I'm okay."
His lips pursed and his grip on her hand tightened slightly. "I thought I was going to lose you, too."
She remembered Lucien and her heart twisted with pain. "I am sorry," she whispered, blinking back her tears. "I am so sorry I couldn't protect him."
"Hermione… it wasn't your fault. If any, we share the blame, but… do we really want to go down that road? We have a whole eternity ahead of us. Do you want to live that long with guilt? Lucien would bugger us both for it."
A tear fell, and she swiped it away with the back of her hand while forcing a small smile from her lips. "He would, wouldn't he? He'd-"
It was too much. There were too many things to feel, strong emotions that she couldn't hold back all at once. Lucien's death, Harry's turning, and all the other emotional burdens of everything that happened finally overwhelmed her. The tears broke through and she began to cry, burying her face in her hands as she hunched over and quietly sobbed. Solomon held her close in his arms, and there was comfort in shared grief, hearing him sniffle every so often.
Several minutes later, Hermione found that the worse of her grief was over for the meantime. She looked up, wiping away her tears with her fingers. "Lucien's body…"
"It's in the morgue at the Ministry. It was Harry… Harry brought him back."
She nodded.
The door opened and Elena walked through, followed by Ron. He looked hurried and anxious, and it made Hermione very nervous.
"Ron!" she gasped as he approached her and gave her a tight embrace. The desperate way he held her for a few heartbeats longer and the trace of sadness she saw in his eyes when he pulled back was telling. She recognized what was behind the sadness: Loss. "Oh, Ron…"
His smile was tight-lipped, but she saw that he appreciated her concern, that he knew she understood. He shook his head, as if to tell her that there was time for that later. Right now, he had more pressing news. "Harry's awake."
That could mean one of many things. "Is he… is he lucid?"
Ron nodded.
She blurted out her next question before she lost the courage. "Is he angry with me?"
Ron looked at her with mild confusion.
She shook her head. "Never mind."
He eyed her a moment before he told her he'd wait for her outside while she got ready. Solomon followed after him and Elena threw open a familiar looking overnight bag. Hermione could only suppose Solomon had brought some of her things over.
She was ready to Apparate with Ron in minutes. Tonks was there, too, to Apparate with Solomon.
Tonks gave her hand a kind squeeze.
Hermione smiled at her gratefully.
Elena led them up a flight of stairs and Hermione realized that they were at the top of a building, and that Elena's London home was a three-story penthouse. It was windy, but calm above the city. It was difficult to imagine that the Wizarding world was in turmoil, even in the aftermath of a widespread battle.
Hermione could see several helicopters zipping by, a few of them marked with Muggle news stations and programs. She also spied groups of Wizards on brooms, but none of the Muggles seemed to pay them much mind.
"Obliviators have been working round the clock since yesterday," said Ron mundanely. "And the Ministry has all their people on Misdirection charms."
She watched the Wizards zipping by and felt a pang of urgency.
"Ready?" asked Ron, pulling her out of her thoughts.
She nodded, clutching Ron's robe.
In the next moment, she felt the yank on her navel as Ron Apparated them to St. Mungo's.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Harry thought about what Ambrose just told him, trying to remember what happened after he collapsed in the Riddle house. There was a lot of magic, and there was her. He had felt her holding him; saw her tears; heard the whispered apologies.
"Hermione turned me."
Ambrose seemed to give what he said some thought. "That was the plan, I'd wager. She bit you and she gave you her blood."
Harry let the news sink in. It was strange how it didn't feel very different, being a vampire. For one, he didn't think he'd want anything other than blood to drink, yet he held the cup of water in his hand, and he had drank from it earlier. Felt refreshed, even.
He popped the cap off, just to see if it was water indeed inside the cup.
The water was clear and cool.
His brows knotted as he shifted his tongue around his mouth, feeling for his fangs. He wasn't sure if he felt them. His K-9s seemed to protrude a bit, and perhaps they were pointier than usual, though he never really paid attention before, so he couldn't quite tell… they might have been fangs, but it was hard to figure just by feeling them.
"Well, I'm not a very good vampire, am I?" he said after a moment's silence. "I don't drink blood, my fangs are weak… what next? Can't sleep during the day?"
Ambrose crossed his arms over his chest, drumming his fingers in ponderous silence. "How's your arm, Harry?"
"It's sore."
"I'd imagine so. It was broken in three places twenty-four hours ago. You haven't been given any Skele-gro, or anything else for that matter. Your wounds have healed. Not a scratch on you." Ambrose paused. "Have you noticed that you're not wearing your glasses?"
