Author's note: I did a tribute to Buffy the Vampire Slayer in this chapter. I took a few lines of dialogue from Buffy quotes and stuck them in this chapter. For those interested, see if you can spot them. Hehe.
This was supposed to be a long-ass chapter, but I cut this one and put the rest in the next chapter, simply because there would have been too much going on if I dumped it all here. Chapter 9 is coming along nicely so I'll have it out for you soon.
Once again, special thanks to Lady Diamond! It's the holidays, and one certainly can't expect anybody to work on holidays, but she finished editing this in time for Thanksgiving, and that makes her the best.
Chapter Rating: R (I know. Haven't had smut in a while, but fear not, there's still more to-ahem-come.)
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Chapter Eighth: Calling
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Harry broke the surface of slumber and felt a cool hand touching his forehead with delicate pressure. The comfort surrounding him rippled gently to nudge his headache away, and the pleasant scent of all things her was a balm to his disorientation.
"Hermione?" he said, his voice gravelly. Slowly, he opened his eyes and naturally, everything was a horrible blur.
"Nope, sorry." It sounded like Tonks. It probably was.
He remembered, in a rush, why Hermione wasn't there, and it made him feel miserable. He tried to get up and felt his vision spin rather viciously. Perhaps seeing the glazed look in his eyes, Tonk's blurry hand went to his shoulder, coaxing him back down.
"'Fraid not, Harry. Give yourself a few more minutes."
She didn't exactly have to twist his arm. His vertigo left him with little choice but to lie back down and let it pass.
He felt something being slipped into his hand. It was his glasses, and when he put them on, he saw that Ron was in the room, too.
They were in Hermione's room, which was a bit strange. One would think they'd bring him to his own room. Then again, he was thankful for the softness of the bed.
The question must have reflected on his face because Tonks said, "Ron hauled you in here and I suppose any room is as good as any."
Harry could only surmise Ron had done it out of some subconscious awareness of Harry's need to be near Hermione, or something like that. At the moment, he was in no position to be pondering Freud.
"What happened?" he croaked.
"That's what we want to know. We heard you screaming," Ron said in his oft-heard awed tone. "And when we got to you, you were holding your scar and it was glowing. You looked like you were in pain, Harry. Were you?"
Harry shot him a sardonic grimace. "No, Ron, I wasn't in pain. I was just screaming for dramatic effect."
Honestly, the stupid questions… no wonder Hermione loses patience with all of us sometimes.
Ron arched an eyebrow with deliberate slowness before turning to Tonks. "He's going to be fine."
Tonks shot Ron a wry look. She leaned over Harry and pulled down the skin beneath his eye.
Harry wrenched his face away instinctively. He wasn't about to risk having her poke his eye out. "Tonks!"
"You're still very pale," she said. "Sarcasm does not count as recovery."
The prospect of Tonks attempting any kind of treatment was something he might consider an occupational hazard, but he wasn't about to tell her that. "Yes, but-umm-what happened to the installation crew?"
"Well, they freaked out, of course," said Ron. "I swear, short of throwing virgin sacrifices at your scar, you'd think they've never seen worse working for vampires."
Trust Ron to put my scar and virgin sacrifices in one sentence, he thought with a slight smirk. "Are they still working down there?"
Ron nodded.
"Well, it was my first time to see your scar do that," said Tonks, looking rather freaked out, herself.
"Welcome to my world," Harry muttered.
"So did you-" Ron began uncertainly. "Did you feel… You-Know-Who?"
It took all of Harry's will power not to roll his eyes. "Oh yes. There was plenty of You-Know-Poo."
Ron and Tonks didn't exactly appreciate the Weasley's Wizard Wheezes joke.
This served to irritate him. "Voldemort was furious about something."
Ron winced at the name and Tonks looked like she was going to be sick.
Harry wished Hermione were there to say, "Oh, honestly! Saying his name won't have the sky raining fire on us!"
"Furious about what?" asked Ron, breaking through his thoughts.
"I don't know, exactly, but there was a vampire there, and Voldemort punished him with a spell. Lumos solem."
Tonks nodded grimly. "That'll work if your magic's powerful enough, but a patronus works best for vampire-type creatures. You-Know-Who probably can't conjure one. Being dark and evil probably puts a damper on the positive-thoughts thing."
