Author's notes: I would like to give special thanks to Lady Diamond for fixing the mess that was chapter 5. Ladies and gentlemen, her beta-reading has-and will-save me from eternal fanfic damnation, and hopefully, she will believe me capable of redemption throughout this story. ^_^ And if you find something particularly brilliant in the last chapter and this one, it's probably her doing, not mine.
Also, thank you to all good souls who offered to beta. I am touched. This fandom is amazing.
This is one of those… introspective chapters. It's necessary, but not much happens.
Standard disclaimers apply.
Chapter rating: R
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Chapter Sixth: Daytime
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Harry realized just how exhausted he was when he crossed the threshold of his room in Grimmauld Place. Physical aches he didn't realize were there made their presence known and one glance at his bed made him think that he could sleep for three days straight. But as much as he wanted to collapse in the warmth of his sheets, he felt he needed to bathe, again.
He had, earlier, so he could get the blood of Hermione off him. Now he needed to wash off something else, because he wasn't quite sure he had gotten over his grief yet, when he believed that he should have with utmost certainty. Because Hermione was alive.
Alive… not exactly…
He pushed that thought away, repulsed by it. How could he even think that?
All he needed was a bath; wash off the anguish he had suffered at the thought-no, the reality of her death. It hadn't been a nightmare. It had been real. She really had been dead. She had died in his arms as her blood seeped through his fingers. He had been completely unable to help her. He just knew he would be having nightmares about it for months.
He took a quick shower, pulled on one of his battered old shirts (he actually had a lot of those, as he hardly ever bought anything new while living with the Dursleys) and a pair of plaid pajamas. As he rubbed a towel into his wet hair, he looked at his bed.
It was terribly empty.
It wasn't so long ago that he could look on the same bed and find Hermione nestled beneath the sheets, usually naked. He remembered how he stood a bit away for several seconds, praying that she would shift and have some part of the blanket fall away from her to show a patch of skin. Whatever patch it was, he had always thought it sexy enough to deserve passionate admiration, usually expressed by his lips and hands. It was the best way to wake her, after all.
Without thinking twice about it, he threw the wet towel on the edge of his bed and left his room to go to hers. Maybe it was a bit weird, but he didn't care. If he couldn't have her, he wanted to be surrounded by echoes of her. Her "rising" was still just a concept to him; almost abstract. Everyone was telling him it was real, but there was a desperate need for him to see so he could believe. The shock of her death hadn't completely worn off yet, and now he had to absorb this new shock of having her undead. Being in her room might help balance things a little. His reality was disturbingly off-kilter in the last few hours.
He got into her bed, throwing the blankets over himself and taking one of her pillows to bury his face into it.
Her scent was on it. Strongest of all was her shampoo, but it mixed with what was ineffably her, without the country-apple sweetness. He sought that familiarity and found comfort in the fact that he was wrapped in a cocoon of who she was.
He fell asleep quickly enough.
His sleep was not as restful as he had hoped. His dreams were not filled with blood and gore, but they were extremely disturbing. He had been standing at the threshold of some door, seeing Hermione beyond it. Her back was to him and she was walking away while everyone else stood at the door before him, preventing him from passing. He kept saying that he just wanted to see her, but Remus kept telling him he couldn't, that now was not the time.
Harry woke up at nine in the morning immensely irritated with everyone.
He cleaned up, dressed and resolved to get some things done to keep himself occupied.
Harry was surprised beyond belief when he was greeted with a "Wotcher, Harry!" just as an orange lump of fur leaped atop the counter beside him.
"Tonks," he gasped, just when Crookshanks rubbed his muzzle against his arm. "And Crookshanks…"
"Found him at the Grangers," Tonks said, her pink hair shimmering as she lit the stove burner underneath a pan. She was wearing torn jeans and a strange asymmetrical hooded black track-shirt with a pink pentagram on her chest. Her black boots and black studded belt completed whatever look she was trying to make. "Poor beast had been locked in a closet, hissing, spitting and yowling. Didn't want to be picked up by just anyone, either. I suppose I should feel privileged that he chose me."
Harry picked Crookshanks up off the counter and held him close. Neglected as the beast was by Hermione in the last month, Harry knew how fond she was of her cat-kneazle. Harry rubbed behind Crookshanks' ears and the feline purred audibly, eyes fluttering closed as his tail whipped to tuck itself around him.
He wondered if Crookshanks even sensed what had happened to his mistress.
Tonks was looking at him contemplatively. "Alright, there?"
Harry took a seat at the kitchen table. He could only assume Tonks knew all about it. Remus would have talked to her already, and Harry really didn't mind. Remus needed someone to talk to as much as anyone.
Harry smiled wanly. "Better than last night, I think."
Tonks nodded, tossing oil into the pan. "Horrific, what happened. And I can't even imagine what Hermione's going through. You going to see her today?"
"Well, I'll be going to St. Mungo's, but I… I don't think they'll let me see her. Cicero said I couldn't."
"Cicero?"
"Initiator."
The term seemed to mean something to her. "I suppose it makes sense that they'd be stricter about such things with vampires than they are with werewolves."
Harry's eyes flickered in surprise. She couldn't have been around during Remus' turning, was she? She was too young, then. She probably didn't even know Remus existed. Then again, she and Sirius were second cousins, once removed…
Tonks must have understood the question in his eyes. "I can only assume. From what I've read, you understand."
"Right." Harry wondered if Tonks had to read So Your Sweetheart's A Werewolf, or something like that. "So you're here while Remus is…?"
Tonks nodded. "I'll be taking care of Remus and all his affairs while he's sitting out the full moon. He's not likely to go furry in the next three days, I reckon. So long as he doesn't miss taking his wolfsbane and he stays away from the rays of the moon, he'll stay human, but Remus would rather not risk anyone's safety by running free about the house during the full moon. He'd rather stay locked in the dungeon. Nice, dark and windowless down there. If I were so inclined, I might find that kinky."