Harry actually brought up a hand to feel his face, as if he couldn't tell without touching.
Ambrose went on. "You've got the Veneficus, yet you're not undead. You've got a heartbeat, you're breathing, and apparently, you have no bloodlust. First thing you asked for was water. I don't know if you've noticed, but there's a human sitting over there."
Harry turned in the direction Ambrose indicated, mesmerized by Ambrose's words. The "human" was a woman. Her brown hair was bushy, she was slim, dressed in a business suit, and was about average in height. She wasn't strikingly gorgeous, but her gray eyes were filled with intelligence, and Harry found that rather attractive. He was a little too confused, though, to make much of these details.
He turned his gaze back at Ambrose. "I-I don't-"
"Her name is Kathy. I brought her here in case you needed blood to drink. If you were a vampire, you would have heard her heartbeat. You would have smelled her blood."
Harry looked over his shoulder again at Kathy. She smiled, non-threatening.
"Hullo," he said rather absently.
She responded with the same greeting.
Convinced that Kathy was real, Harry looked back at Ambrose and whispered, "Do I know her?"
Ambrose shrugged. "Not likely. She was profiled after Hermione, just so you'd feel comfortable taking blood from her."
Harry felt his face warm as he fidgeted.
Perhaps noticing his discomfort, Ambrose gave Kathy a nod and that seemed to be a sign for her to leave, because she stood and left the dungeon.
Ambrose sighed wearily. "Frankly Harry, I don't know what the hell you are. You look like a vampire, but you're not. I'm quite stumped."
Harry didn't know what to say.
Ambrose fished something from his back pocket. It was a key. He proceeded to undo Harry's shackles.
Harry didn't bother to ask why.
The pale skin of his wrists was rubbed slightly red from the manacles and they felt a bit raw. "Can I see her, then? Hermione, I mean."
Ambrose nodded. "If she's awake. Kathy would get the message to your friends that you've risen, and I expect one of them to be here in a bit. Would you-erm-like to comb your hair?"
Lovely. Even back from the dead, my hair's still a mess. "There a loo down here?"
Harry could tell Ambrose was trying to look unbothered by Harry ignoring his grooming tips.
Ambrose gave him an overnight bag and pointed the way to the bathroom. Harry shuffled to it, feeling slightly weak at the knees but trying his best not to let it show.
Harry shut himself into a candle-lit loo and looked into the mirror.
It was surreal, to see his face so clearly without his glasses, even stranger for the face that was looking back.
His skin was paler than usual, gone of the healthy blush of life he had grown accustomed to having, living away from the Dursleys, but his complexion was oddly perfect; waxen, absolutely free of scars.
He touched his forehead, not a trace of his famous scar left behind. He had that scar all his life, and he knew it so well that he could trace the outline of it perfectly with his finger. If he looked hard enough, he thought maybe he was seeing it.
He swallowed. It's over, Potter. Let it go…
He turned to the other changes on his face. His eyes were odd; green still, but rimmed. He remembered Lucien's eyes, purple and beautiful, alight even in death. He recalled Hermione's, grief stricken and liquid when Lucien's name left Janus's lips. Solomon's eyes came to memory, awash with guilt and pained with loss. It didn't matter what kind of eyes anyone had; so long as it was touched by emotion, they were human.
Harry blinked, his gaze traveling to his lips. They were redder, like they were newly kissed, and when he bared his teeth he saw that he did have fangs, though they weren't nearly as pronounced as a real vampire's fangs were.
So what am I, then, if I'm not a vamp?
He sighed, trying to remember what happened after he killed Voldemort.
His memories were very fuzzy, but if he could get hold of a Pensieve, he was sure he'd be able to sort things out.
Turning the knobs on the faucet, he washed his face with the cool water, running some of it through his hair in a poor attempt to tame it.
He looked at the mirror again.
Water dripped from his hair and fell on his shirt. He looked at himself and saw that the white undershirt they had put on him was stiff with starch. The pajamas he had on was possibly the silliest thing he'd ever seen.
Candy striped… did I buy this?
He remembered that he didn't. It was something Cho gave as a gag-gift.
Of course Ron would pick the gag-gift pajamas amidst a drawer full of sensible ones.
He sighed and shook his head, grabbing the overnight bag he had set down on a nearby vanity table. He was glad to find a pair of jeans and essential toiletries. If he was going to be in a miserable mood, he might as well feel fresh as he wallowed in the angst.
He dug deeper into his bag and found a box that looked big enough to fit a wand.
He smiled, appreciating his best friend's thoughtfulness.
Opening the box, he realized that Ron was even more thoughtful than Harry expected.