"Naturally." Harry never really thought of it that way until now, but he supposed the bad guys didn't have much to worry about on the matter of Dementors, anyway, not when they were working under the same boss.
"So these visions of yours," said Tonks. "They're… true?"
"They tend to be that, yeah."
"What do you remember of it, then? Where you somewhere? A dungeon? A tower? Was there anybody else in the room?"
Harry shook his head. "I didn't see anything like that. There was just Voldemort and the vampire. I can't even see Voldemort because I was looking through his eyes. I saw his hand, and his wand, but other than that, it was just the vampire."
"Can you describe this vampire, then?"
Harry tried to focus on remembering. "He's tall. Really skinny. Like a rockstar." It was the only way he could explain it. There had been something terribly androgynous about the vampire, trendy clothes and all. He was, however, certain that the vampire was male.
He wasn't sure if Tonks would understand the rockstar reference, but she was half-muggle and she had that look about her that screamed rocker.
Tonks's eyes widened. "Rockstar? Like one of those drugged up, alcohol guzzling, muggle men in oh-so-tight tight leather pants who call themselves Iggy and have groupies?"
Apparently, she knew more than he gave her credit for. "Er-"
She reddened at the cheeks. "Sorry. David Bowie and Mick Jagger flashback there for a second… go on, then. What else do you remember of this vampire?"
Harry exchanged brief looks of uncertainty with Ron. Ron just shrugged.
"His hair's black," continued Harry. "Probably even blacker at a glance, but I think he's got… whatchamacallit? Like brushes of red in his hair? You know-when light hits it, you see it-"
"Highlights."
"Yeah, that's it. And his eyes are weird. Like gold."
"Interesting. Distinguishing marks?"
Harry didn't hesitate. "He had tattoos going down his-er-stomach…"
"Like on his tummy?"
"Mmmaybe a little lower than that."
"Oh." She paused to give it a brief thought before her eyes widened, twinkling. "Oh! Well, that's a rather fanciable vampire, isn't it? Ha! Me and my creatures of the night."
That was very disturbing; then again, Harry had his own creature of the night to fancy, now.
Tonks stood, pointing to some vials on the nightstand. "You can have some Pepper-up Potion if you want, but I recommend you pass up the potion and sleep off the after-effects of your… ordeal. I'm going downstairs to tell Remus about this vision of yours and check on the installation crew, so you don't have to worry about anything for the meantime. Alright?"
"Thanks, Tonks."
"No problem."
She left.
Harry pushed himself up gingerly, pulling a pillow up to cushion his back. The vertigo was gone, but his head still throbbed and his limbs felt weak.
Ron plopped at the foot of the bed, sighing. "Somehow, I have this feeling that I should've expected something like this to happen."
Harry cocked him a weary smile as he made himself more comfortable. "Oh, you know me. I'm just full of dark surprises."
"No, I mean I really should've expected it. Hermione did. She mentioned something like it."
Harry stared at him. "Hermione knew I was going to have a vision?"
"What? No. Don't be silly. Hermione stormed out of divinations and she hates prophecies like the plague; 'specially yours."
"She does?"
"She never told you?"
"N-No…"
Ron waved dismissively. "Probably didn't want to worry you, then. Anyway, when she and I were talking at St. Mungo's, she told me to watch over you because she can't right now. She said that if your scar acts up, I ought to convince you to tell her about it. I swear that girl always needs something to sink her teeth into-ugh! Bad choice of words…"
There were too many things to think about in Ron's statement. Too many questions popping up out of nowhere. So Hermione had issues about his prophecy. Well, so did he, but he thought the drama of its revelation was over and done with. She certainly never brought it up again, but the fact that she'd said something about it to Ron and nothing to him… maybe it wasn't such a closed issue after all. And then there's her telling Ron to watch over him, as if he needed watching over, and then the scar…
He wondered contritely if he and Hermione had spent too much time being intimate and not enough time talking.
Well, of course we talked. We talked about everything and nothing and all of the things in between. We'd talk in the library, and in the bedroom, and on the dinner table, and wherever we happened to be. We'd talked about silly things and smart things and stupid things and serious things. Heck, we'd even talked about Voldemort and horcruxes after we brought it up with Arthur that first night Ron joined us here in Grimmauld Place.
But she never brought up the prophecy, did she?
Harry frowned. Well, neither did I.