Harry was glad he wasn't drinking anything at that very second, because he would have spewed all of it through his nose. As it was, he thought maybe he was going to explode. Hearing Tonks refer to anything remotely sexual translated into Remus doing things with her. It was almost like hearing your parents talking about it, and that was just psychologically catastrophic.
"Erm…" He just didn't know what to say.
Perhaps detecting his unease, Tonks grinned and waved her wand to move something from the counter to the table. It was a brown paper parcel.
"St. Mungo's sent it over," said Tonks. "Hermione's personal effects."
He stared at it, half expecting Tonks to tell him that Hermione's blood-covered gown was inside it. Shrunken to fit in the bag, maybe. The mere thought made his stomach roil, not because the blood was disgusting, but because he had watched Hermione die in that gown; had felt her blood on him as she faded away and there was nothing he could do about stopping it.
"They only kept what they thought was important, Harry," said Tonks. "And I assure you, if there was blood on any of it, they would have scourgified it off."
Harry reddened, wishing he wasn't so transparent.
Setting Crookshanks gently aside, he took the parcel and tore off the top. Gingerly, he let the contents spill on the table. To his utmost relief, there was no dress. It was her wand, the glittery ribbons that had been holding her hair up, her intricate armband and lastly, the locket.
He had completely forgotten about it. He hadn't even realized the locket had been on her. Probably kept it in her sash and it had simply stayed there…
Tonks cracked eggs into the cooking oil and tossed in the sausages.
Harry palmed the locket a bit. "Tonks, is Remus different during the full moon? I mean, aside from being the poster boy for Helena's Hair-Gro Potion and being in dire need of a manicure…"
She chuckled. She didn't reply at once, though she was smiling.
"Well?" he insisted. "Is he?"
"He is. He's very different."
"How different?"
She cleared her throat a bit. "More alpha, I suppose, is the best way to say it. You know how quiet he is, and gentle, and really quite sensitive… for a man. No offense."
Harry realized in mild surprise that there was none taken.
She continued. "But when the full moon approaches and actually comes around, furry or not, he becomes fiercer. More aggressive, even in the way he talks. He gets this thing in his voice, like he growls when he talks, and his eyes sometimes glaze black. He's more ruthless, too."
"Ruthless?"
"Like on any other night he wouldn't think of hurting a fly but on the full moon he would definitely find it in himself to kill a man to avenge the death of his best friends."
"Oh." Harry definitely remembered that night. He supposed that in retrospect, Remus was never the type of person who would want to kill, especially for vengeance. That was more up Sirius' alley. "Do you-umm-mind so much that he's different?"
She grinned. "Well, it's a little complicated. It's refreshing, that side of him, and I must say it can be terribly sexy, but I don't think I can stand to have him that way all the time. I mean, if he was that way all the time, I think he'd classify as a complete pain in the arse. With that said, having that side of him in three-day doses is exciting and appealing, unfortunately this supposed sexy Remus Lupin is also a very dangerous Remus Lupin, and I can't quite enjoy that side of him to its fullest potential, if you get what I'm saying."
Harry's eyes widened and wished she hadn't elaborated that much. Now he just had another thing he could add to his nightmares. He supposed talking to Tonks hadn't been a good idea.
There was a sound at the stairs and Ron soon came around lugging a huge book with him.
"Hiya, Tonks," said Ron. "I smelled breakfast. Told you I would."
Tonks laughed softly and Harry figured that meant Ron and Tonks had already seen one another earlier.
"Didn't expect to see you up this early, mate," said Ron. "You must've gone to bed at five."
"So did you," said Harry.
Ron shrugged. "I thought I'd do some reading in the library."
Harry arched an eyebrow in wonder. "That's… unusual."
Ron held up the battered brown book. Embossed in silver leaf was: Bloodsuckers: Understanding Vampire Borrowing and Lending.
That explained things, and Harry appreciated Ron's intentions, but he couldn't help but give his best friend a dubious look. "Ron, she's your best friend, not your loan shark."
"It was all the library had on the subject," said Ron, turning slightly pink. "And I just felt I had to read something."
"Well, Cicero gave me a booklist, if you recall. I'm going to go buy the books today. You can come along if you want."
"Yeah, I'll go with you. Keep me occupied."
Harry understood that completely. Neither of them wanted to be sitting around, thinking about what happened. It was harrowing enough for both of them last night.
Tonks looked over her shoulder at them. "Going to Diagon Alley, then?"
"Yeah. Is that alright?" Harry didn't intend to sound cheeky, but he supposed he did.
Tonks arched an eyebrow. "I'll let the aurors in Diagon Alley keep a lookout for you. It's for your own safety, Harry. And Ron's, too."
"Fat lot of good aurors did for the Grangers and Hermione…" Harry was sorry the moment he said it and Ron, even with his emotional range of a teaspoon, knew enough to kick him under the table. Stifling the cry of pain Ron's sledgehammer of a foot brought him, he gave her an apologetic look. "Merlin, Tonks, I'm sorry… I didn't mean to say... You lost a lot of friends last night, too. I'm a big arse git…"
She expelled a breath and smiled wanly. "It's alright, Harry. And I'm sorry, too. I can't help but feel that we should have been more prepared. Even if we were dealing with an ancient vampire."
"It wasn't anybody's fault."
"That's what I try to tell myself." She transferred the cooked eggs and heaping sausages in a plate and put them on the table.
Ron got up to make some toast while Tonks cooked more breakfast.
Harry wondered if she thought they had bottomless stomachs. He looked at Ron and realized Tonks was just being perceptive.
She looked at him uneasily. "Listen, Harry, when Hermione becomes more… available, we'll need to ask her about what happened that night; get as much information from her as we can."
Harry frowned. He couldn't bear the thought of asking Hermione to relive the horrors of it, but he supposed it really had to be done. If they were going to put a stop to it; if they wanted to find the ones-or one-who did it, then Hermione would have tell them as much as she could remember. "I'll talk to her when she's able, then."
She nodded. "The sooner the better."
Harry got up to set the table and in another few minutes, they were all seated and eating.
