Author's notes: Finally, we get to this vampire thing, eh? Stressful, this chapter.
Standard disclaimers apply. JKR, I vant to bite you… on the ankle… until you give me Harry Potter. I'll settle for an autographed blow-up doll of him, though.
Chapter rating: R
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Chapter Fifth: Blood
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Mediwizards came, tearing him away from her body. He made a desperate grab for her, but someone was pulling him back. It was Remus; maybe. He hardly cared.
He didn't fight, anyway. He needed them to get her back. He needed them to revive her.
Ron's sudden arrival caused more of a struggle with those around him. He was a large man; strong. It took three aurors to hold him.
Harry couldn't even hear his own furious screams. And he watched as the mediwizards worked to revive her.
There was a steady stream of beams from the mediwizards' wands, blue and pink rays aimed at her chest. The beams would bathe her in their glow, before dissipating into nothing.
Several minutes later, the mediwizards looked at one another, their faces resigned to the inevitable.
No…
One of the mediwizards reached over to press her eyelids closed.
No.
They were noting her official time of death.
No!
Harry knocked them aside and pulled her limp, slender body back into his arms.
He wasn't sure what he did next. All he knew was that he was screaming her name, and that he was fighting back the crippling despair that was pounding onto him in waves. He was holding her tight as he wailed against her shoulder. He was vaguely aware of Ron nearby. Maybe it was Ron's hands that were gripping his arms.
He didn't know. He didn't care.
This isn't happening, he thought furiously. This is a nightmare. I'm going to wake up and she will be there; alive; smiling. She's not dead. She's NOT DEAD.
"Harry…" said a choked voice from behind him. "Harry, please."
SHE'S NOT DEAD!
He hadn't even realized that he had been screaming it out loud.
Stored glass and ceramic figurines began to explode; wooden tables split into bits through some invisible force and the walls groaned with the stress of the power buffeting it. Perhaps the house was mourning, too.
Shouts from the people around him did nothing to temper his magical outbursts.
In the next minute they were tearing him away from her and he couldn't understand why they had to do that. Why can't they just leave him alone with her? Why did they have to take him away?
Someone was struggling to hold him back.
"Harry!" It was Ron, and there were tears running down his face, too.
Harry didn't care. Nobody could possibly understand his grief. Nobody!
He lashed out and the shriek of wood grew louder. Maybe he hit somebody. He wasn't sure, but the next thing he remembered was a wave of drowsiness, and seconds later, the world went absolutely dark.
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Harry woke up in the emergency ward of St. Mungo's. There were no healers surrounding him or even bustling about. He had been placed in the farthest corner of the facility, and the only ones there to greet him were Ron and Remus.
He sat up from the hospital bed, frantically transferring his gaze between the two of them. "Tell me I dreamed it. Tell me it was a nightmare!"
Neither Ron nor Remus spoke. Harry didn't need for them to say anything, anyway. He was covered in dried blood. Her blood.
Ron's face was streaked with tears, his eyes red and puffy. Remus didn't look any better.
Harry crumbled within himself, right there on the hospital bed. His strength was spent, and the screams stayed inside him. The tears wouldn't come, like they'd crusted and clotted inside him, causing him worse pain than if he had even tried to force them out.
He brought his hands to his head as if it was going to explode from his grief.
Bent over, he struggled to find some measure of control for his raging emotions in the silence of the room.
He didn't know how long it took him to compose himself, and he wasn't even sure if he was in any condition to do anything remotely connected to her, but he asked Remus to see Hermione.
Remus could only stare at him, perhaps trying to figure out if Harry was in his right mind.
"Please," he said in an utterly defeated tone.
After a while, Remus nodded and gestured for him to follow.
Harry touched his feet to the floor. His legs were going to hold him, and his legs were cooperating well enough to move him forward.
God, I can't do this…
But I have to.
As they walked beyond the curtains of his bed, Harry struggled to speak. "Hermione's parents… are they…?"
"Yes," Remus replied. "It was their bodies that were-in the attic-"
Harry tried to settle the roar of revulsion at the memory of it.
Hermione… had you found them that way? Or were… were you made to watch as they were killed?
It was too horrifying for Harry to seek answers. Either way, he wouldn't have wanted that for Hermione.
God… if I had just held on to her. If I had just-
He closed his mind to those thoughts. The danger was supposed to have passed. There weren't supposed to be any Death Eaters left to harm her…
Silently, Remus led him to the healers in charge while Ron trailed behind.
The healer said she was in the morgue. She would be prepared for examination in an hour's time.
Harry felt his stomach clench. "They're going to-"
Remus turned apologetic eyes on him. "They have to. It's-it's standard procedure for… this."
Death Eater victim, he thought. He swallowed to control the bile that threatened to rise from his stomach.
The other Weasleys were in the waiting area, turning grief-stricken eyes to him as one. And Ginny, who had refused to speak to Hermione before and during the wedding, was still shedding tears as she sat between her mother and father.
Bill and Fleur weren't there, and for a brief moment, Harry felt a wash of rage, but he steeled himself, thinking that there was absolutely no use destroying their day of days with news of Hermione's death. Even in grief, he had no right to be selfish.
As he stood there, he really didn't know what to tell them. What did they expect him to say? Thank you for coming? He wasn't feeling the least bit thankful about anything.
Ron spoke for him. "Remus and I are going with Harry to see her. We'll be back in a bit, alright?"
There were silent murmurs of assent and Ginny's quiet hiccup punctuated it.
The healer gestured for Harry to follow and he did, as Remus and Ron flanked him.
They were led to the lower levels where there were even less people to break the stillness. The doors to the morgue stood wide and unimposing and the healer ushered them through them.
The room wasn't very big, and there weren't any covered bodies left out in plain view. Instead there were slots built into the walls, rising high up into the ceiling. The bottom-most shelves had numbers, designating each column, and along the side, written up the wall, were letters. The room was almost freezing cold.
The healer went to one side and flicked his wand at a compartment. A scroll slid out and the healer tapped his wand on its surface. A line on the scroll glowed red and a hiss permeated through the room.
The healer looked up one wall and Harry followed his gaze. A block several feet up slid from one of the slots, a faint shimmering sound disrupting the silence.
Harry's stomach dropped and he closed his eyes.
He felt someone squeeze his shoulder. "You don't have to do this now." It was Remus.
Harry struggled to speak. "I have to." Or I'll keep telling myself it didn't happen…
The enchanted platform slid to the examination area, right where they stood. There was a blanket over her and the healer muttered an incantation to remove the magical casing surrounding her.
The healer looked to Harry for confirmation and reluctantly, Harry nodded.
The blanket was folded back, down to her shoulders and there she was.
Harry thought he wouldn't be able to bear it. He thought that the first sight of her remains would have him turning and fleeing, but he supposed he was remembering her blood and pain. Now she was clean of all that. Her pallid skin was bereft of the stains of death and her hair was free of blood. There were bits of her neck on the other side of her that were torn open and he averted his gaze from it, concentrating on her face. Her eyes were closed, of course, but he wasn't going to say she looked to be asleep, because she wasn't. He had seen her asleep. Watched her sleep in his arms. This was utterly different. She wasn't going to wake up again.
He placed his hand on her forehead. It was cold like ice.
A deep abiding sadness seeped through him and his hand trembled.
He loved her so much. And the pain of losing her was just so unbelievable. He had wept when he lost Sirius and he had grieved for Dumbledore, both deaths wringing sorrow from the very depths of him, but what do you do when a piece of your soul has been ripped away and shattered? What comfort could be had when right now his heart just kept breaking, and breaking, and…
I can't… I can't do this. I can't just-just go on living, can I? How can I do that when there's this abyss inside me that seems to go on forever?
He felt himself losing it.
What am I going to do without you, Hermione?