She did, actually. Once, when she told Ron that futures weren't meant to be foretold. But then, it had been a fleeting reference. She gave no hint about having more significant issues about it…
But of course she would have issues about it! he scolded himself. She always worries about me and it's only natural that a prophecy that says "kill or be killed" with me and Voldemort in it would drive her up the wall…
He grit his teeth, fists clenching. Harry, you stupid idiot…
"Er… Harry?"
Harry scowled. "Look, I don't need watching over and… and… what the hell's she doing telling you all that and telling me nothing? I tell her everything. She tells me everything! When did this cloak and dagger shite start? What have you two been talking about behind my back? Just what the hell do you think you're doing, Ron?"
Ron's eyes widened in shock. "Merlin, Godric and Morgana! What shit-storm is this?"
That's all it took for Harry to realize what he was saying, and he became thoroughly ashamed of himself. He reddened and he cast Ron an apologetic look before burying his face in his hands. "Oh, hell… I'm sorry, Ron. I didn't mean that…"
"Well, of course you didn't!" said Ron irritably. "Look, mate, it's midnight and you've had four hours of sleep in the last thirty six-"
"Forty."
"Forty hours. Get some rest."
"Mr. Full Night's Sleep over here," Harry muttered.
"Well, I don't have a scar splitting my head in two, do I?"
"Yeah. Lucky you." Harry had meant to sound flippant, but he supposed the whole connection-to-Voldemort thing was no laughing matter.
Ron sighed, cocking him an apologetic smile. "Get some sleep. We'll try to talk to Hermione again tomorrow, alright?"
Harry nodded and Ron left.
He sank lower down the bed. He wished he had one of those communicator units so he could just give Hermione a ring whenever. They had been inseparable since they moved into Grimmauld Place, and when they weren't together, they were always somewhere they could find each other. This total isolation from her was driving him mad.
Day after next, she'll be coming home. That's not long, so get a grip.
He wasn't sure why he was being so needy, anyway. He knew where she was. He knew he would see her soon. But it had felt like forever.
Maybe you're afraid, said her voice of reason.
Afraid? he replied. I don't get what you mean. I'm certainly not afraid of her because all I want is for her to come home so I can be with her again. That isn't the desire of a frightened man.
Oh, not of her, you blithering idiot.
Then what? How else can fear apply in this situation?
Things are delicate between you and her now, you know. Whether you want to admit it or not.
Well, I admit that the vampire-matter is more than a bump in the road… more like a mountain, actually. I'm aware of the obstacles.
Are you? From the moment she woke up, she started on the path of the vampire. You're afraid, Harry, that every second you're away from her, the more vampire she'd become, and that one day soon, you might not be able to follow. You're afraid that she'll forget how to be human, and she'll forget about you.
Harry's jaw clenched. She won't ever forget about me. Maybe she'll realize some day that I'm not good enough for her, and maybe she'll look at me one morning and realize she isn't in love with me, but she won't ever abandon our friendship. She won't ever walk away and refuse to look back. Our friendship's too important to her.
Pretty, greeting card thoughts. Does Schrivenshaft's carry greets for vampires? Happy Turn Day? Merry Blood Mitzvah? Thanks for the friendship and not biting me on the neck?
"Shut it," he whispered, closing his eyes. Shut it.
Her voice of reason was silent.
He sighed in relief.
Soon. She'll be home, soon.
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… three hours since I last fed. The last wizard, one named Jiro, was a lot like Ethan. Flirty, a bit of a jokester, but gentler, like Allan. He said he was twenty-five, but he looked like he was eighteen. He said he was half-Japanese, and that his Asian lineage took years off his appearance. His features were dark, except for his elegant doe-eyes, which were a clear, ocean blue. He was of average height, rather skinny, but he didn't seem bony at all. Rather like Harry, in general.
I wonder if Cicero does it on purpose; bringing in these slender, dark-featured blokes. No platinum blondes and redheads for me, it seems. It makes perfect sense, I suppose. Allan and Ethan and Jiro share Harry's general traits. No glasses, though. I suppose that wouldn't be subtle, and Cicero abhors vulgarity.
Cicero says I can feed again at around five in the morning. I suppose I can endure until then, but this hunger… it's beyond anything I've ever experienced. I can feel it in my bones; in my head; in my hands. Like my own body is sucking me dry. How can Cicero go days at a time without feeding?