An owl delivering the Daily Prophet came and Tonks took the paper. She paled the moment she saw the headline and Harry dreaded asking her what it said.
It was Ron who found the courage. "Well?"
She shook her head and folded the paper over. "You don't want to know."
Harry didn't, but he reached for the paper anyway. The first thing he saw was a picture of him, Ron and Hermione, arms around each other in their school robes as they smirked and winked at one another. Hermione was between them, all three of them stifling their giggles, as if they couldn't believe how ridiculous it all was. Harry remembered the picture from the previous school year. An upperclassman was taking pictures of Hogwarts and its students, saying he wanted to make some sort picture book before he left Hogwarts forever. He also said that their friendship was a Hogwarts fixture of sorts. They had felt a bit silly, letting him take the picture, but he supposed it was a good picture, what with the lake as their background. What bothered him now wasn't the picture itself but what it had been used for.
Picture book indeed.
The caption said, "Happier days. Hermione Granger (center); alive, healthy and well." And as if that wasn't bad enough, the headline said: "Muggle-born and her family slaughtered in their home!"
Of course there has to be an exclamation point, because Lord knows, bold typeface isn't enough to get a reader's attention, he thought bitterly.
It went on to report about the massacre in the Granger home, the dark mark, and what little details the investigative team revealed to the press. It was, of course, mentioned that Hermione was a top student at Hogwarts, was best friends with Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived, a.k.a. The Chosen One and is even rumored to be his girlfriend. Sources confirmed that they were very cozy just yesterday during the Weasley-Delacour nuptials and that her death had left him distraught, undependable and slightly barmy. He was not available for comment.
Harry thought he would be sick. The least they could have done was give Hermione and her parents a bit more respect. What the hell is wrong with these people?
Ron took the paper when Harry set it wearily aside. After a quick read his freckled face blossomed even redder. "They just couldn't lay-off on the Harry Potter angle, could they? No respect for how terrible the entire thing was."
"None."
"I wonder how long until they find out she's been turned."
Harry shrugged, sighing and rubbing his eyes beneath his glasses. "Not long, I'd imagine."
"Let's hope the vampires use their muscle to keep that part of the story quiet," said Tonks. "They like their privacy. Don't want anything calling attention to them. They've already filtered that report, at any rate. Do you see any mention of them?"
Harry was surprised to realize that there hadn't been the slightest clue that vampires were involved. "No mention."
"So…" Ron said cautiously. "How is this going to be played then? You're going to let the rest of the world think Hermione's dead?"
Harry stared at him. It hadn't even crossed his mind, but Ron had definitely hit on something important.
Tonks was unfazed. "I've no idea yet what the Auror Department or the Order intends to do about that, but frankly, I'd rather everyone kept believing what they're told to believe. We don't know whether the Death Eaters wanted her dead or turned, so I'd just as soon not say anything further than what people think they know; at least not until we talk to Hermione. That's just my opinion, of course. Not like I have much say in it if the top people decide otherwise."
Harry gave her last sentence a brief thought before he shook his head to clear his mind. "In the meantime, what are we going to do with the ton of condolences Ron and I will be getting on account of it?"
Ron cursed, obviously realizing it just now as Harry said it.
"You don't have to say anything," Tonks replied with a dismissive wave of her hand. "You're her grieving best friends. People the world over will take pity on you and 'understand' that you're in no condition to be answering letters of condolences."
Harry exchanged looks with Ron. Harry imagined he looked as miserable as Ron did.
They continued with breakfast, and they decided they would head on to Diagon Alley in about an hour.
It was around the time they were clearing away the plates that the owls began to come. At first they came in twos and threes, and then they began arriving in droves, some of them with flowers, some with Muggle-religious items like special cards and prayer books. The kitchen table and floor quickly began to fill up and Harry desperately wanted to close the windows so that the owls would stop.
Sighing, Tonks said she would take care of it all, telling them that they should go on ahead and do their errands. She handed Harry a list, asking him to be a dear and pick them up for her from the nearest Muggle grocery. He promised he would see to it.
Guilty about leaving her but wanting to get away, Harry dragged Ron to the fireplace and flooed them both to the Leaky Cauldron.
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Diagon Alley was about as busy as one would expect on a weekday. There was constant activity, but it was relatively more subdued than the weekend crowd. There were no children running rampant, for one, and the adults weren't on break from work yet. It was yet another hour before the lunch rush.
Harry made a quick stop at Gringotts to withdraw some pocket money before heading straight for Flourish and Blott's.
Ron followed him through the ringing doors and looked over his shoulder. Ron had been trying to spot aurors since they left the Leaky Cauldron. If there were any around watching them, Ron hasn't found them yet.
Harry, meanwhile, had been thinking up a way to get Ron to separate from him in the store and keep busy. Not that he didn't like Ron's company, but Harry wasn't exactly prepared to share an awkward moment with Ron when he picked up that book Allan so magnanimously added to the reading list.
The solution came to Harry as soon as he looked at the list. Quite simply, he folded the list in half, ran his nails over the fold to give it a razor-sharp edge and ripped the list in half. It was a very obsessive thing to do, considering he was the sort of person who wouldn't bother making precision folds before rending paper in two, but he supposed he was a bit jumpy. Buying these books cast another shade of reality to the entire Hermione-Is-A-Vampire business that he wasn't exactly sure he was ready for.
He gave the top half of the list to Ron while waving his own half. "Go look for those while I go look for these."
"Would these be in the vampire section, then? Because you know how all proper bookstores have to be organized."
It took another moment for Harry to realize that Ron was being a bit sarcastic. He shot Ron a slight glare before heading off to consult with a store clerk.
Harry was glad that there wasn't just one section for vampires. The books on the list, while all of them about vampires, fell under such categories as Self-Help, Health and Diet, and Creatures. Allan's book fell under the Relationships section. Harry decided he would run by that section first, and quickly.
It took him several moments to find the book, and when he did find So Your Sweetheart's A Vampire, it wasn't the 8th edition. He considered just letting it be. 7th edition was probably almost as good as 8th, but an attendant happened to pass by and calmly said, "That's not the latest edition."
