Author's notes: The end is neigh. I couldn't believe it myself.
Thanks to everyone who has so enthusiastically supported this fic. You've been wonderful! And no, don't worry, this isn't the last chapter! Lol. I just feel the need to give you all a great big thanks.
Many, many thanks and hugs and cakes to Tome Raider who did an absolutely spectacular job beta-ing this one. This was a toughie. It needed her magic touch, and she did it again! For that, I am grateful. I always am, but I'll give thanks until my face is blue!!!
Standard disclaimers apply.
Chapter rating: NC-17
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Chapter Thirty-fifth: Provocation
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"Hermione?"
Her skin glowed like pale moon in the darkness of the room, her eyes rings of amber and brown. He could see her fangs peeking from her lips. Tears spilled from her eyes, the miserable resignation clear in her expression.
"I can't let you die," she whispered, her body still and unmoving. "Do you understand me, Harry? I can't let you die."
He frowned, trying to reach her. He can't, but he wanted so much to offer her comfort. "It's going to be alright. It's going to be fine."
"It won't be." It sounded so definite that Harry felt his stomach knot.
Behind her, from the darkness, another figure emerged. It was pale like her, but taller, and older. His dark hair bled into the black, and when he smiled, his eyes lit like glinting gold.
Janus.
Harry began to walk towards them, his brisk steps became a desperate run. He couldn't reach her, no matter how hard he tried.
Janus's arm snaked around Hermione's shoulders possessively. "Mine to make. Mine to take."
"Get away from her!"
Hermione's tears continued to spill. The gentle caress of Janus's fingers through her hair coiled Harry's insides.
Janus pushed her hair back, and he slid his arm away from her, only to rest his hand on her shoulder and push her to her knees. She complied without resistance.
Harry shook his head. He'd seen this one before. He knew what was going to come next.
Hermione closed her eyes as the silvery flash of sword disturbed the ominous darkness.
Harry cried for her, pleading her to run; to fight; anything but surrender, but she wasn't listening, or maybe she couldn't hear him, and all he could do was watch in horror as Janus swung his sword towards Hermione's neck.
Harry screamed in pure grief as she toppled lifelessly to the ground, her head severed from her body.
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"Harry, wake up!"
Harry's eyes flew open, his mouth open in a silent scream, heart hammering at an impossible rate. Everything was a blur, he could barely see anything, but he was acutely aware that his chest was heaving, and that his body was covered in cold sweat. He gasped in panic. "Hermio-!"
"It's alright! I'm here!" Her voice was a bit pitched, as if she'd been saying it over and over again, and that she just needed for him to hear it. "Harry, it's alright!"
He reached for the blur that was her hair, and his fingers trembled as he ran them through the locks and strands. He was taking gulps of air as he did it, and he focused on making himself believe that this was real; that she was alive.
She must have sensed that need, because she hushed him softly, her light kisses meant to reassure.
Gradually, he calmed down, and he remembered that they were both in bed, still naked from having made love.
Her palm rested comfortably on his cheek; her breasts pressed intimately on his chest.
"It was just a bad dream," she whispered. "Just a bad dream, Harry. Hush now… it's alright."
He was still breathing through his lips, but her voice was soothing, and he could feel the tension leaving his muscles.
He swallowed, and his throat felt dry. It was the second time the nightmare had come to him; the second time he woke up screaming. The first time had been last night, and Hermione hadn't been with him.
Her presence was comforting, and this time, it was easier to wind down from the effects of the dream.
He cupped her face in his hands, pulling her close to kiss her. Her lips were soft and obliging, opening for him so he could taste her. The feel of her velvety tongue against his was both arousing and reassuring, and he needed that reassurance because that nightmare had once been real. He had felt her life seeping through his fingers, but perhaps even worse than that, he knew five years of clinging desperately to hope because he felt the dream of her slowly, painfully dying.
Now he had her in his arms, intoxicating himself of her nearness. His hands were in her hair, running his fingers through her curly strands before they settled on her shoulders, squeezing into her soft skin.
Was her skin really cold to the touch? Or did his own body heat filter into her, making her warm and alive?
She is alive. She couldn't be dead. No way. Not when she makes me feel this way. Not when I can look into her eyes and see her loving me.
He rolled them over on the bed and he looked at her, his hand cupping her face as he rubbed his thumb over the apple of her cheek.
Her eyes never failed him, and perhaps, thinking back, her gaze told him she loved him, even when the anger tried to stifle those emotions.
"Harry?" she whispered, no doubt wondering about his exact thoughts. She seemed confused, torn between talking and wanting him.
He made the choice for her. He pressed his lips tentatively to hers, a gentle persuasion even as his touch marked a path lower down her body. She accepted the kiss, molding her body to his hands while hers combed through his hair.
Twining his leg with hers, he urged her legs apart and let his fingers slip inside her, this time letting his tongue coax a deeper kiss. She moaned into his mouth and he responded with a slow rhythmic circling, his thumb pressing where he knew she liked it.
He broke the kiss, and she gasped, her eyes questioning the separation. His only answer was to nestle his lips on the hollow of her throat, tongue dipping into the pulsing hollows of her soft skin.
There was a need inside him to see and to feel her alive in all its dimensions. To taste all those parts of her that gave him such pure, primal pleasure. Lowering his mouth, he sucked on her teat, loving the feel of the smooth flesh against his lips. Her moans of appreciation were amazing to him, and he wanted to hear more. His kiss traveled lower, slowly tasting the valley between her breasts before he marked a path to her navel.
Dipping his tongue in the hollow of it, she bucked slightly, squirming, perhaps impatiently, for what she knew was about to come. He did not let her wait long. He was not there to tease. He needed her as much as she needed him, and his tongue plunging into the center of her was meant to satisfy something in them both.
He wanted to hear her impassioned cries, wanted to feel her fingers scrunch in his hair, and he wanted to taste her climax, because nothing could possibly be closer to breathing back life into her.
He groaned against her, unable to resist touching himself slightly, but he kept the stroking of his hand brief, aware of the unsatisfying repercussions if he continued so. He focused on her voice, responded to the slight movement of her hips. Her surrendering wail moments later, his name cried out from her lips, and the arching of her body against his mouth was what he lived for. He might have come right there; it was so erotic to see her this way, but he wanted to see more of her. His desire to look into her eyes the next time he brought her to orgasm was more compelling than his own release.
When he was sure she had fully crested, he let her settle from the after-tremors of her climax, settling himself beside her and nuzzling the soft flesh beneath her ear. He didn't want her to feel self-conscious, coming down from her high. As intimate as they were with each other, he recognized the moments of vulnerability, and it was something, he felt, his Hermione Granger didn't want scrutinized. So even if they touched, it was enough that she knew he wasn't staring.
Moments later, she turned her head so that her lips would be on his. He closed his eyes, savoring the deepening kiss. She clasped his shoulders, coaxing Harry to press closer.
He hadn't the will to say no. His erection was straining to be given attention, and the slightest touch of her skin against it made him terribly aware that he had resisted long enough. Shifting beneath the blankets, her legs took him in an embrace and with an easy thrust he was moving inside her, alternating between closing his eyes to savor the sensations and opening them to see her responses.