Practice, he said.
I do want to get to that point; where hunger doesn't rule me. I want to be able to live this life without having to deal with this constant craving. Cicero said he could only show me how, and that I'd have to do the rest of it on my own, which is why he's only going to keep me here until the day after next. After he shows me how, I go home and I try to do. He said he would still act as my guide in the next two weeks of the transition. He warns me that it would be difficult, but that so long as I keep a positive attitude, I will be able to overcome my obstacles.
He sounds like he could be on an alternative-universe Norman Rockwell painting. The Smiling Corpse. Positive even in death.
Beyond two weeks, I'd have to personally retain him. Like a therapist. It's the funniest thing. A vampire who has a therapist. It's the stuff of sitcoms. Who knew that the undead needed head shrinking, too? And then there's the matter of payment. Where am I going to get the money to pay for his services? Where am I going to get the money to pay my way through life, period? I'm not even sure I'd get what my parents left me. Legally, I'm dead, so I suppose my inheritance would go to the next of kin.
God, my parents are dead. Horribly dead. I can still see their murdered bodies falling on me. I can't bear to think of them. Not now. Not yet. Disturbingly, I don't seem to find that difficult to do. It's like I can just set them aside, as primly as you please. A folded jumper I can neatly stash in one of my many pristinely kept drawers. I'm scared that the vampire in me has stopped me from feeling grief for them. I can't seem to summon tears for them now, yet I cry about the stupidest, littlest things.
Cicero said I'm still in shock about them. That's his all-purpose explanation. When I mention something about being off-kilter, that's what he says. And I couldn't understand a bit of it if I tried. All these concepts are abstract to me. Shock. Transition. Separation of self. What the heck does all that psychobabble mean? I'm supposed to be the brightest witch of my age. Now all I feel is that I'm the deadest witch of my age, and I just happen to be alive and thirsting for blood. Girl Who's Undead.
The Boy Who Lived and the Girl Who's Undead. Match made in hell.
Hilarious. In a depressing sort of way.
~~
Hermione sighed and threw down her quill as she sat hunched over her journal. She buried her face in her hands and growled.
Cicero, who sat at the other end of the chamber as he scribbled over some papers on a desk, looked up at her. "Alright, Hermione?"
"Fine," she replied automatically, picking up her quill. Stop feeling sorry for yourself, Granger!
She continued to write:
~~
Getting back to the matter of employment, it's no easy thing to be a vampire and think of career options. I suppose I can take a night shift of something, but I can't possibly do something as mundane as floo help-desks or-I don't know-security detail. It sounds so stupid. Besides, what am I going to do with the health and dental plan? What am I going to do with a stupid retirement plan, for that matter? It's just-everything for the living is so ill suited to me now. I can't even go shopping! The only times Harrods and Diagon Alley is open until midnight is during special occasions, and surely they can't expect me to wait for holidays to shop.
And that's another thing. As of this moment, every pastel thing I own seems to REPULSE me. I used to love my pinks and purples and whites. Now it's just-BLECH! I keep telling myself that I'm not going to become one of those dark, Goth, leather-strapping vampires with a cheesy Euro-trash accent, but it's like I'm doomed to the stereotype whether I like it or not!
EVERYTHING about me is changing and I don't know if I can stand it.
I don't know if Harry can stand it.
He'll leave me.
I just know he will.
~~
Her eyes stung and her throat constricted. With trembling hands, she continued to write.
~~
He'll leave me.
I just know he will.
He promised that we'd get through this. I have to believe in him. I always have, anyway. Only this time, I have to be strong, too. I have to believe in myself.
My thoughts are so disjointed. I just keep wandering from what's important.
Job.
Alright.
I asked Cicero about this.
He said I mustn't worry. He said that already, some people have contacted his office about me and possible employment. Many offers, he says. Because even in the vampire world, many know about Hermione Granger. Just like many know about Harry Potter. Even Ronald Weasley. Until I was turned, the three of us were sort of… part of those rare human untouchables. Like Dumbledore, and Voldemort, and Viktor Krum, and Cornelius Fudge. It's a vampire thing. No vampire should be so arrogant as to take it upon himself to turn any of this distinguished lot. Almost like it's taboo. But then I suppose Janus isn't one to go with the grain. And that now I'm vampire, everyone wants a piece of me.