Harry half expected that he would be judged for merely holding the book and he found himself beginning to explain. "It's-er-for research… school, you see. I have this report to submit…"
Of course, school was all the way in Scotland and the term hadn't begun.
The attendant seemed exceptionally bemused, or maybe just discreet. Harry supposed it was her way of saying, without words, that she didn't care if he wanked off on the books because it wasn't hers or anyone's business what readers did to them. "Then you'll want the latest one." She plucked a book a bit further down the shelf and handed it to him. It was the 8th edition.
The attendant left.
Harry eyed the book for a moment and felt that common urge to skip through the preamble of pages so he could get to the most important part. Sometimes, in regular books, that meant towards the end. In this case, perhaps it was towards the end as well, because the book couldn't have contained more than three hundred pages. But he had a specific page in mind, and with guiltlessness that would have scandalized Hermione, he moseyed to page 281 without a thought.
When he got to the page, there were no naughty pictures (as he might have expected). There was simply a symbol there, embossed in silver and gold. There was a shimmering red disc at the center of the intricate circle. On the page opposite were words that sounded like a spell. At the bottom of the page was the caption: See that which you both desire.
Curious, he touched the symbol and read the spell out loud in slow, halting syllables. Latin tended to bog down his reading skills.
His mind threw him into a vision-like trance of ripping off Hermione's clothes, buttons popping and fabric tearing, in a room filled with lit candles and delicate, spicy aromas. His skin felt hot and hers felt hotter. She was beautiful, and erotic and she was whispering his name in that wonderful, sensual way of hers that drove him mad. He felt a savage urge to throw her over the soft bed of silk and rose petals, so he did, and began to do exactly what he wanted do to her.
When he felt that inevitably embarrassing twitch in his pants, he slammed the book shut and it tumbled from his fingers to his foot. It bounced merrily off his trainers and went splat on the floor.
He found himself back in the bookstore, with the soft jazzy wizarding music in the background and the wild sensations leaving him in a vicious rush. He gasped as the tingling underneath his skin disappeared and his heartbeat immediately slowed to a normal tempo, as if he hadn't gotten so wound up so quickly just seconds before. Whatever effect page 281 had on him, it had all but disappeared.
Now all he could be was utterly shocked.
What in bloody hell… He looked around frantically-guiltily-trying to block out the memory of his vision. Shite, can she even bend that way? And what if someone had seen me while…? Only a perv would have a stiffie in a bookstore!
Then it occurred to him that he had had several stiffies in the library at Grimmauld Place.
Yes, but usually Hermione is actually there to help it along.
He felt an urge to hate himself for thinking that.
Dazed, he dropped to the floor to pick up the book.
"Oy, Harry, there you are."
Harry knocked over a stack of magically balanced books nearby, awkwardly burying that book underneath it. He cursed Ron for showing up but was glad that the books had spilled so fortuitously. "Yes, Ron?"
Ron came up beside him, scanning the shelves idly. "There was only one book on the list you gave me and I've found it. Need help finding the books in your half of the list?"
Harry looked up in surprise. "There was only one on yours?"
"Yeah. You crossed out the others."
"I didn't cros-well, that doesn't matter. You can go find Common Vampire Ailments by Ann Neamik."
Ron shrugged. "Alright. You okay? You look a little flushed."
"I-I'm fine. I'll join you at the counter as soon as I'm done looking."
"Right."
Ron left and Harry rolled his eyes at his own awkward attempts at dignity. He fished his book out from beneath Daddy, Why Do You Have Fangs? and tucked his now illicit purchase inconspicuously in his arms.
Whose bright idea was it to invite Ron along to this potentially embarrassing errand, anyway? That's right, Potter, yours!
He wondered whether there wasn't an age requirement for the book he was trying to buy.
He headed out to the other sections to get the rest of the books. He was glad to discover that they weren't very thick tomes. The thickest one was the relationship book, and even that was just a little over 281.
Now I'm obsessed with the page, he thought morosely.
Thirty minutes later, he had the three books in his list on hand. He had given in to the occasional distraction, browsing through a few other books. He didn't suppose she would be very bored in her current disposition that she would have leisure time to herself, but he found himself looking over a leather-bound notebook with blank pages.
She might find use for a journal. She might like the normalcy of chronicling things… as they are…
He took the notebook and grabbed a quill with some ink. He hoped he could get Cicero to pass on the present for him; just to let her know he missed her.
Ron was waiting for him at the counter with two books and an extra tome that was thicker than could be expected from Ron. He put the two books on Harry's pile and held the rest back.
"You bought a book for yourself?" Harry asked.
Ron reddened. "Don't be daft."
He didn't explain any further and Harry thought it best not to pry since he wasn't exactly forthcoming with his purchases either.
Harry paid for his selections and Ron paid for his, after which they headed back out on the street.
"Think we can go by Fred and George's for a minute? I need to get a new spell-checking quill," said Ron.
"Haven't replaced the one that ran out on you last April?"
"Yeah. And it's really bad now. It's turning all my Ss into Cs and my Rs into Fs. It's very embarrassing when I have to write 'sock' and 'rucksack' in my letters."
Harry would imagine so.
They arrived at Weasley's Wizard Wheezes front steps where the display was as garish and explosive as ever. Multi-colored lights flashed at the marquee and a throng of customers, in spite of the relatively sparse Diagon Alley crowd, were flowing in and out of the shop doors.
Harry let Ron step through the doors first to lead the way and Ron wove through the aisles, directly for the enormous shelf of quills. The twins had stocked up for the up and coming school year and the quills and inks gleamed new under the store lights.
Ron was quietly deciding between a blue or black quill when the twins jumped them from behind.
Harry found himself amongst tall stalks of red once again, remembering how he had been with them just yesterday. His insides ached, just thinking of Hermione. He wished she were there. He wished he could hold her hand while they watched Fred and George bother Ron.