There was no pounding and crashing of hips. This was a drawn-out joining, something to enjoy at leisure, even if every nerve in their bodies tingled, even if the very pit of their stomachs roiled with anticipation of release.
He loved watching her; loved seeing the ecstasy in her eyes, how her mouth would drop open just before the sexiest of moans escaped her lips, how her back arched beneath him and he could feel her nipples brush against his. He wanted to see the flush in her cheeks, and how helpless she seemed when she was murmuring, "Don't stop. Oh, please don't stop…" while her fingers pressed desperately on his shoulders.
And when he wasn't watching her, he was tasting her, his tongue on the tender flesh of her neck, her shoulders, that sweet spot just beneath her ear, and he would always finish with her lips, because the honeyed promise of her kiss was a craving he couldn't quite sate. Her velvety tongue swirling against his was a plethora of lovely sensations that reverberated through his entire body.
His own easy cadence brought a groan from deep within him. Hermione was warmth, softness, and life; nothing about her was what vampires were known to be: cold, hard death.
This was what he needed now, feeling her to the very core of him, knowing for all certainty that she was alive and well, being pleasured as she pleasured him right back.
Her whispers became even softer but he understood every word. They were joined so close. He shifted his hips again, and clasping the back of her thigh, he brought it higher to his side to coax her to an angle he knew would make it feel even better for them both.
She cupped his face, and he could feel that she was close. She was hot all over, and her whispered words of, "Just like that, Harry," were fevered. He caught her wrist in his grip, kissing it at the pulse point and laving it with his tongue.
The cry that accompanied her climax was immensely arousing, and a few seconds after she crested, he followed, his entire body giving in to the amazing sensation of coming inside her.
He took a few moments to catch his breath, his chest heaving for air. He could feel the slight uneven heaving of her, and for a split second, the thought that breathing wasn't natural to her came unbidden. He pushed those thoughts hastily away. She had told him the sensations of breathing still calmed her; that it served a very human purpose for her still. It was something she needed to do and that was comforting to them both.
Carefully, he rolled off her, and moments later she adjusted herself to rest her head on his chest. He put his arm around her, reveling in the after-glow. She ran her finger lightly against his collarbone.
It made him vaguely aware that he no longer wore the pendant of the Oracle. After what he'd seen, he didn't think he could wear it again, no matter how fascinating the silverwork was on the crystal vial.
Several moments of silence passed between them before she finally spoke.
"Do you want to talk about the dream?" she asked, sounding lazy.
He knew she wasn't lazy, and it made him grin, the way she employed these little deceptions to relax him into telling her things. He didn't dislike it. In fact, he thought it rather considerate of her to match his moods, because he was feeling rather lethargic.
"I don't know," he replied. "Maybe. Will talking about it make it go away?"
"Perhaps. This wasn't the first time you dreamed it?"
He shook his head.
She responded with a nod. "What was it about?"
"It was about you. You don't want me to die and I tell you I'll be alright, but you won't… come to me. And then… Janus kills you." He sighed and rubbed at his eyes tiredly. He looked at her with affected nonchalance. "So that's probably about the time I start screaming in my sleep."
Her brows knotted slightly. "It's only a dream, Harry. Sometimes, dreams make our deepest fears known to us. Do you think I would sacrifice myself to let you live?"
He paused. "It's not fair… that you would do that for me, but you won't let me do that for you."
A sad smile tugged at her lips. "I'm not hoping to die anytime soon. That would seem like a waste of immortality, don't you think?"
"Yes, among other things," he said, pulling her closer in his embrace. She nestled in his arms, her sigh a wonderful sound of contentment.
Her words of reassurance felt somewhat flat, like she was only saying it to make him feel better. What they had between them was a deep, self-sacrificing love. When it came down to it; when it was a choice of stepping in front of the other to take a curse or a killing blow, there would be no hesitation from either of them. It knotted Harry's insides, knowing the intensity of her resolve in that respect mirrored his.
"I won't let anything happen to you," he said. It was a promise said softly, but he meant it with hard determination.
The promise was punctuated by silence, just before she closed it with a very intimate kiss.
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Yasmin ran a finger against the bars of her cage and her skin sizzled against the sanctified barrier. Smoke rose in lazy wisps, visible even through the dim lighting of a single dying torch.
It was an interesting cell. Having seen it from the outside, she knew there were holy hosts mounted atop the entrance, and having heard the stories, the bars themselves, were taken from the ruins of a hallowed structure. The stone that had been used to build the walls of the cell were taken from those same hallowed grounds. She wasn't going to get out of this cell by brute force.
Besides, she hadn't the strength for brute force right now. She wasn't being properly fed. They gave her no coffin either, so she couldn't maximize the replenishment of her energy. She was in no danger of getting burned by sunlight. No sunlight could penetrate through the depth of the cavern, but she had a feeling they didn't bring her there to kill her.
She was being worn down. She was being "persuaded." They wanted to weaken her, but she already decided she wasn't going to be weakened enough to give in. There were things bigger than them at work here. There were forces Yasmin served that didn't concern the petty quarrels she was being forced to join.
Yasmin hadn't lived five hundred years waiting around for the worse to happen. She'd been alive for five centuries. She was no stranger to biding her time. She would wait for her opportunity.
Something stirred in the dark archway, and as it came closer, the dimming torch flared to life. More torches lit throughout the chamber, yet the visitor stayed in the shadows, untouched by light.
It had always been her way, to remain hidden. Her giant snake Nagini liked the light more than she did. It slithered around her feet, seeking the warmth of the light. Creature of darkness though it was, it was alive, and just like any live thing, the light and warmth of fire was comforting.
Yasmin laughed softly. "Did Nagini miss you, mother?"
Her mocking tone fell on deaf ears, not because Dendera was stupid, but because she was above such pettiness.
"Maybe. She did what she was told to do. Very obedient. Some of my children are not as compliant."
"Surely you're talking about Janus."
Dendera, one of the three Most Ancient, chuckled. "Janus doesn't do as he's told unless he thinks it serves the purposes he serves, and even then, he does what he likes. So yes, I do mean Janus, but I mean you, as well."
"I have always done what you asked of me."
"Oh, yes. That you have, but that's the operative word, isn't it? Have? You're being terribly disobedient now."
"Because I don't agree with you? Don't you have underlings for that? I'm not here to kiss your arse, Dendera. I'm here to lead the Coven, and to keep the balance. I do what I think is for the good of vamp kind-"
"Is that why you showed Janus the prophecy in the first place?"
Yasmin fell silent, seething very slightly, then she sighed with affected pain. "Men. You can't ever trust them."
Dendera smirked. "A mistake, is it? Or then again, maybe showing him the prophecy was exactly what you were meant to do."
"I am not a puppet," said Yasmin curtly.
"Well," said Dendera in an understanding tone. "I have to admit, I might have done the same in your situation. You've known Janus for-what, longer than five hundred years? You knew him before you were vampire. He was the handsome foreign missionary priest and you were the googly-eyed young pagan heiress… I'd be smitten right off, too!"
Yasmin rolled her eyes. "My Coven always wondered how I got to be so twisted. I never say I got it from you. I love that they think I was born this way."
"You were born this way. Having a sick, twisted mind is a virtue I cannot teach. I chose to turn you because you needed no teaching. You were delicious the way you were."