He managed to blink back his tears as he took controlling breaths. He might have whispered her name before closing his eyes and finally turning away.
He walked out of there without looking back. There was a hallway and he needed to cross it. There was a lift, and he used it to rise through the levels. There was a lobby, and he left it. When he was outside, he didn't know where he wanted to go. He just wanted to get away.
He turned and Remus was there. He hadn't the words to make sense of it all.
"Do you want to go back to Grimmauld Place, Harry?" Remus asked.
Mutely, Harry nodded. He didn't trust himself to speak. He didn't know if he could trust himself to do anything.
Remus's grasp on his shoulder was firm, and with a gentle yank, Remus apparated them both.
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Harry found the silence of the dark room appropriate as he lay on her bed. Her scent on the pillows lent a painful reminder of her, but strangely enough, he didn't want to forget. He didn't want to block out the images of her. He needed to remember her being in this room; being with her as they talked; laughed; made love…
He remembered Crookshanks. Where was that beast? She had told him she left Crookshanks with her parents, but he hadn't seen the cat-kneazle in the house.
Shifting to his side, he stared out of her window, the London sky hazy over the city.
How did this happen? How did this all go to hell so quickly? Where did last month's paradise that was Hermione go?
Just that morning, they had been so happy. He had never seen her so beautiful and they were kissing, and holding hands, and they danced to lovely music. They had read letters under the moonlight and they were going to make love, right there beneath the trees.
What had happened?
What happened?
He couldn't believe it. Couldn't fathom it.
Harry was trying to understand just when and how it was all going to sink in. And when the shock of it wore off, he had to wonder what he was going to do. Was he going to rampage all over London, blowing up things and people?
If I ever live through this… if by some miracle I find a way to-to move on… The words were like a curse to him. He thought that the person who invented the words never knew what love and loss was like if he thought anybody can just "move on" like some tourist moseying through some dinky museum… I'm going to kill those Death Eaters. Every single one of them will die for this. And Voldemort... I'm going to make him suffer for everything and everyone he's taken away from me. The last thing Voldemort will hear is Hermione's name and he's going to know that she is the reason I'm sending him back to hell…
Hermione.
He squeezed his eyes shut, willing his tears to stop, but that was impossible. He wept. There was just absolutely no way he could get through this without shedding his tears in private.
Several minutes later, he regained control of his emotions and sat on the edge of her bed. He bent over his knees and composed himself. He took deep, cleansing breaths as he continued to stare out of the window for long minutes at a time.
He didn't know how much time had passed, with him staying just like that, before he heard the sound of footsteps outside. Seconds later, someone opened the door.
Light sliced into the room, illuminating Hermione's dresser where he could see her colorful beaded necklaces and her white hat with the dainty lavender ribbon decorating it. He closed his eyes, remembering how she would hold different beads to her neck, determining which ones she liked best.
"Harry?" It was Ron.
He didn't reply. He wanted Ron to leave him alone.
Ron didn't. "Harry, there's… been a development."
Development? thought Harry bitterly. What in hell does that mean? What the fuck do I care?
"Sod off, Ron," he said. "I can't deal with that Order shite right now."
"It's about Hermione."
Harry didn't react.
Ron went on. "She's-"
"Gone. That's all I know," said Harry, a choke catching in his throat. "Nothing matters anymore. And I can't-I don't even know if I realize it yet, Ron. It hasn't… it hasn't sunk in. I'm thinking about it right now and it seems so outside of me… so please, just leave me alone-"
"She's not dead, mate."
Harry's heart constricted and he turned to look at Ron, his eyes blazing furious as he got to his feet. Ron had come into the room and Harry went to him, ready to attack him as he pointed to the door. "Get out. Now! Or I swear I'll-"
Ron made an exasperated sound and stood his ground. "Harry, shut it and listen to me. They found something in her blood. And-I'm not entirely sure what they're saying, but they-they seem to think that whatever it is that's inside her will-well, it'll make her rise back to life."
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Harry burst through the fireplaces of St. Mungo's, dismissing the soot on his face and clothes. He waited impatiently for Ron who followed seconds later.
"This way," said Ron, gesturing to the doors.
Harry stormed through them and down the long corridors that followed.
Their brisk walk brought them to the "Special Injuries Unit" where Remus and Arthur rose from the waiting room chairs to meet them.
"Where is she?" Harry immediately asked.
Remus nodded. "I'll get the healer to explain-"
"Where is she?" Harry growled more forcefully.
Arthur held him by the shoulders. "Harry, calm down-"
"I want to see her," Harry said. "And I want to know what's going on."
"Please!" Arthur cried desperately. "We're getting to that. I implore you to sit and have this all explained, alright?"
Harry was about to go on another rampage when he felt a hand squeezing his shoulder. He turned and it was Ron, raw pain in his gaze. Seeing Ron like that did more for Harry than anything Remus or Arthur had said. He realized only then that Ron was hurting almost as much as he was.
"I'm asking you to calm down," Ron said. "I-I want to understand what's happening… for her."
Harry felt the fight leaving him and he expelled a deep breath. He was being a prat-a big one, particularly towards Ron. "Alright. Alright, then. I'm sorry. I'm just-"
"It's alright, Harry. No need to explain."
Remus shifted his gaze between the two of them contemplatively before he left to call the healer over.
Harry sat on one of the many chairs. Ron sat across from Harry and Arthur took to leisurely pacing nearby.
Harry stared blankly at the floor, fingers fidgeting.
What Ron had told him at Grimmauld Place hadn't quite settled into his system yet. He was only just beginning to absorb the shock of Hermione's death when Ron showed up at the door. Harry wasn't quite ready to climb out of that hole he was digging for himself, and he refused to cling to hope even if his mind was telling him to do otherwise.
Ron was in no better shape. He was biting on his fingernails, his gaze on nothing in particular.
Remus returned, healer in tow. The healer wasn't a tall man; a bit round, but not terribly stout. His healer robes were gray, with vertical black stripes. His hair was a peppered black, the line of which crept high upon his forehead. His dark brown face was pleasant and compassionate; even his eyes seemed to be made for soothing aches and pains.
Healer Kearney wouldn't have seemed so small if he wasn't in such towering company. Harry was the smallest of them and even he had to look down to make eye contact with the healer.
The healer gestured for everyone to sit.
Arthur sat with them as the healer was made to settle nearest to Harry.
"This is Healer Kearney," said Remus. "He's the primary healer for Hermione's case. Healer, this is Harry Potter."
Healer Kearney was not introduced to anybody else and he merely gave Harry a nod. "I'll get right to the point, then. Ms. Granger was attacked by a vampire approximately four hours ago. The bite marks on her neck, of course, are the prime indicator for the examiner to test for a vampire attack, the results of which are obvious. She also sustained a sword wound to her abdomen, but in this case, that is merely her secondary cause of death. There is evidence that there was an attempt to clot the wound and minimize the loss of blood."
"That was me," said Harry, managing not to choke on his emotions. "I tried… was that wrong?"
"Not really," said Healer Kearney. "It didn't make anything worse. That was the best you could have done under the circumstances, but as you know, it didn't do any good, either. The blood loss wouldn't have stopped because she was already infected at the time. With open wounds like hers, the infection seeks the easiest and most effective means of killing her. In this case, it expelled her life blood through her wounds."
So far, Harry was not hearing what he wanted to hear. "What infection are you talking about?"
"Vampirism," said the healer. "Muggles call it a virus. For us it's a veneficus. Literally, 'poisonous magic'.Lycanthropy is a veneficus contracted by a were's bite, or in some cases scratches from its claws. In this case, vampirism is a veneficus contracted by a blood exchange between the vampire and its victim. Necessarily, the vampire drinks the blood of its victim first, releasing dormant veneficus into her entire system, then the vampire can either choose to let its victim die from blood loss or choose to let its victim live by giving its own blood for the victim to drink, in which case the veneficus is awakened in her system and proceeds to infect her. The vampire blood acts like a catalyst to the veneficus it released inside her, and eventually, the activated veneficus will 'reanimate' her dead body."