Seeing the rack of love potions "disguised" as common beauty products, he imagined her joking about spiking his coffee with amortentia and he would quite naturally say that love potions were cancelled out when the emotion was already there.
This was the first time, ever, that he had stepped into Weasley's Wizard Wheezes and felt this depressed.
"Gerroff me!" Ron growled as the twins urged him to try this prototype and that. Ron told Harry that the last two times the twins managed to convince him, his ears turned bunny and he giggled like a fairy.
When Ron had successfully thwarted them, they set their sights on Harry. Harry thought they were going to go into their usual flamboyant welcome, giving him "complimentary" gift packs and such. But while they didn't exactly stop smiling, they got this look in their eyes, something Harry was surprised to realize was not pity but shared grief.
George clapped Harry on the back. "Alright, Harry? Any word on Hermione today?"
"Not until later. The-umm-one taking care of her won't be available to report until tonight," said Harry quietly. "She's just sleeping now."
Fred smiled. "Will you give something to her for us, then? She might need a bit of a picker-upper, eh?" He rushed off to the counter, disappearing behind it for several moments.
"We put this together for her this morning," George explained. "Thought maybe we'd try to brighten her days at the dungeon."
Harry cocked a tiny smile. He couldn't help but appreciate the gesture.
He was expecting Fred to come back with a basket of jokes and blood candies (he might have found that funny, anyway, in a… twisted sort of way), but he found that Fred and George were indeed full of surprises.
Fred did hand him a basket, but it was filled with chocolate, prettily wrapped "surprise" boxes and miniature balloons that enlarged on command. Fred also handed him a bouquet of charmed flowers, enchanted to stay fresh for longer than it was wont.
"The flowers are from Charlie and Dad," Fred explained.
George pointed to the basket and began speaking in a confidential whisper. "There are about half a dozen of our best fake wands under there and two go's of our Patented Daydream Charms. Ginny and mum have letters for her in there, too."
"Charlie told us that she'd appreciate the chocolate even as… you know," said Fred. "If she doesn't, she can always pass 'em over to Ron. He'll eat anything."
Ron shot them a glare.
Harry felt a bit overwhelmed. "Th-Thanks, you two. This… will mean a lot to her."
Fred smiled. "No problem. We felt really, really awful last night, when we thought-you know-so this is as much for us as it is for her. You should've heard mum and Ginny. We thought they were going to make themselves ill, the way they carried on crying."
"R-Really?"
George nodded solemnly. "Ginny was worse. I think she felt wretched that she'd been nasty to Hermione all day that day. Listen, Harry, we didn't have time to tell Bill and Fleur last night about what happened, and they won't be getting the Daily Prophet where they are, but we'll definitely let them know, today. Don't think they don't care-"
"Please don't tell them," said Harry, much to Fred and George's surprise. Harry hastened to explain. "I don't want them ruining their honeymoon on account of what happened, especially now that Hermione's… not really-gone. Hermione wouldn't want that for them, either. Tell them after they get back. But let them enjoy their time together, for now."
The twins cast him doubtful glances.
"Really," Harry insisted.
"Fine, then," said George. "We'll hold off for a couple of days. But Harry, I think they'd want to know, anyway."
Harry smiled. "Yeah, well, I don't imagine being half-mauled for the rest of your life gets you that many breaks. Let the bloke have his honeymoon with his unbelievably gorgeous wife."
Fred laughed. "Bill's probably enjoying French cuisine as we speak, eh?"
"Well, he's enjoying something, Fred, I'll tell you that."
Ron frowned. "You two are impossibly single-minded."
"Yes, because as nineteen year old wizards go, we're supposed to be less 'single-minded' than a seventeen year old bloke whose been hoarding our Witchling Magazine back-issues," said George.
Harry's eyes widened at Ron. He didn't know whether he should laugh or demand that Ron share.
Fred nodded. "When you say 'less single-minded', does that mean we're supposed to be double-minded or half-minded?"
"Well, we are twins."
"A quarter-minded? So then we'd be half-minded put together."
"Shut it, you!" Ron cried. "I do not hoard. I borrow. And I only wanted the one with the article on Holly Coats. She's a riveting stage actress, you know."
"'Coat, Un-Coat' I believe, was the title of that article," said Fred. "Interesting interview, that. I rather fancied that 'un-coat' part."
"One of the best issues," said George. "Hope you didn't ruin it, Ron. The magazine aims to please but the least you can do is aim your pleasure somewhere else."
"Enough! Harry and I are leaving!" Ron cried. "Put the quill on my tab and thank you for the presents."
Ron hustled them out of the store as Harry tried to toss proper goodbyes to the twins.
When they got back out on the street, Harry smirked. "Borrowed it for the articles, eh? I suppose the literature's pretty good once you get past the scantily clad witches waving to you from the pages."
"Mr. Chastity and Virtue over here," Ron muttered sardonically. "If you weren't getting so much 'tender loving care' from Hermione, you would be drooling over those magazines same as the rest of us poor fools."
"Drooling? Is that what you call it nowadays?"
"Well, I'm sorry. I'm being cryptic: In lieu of shagging a beautiful woman for real, the pitiful masses have to wank-off on their pictures instead."
"When you put it like that, it sounds very sad."
Ron sighed and shook his head. "It sounds ten times meaner coming from someone who's had some. Like you're gloating, actually."
"Oh, shut it. I'm not gloating. And I'd rather you not talk about it like that. What Hermione and I have-"
"Isn't just about sex. I know. And amidst this deep, profound and emotional connection you two have, the sex-fortunate bastard that you are-just happens to be abso-bloody-lutely fantastic."
Harry shot him a wry look. He was of the opinion that his "fortune" was preceded by the worst luck in the world (e.g. Fighting a possessed professor and then destroying him without the slightest idea how it got done; getting bit by a basilisk and then healed by a phoenix; getting lost in a labyrinth with a psychopath and managing to get away, etc., etc.) and that Ron was forgetting that aspect of his life again because Ron's teenage hormones compelled him.