Not exactly reassuring, these job offers. I'm still trying to wrap my mind around the fact that I'd have to give up my aspirations as a witch in the Wizarding World. I feel as if everything I learned in Hogwarts was ripped from my brain just before I was dropkicked into the real world without a stitch of clothing on.
How come nobody has given me a booklist? I think Harry got one. Cicero mentioned it. Where's my booklist? I'm the one who has to adjust to being undead. Why do I have to learn everything the hard way?
~~
Hermione tossed her quill aside miserably, clapping the pages of her journal shut.
If she let herself fall into that abyss of self-pity, she might not get out of it.
She lay back down on her bed, her shackles shifting against each other as she lay on her side. She reached for another chocolate in the open box. More than half of the chocolates were gone, but she wasn't about to binge on them again. She had felt the intoxicating effects of consuming too much of it at once, and while it hadn't been unpleasant, it had been a bit embarrassing. She had literally gotten drunk on them and she must have said some pretty ridiculous things because Cicero seemed vastly amused.
The hunger nagged her, and taking Cicero's earlier advice of keeping herself occupied, she picked up the book Ron got her and began to read.
She had read through several interesting pages when there was a knock on the dungeon door.
She looked up from her book, watching as Cicero rose from his desk to answer the summons. She couldn't see who it was but she smelled the life-blood.
Hermione closed her eyes and focused on pushing the urge back. Cicero had taught her simple meditation techniques. They were surprisingly effective.
Moments later, the dungeon door banged shut and Cicero was beside her, smiling gently as he held up an envelope.
She sat up and he handed the envelope to her.
The paper was thick and of good quality; its color a pleasing, vintage beige, like the paper had been aged on purpose. There was an aquamarine-blue seal on it, like no wax Hermione had seen before. The image on the seal was of a naked woman on her knees. She had wings, and they were outstretched behind her while she held up a sphere twice as big as her head.
Hermione tried to place the image. "The winged goddess, Isis. Holding the eye of Horus."
Cicero nodded. "Very good. It's an appropriate seal for the organization that sent you that."
"Which organization?"
"Break the seal and find out."
Hermione did. The letter was hand-written. The penmanship was exquisite and the lines were perfectly straight. Obviously a woman's hand, but a very strong woman, if the embedded slashes and dots were any indication. The same symbol on the seal graced the left-hand top of the page, followed by an odd, streamlined cuneiform-type of language.
She pointed to it. "Is this what I think it is?"
Cicero smirked, peering into her eyes.
She felt a brush of his presence in her mind. Nothing more.
He nodded. "It is, indeed, what you think it is. It's the vampire language."
"Great," she muttered. "As if things weren't complicated enough."
"You'll have to learn it, of course, but it's only used in very formal vampire-discourse, usually when there's a ritual involved. And yes, it's used for clan names and organizations. It's convenient for affiliation purposes. But English and whatever mortal language is perfectly functional. It will serve. Go on, then. Read the rest of the letter."
Hermione eyed him a bit suspiciously. She had a feeling Cicero already knew what the letter contained.
~~
Dear Ms. Granger,
It has come to our attention that you have recently been turned. As it so happens, your name came up in our oracle as being particularly suited to our organization's goals. Given this pre-disposition, it is incumbent upon my office to set an appointment with you so that I can orient you on your career options with respect to our organization.
Rest assured I will not sell you anything. Nor will we threaten you with death should you refuse. One of the most important aspects of the Coven of Isis is a member's willingness to serve. We are nothing if not principled.
Let it be said that we hadn't had a unilateral recommendation from our oracle in the last five hundred years. Though I do admit, on hindsight, that's not much in vampire years, but the case being that you're newly turned, five hundred years would seem like a rather impressive number for you.
I would appreciate a response at your soonest convenience.
Sincerely,
Yasmin ibna Omar al-Khwarizm
Coven Master and Blood Keeper
~~
Hermione looked up. "Five hundred years? Is that supposed to make me feel special?"
Cicero laughed softly. "Well… maybe, or maybe not. The Coven of Isis makes recruitments on a more regular basis than that, of course, but they aren't oracle recommended. Oracle endorsed, yes. Usually the coven picks a candidate, runs it by the oracle and the oracle approves it. But as it says in your letter, you're the first unilateral recommendation in five hundred years. In other words, it spat out your name without being asked."