Harry frowned, and he focused on cramming this information into his head.
Ron's eyes widened. "So, are you telling us that you expect her to rise… as a vampire?"
Arthur seemed troubled, but Remus remained stoic.
The healer nodded. "It's the only way, or else she won't rise at all. Every once in a while, we get a wizard or a witch in this hospital that have provisions in their hospital records for this sort of… situation; that in case they die of a vampire bite, they authorize this hospital, or some other particular person to… execute them. Usually, this means a decapitation. It's to prevent reanimation in the off chance that the vampire activated the veneficus inside them. In the absence of provisions for execution, we let the family or spouse of the victim decide. In Ms. Granger's case, she lists three decision makers in particular order. The first two are her parents, who have-tragically-passed on. The third and last decision maker is Mr. Harry Potter."
Harry blinked. "M-Me?"
Healer Kearney nodded calmly. "Yes. You understand, Mr. Potter, that if there had been no one else left to decide, the standard procedure would be to let her rise. But since you have been given this decision, you may, or may not choose reanimation."
Harry gaped. "Y-You want me to decide if I'll let her live or-or have her head cut off?"
Ron made a horrified sound.
The healer merely nodded.
Harry couldn't believe they had even asked. He rose indignantly to his feet. "Oh, well, you know me! I like the thought of someone lopping off parts of her! Why not her head… ARE YOU SHITTING ME? No one and I mean no one cuts off her head. Do you understand? Should I even be telling you this?"
Remus looked unmoved. "Now, Harry-"
Harry stared at him, shocked. "Do you want me to say otherwise? God, Remus!"
Arthur raised his hands for calm. "Of course he doesn't! Calm down, Harry."
Ron stood right by Harry. "Well, I say let her rise. And if in some twisted, parallel universe Harry lets them execute her, I won't. Do you hear me, dad? I won't!"
Arthur looked to Remus helplessly.
Remus stared at them with an unwavering gaze. "I'm not saying we shouldn't let her rise. Just that… it's not easy to live with an affliction, Harry. You don't know what it's like, and I'm just a werewolf. Twenty-seven days of the month I can lead a relatively normal life as a human. It will be much different for Hermione. She doesn't get to transform back into a human. She will be a vampire for all eternity. No walking in the day. No eating in restaurants. No sleeping on a bed. She'll need to stay in a dungeon, and sleep in a coffin, and thirst for human blood."
"I'll give her that blood if I have to!" Harry cried. "I've read about vampires too, Remus, and I know what she's going to become."
Remus shook his head. "There's no knowing a vampire until you're staring one in the face. I've met a few. Werewolves have a tendency to seek them out every once in a while. We're natural servants of them, you see. They're not human, Harry. Not the tiniest bit. They have their own culture; their own ways. They are nothing like you, or even me. You have to understand this before you make this decision."
Harry clenched his fists. How can Remus even put this to question? This was Hermione they were talking about. They had a chance to have her back. He could not understand why Remus was telling him not to let Hermione rise.
He shook his head, glaring at his guardian. "Do you want me to have her decapitated, then?"
Remus sighed. "That's not what I want. I want to see her again, same as you. I'm just… well-"
"What? What are you trying to say?"
"Nothing. Just… Harry, long after the lot of us… dies, she'll be alive. She'll be immortal. She'll be alone."
Harry actually gave pause at this.
Immortal…
"Hermione won't ever be alone," Harry said resolutely. "People will find her and will want to be with her. She'll always have someone to turn to."
Remus was about to say something more but stopped, clamping his mouth shut.
Harry took this to mean the discussion was over. "Healer Kearney, we'll let her rise."
Ron nodded, clapping Harry's back to show his approval.
Remus exchanged looks with Arthur but said nothing.
The healer nodded. "Very well. We expect her to rise in about an hour; maybe two. So we must take this time to get you oriented with this entire procedure."
"There's a procedure?" Harry asked.
"Yes. At any rate, it begun the moment we found out the veneficus was in her blood. We immediately moved her to the dungeons-"
Harry's mouth dropped at this piece of information.
"Hang on," said Ron. "Dungeons?"
Healer Kearney patiently went on. "The newly risen almost always have a violent thirst for blood. They will always seek the nearest source, and unattended, they can kill enough people to sate their blood lust. A regular hospital ward is no place for someone with this condition. Vampires are strong, and lethal. It is imperative that they are brought to the dungeons before they rise and are properly restrained."
"Restrained?" Harry said indignantly. "Like how restrained?"
"Shackled, Mr. Potter. Hand and foot. I assure you, those shackles are as much to keep her safe as everyone around her. She will be given a comfortable bed, anyhow. The best to be had. We feel that the newly risen have enough to deal with without having to wake up to a lumpy mattress. Besides… a vampire's resting place is an essential part of them. We try to make the transition as easy as possible."
Harry could not seem to advance his thoughts. "With shackles?"
Healer Kearney was not the least bit bothered by Harry's objections. "We have called in the best Initiator vampire society has to offer. He charges exorbitant fees in his private practice, but certain… organizations have so kindly provided the funds to pay for his employ in the Special Injuries ward of St. Mungo's. His name is Cicero Iswold and he will help Ms. Granger cope during this very critical time. Guiding the transition of human to vampire is no small thing, Mr. Potter, and it is therefore best left to professionals, at least from the rising to the first two weeks of Ms. Granger's new life."
Harry frowned and made a dismissive gesture. "Yes, whatever."
"There is no whatever for the newly risen, Mr. Potter," said a voice from somewhere within the room. Everyone searched for the source of it and found two expensively clad feet emerging from shadows Harry didn't even realize were there. "Rising from the dead as a vampire is more horrific than anybody realizes. More often than not, the victim's last memory is beastly eyes and fangs closing in on them, usually preceded by images of death and blood. You see, it's seldom that a vampire turns more than one victim a night. Usually, it kills everyone else first-violently-and then saves the victim for last. By that time, the victim would be too terrified to do anything else but scream bloody murder."
Harry felt his insides constrict. He had heard Hermione's screams; had heard her terror. He didn't even want to imagine what it had been like for her.
Healer Kearney smiled. "Mr. Potter, this is Cicero Iswold. Initiator extraordinaire."
Cicero Iswold stepped further into the light and came into full view. He wore expensive robes over his expensive suit, a briefcase clutched in his hand. His eyes were of the clearest blue, almost transparent, and his hair a dark chocolate brown with what looked to be strange highlights of red. There was a beautiful quality to his face, like he was so unattainably pure. Everything from his perfect hair to his perfect shoes was impressive, except for one thing.
Harry scowled. "What are you, twelve?"
Ron looked down at Cicero's puny frame. "Thirteen, maybe."
"Ron!" Arthur cried, though he looked as perplexed as Ron and Harry were.
Cicero looked elegantly unaffected. "Sixteen when I was turned, actually, but it's been two hundred years for me since. My birth parents, unfortunately, weren't the tallest folks in the neighborhood so I've been getting flack about how I look for two centuries. One gets used to it."
"You're one of them," Harry said in awe. "A vampire, I mean."
Ron inched away from Cicero, bumping into Arthur.
"Of course I'm a vampire," Cicero said. "I can't properly help the newly-risen if I didn't know about rising, myself. And mister…" he eyed Ron intently "… Weasley, you needn't worry about your neck. I've fed. Your blood is safe from me. But be that as it may, if you intend to see Ms. Granger through this new life of hers, it wouldn't do to be so ignorant of our ways, either, unless you're planning to be afraid of her your whole life. Incidentally, your fear will only taunt her blood lust. It's like you putting whipped cream and a cherry on your neck and inviting her to pudding."