"That's very comforting. Doesn't remove from the fact that I trusted him and he betrayed me."
Dendera made a soft sound of true compassion. "He was your second in the Coven. Of course you'd have trusted him with the prophecy eventually."
"I did not realize our interpretations of it would be so different. I did not realize that you would share his interpretation of it."
"Our interpretations are not entirely the same, chica, but I admit that his interpretation will serve mine. Your interpretation ruins everything. It's the reason why you're here, after all. I couldn't very well have you getting in the way of fate."
"Fate, as you think it will be. You let Janus think what he wants to think just so he would play the part he was meant to play. That's absolutely fucked-up, Dendera."
"I couldn't very well tell him to turn Hermione, my dear. He'd catch on to his role, a role I do not think he'd have played so amicably. That he felt he had to join forces with the human only served his role even more. You and I both know that Isis' blood speaks true if you do not intervene. I had no apparent active role in the blood prophecy. I had to let Janus lead himself to his ultimate destiny."
"Well, now he wants to kill her. He's got the entirely wrong idea, and if you don't stop him-"
"I do not need to stop him if he's wrong. The fates will lead him to his own destruction if he truly screwed it all up."
Yasmin scoffed. "Honestly, do you expect me to buy that bullshit? You think he's got the blood prophecy right, too! Else you wouldn't have him running amuck with the human. I find it disgusting, really, that you would let Janus follow orders from a lunatic who's so blinded by the thought of power-"
"We're all of us blinded, child. You want that power as much as any of us do. Don't deny it."
And Yasmin didn't, but she spoke on. "The point is, to ally ourselves with this human… it's unnatural. He speaks of the destruction of the undesirable ones of his kind. We've lived centuries, Dendera. We've lived through pandemics, genocide, bigotry, and witch trials… they're all the same underneath. There are no 'undesirables' when it comes to our most basic needs. Voldemort will disrupt a Balance the Coven of Isis has protected for over two millennia. It's wrong. You must see this!"
Dendera was silent, her displeasure palpable. "We lived through the centuries, Yasmin, not because we are immortal, but because we can adapt to the ever changing world. The ones who die are the ones who resist change-"
"This is not a change Isis would give her blessing to-"
"Isn't it? We have been at the mercy of these humans for far too long! And why? Because they can walk all hours of the day. Because they feed us and rule the world with their money and conquered lands. Because they can kill us as we sleep-"
"There is a reason we were given these weaknesses! There is a reason nature intended for them to have those advantages over us. If we were so inclined, we can wipe all of them out in one fell swoop-"
"Exactly-"
"But we shouldn't. The quality of our lives rests in the fact that they are alive, happy, and healthy. These last two millennia we were not meant to walk the day simply because our mother's mothers knew there would be great and destructive discontent among her children, and so they tethered us to the dark-"
"We walked the day once. It is our destiny to return to what we once were. The blood prophecy desires it, Yasmin. You cannot deny what Isis' blood has clearly asked."
"The daylight was taken from us for a reason, and while perhaps the time comes for us to walk the day again, I dare not assume that it can be done so lightly. Doing it through this human seems like a travesty of our foremothers' will. This Voldemort is some kind of terrible quick solution. I do not trust it. I think more highly of our foremothers' wisdom."
"I am a foremother, child."
"You're only a thousand years old, Dendera. There were vampires who lived before you. Don't delude yourself. A truly wise Ancient would not have concerned herself with the workings of the human pecking order. You are supposed to be above all this. It's the only reason I wouldn't believe you were the mole. It's the only reason you caught me unaware."
"You jump to conclusions," Dendera said, highly amused. "You think that I scrambled to make this prophecy come to pass. Well, you belittle my wisdom, dearest. I bided my time. I waited, and I did nothing."
"What do you mean?" Yasmin hissed, annoyed.
"You may be the Keeper of the blood, Yasmin, but it doesn't mean that the Oracle won't summon anyone else to hear it speak."
Yasmin's eyes widened at the implication of the words. Of course she knew that the Oracle, on occasion, called others for one reason or another. Most of the messages came through her, as was her right as Keeper, but sometimes the Oracle did like to take things in its own hands. She had, as the Keepers before her, submitted and accepted this fact, and there was absolutely no use resisting it. Besides, it was ill-advised to get in the way of what the Oracle wished to do.
Still, it was always a bit alarming when the Oracle worked in this manner. There was almost always sure to be bloodshed at the wake of it. Thinking about it, Yasmin realized that it had already begun. "You… how long have you known of this prophecy? How long have you known?"
Dendera smiled, her fangs flashing. "Would you like me to be exact? There is a date, and it seems quite significant, from what I've heard."
"Please. Interpretation leaves little to be desired at this point. Pray give me a date."
Dendera laughed softly. "It happened on the 31st of October, 1981…"
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Harry read the Owl from the Ministry for the third time. It wasn't as if he didn't already know that this message was bound to arrive. He had already received word from McGonagall from Hogwarts. He had expected Woodhouse's report to follow shortly.
Snapes potion was benign, free of poison, and relatively "safe" to take. Whether it would do what it was meant to do, they would only know if Harry took it, and if it did indeed do what Snape said it would do.
He looked at the clock hanging on his study wall. It was a little over seven in the evening. Hermione was already up and about. She'd come to see him soon.
He took the folded parchment and crumpled it, tossing it into the fire.
Leaning over the fireplace, he stared into the flames, pensive.
There was a knock on his study door and he called for whomever it was to come in.
It was Hermione, and whatever her concerns were was forestalled by what she saw on his face.
"Alright there, Harry?"
He gave her a brief smile, hoping she wouldn't ask details. "Yeah. Just thinking about stuff…"
She frowned. "Do you want to talk-"
"No. It's alright. What's up?"
She eyed him a moment, but whatever it was she had come to him for, its importance outweighed her concern for his anxiety. "I have to go out with Solomon and Lucien. The McLeods, the Blood-Kin, and the Brotherhood have contacted Keiko. They want to meet with me. Suffice it to say, Keiko doesn't like being my personal assistant. If I don't see to this immediately, Keiko's going to want to see heads roll."
Harry was not going to be sidetracked by her wisecracking. He frowned. "Do you need company? I don't want you going alone."
It was her turn to frown. "I'm not going alone. Solomon and Lucien are going with me, and Keiko will be there with her kin as well. They'll serve as my entourage."
He was not kidding around. "You know what I mean. It's one thing for them to come here, but another thing altogether for you to go to them. They're three of the most powerful vampire groups in Europe, Hermione-"
"Harry, I know that-"
"I can't trust them. I shouldn't. More so because you'll be at their mercy. Maybe I should go with you."
"No. This meeting is being held in secret. No one but I, Keiko and the three vamp masters of the major vamp groups know where it's going to be held. Even their seconds and kin know nothing. I'm not even allowed to tell Lucien and Solomon where, so we'll be safe. Harry, we talked about this, didn't we?"
He paused. They did talk about this.
They had asked for her, not him. It would undermine her authority to have him there with her. It was time for him to set the boundaries. "And so we did. How long are you going to be gone?"
She visibly relaxed. "Just a few hours. I don't expect that this will take very long. They'll tell me whether they're in or they're out, discuss the finer points of the alliance… I should be back before sunrise."