Ron had come a long way since his teaspoon days.
Harry set the box aside and sighed.
We do what we can to survive…
Well I've survived.
Time to live.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
He was pacing the floor when she found him. He was in a fresh pair of jeans, though they looked old and worn in parts. His starchy white shirt was rumpled and his hair was in hopeless disarray. He was barefoot.
He did not look his best, but seeing him alive, normal, and unbroken, Hermione thought he'd never been more beautiful.
She stood at the door and absorbed it all, half-frightened that he would be furious with her for what she'd done.
He turned, saw her, and smiled adoringly.
Her emotions running high-the remnants of the drugs making her slightly unbalanced-the stillness she had been struggling to hold on to broke. She ran and jumped into his arms, legs wrapping around him as she cried into his shoulder, whispering his name and peppering kisses all over his face in great relief.
"Whoa, hey…" His voice was soft and devoid of reproach, as if he sensed that she needed this. "It's alright… there now."
His strong grip of her was reassuring and she spoke through her kisses. "I was so afraid… you would hate me… I couldn't… couldn't let you die…"
He hushed her, setting her on the bed, and without need of ceremony, he kissed her.
His kiss made her toes curl and sigh happily against his mouth.
When they pulled apart, she stared into his strange new eyes, ringed like a vampire's and even more strikingly green. His lips seemed redder against his waxen skin, and she could see that he had something resembling fangs in his mouth. He did seem to be a vampire, but when she touched his aura, it was neither vampire nor human.
She placed her palm against his cheek and felt warmth. "Do you feel the bloodlust at all?" she asked softly.
He gave her a tightlipped smile before he shook his head.
"What happened in that ballroom, Harry?"
He sighed and pulled her close in an embrace. "I don't know. I'm only just beginning to remember. I saw the magic working, but I couldn't explain what it was doing. It was all just lights and sounds, like a mesh of threads the color of silver and-"
"Gold," she finished. "With shades of red and blankets of blue and purple…"
He pulled back to look at her. "You saw it."
She wasn't sure. "Maybe," she replied with a soft sigh. "Perhaps we weren't seeing the same thing, but… it hit me after we exchanged blood. It's entirely probable that you lent me your sight. It's normal for a vamp and a human to form a temporary bond during and a bit after the turning. The stories seem to imply that it's the vamp who experiences it in stronger doses. The turned feels a bit of it, but on a very subtle level …"
"I knew you were afraid," he said after a moment. "Is that what you mean?"
She gave it a brief thought, disturbed because she didn't have all the answers this time. "Not-not really. When Janus turned me, it was nothing very specific. I just felt him… being there, and I knew I'd know it if he was dead, but there was nothing in my bond with Janus that really told me things. I certainly didn't feel the bond during the turning… of course, that might have been because I was too busy dying…"
She was trying to be funny, but it fell a little flat. She saw the ghost of pain in Harry's eyes, and instantly she realized that his wounds from that night in her parents' attic would never really heal. She should have known. Watching him die hadn't been easy for her, either.
"I'm sorry," she said. "I didn't mean to bring that up."
A tiny smile played on his lips as he rubbed a thumb on the apple of her cheek. "What was running through your mind? When you turned me."
She tensed, wondering if he had suddenly realized he was angry with her for doing it, and that now he was asking for some sort of explanation, but she saw only deep understanding in his eyes, as if the answer was more for her than it was for him.
"That I just wanted you to live," she replied softly. She didn't explain because she knew he understood what she meant perfectly.
He reached over her for something under his pillow. He pulled it out and recognized it as a wand box. She smiled when he opened it, revealing both of their wands.
She took hers, glad that it hadn't been destroyed, which made him wonder about his. "You'd think Voldy would've snapped yours."
Harry smirked. "He wouldn't. It would've been his trophy. Better if it wasn't broken, because it would've meant that he didn't have to break my wand to beat me. Get it?"
She nodded, pocketing her wand in her coat. When she looked up, Harry took her hand. She could tell by the look on his face that he was going to do something, but trusting him, she wasn't afraid, and she let him.
She was mildly surprised when he slipped her ring-her half of their rings-on her finger.
"No guilt. No regrets," he said.
She knew he meant her turning of him, and it astounded her still that he understood fully what she had been feeling. She smiled gratefully, loving him for knowing. He showed her that he had his ring, and she took it, slipping it on his finger in turn.
"No regrets," she said, just before they shared a temperature-inducing kiss to mark the promise.
"Besides," he continued as he pulled away, gasping. "I need for you to find out what I am. It'll bog down your research if you're all angsty and depressed."