Harry would rather not have images of Hermione and Ron experimenting with whipped cream and cherries. "Mr. Iswold, I'd like to know exactly what it is that you do."
Cicero smiled, the tips of his fangs barely showing through his lips. "Ah, you are eager to understand. This is good. Come, let us sit down and I will explain as best I can. Healer Kearney, thank you for your help. I can take it from here."
The healer nodded, saying his goodbyes to everyone before retiring further into the ward.
Cicero took a moment to glance at Remus, eyebrow arching. "You are a werewolf."
Remus smiled mildly and nodded.
"You've a pack? A master?"
"No. I choose not to be part of a pack. And I… prefer not to have a master."
Cicero shrugged. "Who was your Initiator?"
"Albus Dumbledore."
Cicero's eyes sparkled. "Ah, one of the best a were can have. Very caring. Perhaps a bit too much."
"Indeed. He built me a house in Hogsmeade and grew a whomping willow tree to protect me during my transformations."
Cicero nodded. "I was sorry to hear about his death. He was a great man. The vampire community mourned his loss."
Harry had to feel a bit amazed at that. All the creatures of the forest and water had mourned Dumbledore's passing. He never realized that vampires did, as well.
They couldn't exactly attend the ceremony, could they?
Cicero turned his translucent blue gaze back to Harry. "No, we could not."
Harry was startled for a bit before he frowned. "Not the first time I had my mind read. That's not entirely polite, just so you know."
Cicero smiled apologetically. "No, it is not. I apologize, but one of the gifts I acquired after I turned was mind reading, and it's not even a conscious effort on my part. I just hear thoughts, particularly when a person broadcasts. I have a more difficult time blocking it out. But then, I was a muggle when I was turned. Ms. Granger's case will be different. She was a witch. While she will still be able to perform some spells, a considerable number of her witch abilities will be cancelled out by her vampire abilities. First thing you have to understand for this transition, Mr. Potter, is that Ms. Granger is no longer human. She may look like one; or act like one… she may even love like one, but she isn't one. That's the awful truth."
Harry's jaw tightened. "Humanity is sometimes a state of mind."
"Funny how you say that. We don't even know if she will be the same Hermione when she rises. There are many factors to consider when a person is turned. Sometimes, the trauma of their death is so great that all that's left of them is a shadow of their former selves, and it's all downhill from there as they give in to the madness of blood lust. In such case, there is very little I can do in terms of reintroducing them back to their family and friends. If madness has taken Ms. Granger's mind, you cannot expect her to return to you. If she does, it's only to slaughter the lot of you without conscience, and then she will seek those of her kind: those who will identify with her state of… preference. You must learn to accept this possibility, Mr. Potter."
Harry looked at him apprehensively and caught Ron's worried stare.
"You know I don't really think she's mental when I say she is," Ron blurted. "That's just a figure of speech, Harry. There's really nothing crazy about her… well, most times…"
Harry shot him a glare just as Arthur did the same.
"Mental doesn't even cut it, Mr. Weasley," said Cicero. "We call it madness, yes, but perhaps the saddest part is, they will eventually gain control of their faculties and actually realize that they enjoy this lifestyle of blood, death and power. But we are getting rather sidetracked… there's still every possibility that she will rise as the same sweet, hauntingly beautiful and caring Ms. Granger you know… except that she drinks human blood and sleeps in a coffin…" He chuckled softly.
Harry couldn't even begin to understand how Cicero found the humor in it. Sure, the guy's been alive for two hundred years, but weren't there just things that stayed un-funny?
Cicero was not the least bit deterred by his tough audience. "As an Initiator, I will help get her through her critical first two hours. It's very fortunate that her rising is in perfect time. She'll wake up and we can get her through the initial blood lust, which can be a bitch, I tell you, and then she'll go back to sleep. Day break is but a few hours away. I already have my coffin in her rising chamber-"
Harry's brows knotted. "Your coffin?"
"Why, yes. I will be there when she first rises and I have to be there when she wakes up the following night. It shall be like that for the next three nights or so, depending on how quickly she gets through the first blood lust."
"So, what, you're going to let her drink your blood all those three nights?"
"Gods, no," said Cicero patiently. "Vampires only drink each other's blood for emergencies and-ahem-sex. I'm thinking Ms. Granger won't much be in the mood."
Harry narrowed his eyes at the little man. "I'm thinking you're right, you puny little bastard."
"Now, Mr. Potter… I never take advantage of my clients. It isn't proper and it's bad for business. I will provide Ms. Granger with human, living blood, and it shall be done in a clinical, professional manner. It's part of my service. Incidentally, I'd like to know how she swings."
"Swings?"
"Heterosexual? Homosexual? Bisexual?"
Ron's eyes widened while Arthur and Remus blushed.
Harry steeled himself. "Heterosexual, as far as I know."
"Good enough," said Cicero, nodding. "I've found that the newly-risen are more comfortable feeding off their gender preference. Most heterosexual males, for example, wouldn't touch another man's neck with their lips no matter how hungry they get. Rip into them with their nails, yes, but tender suction… forget it. I'm a businessman. I could not afford the cost of clients slaughtering the food source on a daily basis."
Harry expelled a breath. "So let me get this straight… you'll bring someone in… to feed her?"
"Essentially, yes. Mind you, if she rises as the person you knew, she will find feeding difficult. There is a natural revulsion for people to feed off what they still believe to be their own kind. There's an element of perversion to it, admittedly, but a vampire has to learn to live with that, or suffer hunger which will eventually be painful. And she can't substitute human blood with animal blood either. Living off animals is not a healthy option. Animal blood lacks the essential life force that human blood has. Most animals don't have souls, and that fact makes animal blood incapable of nourishing a vampire with what keeps vampires beautiful, and elegant and altogether enviable… at least to those of the vampire persuasion. Prolonged ingestion of animal blood can lead to real madness, decay, and at the very least, ugliness. I don't know about you, but if I'm going to live forever, I'd rather be beautiful while I'm at it."
Ron sniffed. "I don't know why, but I suddenly had an image of Draco Malfoy in all his conceited glory when you said that."
Cicero laughed. "Ah, Malfoy. Long history of vampire ancestors, that."
"Not surprised."
"Yes… they do seem to have an uncanny ability to suck the psychic energies out of people around them. Psychic vampires, I call them. They replenish their strength by making everyone feel utterly inferior."
Remus grinned. "A distinct Malfoy trait."
Cicero shrugged. "I can't say I disapprove, considering. Now where were we? Ah, yes, feeding. I can help initiate Ms. Granger to this necessary fact of vampire life. I'll even teach her… table manners, so to speak. Tell me, what is her type of male?"
Harry blinked. "What?"
"You're looking at 'im," Ron replied, nudging his chin in Harry's direction.
Cicero seemed vastly amused by this. "Dark featured, skinny intellectual, eh?"
"I'm not skinny!" Harry cried. "And she doesn't love me because of my looks! Well, maybe she does, a little…, but-"
"Your looks will do, Mr. Potter," said Cicero. "It will help her adjust if the person who feeds her has physical features similar to her male type. It's familiar and comforting, though it's necessary that they never look too much like the ones they date. It's a delicate psychological balance…"
Harry scowled. "I'm beginning to get the feeling that this feeding isn't as professional as you make it out to be, Mr. Iswold."
"Well… there's of course a sexual element to the entire process of feeding. It's true enough for humans and the food they eat…"
Harry's eyes flashed. "Excuse me? And you expect me to step back and watch you throw men at her like that? No bloo-shite, I feel ridiculous swearing like that, now…"
"As I've said, I try to keep it as professional and clinical as I can."