He nodded. "Alright. We can Apparate you-"
"Nice try, Harry. We're taking the Jag, thanks."
Sometimes it was inconvenient to have Hermione so clever. "Fine. But you couldn't blame me for trying."
She smirked, approached him, and gave him a steamy kiss.
Harry could have sworn she was casting some kind of jelly-legs curse, or maybe she was feeding him pheromones very subtly.
When they separated, his eyes moved to the couch of their own accord.
She laughed softly. "Later, lion. When I get back, yes?"
"Yes." He pressed his lips to her ear. "Be careful."
She nodded, just before she turned and left.
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The McLeod's Herdfordshire mansion was every bit as palatial as their ancestral home was functional. Their castle and keep in Scotland was a fortress. The mansion was a Goth-modern retreat. It was large enough to accommodate the dozens of London-visiting McCleods, human and vampire, comfortably, and it had all the facilities for leisure, business, or both at the same time.
The conference room was massively spaced. The minimalist design was pleasing, and except for the tapestries mounted atop the gigantic fireplace, there wasn't a tartan in sight. The long table at the center was large enough to accommodate a sizable number of board of directors, but not all chairs were filled around the table.
At the head of the table sat Brenan McLeod, Vampire Clan Laird of the Clan McLeod. To his left sat Duffy and Rowan.
Hermione sat to Brenan's right. Beside her Keiko, and behind them their kin. Scattered throughout the table were Gabriel and Ambrose of the Brotherhood of Osiris, and Cecil and Basil of the Blood-Kin of Ramses. The room was filled with kin, all of which stood back from the table, watching their alphas.
There were parchments laid out in front of Hermione, all three of which were signed by Brenan, Gabriel, and Basil. The blank space beside each signature was meant for Yasmin, but Yasmin was nowhere to be found.
"She's missing," said Keiko. "We've put all our resources into finding her, but still, we haven't the slightest clue whether she's been kidnapped, or in hiding, or dead. We don't think she's in hiding."
The three Master Vampires and their seconds showed varying degrees of displeasure.
"She canna be kidnapped," barked Brenan as if it was the stupidest thing he'd ever heard. "Lass's too fly fer tha. She's goat mair degrees than a thermometer! Ye goata be aff yer heid t' think any boot can manage sooch ah thing! Isna possible!"
"It's possible," said Hermione patiently. "Yasmin wouldn't disappear in the middle of an impending war that she'd taken an official interest in. She simply wouldn't. Someone had to have taken her."
Basil, a grey-haired gentleman in a fine Italian suit and master of the Blood-Kin of Ramses, frowned. "Who would have such skill? Brenan has a point, you know. Yasmin didn't last this long being anyone's fool. You can't just kidnap the master vampire of the Coven of Isis, at least not without a trail of bodies to lead us to her."
"Janus might have managed. Five years ago, he could never have bested Yasmin, but perhaps he gained something in the human's service and have since improved his technique," said Gabriel, his blonde beard and mustache perfectly groomed to suit his majestically angelic features. "It could have been him."
Hermione shrugged. "It could have. Or perhaps she was taken by someone she trusts. Treachery has been the downfall of many a great man…"
Cecil nodded, leaning towards his master and whispering something in Basil's ear.
Basil nodded as well. "Yasmin trusts no one."
"We all trust someone," said Hermione. "Yasmin is no different in that respect. She trusts sparingly, but depend upon it, she can trust." She eyed each master, daring them to contradict her.
Gabriel put a hand on Ambrose's arm, as if to forestall something Ambrose was about to say. They remained quiet.
Basil continued. "And so this leads us to the question: What of our alliance with your humans, Hermione?"
"You've thought it in your best interest to join the Order of the Phoenix. Yasmin's signature is a formality."
Basil's chuckle skipped across the table. "It is, but who are we to take orders from once this alliance needs enforcing? You?"
The general grin that spread across everyone's faces irked Hermione and she took a moment to dig her fingers into the arms of her chair. She felt like hitting all of them with-something. But on second thought, why indeed would they follow someone like her? She was twenty-two, five years a vamp. She was a mere agent and associate in the Coven of Isis and one of the newer ones, at that. Keiko had more authority than her.
"You will take orders from no one," said Hermione in a clever twist of diplomacy. "But Harry Potter will lead the humans in this war, and if you've given the slightest intelligent thought to these agreements you signed, you know that it is to everyone's advantage if you cooperate with him."
The masters exchanged looks with their seconds.
It was Brenan who spoke first. "Vera weil. We'd 'av t' be meetin' wit this Potter-lad, blether aboot strategies and sooch. The hale jing bang. D'you ken?"
Hermione had to listen hard to understand. "Er… I ken. There will be a general meeting of the Order some time this week. If you would be so kind, you or your representative may attend, and you'll have your chance to speak to Harry… Potter." She added his last name as an after-thought. Even if the vampires more or less knew she had a relationship with him, she did not feel the need to seem so casual about it.
There was a general nod all around, and as Basil rose from the table, everyone followed.
"You will inform us of this meeting," said Basil. "Preferably by telephone. No owls, please."
"I rather like owls," said Ambrose in his easy, unguarded way.
Gabriel gave him a half-scolding, half-affectionate look. "We'd like to be informed by telephone, too, if you don't mind, Hermione."
"I don't mind at all," said Hermione.
Keiko glared at her. Hermione glared back.
Gabriel's the master of the Brotherhood of Osiris. Get over it!
Keiko could not read minds, but she stopped glaring.
They broke into groups as they left, and Hermione ended up walking with Gabriel, Ambrose, and their entourage of kin. Blythe and Caitlin were among them, and while they remained silent in the background, they grinned and wordlessly flirted with Solomon and Lucien.
The McLeod grounds were vast, and it was a long walk from the conference room to the front doors, where their transportation would be waiting.
About halfway through, Gabriel and Ambrose exchanged knowing looks.
Gabriel graciously excused himself and his entourage from their company, telling Ambrose that the car would be waiting for him up front.
Hermione was a bit confused by this separation, but she said nothing. Gabriel walked on ahead while Ambrose walked a leisurely pace. Hermione assumed he wanted to speak to her so she matched his strides.
"Will the Coven accept the Brotherhood's help in finding Yasmin?" Ambrose asked.
Hermione nodded. "It would. We appreciate all the help we can get."
Ambrose smiled and gave one of his kin a nod. The kin whipped out a mobile phone and began to make calls.
"You show admirable loyalty to Yasmin, insisting that she ought to be found," said Ambrose lightly. "Considering it is well known that you and she… well, you don't seem to like her very much, do you?"
Hermione felt a flush rise in her cheeks. "My relationship with Yasmin is very complicated."
"It must be, though I am not surprised to hear it. She is a terribly complicated woman. She does things-unpopular things, but its effects bear well on the future of her coven and most of vamp kind in the long run."
Hermione said nothing and Ambrose seemed to sense that she was filled with doubt.
"There is a reason for everything she does," continued Ambrose. "Whether you understand it or not. This… disappearance is disturbing, but I wouldn't be surprised if it was something she… let happen."
Hermione looked at him with a curious expression. "Has she done this before? Disappeared without a trace?"