She asked herself if he was feeling as cavalier about it as he sounded. She eyed him intently, wondering if it bothered him at all that nobody could explain what had happened to him.
Hermione had no answers now, but she replied, nonetheless. "You're Harry. That's-that's really all that matters to me."
He stared at her a moment before he smiled again. He looked tired-exhausted, really, but grateful, and he pulled her into his arms.
She sank into his embrace, closing her eyes, feeling the firm planes of his chest and the steady grasp of his arms. She inhaled his scent, the soap and water faint against his bed-slept skin. She listened and heard his heart beating, and it was comforting to know that the very important things about him were human, if he wasn't anymore. She felt his warmth, and it was reassuring.
She didn't know if her blood had saved Harry Potter's life, but from now until the eternity ahead of her, she would never hate what she'd become, ever again.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Snape eyed Peter Pettigrew across the booth in one of the seedy taverns of Scotland. Through the window of their booth, Snape saw sheep walking by, the herder plodding lazily behind it. One of the sheep gave a bleat.
In one hand, Snape held a wand; in the other, a cup of tea.
Peter, his legs magically bound beneath the table, had his hands stickied on the tabletop. He looked extremely uncomfortable, and very grungy, in spite of his alleged shower that morning.
"Quiet," Snape mouthed to Peter as the tavern waiter, dirty apron and all, came over to plop a classic shepherd's pie in front of him.
The food looked good, and Snape managed a grimace that tried to pass for a smile.
"Thank you."
The waiter's grimace was even worse, leaving them without a backward glance.
My kind of place.
"Would you like some, Peter?" Snape asked, delicately putting his cup of tea down and pushing back the sleeves of his ill-fitting Muggle-clothing as if it was the finest of fabrics and most elegant of cuts. "It's greasy and tasty. Just say you do and I will let you have some."
Peter scowled but said nothing.
"Very well," said Snape, eyebrow raised haughtily. "You will regret it. I doubt they'd be very accommodating to your request of shepherd's pie in Azkaban."
At that, Peter hissed. "You'll be sent there, too! And you'd be given the Kiss just like any of us! You murdered Albus Dumbledore with an Avada Kedavra!"
Snape made no sign that this fact affected him. "There is no Kiss anymore, you fool. That's been over and done with since the Dark Lord took the Dementors under his employl. There's just the veil now. You're very lucky, though, if it were possible to make you walk the veil more than once, you'd be made to. Your list of atrocities rivals the Dark Lord's."
"You'll be made to walk that veil, too! Don't think you won't."
"Yes. This I know. For the meantime, we'll see how things are settled in the Ministry. If it is anything like the last time, perhaps I won't have much to worry about."
Peter eyed him suspiciously. "What are you on about…?"
Snape sniffed and ate some of his shepherd's pie, ignoring his question.
The Shepherd's Pie was eaten, and occasionally, Snape would say something nonsensical, which Peter would sneer at.
When Snape was done with his dinner and wiped the corners of his mouth clean with a primly held paper napkin, he suddenly said, "I hold grudges, Peter. It is my nature to do so, and when I pay back, I do so with a vengeance. The last time I served my revenge, James Potter died in the hands of a mad man and Sirius Black was incarcerated in Azkaban for twelve years. Unfortunately, it also took Lily Evans. For that, I blame you."
Peter's eyes widened. "L-Lily… well, that was as much your doing as it was mine!"
Snape inclined his head in acceptance. "It was not something I wanted to happen, unlike you, who really did not give a shit. I am still paying for that in my own way, anyway. I did my penance with Albus Dumbledore. I still am doing so. I did my penance with Harry Potter, which you cannot conceive of how damning it was for me to do so. I will pay for the mistake of destroying Lily Evans for the rest of my natural life, but you won't be willing to pay for it, so I will just have to make you."
Peter glared at him. "So, are you going to keep me in your cellar and torture me? Make me suffer until you feel you've exacted vengeance?"
Snape waved away his words. "Such drama. I suppose I can appreciate that sort of thing. I'm in the business of revenge after all, but one thing people always seem to forget is that I am also a practical man. I know my situation. I live for the myriad little details of potion and intrigue. I will exact vengeance on you, Peter, but I will also use you. It is just a matter of how. We shall see in the next couple of weeks. Do not get your hopes up about living through this, though. However way I decide to do this, you will die. Count the hours, Wormtail. You haven't long to live."
At that, Peter paled, his eyes lowering to the table in front of him, as if pondering his short life.
Snape brought the remainder of his cold tea to his lips.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
A/N: So Harry's not a vamp. So what is he? Go to the next chapter and find out. ^_^