A determined gleam came over Harry's gaze. "I can feed her. I don't mind. Saves you the trouble of making arrangements with anybody else."
Remus shook his head. "Harry-"
Cicero sighed. "You most certainly will not feed her at this time, Mr. Potter. You won't even be allowed in the rising chamber these next three days."
Harry's gaze bore through him indignantly. "Now, wait just one minute! I can't let her wake up with a bunch of strangers! She'll be terrified! She'll look for me! She'll-"
"Be ravenous," interrupted Cicero smoothly. "Hungry beyond imagination, and even if she recognizes you, she will gain nothing feeding off someone like you who doesn't know the first thing about dealing with a newly-risen vampire. Do you think I prowl the streets and bribe just any willing bloke to give blood? The humans in my employ are professionals. A lot of them have been working for me for years. This isn't an orgy, Mr. Potter. That's what I'm trying to make you understand!"
Harry leaned back, monstrously displeased. "So she can't see me in the next three days? Is that what you're saying?"
"Yes. Believe me when I say that seeing you in the next three days will be very traumatic for her. If she sees you and is unprepared for the fact that she'll look at you and think, 'Hmm, I desperately want to know if my darling Harry Potter's blood is sweet or robust,' it can push her to madness. Is that what you want, Mr. Potter? Drive her insane because she wants to rip into your throat in spite of her heart telling her she doesn't want to hurt you?"
Harry let Cicero's words sink in. "No."
"Of course you don't. So you will let me handle this. You may keep tabs on her progress, of course. I will always be glad to discuss such matters with you on a regular basis, but in the next few days, I'm afraid I'm going to have to be her best friend."
Harry and Ron's gaze flickered.
For the first time since this tragedy occurred, Harry felt real jealousy. This blood-drinking business with other men was one thing, but their friendship with her… that was supposed to be untouchable. That was supposed to be constant. Now Cicero was telling them that even that had to be set aside for the time being.
"Not as easy as you thought, is it?" Remus said.
There was no spite in his tone. In fact, there was nothing but kindness in it.
Harry sighed. "Just do what you have to do, Mr. Iswold. But please… take good care of her. She's the most important person in my life."
Cicero smiled gently, nodding. "I always take care of them, Mr. Potter. You can't be in this business and not care. It makes for bad vampires, and honestly, bad vampires are such a bother."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The crush of jaws shot pain right through her but Hermione found that she couldn't scream. She couldn't even move. The creature had her pinned against the wall, house junk and debris falling all around them.
The teeth withdrew. She felt that much, but the creature's lips remained. He sucked, with the gentle flick of his tongue coaxing the beat of the vein in her neck. The pain disappeared, and she felt blessed. She generously tilted her head to the side, willing him to drink his fill.
Vampire… Her thoughts were swimming. She knew, even in this euphoric state, that she was being drained of life. He's bespelled me. And even if that thought bothered her the tiniest bit, there was very little she could do.
"I knew you'd come," said the vampire in its silky, lulling voice. "Your father said you would…"
"Dad…" she breathed. And for a moment, her forehead creased as she remembered, and she saw her parents' bodies. Tears pooled in her eyes as the horror of it came at her again. She would never forget. She would never be able to. Their blank gazes. The dark, crimson tide of blood. The coppery scent of death. She choked on a sob. "You killed them…"
She could hear shouting from beneath the trap. Someone was trying to get to her. It was a voice she knew well, but for now, she couldn't exactly place who the voice belonged to.
"Shhhh," said the vampire. "Don't cry."
She struggled a bit and the vampire smiled. He was still but a shadow with slanted golden eyes.
"What a strong will Potter's whore possesses," he said, sounding impressed. "No wonder he chose you. You are proving to be more interesting to me than those wizards let on and you are certainly lovelier than I imagined you to be. The banality of your parents suggested nothing of your better qualities, but I had to admit, their constant praise of you intrigued me. And by showing them my interesting in you, it was quite easy to get them to invite me into your home…"
Never invite a vampire into your home. Vampires gain immunity from common deterrents when you invite them into your home… they gain even more power, like resistance to garlic, religious objects and magical ward charms made by a fanciful child…
She opened her mouth to try and cry out, but he shushed her again.
"I think…" Mischief gleamed from his eyes. "I think I won't kill you after all…"
She watched in terrified fascination as his fangs gleamed and he bit into his wrist. She heard the distinct squishing sound of breaking skin. He held up his fist as blood flowed from his wound and she thought he was going to punch her, but instead, he jammed his open wrist against her lips.
The scream that climbed out of her throat was muffled and useless; the gush of his blood sliding against her tongue. She tried not to swallow. She tried to spit. But he clamped his other hand over her nose and she couldn't breathe. Her fingers clawed to remove his hands, but he was strong, and she couldn't resist the instinct to survive by taking gulps of air through her mouth.
She swallowed and rasped for breath. She was helpless as he chuckled at the success of his methods. She swallowed again, and again, just so she could breathe. She needed precious air to fill her lungs.
There were explosions from beneath and he grabbed her by the throat again.
"I suppose I'll have to be going, now," he said. "And worry not, love… this won't be the last you'll see of me."
Hope surged at the thought that he was going to leave her alive.
There's a way, she thought desperately. There's a way to expel the veneficus he sowed inside me. She prayed that he would leave. If she didn't want to turn, she had to be treated with potions now.
But he smiled as he looked into her eyes. "Oh, Hermione… I do know what you're thinking. You cannot fool Janus."
It was the only warning he made. She heard the whisper of steel slicing through the air. She saw the tip of the blade pulsing in the darkness. His hand on the hilt was skilled and menacing.
He twirled the sword deftly before he plunged it right through her.
She gasped, shocked at what he had done, before the icy pain exploded through her body.
He slid out the blade, dragging agony through her a second time before he tossed her to the floor.
She hit the floor hard, splotches of silver flashing in her eyes.
The pain from the sword wound rippled through her as she felt her life gushing from her wounds. She coughed, blood gurgling up from her throat.
Then the entire attic exploded, wood and glass flying above and around her. The charms around her attic door were knocked out of place by his magic.
When the explosion settled, she found that she was suddenly bathed in moonlight and blood.
Janus turned to her and she saw him. He was tall, slender and lovely. His porcelain skin gleamed in the light of night and his short locks of black hair framed an almost feminine face. He smirked before he turned to his exit and vanished.
The next thing she saw were the warm green eyes of Harry. He was holding her. Trying to stop the bleeding. He was saying things to her. She couldn't exactly tell what those words were.
She saw his tears, and for that, she felt a deep well of sadness within her. She was dying, and she was going to leave him behind.
Harry was going to be alone again and she couldn't bear the thought, but she couldn't stop life leaving her, either.
She wept for him one last time before the darkness finally took her.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
She opened her eyes to a dim room.
The smell of earth and stone wafted to her nostrils, mixed with the intoxicating scent of lamp oil. The light of the fires flickered against the ceiling and in her disorientation, she couldn't even make out what the ceiling was made of.
Her bed was soft. And warm. Her head pressed against a perfect pillow.
Slowly, she tried to move, but she heard chains.
Cold steel bit into her wrists, and the surprise of it caused her to jerk. Her ankles were bound as well, and while the length of the chains seemed to allow her some measure of movement, she was unable to quash the panic that began to rise in her chest.
The memories poured into recall and her heart began to pound with terror.
The blood, she thought as her chest constricted. She began to hyperventilate. I can smell…
There was a second heartbeat thrumming in her ears, and the rush of blood in someone's veins flooded her mind. It was like music to her ears, and that horrified her. She clamped her shackled hands over her ears and it muffled the sounds, but she couldn't stop the scent snaking into her senses.