Ambrose chuckled. "Well… yes. A long time ago. She was very young then. Didn't know much of the world. She wasn't quite so vamp savvy."
Hermione eyed him suspiciously. "You aren't going to tell me she was like me, was she?"
Ambrose did not bother hiding his amusement.
"No, she was not like you. Yasmin was so much more vicious than you were. Ambitious as hell, and she certainly thought the world was made to kiss her arse. It wasn't entirely her fault, I suppose. She was the heir to the Coven and she was being groomed for power. So you needn't worry, Hermione. You can't possibly become her, not in a million years."
Hermione had to admit that she was relieved to hear that. "Why did she disappear? Was she taken?"
"In a manner of speaking. Janus took her to Rome. They ran away together."
Hermione stared at him in disbelief. "They were dating?"
Ambrose shrugged. "Maybe. They never confirmed it, but they were very close then, and they remained quite close until recently. I suppose it was inevitable that they would come to a point where their ideologies would differ so much that they'd go on extremely separate paths. Janus was always a restless soul. Yasmin was more grounded. She had goals and objectives. She had a destination. Janus was always more about the journey, and he wasn't very keen about planning those journeys, either. He always says he has goals, but I think he's happier for never reaching them."
She gave a soft scoff. "I'm going to kill him, you know."
Ambrose's eyebrow arched. "Well, I suppose that's to be expected of you. He killed your parent's didn't he?"
"He murdered them."
"Same difference. I question not your intentions. I'm sure you're quite decided that you want to kill him. The question is, can you?"
Hermione shrugged. She'd gone past being frightened of the prospect of facing Janus. The fear still exists, but she'd gotten to a point that she just wanted to get it over with. "I'm ready for him, if that's what you're asking. Whether or not I get to keep my head when the time comes… well, we'll never know until it's over."
"Honestly, I hope you live through it. It would be a shame to lose one such as yourself. It's not every century that someone so young could be so honestly unafraid of the likes of Yasmin and a room full of vampire masters. That has to count for something."
"Does it?"
"Masters are better for having someone with enough balls to tell them when they're wrong."
Hermione fidgeted uneasily. "Is there a reason you're telling me all this, Ambrose?"
He seemed to give this some thought. "Well, yes. One, I like you, and two, the qualities you posses are valuable to the Brotherhood of Osiris. Principled, loyal, and very clever. The way you are handling Yasmin's disappearance recommends you. We'd like you to consider a change of employment when all this is over."
For the second time that night, she stared at him in disbelief.
"We differ from the Coven, as you know, because we deal a lot with humans. We don't look at them with quite so much disdain as our fellow vamps do. We understand their worth, if not entirely their value. Your personal connection with humans will be an asset to our organization, and it helps that you don't give quite a rat's arse whether someone's a hundred years, two hundred years older or not."
"You're recruiting me?"
He smiled. "I figured this was a good time, seeing as your boss isn't around to skin me alive for it." His joke seemed half-meant. "We'll surely give you a better package than the Coven, though not by much, I admit. Of course you get to keep your kin, and they get a nice-enough package as well. It's difficult to beat what Yasmin offers her people, but I suppose we have much to offer you in terms of job fulfillment. Less blood and tears. That's tempting to you, yes? Or has Yasmin made a bloodthirsty agent of you?"
Hermione gave it a brief thought. "I'll think about your offer, Ambrose."
That seemed good enough for him. He nodded. "Good. That's all I ask."
With that, he bid her goodbye and left her mildly stunned where she stood. The sound of Ambrose and his entourage walking away faded into the hallways.
"Holy shit!" hissed Lucien. "You're being pirated by the Brotherhood of Osiris!"
Solomon's eyes widened delightedly. "Yasmin will hit the roof! I can hardly wait!"
She frowned. "There's the matter of finding her first."
Lucien sighed exasperated. "Do you honestly think she's in any kind of trouble?"
"She could be," Hermione said. "At least that would make some kind of sense."
"It'll also mean we're in deep shite," said Solomon.
"That, too. But I've been falling into deep shite since I was twelve, courtesy of Ron and Harry. I'm rather used to it."
"Really?"
Hermione gave it a second thought. "No. Not really, but it hardly ever comes as a surprise anymore. Know what I mean?"
"Sadly, I do."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Lucien's parting words to the dignified butler at the front door was to ask whether he had to wear a kilt too, and whether he wore it the "proper" way, to which the butler replied, with a straight face, "I only do things properly, good sir."
This, of course, invoked riotous laughter from Lucien who shook the good butler by his shoulders until the butler was blue with dignified indignation.
Hermione had to save the poor man from completely disgracing himself, telling Lucien to stop clowning around so they could get home already.
Lucien grinned. "Ooh, let me guess! You have a shag appointment with Potter!"
Hermione scowled. "Why don't you yell that out a bit louder, Lucien? I don't think they heard you on Jupiter."
Solomon tossed the butler an apologetic look while Lucien laughed at his own antics.
To the butler's credit, he had recovered from Lucien's abuse and conducted himself with all the poise that was expected of him.
He saw them off in their Jaguar, and Hermione took the driver's seat again.
They were less than an hour from London, but there was a lot of deserted country-road to be covered. There wasn't much in the way of entertainment, so Solomon and Lucien were terribly restless. Solomon toyed with the CD player the entire time, switching between hip-hop, reggae, and emo, which naturally drove Hermione insane.
Lucien complained incessantly about being terribly bored until Hermione had had enough and decided to start singing West End play songs. She was awful, of course, and her boys begged her to stop, which meant she kept on going.
Hermione decided on "Summer Nights" from Grease, which of course eventually had Lucien singing Danny Zucko's parts and Solomon alternating with the girl friends and guy friends so she could sing Sandy. They ended the song with a long, drawn out, and terribly loud "Suuuuuummmmerrrrr Naaaaaaaaaaaaa-iggghhhhhhhts! Tell me mooooore, tell me mooooooooooooore!" naturally, which was extremely satisfying, Hermione had to admit.
"Next time," said Lucien, "we'll sing You're the One That I Want at Grimmauld Place, while cooking. Show tunes in the kitchen, eh? Like old times. We haven't done that in a while."
Solomon laughed. "Will Hermione dress like a slut for it?"**
"Well, she has to, doesn't she? You can't do Sandy's finale without 50s slut couture!"
"We never did the costumes!" Hermione cried, laughing.
"This time is special!" Lucien pointed out. "Harry will be there to see you. You must understand this, don't you? He'll get all hot and bothered and then after the song, you can have sizzling hot kitchen sex!"
"And where will you be when this sizzling hot kitchen sex happens?"
"Watching you, of course! What's the point in orchestrating a good shag if I can't be around to see you consummate it?"
Solomon threw the nearest thing he could get his hands on, which was a crumpled magazine, at Lucien. The magazine connected with Lucien's face with a loud splat. "You are such a voyeur."
Lucien cried out a complaint. "You say that like it's a bad thing! And it's not as if you never enjoyed watching those starlet sex-tape scandals! You Google them same as every randy bastard with a hand and a bottle of lotion!"
Solomon doubled over and guffawed in spite of himself.
Hermione smirked and shook her head. "Honestly, Lucien, we're not all loud and proud wankers like you."