"Well," muttered Harry. "Whatever romantic thing I was going to say will sound stupid now, won't it?"
"You can always whisper your sweet nothings in my ear, darling."
"Right. And you phrased it so appropriately for our 'single-minded' conversation, too. It's not how I would say it, but that's the gist of the matter, I suppose. Whatever works for you."
"Not to mention those killer legs of hers," added Ron absent-mindedly, as if taking Harry's words to heart. "I tell you, the shape on them can murder a man, dead. Tapering to really nice ankles. Bless short skirts…"
Harry was beginning to get peeved. Hermione wasn't Holly Coats, so her legs were not open to discussion. "Ron, in this dimension, it's not polite to talk about your best mate's girlfriend's legs like that."
"Right. Sorry."
They began to walk up the alley to the Leaky Cauldron.
"You miss her already, don't you?" said Ron. "I know you slept in her room."
Harry hadn't realized Ron had noticed, and the fact that Ron did, made him feel strangely violated. "Thank you for stripping me emotionally naked in the middle of Diagon Alley."
"Fine. Far be it I'd force a macho man like yourself to talk about your feelings."
Harry sighed. Then again, none of it was Ron's fault.
"Look," Ron muttered. "I'm not asking you to bare your soul or anything like that. That's just gross. I'll just feel less weird if I knew I wasn't the only one being-you know, stupid. Because I miss her, even if it's been barely a day since…"
Harry always thought that he was only a bit better than Ron as far as emotional ranges go, so now he felt bad for shutting the emotional door on Ron's face. "I don't know about being stupid… that's your lookout…" He grinned a bit and Ron shot him a sardonic sneer. "But I do miss her, too. I'm anxious to see her again. She died, Ron. Now she's alive and-and it feels like she'd been gone a hundred years and this is the first time I'll be seeing her again after I missed her every single day of those hundred years."
Ron cocked a wan, understanding smile.
They entered the Leaky Cauldron and used the portal to go to Muggle London.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
It was almost three thirty by the time Harry and Ron got back to Grimmauld Place. They'd taken a late lunch out in a Muggle restaurant and Ron had spent half the time being fascinated by bits of muggle curiosities. It was a welcome distraction, and Harry figured it had a little to do with the fact that once they got back home, he'd have to sit down and face the inevitability of the state of things.
They had to use the front door to get into the house. While anyone can floo out of Grimmauld Place, there was no flooing in. They had to floo from some place nearby, take a bus and walk up the front steps. Ron was ecstatic to take a muggle bus. He couldn't have imagined that transportation could move so slowly.
Tonks welcomed them back in, helping them with their packages.
Harry noticed that the unreasonably plentiful pile of letters and flowers had been moved to the parlor, and that Tonks had left the window open for owls to come and drop their packages off. She had left water dishes and pellets, too. A few owls lingered atop the parlor chairs. Evidently, some owls expected to carry something back.
He wearily wondered whether he had to answer all that mail.
After they helped Tonks put away the groceries, Harry deposited the Weasley gifts in his room while Ron said he was going to get some shut-eye. He requested that Harry wake him up when it came time to go to St. Mungo's.
Finding alone time, Harry sat himself down and began the one letter he was willing to write. Three revisions later, he sighed and decided to go with what he had. It was, at least, the most honest and heartfelt one he could come up with. He folded it carefully and stuck it in the journal he had bought for Hermione. He then went to the library with his books. He was glad that he could look over the books by himself. Aside from the embarrassingly erotic page 281, he really did want to skim through the other books. He wanted to be able to have some understanding of how to cope.
Harry remembered an incident in sixth year, when Professor Binns told them (yes, he was actually listening that time) that they would be having a test for the following meeting, and that it would be an open-book exam. History class being what it was (a time to reflect… on one's sleeping time), Harry and Ron didn't even bother to open their books and prepare. It was open-book, after all. How bad could it be? Hermione, of course, had warned them constantly, telling them that open-book exams were usually more difficult than usual, hence the need for constant reference. Harry ignored her warnings at first, opting to-well-snog Ginny, but as the day of the test neared, it was as if Hermione's warnings came back to haunt him with increasing frequency, so by the time the day of the test came, he actually had a panic attack and found himself cramming as much reading as he could between morning and History class. Sure enough, when he sat in front of his exam, books and his sorry excuse for notes laid out before him on his desk, he hadn't a blessed clue on how to answer a single question properly. There were three, and all he could do was spin bullcrap with quill and parchment. Harry thought that anything was better than nothing. He was a Gryffindor, right? Leaving blank spaces would be like forfeiting a Quidditch match, and he would never do such a thing.
As it turned out, Harry wasted a fair amount of ink and effort, however valiant (or as Hermione would term it, "desperate") his attempts were. Professor Binns did not give credit for "trying", especially because being a ghost, the poor Professor dwelled less and less on the abstract the more reality left him behind. So the reality of the matter was Harry just missed the facts completely. At least Ron could say he flunked the exam with flying colors because his answers were intentionally hilarious. Harry just flunked miserably, because his answers were unintentionally laughable. For what it was worth (which wasn't much at all), he scraped a few measly points, though they were nowhere near hanging by the hair of a passing grade.
Harry learned three essential truths that week. The first truth was that Hermione, particularly when it came to lessons, was almost always right, so for future matters pertaining to school and perhaps even life, he would do well to take that into consideration. The second truth was that when you think you've got enough free time during the weekday to snog your girlfriend senseless, then you're probably skiving something far more important. The third most important truth was that there was absolutely nothing pleasant about being that unprepared, and that he never wanted to feel that kind of inadequacy again. For all his encounters with Voldemort and his evil Death Eaters, it was Professor Binns' history test that taught him the horrors of what it was like to get caught with one's pants down.
So now, with Hermione's vampirism looming ahead, he was going to take the third truth particularly to heart.
He started by arranging the books in order of priority:
Vampires For Dummies
So Your Sweetheart's A Vampire, 8th Edition (Dating tips, relationship trouble-shooting and moving in together.)