It was wonderful. There was no coppery smell. Just the aroma of sweet promises and warmth. It would sate the unbelievable hunger growing within her; take the hollow pain away. She needed it. Wanted it. She longed for the feel of skin against her lips. The rush of life gushing into her mouth and on her tongue.
No.
She cried out, squeezing her eyes shut as a throbbing pain in her mouth took over.
Someone placed a warm hand on her forehead and she felt waves of comfort coursing through her body from the touch.
"Breathe," said an accompanying, gentle voice. "Breathe, Ms. Granger…"
She followed that sound, taking painful gasps through her lips. It was more familiarity than necessity. She didn't even think there was real breath passing through her, but it helped.
The illusion helps…
Some of her panic subsided, and the pain in her mouth ebbed, but the unmistakable sound of heartbeat and flowing blood remained. The hunger for that blood still raged, and she knew, without having to find out, that she had grown fangs.
She remembered Janus. Remembered what he had done. And even passing from death to un-death, her mind remained functional.
Hermione knew what she had become, but for that moment, she refused to believe it. Maybe if she denied it enough, it would undo itself.
Tears sprang into her eyes as she took in everything that had happened to her; what she found in the attic; her parents; what Janus had forced her to do; and Harry… the despair in his eyes. She could almost hear the little boy in the cupboard under the stairs. "Don't leave me!" his eyes had pleaded desperately.
Her heart broke and she began to sob, shaking her head.
"Do you remember who you are?" asked the voice, unimposing in its quality.
Through the scent of blood and life, she could detect the nearer smell of his cologne. It was surprisingly soothing, however unfamiliar it was.
It was mixed with clean skin and soap, but that scent was not his. It was from someone else. There was another person in the room, and she yearned for that person.
She looked up, aching to see the face of the man who held her.
As if detecting her need, he walked to the side of her bed, his hand shifting to settle on her head. She saw him, saw how young he was, but his eyes were old. Ancient.
His gaze was filled with kindness, even if she could detect that ever-present hunger in them. She wasn't afraid. She and he were the same, after all.
She focused her thoughts; trying to summon coherence. It was the only anchor she could think of now. "You're more than a hundred years old," she said.
She didn't know how she knew that. It was a feeling, really. Maybe he had told her telepathically.
He smiled slightly. "Two hundred. It's always hardest to be accurate between a hundred fifty to three hundred… do you remember what happened to you, Ms. Granger?"
She closed her eyes, willing the painful memories back. "Yes."
"Tell me."
"I was bitten, and… and Janus made me drink…"
He stayed silent and she opened her eyes. She saw more compassion radiating from him, a plaintive curve on his lips.
"You know what you are, then?" he asked softly.
Tears leaked out of her eyes again and she sniffed. "Please… sir…"
"Cicero."
"Cicero… have my-have my friends left me because I'm… I'm like this?" She couldn't bear the thought.
His brows knotted, his hand smoothing back her hair. "No," he crooned. "Of course not. Your friends… Mr. Potter and Mr. Weasley… they are right outside this facility. They can't be here with you now because I forbade them to be here. For now, it is better this way, but I promise you, they are right outside, waiting for me to tell them that you… remember who you are."
She could tell that he was telling the truth and her heart fluttered with relief. "I-I want to see them… I want to-"
He shook his head. His resolve was firm, though his regret was evident. "No. You cannot right now. Not for a while. Not until we can control your hunger."
Hunger…
The pain in her mouth began again, her fangs elongating even more.
The other stranger in the room with them… he was alive. His blood was warm. She needed it.
No! God, no! It's wrong. It's monstrous. Sacrilege and sin!
She squeezed her eyes shut, as if it would force the hunger back. "No…"
"You must," said Cicero quietly. "There is no other way. I can assist you in some manner; like putting the blood in a cup and have you drink it from there. But you understand that such is an illusion, and that you deprive yourself of the pleasure of feeding from its natural vessel."
"I don't want to enjoy it!" she cried, bringing up her hands and clamping it over her ears. Her nails dug into her temples, drawing her own blood.
Cicero was not impatient. "You must learn to. You are immortal now, Hermione, and if you're going to live forever, you must at least try to take pleasure in doing so. If you refuse this truth, you will only give yourself over to eternal madness."
The heartbeat in her ears quickened. His living blood was calling to her. Beckoning her to taste. She fought the urge, but it was beginning to grow painful inside her. It blossomed into agony and her gaze widened in shock.
"I will be here to teach you," Cicero said. "Concentrate on my voice and I will help you through it."
He broke eye contact with her, and for that moment, she felt horribly insecure. But he was gesturing to someone; beckoning the other to approach.
She looked, and she saw him with her vampire eyes. He was light of frame with dark, short hair. He had a young, pleasant face, like he could be your neighbor's son; or that quiet boy you had a secret crush on and tried to catch a glimpse of when he went to work at the local grocery.
He was not timid when he approached them, but he did not seek to intimidate, either. His kind gaze matched Cicero's, and for a moment, Hermione forgot to be afraid.
Then it happened. The pallor of his skin pulsed underneath, flashing translucent to the beat of his heart and flow of his blood. He glowed with life, and she could see where his blood coursed thick.
Neck… wrists… thigh…
She shut her eyes. "No! I can't…"
Cicero's voice broke gently through her panic. "This is Allan. He is a student at Oxford University and on weekdays, he works at the university bookstore. He is a scholar, and he helps his mother support his two younger sisters…"
God, I don't want to hear that! In what sick world do you introduce yourself to your food? she thought bitterly. She shook her head.
"Yes, you must know their names," said Cicero firmly. "If you wish to maintain that shred of humanity you have left, you will know who they are; respect who they are. If you can't even know their names, or know what they do, they will be nothing but cattle to you. Is that what you want, Hermione?"
His words sunk in, and breathing deeply, she let herself realize the truth of it. Slowly, she opened her eyes and looked at Allan, before turning her gaze back to Cicero. "No," she said softly. "I… I want to respect…"
"Yes. Of course you do. Allan?"
Allan met her gaze. "Hullo, Hermione. Scared?"
"Yes," she whispered.
He smiled kindly. "It'll be alright. Cicero will take care of you. You listen to him and you'll be fine. He's the best in the business, after all."
Cicero chuckled. "How long since your last raise, my friend?"
Allan cocked a smile.
"I pay Allan for this service," Cicero explained. "This means I have to provide him with certain supplements and potions to keep him healthy. Understand, Hermione, that you don't have to kill for blood, and you don't have to force it from people, either. There will be those who are willing to give… some too willing, but we'll get to that later on. For now, Allan is willing to feed you."
Again, her tears leaked. Her need for Allan's blood was roaring inside her, but the thought that she would feed off someone was revolting.
Cicero bent over her. "You must listen to his voice. It is imperative that you do. Keep yours senses sharp. Try to maintain control over your mind as you feed. Remember, if you abandon all sense, you can kill him. Do you want to kill him?"
"No."
"Then stay aware. I will tear him off you, if I have to, but I'd rather you try to control yourself. Listen to him, and listen to your conscience. Allan?"
Cicero's hand left her forehead to be replaced with Allan's.
"Ready, Hermione?" Allan asked.
Her breath trembled as she nodded.
He bent over her, speaking to her about focusing on the tone of his voice, explaining to her that he would be counting, and all she had to do was visualize the numbers as he said it. He crossed his arm over her and gently put his wrist over her lips.
Her instinct and hunger took root like claws. Her hand came up to grab his wrist and she sunk her teeth into his skin. She heard him hiss, but the explosion of sensations that went through her as his blood flowed from her tongue down to her throat was positively orgasmic.
Vaguely, she could hear his voice, piercing softly as his life pulsed against her lips.