"You should be. It's very liberating. Speaking of liberating yourself, are you going to tell Yasmin to sod off and accept the Brotherhood's offer?"
She dealt him a frown. "Lucien…"
"It's a legitimate question! And note that I'm assuming we'll find Yasmin again. Positivity, eh? You ought to approve of that. I personally think being in the Brotherhood would be a good thing."
Solomon nodded. "I definitely agree. Gabriel and Ambrose are the best bosses, I swear. I only had the opportunity to work with them for a couple of weeks, but I can already tell they're great with their people."
"Well, of course they are," said Lucien. "If the rumors about their buggering are true, then they ought to be two of the sweetest-tempered blokes this side of vamp England!"
"Lucien, be respectful!" Hermione hissed, though she was smiling. "And I'll have you know that I did mean what I said to Ambrose. I'll think about it. For now, I have to think about finding Yasmin, and keeping Harry's arse out of trouble, and getting along with Luna Lovegood, because I think Ron having a gander at her cleavage is a foreshadowing of a deep, abiding relationship between the two of them."
"You think?"
"Not really. I just wanted to see if I could use 'cleavage' and 'deep, abiding relationship' in one sentence."
Solomon shrugged. "Hey, it could happen! Didn't you and Harry shag before you fell in love."
Hermione frowned. "That is so not true. I was in love with him already, and he was in love with me. He just didn't know it!"
"Right!" said Lucien. "So says the prostitute to the bishop."
"Oy, I resent that! Harry and I have a strong, solid foundation. We built our relationship under the most impossible circumstances and while perhaps we had to be physical first for us to come to terms with our true feelings, those physical moments were intense, and unselfish, and they meant something!"
"That's so romantic," said Lucien.
Solomon nodded. "It is."
She snatched glances of their grave faces over her shoulder. After a while, she settled for a smirk bordering on a scowl. "Shut the fuck up, both of you."
They both fell over, laughing.
She was smiling and calling them names over the din of their laughter when a startling explosion from outside rocked the car.
Hermione wrestled with the steering wheel for several seconds while Solomon and Lucien yelled in the background. When they finally came to a stop, Hermione swore so profusely that neither of her companions saw it safe to interrupt her.
She was just glad the road was traffic-free, or else there could have been a body count.
"This is just wonderful," she hissed, clicking her seatbelt off.
"I think we blew a tire," said Lucien.
"No shi-"
Her tirade was cut off by the earth-shaking pop of a machine gun.
Hermione felt the bullets ripping into her gut and chest. Shattered glass, bits of leather, and metal flew everywhere. Blood sprayed on the seats and dashboard, and Hermione felt her vision spinning with the pain as she struggled to fight the punch of each and every bullet that entered her. She tried to speak through the chaos, but blood oozed from her mouth and throat.
The bullets stopped, and Hermione, running on pure vampire adrenaline, struggled to take advantage of the reprieve. The pain was unbelievable, but she had to endure, else all hope of surviving was lost.
Hands trembling, she plucked a gun from her waist and tried to cock it, only to discover that her other arm had gone limp, a bullet having dislodged it out of its socket.
She tossed the gun away, plucking her wand from her thigh and pushed the door open.
Another rain of bullets besieged them, and Hermione saw that Solomon was out. She grabbed him by the collar of his coat with her wand arm and heaved him with her as she crawled out of her side of the car, flattening herself on the floor. She pulled herself up beside the wheel and let Solomon's inanimate body lie flat beside her. The car's back door opened and Lucien spilled out. Half his face was blown to bits, and the rest of him was punctured here and there with bullet holes, but he was awake, and he scrambled to get to Solomon's other side.
Lucien pulled out his guns, cocked them and rose awkwardly to make his shots, but he paused and Hermione recognized the look on his face: Futility.
Hermione took a deep breath to stifle the debilitating pain and pushed herself up to see.
There were Death Eaters, most of them hanging back behind ten vampires, three of them near ancient, and Hermione recognized them immediately. It was Basil, Cecil, and Poppy.
Hermione was finding the betrayal oddly laughable, or maybe the pain was just making her lightheaded.
She chuckled softly to herself and the vampires fell upon them. She and Lucien fought back as well as they possibly could, kicking, hitting, and slashing with hidden weapons, but they were bleeding from multiple bullet wounds while they fought, and Cecil and Poppy were nobody's fools.
Hermione found herself being wrapped in silver chains and manacles, unable to fight. The silver dug into her wounds, making healing impossible in parts of her. Her wand was taken and snapped in half.
Lucien was bound even tighter. He was older, therefore stronger.
Solomon began to cough to life, the bullets popping out of his body as he gasped and writhed. Cecil held a sword to his throat as he woke, and when Solomon came to his senses, he knew immediately that the fight was lost.
A Death Eater appeared from the shadows, a fourth ancient vampire trailing her.
It was Bellatrix Lestrange and Janus.
Hermione wanted to scream. It wasn't fair. She was supposed to kill Janus. She wasn't supposed to die this way.
Not like this. Not bound and helpless…
The lines etched into Bellatrix's face by her prolonged stay in Azkaban was slightly visible in the moonlight, but the years of freedom and manic glee had uplifted her somehow, making her frighteningly attractive, even less human than the vampires surrounding her.
"Eenie," began Bellatrix, pointing at Solomon before letting it volley to Lucien. "Meenie, miney, moe…"
Her finger ended with Solomon and Bellatrix smirked, approached him. She bent over him and yanked his head back so that their eyes could be locked. "You will go to Harry Potter and you will tell him that if he ever wants to see the Mudblood again, he must be at the Riddle Home at precisely this hour, two days hence. He must come alone, and I urge you to make him understand that we are not to be trifled with." She gestured in Lucien's direction, and two vamps yanked Lucien from the ground, dragged him towards them and set him down.
Janus took Lucien by the hair and Lucien winced.
No, Hermione thought with mounting horror. "No. No, no, no! Janus, I swear to you. I swear if you harm him-"
"Hush, child," said Janus softly, hefting his sword. "It will be alright."
Hermione shook her head, willing her tears back, encasing her pain in that patch of ice in her heart, but she struggled-to get free, to stand up, anything that might be something, so long as it wasn't nothing. The chains bit viciously into her wounds and caused her to bleed even more, but she needed the pain and the blood, because she wouldn't be able to live with herself otherwise. Her struggles were in vain, but she was trying-she was trying really hard. She banged her head against the car in helpless frustration, the tears finally falling.
She couldn't protect them. She could hardly move.
Lucien locked eyes with her, his gaze filled with pure gratitude and adoring love.
He closed his eyes. She did not. If she couldn't defend him-if she couldn't save him, she was going to watch him die, and she was going to remember; she was going to burn the memory into her brain because it was all she could do.
The sword glinted under the pale light of the moon, a silver blade slicing through the darkness of the night.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Harry looked up at the sound of someone bursting through his study door. One look at Ron and Tonks's faces and Harry knew something was terribly, terribly wrong.
"Tell me," he said, calming himself but expecting the worse. His thoughts were immediately on Hermione. She wasn't home. She wasn't with him. It had to be her.
"It's Solomon," Ron said. "He was… dropped off at the front lawn. He's burnt really bad Harry, and he-they-"
"Is he alive?" Harry asked briskly.