"Well, I think that rather makes me feel special."
He shrugged. "Understandable. But it has also been proven, through history, that the Oracle is as much an instrument of fate as everything and everybody else. Sometimes the Oracle summons someone for his or her own merits, but there have been times that someone is summoned as a means to someone or something else far more important."
"Wonderful. I'm a pawn."
He smirked. "Aren't we all?"
She shot him a wry grin. "Well, whatever this oracle is, I'll have you know that I don't believe in anything remotely connected to divination, or fate, for that matter. It's inexact science, if it can be called a science at all. I find the subject ridiculous and hocus-pocusy, so you'll excuse me if I have no compunction to trust this bloody oracle of theirs."
"Bloody oracle is a rather appropriate way of putting it, actually. It's a magical object made purely of living blood. What binds it and keeps it alive, no one can explain, but it has been a very handy tool. They say it's the blood of Isis herself, and so long as Isis's blood-line survives to keep it, it shall serve the coven."
"Isis's line…"
"Blood line. Yasmin carries that line within her. The records of her ancestors and their living descendants are a closely guarded secret. It is the coven's most prized treasure. Through the millennia, there have been many unwarranted attempts to read its contents. All have failed. Only a true heir can decipher its words, and while Yasmin walks this earth, she is the only true heir there is."
"So what happens when she dies?"
"The next true heir will arise. She'd have to be turned, of course."
"She?"
"It's always a woman. That hasn't changed in the last five thousand years."
"Fascinating. So what do these coven vampires do?"
"It'd be best to hear it from Yasmin."
"Are you a member of the coven?"
"No. I'm a consultant of sorts, but not a member. I'd rather not limit my practice. Not that the Coven is very limiting… In spite of the fact that the powerbase of the coven rests on women, there's an impressively vast male following."
"Huh. Makes sense. Goddess worshippers and such."
He nodded. "Many similar organizations with male powerbases defer to them. The Brotherhood of Osiris, for one. Then there's also the Blood-Kin of Ramses. The Coven is one of the most powerful vampire organizations there is. You should seriously consider meeting with Yasmin."
"I sense a theme of sorts."
Cicero smirked. "Do you?"
"Isis, Horus, Osiris, Ramses… Oracle? What's with all the Egyptian references?"
"A bit of vampire lore unknown to many. Many believe that vampires originated in Egypt, rather than-as modern muggle tomes say-the Carpathians. Perhaps in Europe, that would be accurate, but the Blood of All has been traced to Thebes. Europe, after all, didn't do blood sacrifices until the late 13th century, and such sacrifices weren't vampire-oriented, either. Usually, the dragons swooped in and just swallowed the virgins whole, you know?"
Hermione shuddered.
"Besides, it's no easy thing for a vampire, crossing continents by boat. You've never known hell until you've traveled by boat as vampire. Believe you me."
Hermione didn't want to have to experience that. She put the note away. "I think I'll meet with Ms. Omar. Seems like the polite thing to do considering their Oracle took five hundred years to speak its mind. Besides… you had her letter delivered here. It must be special to get your endorsement."
He chuckled. "That, it is, Hermione. Special doesn't even begin to describe the Coven of Isis."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Hermione wrote an owl confirming her desire to meet with Yasmin ibna Omar al-Khwarizm. Cicero explained to Hermione that she would not get a reply back, just that Yasmin would one day appear at her doorstep.
"But… what if I'm at Grimmauld Place by then? She won't be able to find the house. It's unplottable," said Hermione.
Cicero looked thoughtful. "Now, there's the twist, eh? Maybe you'll have to send her an invitation. As you know… if the 'man' of the house expressly invites a vampire into his home, all enchantments and advantages you have over the vampire fall away at the threshold. She'd be able to find your house."
She was a bit troubled by that, remembering how one vampire managed to get through every ward of her house. She didn't feel like asking Harry to give that kind of permission to a vampire she knew very little about. "I… I'm not sure I'd want to-that is-"
He smiled in understanding. "You don't have to, of course. Yasmin will manage. You need not worry yourself. But… on my honor, you can trust her. She will not harm you and yours."
She smiled gratefully.
For what remained of that night, Cicero ran her through the old routine of feeding, discussing and then sleeping. The following evening, it was the same, only this time, he told her she would only have one meal. It wasn't as hard as she thought. Her fill of blood from the previous day seemed to have lessened her hunger considerably, and she was able to hold on until midnight. An hour after her first and last feeding of the day, Cicero told her that he had allowed for Harry and Ron to speak to her again through the communicator. She was ecstatic.