She could feel her eyes rolling to the back of her head at the ecstasy, and it was delicious beyond belief. She could hear his heartbeat with his voice. The heartbeat was strong still. She could still feed off him. His blood was still the blood of the living.
"Hermione…"
Her name… from his lips.
"Hermione…"
Be aware. Stay aware. Or you'll KILL HIM.
The horror of it clenched in her stomach and withdrawing her mouth, she screamed and shoved him away from her.
She turned away from him in shame, covering her face in her hands as she tried to curl herself into a ball. The length of chains hampered her, and she found this frustrating, but she resigned herself to the fact without much of a fight.
She wept, disgraced by what she had done. "I'm sorry!" she cried. "I'm so sorry! I'm sorry…"
Her apologies poured out of her, even as Allan's life giving blood pooled soothing warmth within her.
She didn't know how long she had been crying before she felt a hand squeezing her shoulder.
"It's alright," came Allan's wistful voice. "You did well. You're fine, Hermione. I'm fine. Hermione?"
"Please… don't…" she whispered. She didn't know what she didn't want him to do. Perhaps she wished he wouldn't touch her.
Cicero whispered soothing words to her, telling her she did well for her first time, reassuring her Allan was fine. In a while, he coaxed her to look at Allan, and while tears marred her vision, she could see that Allan was standing, and that he was smiling at her, though his wrist was wrapped in a thick bandage where some blood was already getting through.
Cicero handed Allan a vial and Allan drank it down, grimacing at the taste.
As she began to relax, she realized, to her horror, that the hunger hadn't completely gone. It wasn't as bad, but it was there, and it was still whispering to be sated.
I can't take from him again. I'll kill him. I know I will!
"You want some more, don't you?" Cicero asked.
"Make it stop," she whimpered.
Cicero smiled plaintively. "I can't. You will have to feed again, but not now. Now you have fed enough to keep the pain of hunger away. The first feeding determines how much control you have on your instincts. You simply must not abandon reason, or you will want nothing but blood and death. Your first effort is commendable. You did not take more than was necessary from Allan. We will hone your control. It will get easier in time. In the next three days, you will want to keep feeding. The first blood lust is a beast. I will teach you to tame it, and eventually, you wouldn't have to feed all the time. You will be able to go days without having to draw blood."
She focused on the words and realized she was grateful for Cicero's help. She appreciated his care, but she needed someone far more. "I… I want to see Harry. Please? I want-" It was a need-she realized-far more powerful than the blood. Thoughts of Harry set the hunger aside, and she wanted to cling to that. "I want to be with him…"
"I'm sorry, but you cannot. Not yet."
She heard the finality in his voice, so she tried not to cry, though her lips trembled a bit. She was so wracked with emotion that on any other day, she would be disgusted with herself. She would be scolding herself for being impossibly weak, but she supposed today she could allow herself some leeway. She had died. That was a pretty good excuse, wasn't it?
"It is almost daybreak," he said. "I will put you back to sleep and you will rise tonight. When you do, I will be here, and we will do this again."
"Is-Is Allan-"
"No. It will be someone different. Allan will need his rest. I will be bringing a boy named Ethan. He is as kind as Allan, though he can be a bit of a flirt."
Hermione couldn't help but worry. Allan had strangely grown on her. She didn't know if she could shift the comfort she felt for him so quickly to another, but she supposed she would have to trust Cicero.
Cicero stared into her eyes and she felt him stroking her mind. Sleep…
It was merely a suggestion, but she couldn't help giving into it. Slowly, her eyes closed, letting sleep take over.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Harry sat in the waiting room with Ron, Remus and Arthur. It had been an hour since Cicero had descended into the dungeons to attend to Hermione's rising, and while Harry understood why he couldn't be there, it pained him to think that Hermione would be waking up to strangers.
His three companions in the waiting room had engaged in quiet conversation throughout their vigil, and on several occasions, Remus made mention of what he knew of vampires.
"There are factions of them," said Remus. "Like societies. The kind of vampire you are will dictate the company you keep."
Harry tuned in and out of their discussions, always letting his thoughts drift back to her.
Several minutes later, the soundproof wall dividing them from the dungeon's entrance yawned open.
They all got to their feet anxiously.
Cicero stepped out, his "assistant", Allan, in tow.
Allan looked a tad peaky and his wrist was wrapped in a bandage.
Harry eyed him with slight hostility before turning to Cicero. "Well?"
Cicero smiled wanly. "Hermione is in her right mind so far."
A collective sigh of relief escaped them all.
Cicero went on. "Usually, this is a good sign. While there have been instances that madness develops later on, I do not see this happening to Hermione. She was relatively more docile than most newly risen I've encountered, but that's because her will is strong. As she grows more comfortable in her new form, you will find that she will develop a certain… ferocity, but that is a defining vampire trait and it doesn't necessarily mean it's a bad thing. I am proud to report that she responded well to Allan, treating him with respect and consideration."
Harry stifled the glare that he desperately wanted to shoot in Allan's direction.
"It will be another couple of nights before I can let any of you see her," Cicero said. "By that time, I hope to have her prepared enough to deal with it. In the meantime, you must prepare her… chambers. Here is my card." He gave his card out to all of them. "I assume you know how to use a telephone, Mr. Potter?"
Harry nodded.
"Call the office number and ask for Jaime. Tell her you're calling to arrange Hermione Granger's placement in your home. She will basically see to everything. All you have to do is give her your address. Now, be mindful of the hours. Jaime is a vampire. She likes her sleep."
Harry squinted at the card and saw that their hours were from 9 pm to 5 am.
Talk about a dead end nine to five…
"I shall be retiring soon," said Cicero. "You can come back later after sundown, if you wish, though you still won't be allowed to see her. But if you do stop by, I will gladly report on her progress. In the meantime, you might want to acquire and read the following books…" He handed Harry a list. "They best explain how to cope with vampirism in the family."
Harry looked the list over briefly. It wasn't a terribly long list, but the titles ranged from Understanding Vampires to I Drink Blood, I Don't Eat Raw Liver. It was fascinating, if not outright disturbing.
"Now… if you will be so kind, please see Allan out of the hospital. He's a muggle and I'd imagine he could get lost in these halls. I'd rather not have that happen to him, as he's one of my more trustworthy employees."
With that, Cicero turned and closed himself back into the soundproof anteroom.
"That sounds promising, doesn't it?" Arthur said.
Remus smiled plaintively. "Best we could hope for at the moment, at least."
"I wish he'd told us more, though," Ron grumbled, exchanging looks with Harry. "Sounded a bit too clinical for me…"
Harry nodded in agreement. He had so many questions for Cicero about Hermione, but Cicero had popped in and out, droning on about the technical details. He supposed it was too much to ask Cicero for a more personal narrative.
"She wanted to see her friends," Allan suddenly said. "She was afraid you had abandoned her because of what she'd become."
Harry's heart constricted.
"But Cicero assured her you hadn't," continued Allan upon seeing the looks on their faces. "He made her understand that he was the one who forbade you to see her."
That was slightly comforting.
"H-How was she?" Harry didn't know exactly what he wanted to ask. He had no idea how to deal with the idea of coming back from the dead, but he supposed Allan would understand what he needed to know. At least he hoped Allan understood. The guy had done this before, hadn't he?
"She was very frightened at first, but Cicero and I managed to calm her. She knew what she was the moment she got to thinking, and I think that made things easier for all of us. Smart girl."
Ron smiled a bit. "Still the know-it-all, eh?"
Harry didn't know what to make of that comment. On the one hand, he was probably supposed to be proud of her, yet on another, how horrible could that have been for her? Knowing with certainty that she wasn't…
Human.
He shook that thought away. "You-You didn't have to hurt her, did you?"