"Barely," said Tonks. "He's in the living room."
Harry nodded, his breathing amazingly even. He couldn't ask the obvious question. Not yet. If he was going to hear the answer, he was going to hear it from Solomon. He didn't think he could bear to hear the same answer twice.
As they walked, Tonks continued to talk. It was strangely calming, the drone of her report.
"Remus is with him, and we've kept the chains on him."
"Chains?" asked Harry, only half paying attention. His mind was simply on getting to Solomon, and it felt like forever.
"He came in them. Silver chains. He was in-he's still in great pain, but we couldn't risk the possibility of him attacking us all for blood. He needs to heal-"
"Is he lucid?"
"He is."
"I can talk to him, then?"
"Harry, I don't think-"
"I can't talk to him?"
Tonks frowned, but Ron nudged her, and she went on. "You can, and I think he'll be coherent, but he's suffering. Don't you think we should wait-"
"If he can hear me and understand me, I'm talking to him now." And that was that. Harry walked faster.
Ron hurried to his side. "There's more, Harry. He had-he didn't come empty handed."
Harry wasn't sure he wanted to know what that meant, especially not when Ron said it in the tone he used to reserve for "He Who Must Not Be Named," but he supposed he would know anyway. Better to be prepared for everything. "What did he have with him?"
"A bag," said Ron, a pallid color settling on his face. "It had a wand. A broken one. And-and a ring."
Harry felt his stomach knot, almost painfully. "Hermione's?"
Ron nodded.
"Is that it?"
"No. It… it gets worse."
"Tell me already."
Ron swallowed. "It was-Lucien… Lucien's head."
Harry stopped in his tracks and took a moment to absorb this. He realized a moment later that what he was feeling was indeed grief. He hadn't known Lucien long, but the last two and half weeks of getting to know him, of trying to gain a clear understanding of how precious both Lucien and Solomon were to Hermione, had given him a sense of camaraderie with both vampires. For one, Harry totally acknowledged the fact that the two had kept Hermione company in the last five years. They had cared for her and had watched her back. They had given her comfort and perhaps even love. Lucien and Solomon were important to Hermione, and Lucien's death-Harry could only imagine how devastated Hermione was.
Harry resumed walking, hurried down the flights of stairs until he reached the ground floor.
They found Remus pacing restlessly back and forth, watching Solomon who didn't look like he could put up much of a fight even if he wanted to. The chains that bound him dug into his burnt flesh and he gasped and moaned for relief. He was charred in several places, like he had burned more intensely in some parts while he only got singed in others. His wounds wept, and there was blood seeping through the raw cracks in his skin. The hair on his head was gone in parts with bristles poking through what scalp remained. This was not a Patronus burn. He had been set on fire and the fire had been put out before it could kill him.
Harry tried to focus, keeping his emotions in check. He couldn't think about what they might have done to Hermione, else he'd go mad.
Nearby there was a bag on the floor. It was slick with browning blood. Harry didn't want to see what was inside it. Not now.
He crouched by Solomon on the couch and Solomon's eyes turned to him.
Solomon was vampiric, his gaze feral and hungry. He gave Harry a weak, bestial hiss before saying Harry's name in a lucid whisper.
"Who did this to you, Solomon?" Harry asked.
"Bellatrix."
"Where's Hermione?"
"Taken. Alive."
Harry stifled the overpowering sense of relief. "Can you tell me how this happened?"
"Betrayal… Blood-Kin…"
Harry expelled a breath to steady his anger. "The Blood-Kin of Ramses betrayed you. They were at the meeting with you?"
"Yes. Ambush… road home. Bullets everywhere."
They were ambushed on the way home, probably while they were in the car. There were bullets, and perhaps more vampires than they could handle. The Jaguar had become a death trap.
"L-Lucien…" Solomon whispered without prompting.
Harry nodded. "I know, Solomon. I know."
"Body. Road not far"-he swallowed laboriously to keep the blood from bubbling from his mouth-"from McLeod mansion. Herdfordshire… before sunrise."
It took a moment for Harry to understand. Solomon was asking him to get Lucien's body before sunrise burned it to ashes. "I understand, and we'll get him back, Solomon. We'll bury him properly, but you have to tell me if they told you anything. They left you alive to tell me something. What was the message, Sol?"
Solomon closed his eyes, and for a brief moment that was filled with panic, Harry thought Solomon was finally going to pass out. He couldn't afford to have Solomon in a coma for hours on end. Every minute that passed was one more minute they were doing Merlin-knew-what to Hermione.
Finally, Solomon's eyes opened again. "Riddle House. Two days. This hour. You. Alone… or-or no more Hermione."
Harry closed his eyes, remnants of a remembered nightmare passing through his mind. His mind filled with thoughts of prophecies, Horcruxes, Soul Harvests, powerful potions, and her.
Something's going to give…
The healers arrived and Harry stepped back to give them room. They needed to bring him to St. Mungo's where he would be treated by his own kind. There was a moment of chaos as Solomon was transported from the living room couch to the floo.
"Someone has to go with him," pleaded Harry. He would, but he could not. There was too much to do.
"I'll go," said Remus. "You do what you have to do, Harry."
Harry was grateful and watched them go. When the last of the healers had disappeared into the fireplace, Harry got to work. He sucked in his gorge and took the bag. If he was going to get Lucien's body, he had to get it right, and he was going to do what had to be done. He made his way quickly up the stairs to go to his study. Ron and Tonks followed behind him.
"I have to inform the Coven about what the Blood-Kin of Ramses has done. Tonks, I need you to tell the other members of the governing board about what happened. And then tell them that we have to call an emergency meeting of all captains and their seconds here. We'll hold the meeting in the grand conference room. Can we have the meeting within the next two hours?"
Tonks nodded. "I'll make it happen, Harry."
"Good. Ron, I need you to come with me. I'm going to get Seamus to go with us, too. I have to get Lucien's body from the site of the kidnapping, and I basically want to make sure I don't get ambushed. If I'm going to serve myself up to Voldemort, I'm going to do it on my own terms. Are you up to watching my back?"
"Shit, mate, do you have to ask? I've been watching out for your sorry arse for years. No point in stopping now."
Harry managed to crack a small smile. "So what do you think, Ron? You and Seamus enough?"
"Always, but just for your peace of mind, you can get Dean in on this, too."
Harry nodded. "Floo them. I have a message to send."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
They found the Jaguar thirty-two kilometers off the McLeod mansion. It sat in an isolated road with a thicket of trees on one side and a downward sloping hillside on the other. A crudely built railing ran along the sloping side. The lights of the nearest town could be made out in the distance, but all else was dark, lit only by the sparse illumination of the moon.
No Muggle authorities had come to blockade the scene, the way Muggles seem to always do when something-an accident, or a crime, or even something less dramatic than that-happened.
It was no surprise, really. There couldn't have been anybody around to report what happened, and no one but the McLeods had much business using that roadway.
The Jaguar was punctured within every inch of it on one side and on its hood. The windows on that same hole-ridden side were completely gone, shattered to kernels all over the pavement, dashboard, and everywhere else. The windshield had been obliterated as well. There were chunks of tempered glass still attached to the rear window and the windows furthest from the source of the attack, but what spidered-glass remained seemed precariously balanced on their perches.