Like before, Harry spoke to her first. His light-projected face brought a smile to her lips. Her feelings for him swelled like a deep tide and she told herself that every hour that went by was one hour closer to being with him again.
He was as thoughtful of her as ever, and this time, he brought books. They were the books he had been assigned to read, and he eagerly showed them to her. He told her about Vampires For Dummies and Underworld: Vampire Society.
"I loaned Ron Bloody Mary's Not a Drink, She's In the Basement because he was desperate for something to read," he explained.
She was surprised by this. "Desperate to read? That's… unprecedented."
Harry laughed. "Oy, give the bloke some credit. He managed six years of Hogwarts. He could at least read and pass in homework and-dare I say it-study."
"I was beginning to suspect that was a myth."
He laughed again. It was wonderful to hear him laugh. She liked that she could invoke it in him. It was at that moment she realized that she was never really one to make people laugh. She was always so serious and-well, rather uptight. Every once in a while she said something that would have her boys doubling over in laughter, but those moments were almost always unguarded ones. She never tried to be funny, but she supposed that when she was, she always only realized she was funny after.
She wondered if she had any talents at all with respect to this. She can't ever be goofy-funny like Ron. She was always more along the lines of… scathingly funny. She used to think it was terribly mean of her to be like that, and it was probably why she didn't always pull out the big guns. But now it seemed… easy. Maybe it had to do with her vampire ferocity. Cicero said that was a vampire trait, and that vampires manifested it in various ways.
"You know, Ron and I have been very studious since you woke up. Following in your footsteps, you might say. Wake up, eat, read, discuss what we read, sleep, wake up, eat…"
"It's as if you know me…" she said, affecting awe.
He smiled. "I'm nothing if I didn't know you."
And of course her stomach did a flip at that. "God, Harry, sometimes I just want to-I don't know-reward you, or something. Like knit you a hat or… or smother you in whip cream and lick you all over."
He blinked, looking mildly shocked. "Knit me a hat?"
She stared at him briefly before replying. "Er… you don't fancy a hat? A jumper, mayhaps?"
"Methinks you've got me confused with a house elf. I'll have you know that giving me clothes won't get rid of me."
She giggled. "And I'm supposed to insert innuendo about taking off your clothes right about here."
"And don't forget, you promised whipped cream, too."
That gave her pause.
He grinned. "You didn't seriously believe I'd let that pass without comment, did you?"
There was nothing to do but laugh.
Harry was particularly playful that night. He was his usual unpretentious self. Charming because of it. And he was so eager to please her. He told her he loved her every so often and she couldn't help but lavish affection in return.
All this of course meant he was hiding something. She attempted to worm it out of him but he shut it down with a well-placed witty retort. She did not try again.
When they said their goodbyes, she felt that familiar ache of seeing him go. Broke her heart every time.
Then it was Ron's turn, and Ron went into his usual routine of being comically stupid, until-of course-he told her just what Harry's been hiding.
"I hope he told you his scar hurt him again last night," said Ron. "He said he would."
I knew it! she thought bitterly. I knew he was hiding something! Gritting her teeth, she felt heat coalescing in her eyes.
Perhaps realizing what her silence meant, he sighed. "Oh, for Merlin's sake. Are you two in a relationship or what? And I don't particularly appreciate being caught in the middle of all this. Last night, Harry ripped into me because you were keeping things from him, too!"
She bristled. "What happened?"
"Well, you apparently haven't talked to him about your issues regarding the prophe-"
"Sod the prophecy! Tell me about his scar!"
"You see, this is the thanks I get for being Harry Potter's and Hermione Granger's best friend. The abuse I get from the both of you!"
The effect was instantaneous. She felt horribly ungrateful. "Oh, hex me… I'm sorry, Ron. Truly. You've been wonderful about all this and Harry and I truly appreciate you. It's just a little crazy right now…"
"Yeah, yeah. I know. It's alright."
She smiled wanly, warmed by Ron's loyalty and friendship. She itched to bring up Harry's scar again, but she didn't want to seem too insensitive. She fidgeted, wondering how best to bring it up.