Allan looked only mildly surprised with this question. "No. We didn't have to use any kind of force. She's a gentle soul. She asked for the lot of you, and then later she asked for Harry."
His breath hitched at that. He wished he could have been there for her. He wished…
It was rather odd that this person didn't know who he was. He supposed he had gotten more used to that than being anonymous, which was sad. This muggle obviously knew things that most of his kind didn't, considering he was standing calmly inside a wizarding facility and he had just given blood to the newly risen, yet Allan stood there, unaware of the very things so known to the Wizarding World. If muggles and wizards could be so different… how much more different could a vampire be?
Harry was beginning to feel very, very weary.
"We should all get some rest," Remus said, gesturing for them to head for the doors. He patted Allan's shoulder as a gesture of thanks.
"She mentioned another name," said Allan.
Arthur smiled. "Ron?"
Allan shook his head. "No. Janus."
Harry didn't recognize the name in the least.
"I think it was the vampire who turned her," said Allan.
Janus. Harry found himself committing that name to memory, wrapping it in his rage and marking it. I'm going to find that bastard and I'm going to kill him for what he did to her. I'm going to string up his-
Arthur and Remus exchanged looks that Harry recognized at once to be significant.
"What?' Harry asked.
Arthur hesitated.
Remus sighed. "If we really want Harry on the board, we must share information like this with him."
Ron exchanged looks with Harry, and if Harry wasn't mistaken, he detected fear and apprehension. Things-familiar things-were coming down around them. The things that made them children were slowly, but surely, being torn down for adulthood.
Harry knew that for him, it had come to him in various ways and aspects. It started with Hermione awakening feelings and emotions in him that used to be unfathomable, then he went to Godric's Hollow where he basically walked into his past so he could look forward; then the horcruxes, the board, Hermione's death, Hermione's rising, and now this…
He didn't know how Ron went about his own path, but they were coming to another intersection, as they always did being the best of friends. Just that some intersections were more pleasant than others. He'd imagine this little crossroads was just as horrible as the one they shared mourning Hermione's death.
Nodding, Arthur sighed. "That information I delivered; the one Ron accompanied me for… it was a list of new Death Eaters. There have been a lot of recruits, of late, and most of them are names we could not trace. Janus was on that list, and he was reported to be an important person. The only problem was we couldn't match his identity to any records we have. It seems… we know now why this is so. We did, of course, consider the possibility of dark creatures. Voldemort has, after all, managed to get the giants, dementors and werewolves to ally themselves with him, but… vampires have always been a rather-er-"
"Snooty lot?" Allan contributed.
For a moment, Harry forgot Allan was part of the conversation.
They stared at him, all of them realizing that maybe they shouldn't have been speaking of these things in front of him.
Allan put his hands up. "Oh, don't worry about me. I know nothing about… well, whatever that is. All I know is Vampires can be dreadfully snobbish. They are only concerned about themselves, how beautiful they are and why so many people find them fascinating. Some have a social conscience, like Cicero, but in general, they can't be depended on to-well-'ally' themselves with anyone. That would be getting their hands too dirty. They don't want that. That's what werewolves are for."
Remus looked quite uncomfortable about that.
"Allan, sit over there and wait," Ron said, pointing to a distant corner.
"Right," said Allan, shamefaced and walking to his corner.
Harry turned to Arthur. "Is there any way we can track Janus down?"
Remus caught on quickly. "Now, Harry…"
"Remus, I'm going to make him pay for what he's done. Don't tell me you don't understand that. You wanted to kill Peter Pettigrew as badly as Sirius did."
"Frankly, Peter Pettigrew's a lot easier to kill than this Janus person," said Remus. "A vampire like him… he has to be notorious for something horrible. He would definitely have to be dangerous. Nobody from the Granger home survived to tell the tale, Harry, but everything suggests that there weren't that many Death Eaters involved. Nobody saw them, for one, and nobody saw Janus when he left. He moved too fast, that's why. There had to be a wizard, of course, because someone had to cast the dark mark, but what if… what if Janus did it all by himself? You heard what Cicero said. Wizard vampires don't necessarily lose all their magical powers. He could have massacred the lot of aurors and Hermione's parents then cast the dark mark by himself. Vampires are killing machines, in themselves, but what if he's ancient? That would make him far worse."
Harry glared. "I'm not afraid of him."
Ron frowned. "Well, I am. Harry, if you're going to do this, I'm going to ask you nicely to make sure you know what you're getting into. I don't think I can cope with both my best friends being vampires, and that's being optimistic. What if Janus decides you're not fit to be raised? You'll just be dead."
Not the most eloquent speech, but effective enough. Harry certainly felt the full bluntness of it and actually made him pensive.
Arthur nodded, clapping his son on the back. "At any rate, we expect Harry to use this information I've given him responsibly. We can depend on you for that, right Harry?"
Grudgingly, Harry nodded.
"Good! Now, let's take our young friend over there and head on home. It's been a rather long day, don't you think?"
Longest day of my life, Harry thought.
Arthur led the way and Harry lagged. He didn't want to leave Hermione behind but he knew there was nothing he could do for her now. It was very depressing.
Ron fell back with him and Allan sort of stayed to the side.
When they rose to ground level and stepped out of St. Mungos, Allan turned to them and smiled.
"You're Harry, right?" Allan said, looking at him.
Harry arched an eyebrow. "Yeah…"
Allan jerked his head to the side. "Come here for a minute."
Harry arched an eyebrow at Ron questioningly. Ron shrugged. With that, Harry approached Allan who pulled him even further aside.
"Give me that book list."
Hesitantly, Harry did.
Allan brought out a pen and crossed out a few books while marking a few with asterisks. "Those are redundant… this is really important… this one can be read when you just feel like it…" He looked up and grinned. "I'm going to let you in on a book that I really think you'll need, my friend."
Harry looked at him warily.
Allan began to write something at the bottom of the list. "You and Hermione… you're-erm, together? As in… you know…"
Harry reddened. Was this necessary? "Umm… we…"
"I figured as much. Then you have to get this book." Allan shoved the list back into Harry's hand and pointed to the bottom where he had written: So Your Sweetheart's A Vampire, 8th Edition by Angel N. Buffie. "You have to get the 8th Edition, mate, or else you won't have the chapter about Vampires and leather."
Harry blinked. "She-um-I don't think she-"
"Get the 8th Edition anyway. The newer the better, eh? Check page 281. Very sexy."
"Right." Harry couldn't believe he was committing the page to memory.
Allan gave him a pat on the shoulder and smiled. "Well then, I'm off. I'll probably never see you again, but it has been interesting. It always is around here."
Harry finally found it in himself to cock Allan a grin. The guy wasn't all that bad… once Harry got over the feeding thing…
Alright, maybe I won't get over that anytime soon, but I suppose he did help Hermione. "Thank you, Allan. For all your help, I mean."
Allan waved his thanks away. "All part of the service. Listen, I really got to go. I've a Trigonometry exam in a few hours…"
"Er-sure…"
"Gotta cram, you know, so… ciao!"
"Uh, yeah. Ciao…"
Allan walked off with his hands shoved into his pockets.
Harry headed back to his companions.
"What did he want?" Ron asked.
"Nothing. He was just saying goodbye." Harry could feel his face warming.
"Muggles can be so barmy," Ron muttered.
Arthur took out his wand. "Well, grab hold, then. Time to head on home."
Ron took his father's coat and Harry took hold of Remus's.
With a quick flick of their wands, Harry felt that yank within his navel as they apparated back to Grimmauld Place.
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A/N: I am forever thankful for your reviews, and a lot of you have been so helpful.
For some reason, I feel compelled to remind my readers that this is more a romance than anything else. I'll have some kind of action/suspense back story, indeed, but romance is my primary genre. I'm just really a sap junkie, and that's the truth of it. Angst is good, too.