The upholstery lining the interior and seats was blasted to tatters, bits of foam and stuffing littering the inside and coagulating with the obscene amounts of splattered blood.
Harry, spellbound with the wreckage, rounded to the driver's side. Both doors hung open, and on the driver's door, there was a thick handprint in blood at the edge, as if someone had held on to it for leverage to push herself away.
Herself… because the print's too small to belong to the hand of a man…
Harry pursed his lips. She'd been driving when they were attacked.
His eyes stung at the sight of the driver's seat riddled with bullet holes and blood.
He thought about how Solomon had been delivered to them, chained and bound, the silver causing Solomon's wounds to remain instead of healing right off. Had they treated Hermione the same way? Probably, for how else could they have subdued her? Somewhere out there, she was in great pain, not only because of her wounds, but because they had taken Lucien from her so brutally.
"Harry," came Dean's voice just beyond the grassy road bank. "Over here."
Harry didn't think he could do it, but he had to. Steeling himself, Harry approached Dean, and sure enough, just a few meters away was what appeared to be a body.
Ron and Seamus came up behind them, their wands out and their eyes on alert.
"Go on, Harry," said Ron. "See if it's him."
And of course it was him. Lucien's headless body lay sprawled on the bloodied earth, bound the same as Solomon. His weapons had been left with him, simply because it would be too much trouble to remove the chains and strip him weapon-bare.
Harry swallowed his grief. "I'll take him back to the Ministry morgue. Ron, think you can follow with the-the bag?"
Ron looked like he'd rather walk on nails, but he nodded resolutely.
"Thank you. Dean, Seamus, you ought to stick around at Grimmauld Place. There's going to be an emergency meeting. You might as well be there."
Seamus and Dean exchanged brief looks before they nodded.
"We'll be there," said Seamus.
Harry went over to Lucien's body and he crouched down, placing a hand to Lucien's back. He could feel the rips on Lucien's leather jacket and the sticky, drying blood.
Ron crouched beside him and began to speak in a low voice. "Harry… are you alright?"
"I'm fine." The answer felt automatic, and Ron must have sensed this.
"You seem… awfully calm."
Harry's brows knotted. "And what do you want me to do, Ron? You want me go hysterical? At a time like this? I couldn't afford-"
"I'm just saying… " interrupted Ron. "You're making me ner-"
"Just say it, Ron. You think I'm going to do something stupid."
Ron's lips pursed, and he scowled very slightly. After a few heartbeats, Ron sighed. "I'm sorry, mate. I'm just-I'm shook up. They took her, and then they murdered Lucien… Solomon's in awful shape. I reckon I want to start screaming and pulling my hair out, you know?"
Harry didn't speak until several seconds later. "We have to get out of here. Things to do."
"Yeah. I'll be by the Ministry in a bit with the-you know."
Harry nodded.
They let Harry Apparate first, the weight of Lucien's body heavy on his mind.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Harry looked down at the case containing Gryffindor's staff.
Somewhere in the Department of Mysteries, Dedalus was flitting about, seeing to his mysterious duties. Harry had seen none of the department researchers, which was usual. They really didn't like associating with outsiders.
"Have you destroyed the staff yet? I've now given you a way to do it… I hope I don't have to explain how."
That's what Snape had said, and given the time-constraints, Harry had no choice but to heed it.
Voldemort wanted to see him in two days. It was only logical to suppose that the Death Eaters were going to launch an attack around that time.
He closed his eyes, thinking about cupboards and Dursleys and Snape. He thought about the war, the prophecies, the weight of a world on his shoulders. But then he thought about first learning of Hogwarts, of Dumbledore, of Ron, of the people who have supported him, and he thought about Hermione most of all. He remembered the pain as well as the sweet promises, the fears as well as the felicitous moments, the heartache as well as the heartsease. He remembered loss, too, and how much more unbearable it was because he loved her very much.
In two days, he would have his chance to destroy Voldemort once and for all. In two days, it was either he lived, or he died. The first prophecy said it was so; the Oracle seems to say the same thing.
"The choice is always yours," Hermione had said.
Then I choose to fight, and I'm going to do it with wands blazing.
He pushed the cover off the case and the staff inside it thrummed with power. Harry felt no pain. No resistance.
The whisper of remembered words thrummed in his thoughts. "The Wielder, meant to either die or kill."
He could be wrong. He could be pushing the Oracle's message just like everyone else was, but if he was the Puppet, he wasn't going to go without a fight.
Harry made a grab for the staff and the effect was instantaneous. He felt a shock shoot up his arm, power bursting from his pores.
His vision dimmed. Everything around him was crackling with magic.
He heard the voice of Ron calling to him in an alarmed tone just before consciousness left him completely.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
A/N: You probably hate me now. I am truly sorry for what I had to do. You have to believe me when I say that it was very, very hard for me to write Lucien's death (and yes, I swear to you, he is indeed dead and not coming back). I'm not a weeper, but I got teary eyed with this one, simply because I created Lucien myself, and destroying him was actually-well, pretty painful. It was a senseless death, which is the way violent deaths tend to be, and perhaps one feels the full impact of a character-death when you know that he didn't have to die. In many ways, it didn't have to be like that, but in the most logical sense, he had to go. For one, the Death Eaters only wanted Hermione, and keeping Lucien prisoner with her just made no sense. Two, since the Death Eaters wanted a message delivered to Harry, one of the Shadow Kin had to live. It didn't matter who, just that the message had to be delivered, and so Bellatrix chose randomly. These, Death Eaters, particularly Bellatrix, are vicious. They don't eff around, so they're not likely to spare both Shadow Kin because they're nice and friendly. Janus killed the spare. The tragedy of it is palpable.
Grease references:
Hermione, Lucien, and Solomon sang the famous Summer Nights from Grease, the last part of which is always sang like Sandy and Danny are yelling… at the moon, maybe.
They also talked about You're the One That I Want, the final song in the play, in which Sandy, the girl next door, is suddenly shown to dress much racier than her usual fare of crinolined Poodle skirt, pom-pom socks, and Saddle shoes. This, of course, excites Danny and his boys, because suddenly the good girl looks very naughhh-tee.
Scottish drawl translation:
She canna be kidnapped - "She can't be kidnapped."
Lass's too fly fer tha - "Girl/Woman's too clever for that."
She's goat mair degrees than a thermometer! - "She's got more degrees than a thermometer" Meaning, of course, that she's intelligent and has the college/masters/PhD degrees to prove it.
Ye goata be aff yer heid t' think any boot can manage sooch ah thing! - "You have to be stupid to think that anybody can manage such a thing!"
Isna possible! - "It's not possible!"
Vera weil - "Very well."
We'd 'av t' be meetin' wit this Potter-lad, blether aboot strategies and sooch - "We have to meet with this Potter-guy/kid, talk incessantly about strategies and such."
The hale jing bang. - "The whole shebang." (This was a fairly-accurate improv. Lol. But basically it's what it means.)
D'you ken? - Literally, "Do you know?" but it's taken to mean, "Do you understand?"
I ken - Literally, "I know," but taken to mean, "I understand." Ye 'ave to be twa babbles aff the center ef ye didna ken that woon.
Lol. Just kidding.