Bloody Mary's Not A Drink, She's In the Basement, 1996 Edition (A comprehensive and useful comparison of vampire and human [pop-] culture.)
Underworld: Vampire Society (What it's really like down there.)
Common Vampire Ailments
Harry didn't think he'd be able to read all of it on time for Hermione's homecoming, but if he could read Potions and History textbooks, he could very well take the time to read these.
Taking the first book from the pile, he opened it to page one.
"A general overview of all things vampire…"
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Harry carried all his books from the library and deposited them underneath his bedside table. He wasn't the least bit done with the first book, but time had flown as he read and he had barely noticed. That seemed like a good sign. However draining a book "For Dummies" was supposed to be, it was interesting enough to keep him focused.
He carried the book down to the kitchen and thought about fixing himself a sandwich. He had missed lunch. So had Ron, which was a bit of a shocker. He supposed Tonks, unlike Hermione, hadn't felt the need to take care of a house full of boys (not that two boys and one man in a mansion was a crowd). Tonks was more laid-back that way. Besides, Harry supposed a werewolf was handful enough.
He caught Tonks in the kitchen boiling some tea. She looked disgruntled.
"Alright, Tonks?"
"I'm just taking a break," she muttered. She did not elaborate on her irritable mood.
"How's Remus?"
"Go ask him yourself."
Harry found pause and began to seriously consider going down to the basement, a.k.a. dungeon, to check on their resident werewolf. Other than that catastrophic episode in third year, Harry had never really taken a keen interest in Remus when the full moon came around. That was probably understandable, considering Remus had wanted to eat him that first and last time they faced off. But Harry also realized that Remus used to have Padfoot, Prongs and even Wormtail to get him through those nights he was a werewolf. Maybe now was a good time for Harry to reach out, in the spirit of that same brotherhood, because he was James' son after all. Besides, Remus would stay human so long as the rays of the moon didn't reach him.
"I think I will," said Harry.
Tonks gave him a faint smile as she daintily sipped her tea. Of course with Tonks, dainty meant dribbling only a little tea from the side of her mouth.
Taking his book with him, Harry made his way to the dungeon.
The trip down was a dim one. There were no torches to light the passageway so Harry could either carry the one mounted at the entrance or cast a lumos to light the way. He decided to use his wand. It was lighter and he was almost certain Remus' chamber would have its own torches anyway.
He carefully descended the winding stairway and soon reached the bottom where there was a long hallway. There was a pinprick of light flickering at the distant end.
The stone was dry and dusty, so there were very few creatures living between the rocks and corners, but there was the occasional spider, which pretty much meant Ron wouldn't be making an appearance anytime soon.
When he finally reached the first lit cavern, he saw a short row of stone cells sealed by thick iron bars. It wasn't a particularly vast room, and there was only a small section where Harry presumed a "guard" could stand and see everything. There was a dark corner where a massive iron door was situated. It was either some kind of high-security cell or the torture chamber. Judging from the Black's political leanings, a torture chamber wasn't farfetched.
He spotted Remus in the farthest cell. He was hunched over a table piled with books. He had a bed and a rather genteel looking tea table with a teapot and a cup. Of course, the pile of raw meat sitting beside the sugar bowl rather ruined the effect, but he was an Englishman and a werewolf, after all.
"Tonks, dear, I hope I didn't upset you too much. You know how moody I get this time of the month," said Remus without lifting his eyes from his book.
Harry never thought he'd ever hear a grown man use the time of the month as an excuse for his mood swings, but lo and behold. Only in the wizarding world. "Not Tonks, I'm afraid. Sorry."
Remus looked up and smiled. "Harry! Well, this is a surprise. I should've smelled you coming, of course, but I suppose I wasn't paying attention. So, what brings you here?"
Harry shrugged, pulling up a chair that Tonks likely sat on to keep Remus company. Harry sat himself as near to Remus' cell as allowed, just a little past the line marked on the floor with chalk. "No particular reason. Just visiting, really. Catching up on your reading?"
"Nothing important, actually. Mostly fiction. I tend to get bored with my usual scholarly tomes around this time, so I catch up on my muggle literature. It's fascinating how muggles write about the worst people; serial killers, war criminals, rapists and murderers… but they build it around a nice, intricate mystery with lots of blood and gore."
Harry was beginning to understand what Tonks meant by Remus becoming less his gentle self. "That sounds riveting."
"It is! Better these than answering those bloody crossword puzzles… what's that book you got there?"
Harry held it up for Remus. "Vampires For Dummies. Just want to be ready when Hermione comes home. It's interesting reading, anyway."
Remus nodded sagely. "Vampires… an interesting study, particularly when it comes to Defense Against the Dark Arts. They're notoriously difficult to kill. Silver can't kill them per se; many make that mistake, but silver can hurt them, and if you're going to cut off their heads, it's better done with a silver blade. Cuts through their flesh much easier than a regular steel sword."
Harry fidgeted at the subject matter. That was rather brutal of Remus, but that was excusable, considering the state Remus was in. "Erm… right. But-um-I don't really want to be cutting off her head at this time… never, actually."
Remus seemed surprised and he laughed. "Oh, I'm sorry. I wasn't telling you to-I'm sorry, Harry. I get a little savage around this time…"
"That's alright. I understand. So… what else do you know about vampires?"
Remus settled more comfortably on his seat. "Well, there are many myths and misconceptions surrounding them, mainly because these muggle writers botch up the facts. Reflections, for example. Vampires have them. They can look into a mirror and see themselves. There is just absolutely no logical or magical reason why they shouldn't have a reflection. Half the vampires of the world would go mad if they couldn't see themselves, because how else would they make themselves beautiful? They're a vain lot, I'll tell you. A race of buggery metrosexual men and high-maintenance bitch-er-women."
Harry was just slightly shocked at Remus's use of the b-word, and he began to gain a true understanding of what had Tonks so exasperated.
Remus was blushing madly. "Pardon me for-umm-that word. I never mean it in a very bad way. It's just that I'm a little… wolfy right now and I inadvertently refer to women as… well, it's a dog-thing, but it's still very embarrassing. I don't mean to be disrespectful. Tonks hates it like anything, as you might imagine."
Harry would imagine so.
Remus's eyes roved to Harry's book again. "Vampires… aren't always as bad as people say they are, but then the really nasty ones far exceed the worst stories about them. Cicero's a primary example of a good vampire, and then there will be Januses. Vampires have common traits, though, like vanity and ferocity, but I suppose even that is proportionate to the kind of person they were before they were turned." He sighed. "I will not lie to you. This is no small adjustment in your relationship."
Harry stared at him in surprise.
"It will be difficult," Remus continued. "And you will have gaps that will seem impossible to bridge. But I suppose… I suppose I've seen human and vampire relationships prospering, or something like it, at least."
"W-What do you mean by that?"
Remus chuckled. "I've not been among vampires for so long, and I'm sure many things have changed since I last… socialized with them. I'd rather not elaborate, lest I give you cause for unnecessary anxiety. You have enough to worry about. I'm just saying that if your heart tells you that you want this relationship, then you must be willing to deal with the most difficult and unusual issues that will arise from it. I know that-I know that it was so natural for you and Hermione. It was as if you and she didn't even have to explain things to each other. The two of you just worked; you fit. And you were so passionate, too-"
Harry's eyes widened before he descended into unbearable levels of embarrassment.
Remus smirked. "Oh, don't you look at me like that, Harry. Even if I didn't have super sensitive werewolf ears-yes, I heard, which is why silencing charms are so handy-it's obvious enough with the way you… well, are with each other."
"Good God," Harry moaned, running his hand down his face. If he could melt through the floor, that would be a blessing.
Remus waved dismissively. "No need to be embarrassed Harry. We're both adults here, and such is the nature of relationships. The point is, don't despair if things seem so different. I suppose you can say I'm rooting for you two because… well, Tonks and I… we're not exactly the most ideal couple, either. If you and Hermione manage then perhaps Tonks' optimism about she and I has merit."
Harry didn't know if two sober blokes such as themselves should sit there and encourage each other to carry bravely on in their dysfunctional relationships. Weren't they supposed to be sitting in a pub somewhere and banjaxed out of their wits for this sort of thing to seem less pathetic?
"Just remember," said Remus sagely. "If you love her at all, you're going to cut down on garlic. Vampires are horribly sensitive to the stuff. If you eat pizza and you kiss her, it won't be pleasant. Besides, it's never a good idea to kiss anyone after eating garlic, vampire or human."
"Right…"
"Are you going to the hospital tonight?"
"Yeah… I don't think I'll be allowed to see her, though. I'll be dropping off some presents. From the Weasleys and myself…"
"Good! I've something for her, too. It's a little something from a werewolf to a vampire." Remus dug through his books and brought out what looked like a coin-sized disk made of glass. It had something red embedded into it and the disk had a hole at the top where one could pass a chain through. Remus held it up so that Harry could see it through the bars. "It's a Blood Moon Charm. That's what the vampires call it, at least. If she's ever in any dire danger and has no one else to turn to, I'd know if she calls on me. I can either help her myself or send someone who can better assist her. It's akin to this werewolf as servants of vampires thing, but less binding. At any rate, I'd offer help of any kind to her whether or not she's a vampire. Call this a gesture. It might give her a sense of security; that she's never alone."
Harry wagered that Hermione never knew just how many people cared for her. "I know she'll appreciate it."
Remus tossed the disk through the bars and Harry snatched it deftly in mid-flight. He turned it over in his palm, studying it carefully.
"You'd best head back up," said Remus. "It will be nightfall soon and I'm sure you're anxious to let her know she hasn't been abandoned."
Harry nodded. He rose from his seat.
"Oh, and Harry, please tell Tonks that if she is better disposed than when she last stormed out of here, I would really, really like her company again."
Harry cocked a smile. "Sure, Remus. I'll give her the ol' Harry charm."
Remus smirked. "You do that. Goodness knows the whole wizarding world goes maternal when it comes to you."
Harry never saw it that way but supposed it was mostly true when the wizarding world wasn't ripping into his character, mental health and love life.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Harry did pass Remus' message along to Tonks and Tonks showed no sign of being huffy about it. She even said that she would be going back down to the dungeon shortly.
He looked out of the kitchen window and saw that the sky had grown dim. In another half-hour or so, it would be nightfall. He should be heading out to St. Mungo's.
He was just about to go to Ron's room to wake him up when Tonks called his attention.
"By the way, Harry. If you're wondering about the services for Hermione's parents, McGonagall's taking care of it with her parents' administrators. So you needn't worry about that, alright?"
He stared at her. The funeral arrangements for Hermione's parents had completely slipped his mind.
It was then he felt a surge of insecurity. How in the world could he have believed that he was ready for any of this? If he fancied himself grown up enough to deal with it all, then how could he have forgotten something so important? What else was he forgetting? What other responsibility was he not ready for?
Perhaps seeing the frightened look in his eyes, Tonks came over and gave him a brief embrace. He was too dazed to make any sort of response.
"It will be fine, Harry," she said. "I know you might not like the sound of this but… the fact is you're a victim in this, too. Everyone is willing to pitch in to lessen the burden on you, Hermione and Ron."
Harry gave a start. She was right: he didn't want to be a "victim". He wasn't. It was never within the constellation of his thoughts. He was destined to fight Voldemort in the end. Being a victim, or thinking himself one, would help no one. Yet right now, he might have to grudgingly admit that the real-life concerns were beyond him. He hadn't even considered the inevitability of speaking to Hermione about her parents. It was all suddenly very overwhelming.
"You go on ahead to St. Mungo's," said Tonks. "All you need worry about for the time being is Hermione and yourself."
Harry nodded, though he was not nearly assured of the state of things, not because he didn't trust McGonagall, but because he was slowly beginning to mistrust himself.
Troubled, he made his way to the rooms on the second floor to rouse Ron from sleep.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~