"It caught him in the dungeons," said Ron without prompting. "We just heard him screaming and next thing we knew, he'd passed out. Just for fifteen minutes this time."
She sighed in relief. "Did he tell you what he saw?"
Ron narrated it.
Hermione's stomach dropped. From Ron's description of the vampire, she was almost sure of what transpired. "That's Janus, the vampire who turned me. And I think I know why Voldemort's angry with him. I have reason to believe that he was supposed to kill me that night, but for some reason, he decided to turn me. And Voldemort is not pleased. I couldn't be sure why that would piss Voldemort off. After all, it could be argued that my becoming a vampire is a fate worse than death…"
"Hermione…"
She realized how her words affected him and knew her mistake. "Oh, Ron. Oh, dear, don't… I didn't mean that to be my feelings. I'm grateful to be alive. Just that-you know this won't be easy, right? This thing I've become? But I'll take what I'm given and I'll bear no regrets. Please… please don't tell Harry I said what I said. Alright?"
He gave another sigh, or frustration this time. "Alright… but-"
"We'll concentrate on what Voldemort finds so unappealing about this situation," she said briskly. "We don't know if they're certain I'm alive. After all, you could've executed me before I could rise, but frankly, I doubt they'd believe I was dead. For one thing, I think Janus might have some residual psychic connection with me, so at least he's sure I was allowed to rise. And even if he keeps this information from Voldemort, I think Voldemort is more inclined to believe that the Order wouldn't kill me. He knows that the lot of us aren't as cold-blooded as he is. If we find out what got Voldemort so teed off, perhaps we can take advantage of that. Cut whatever plans he has right at the knees."
Ron nodded but sighed. "Hermione, you know that you scare me, don't you? Sometimes the way you think-it's almost diabolical."
She frowned. "Well, I don't mean to be that way."
"I know. That's what frightens me. You're not even trying. I swear, if Harry had been sorted to Slytherin, I reckon you'd be right there with him."
"There are just so many levels upon which I can find umbrage with what you just said. Besides, I got sorted before Harry did, so you can't say I followed him into Gryffindor."
Ron shook his head. "It doesn't matter if you were sorted first or if he was sorted first. We already know where we would be sorted to before the hat is put on us. Weren't you listening to Harry? The hat gave him a choice. If Harry had been more inclined to go to Slytherin instead of Gryffindor, you would've known that already. You and Harry knew things about one another the moment you introduced yourselves to each other on the train. So by the time you got around to the hat…"
"I'd have known which house I wanted to be in," she finished for him, awed by the depth of Ron's insight. "Weasley… I'm-well-I'm just… alright, who are you and what have you done to my best friend?"
Ron shot her a sardonic grin. "Har-de-har-har! I'm not as thick as you think I am, you know."
"And the world ends at what time?"
"Sometimes I wonder what Harry sees in you."
"I've often wondered the same thing about you, Ron."
There was a silence and when next they looked at each other, they laughed.
"Sometimes," Ron continued. "I wonder why we pull for that four-eyed sod."
Hermione smiled. "Because he's worth the fight. Because he's everything good and true and-"
"I've heard this from you before: ad nauseum," he groaned, but he was smiling. "But yeah, I can't help but agree with you. I don't believe he has nine lives, but Someone greater than all of this is rooting for him, that's for sure. The bloke's… I don't know. Just no one else like him, is there? You hate him and want to punch his face in sometimes, but you just know that if you follow him, to the ends of the earth maybe, you're doing the right thing. You know that you're following a real, honest to goodness hero who will fight the good fight and possibly sacrifice his life for everyone without a second thought."
She felt a tightening in her throat. "Yes."
Ron's eyes widened. "Blimey… when I say it like that, it suddenly makes all the sense in the world why you're shagging him and not me!"
And that did it.
"Ronald Bilius Weasley!"
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Harry pried his eyes open and felt his lids scraping against them. Drowsily, he reached for his wristwatch and tried to decipher the time without his glasses on. It was a bit of a struggle but he managed to see the blurry hands pointing at ten in the morning.
Five hours of sleep. Not bad, Potter.
Groggily, he pushed out of bed and stared out of the window of Hermione's room. He slid on his glasses on and ran his fingers through his hair. His dazed thoughts began to solidify and he smiled. Tonight, Hermione was coming home.
He looked at the pictures on her bedside table. There was one muggle photograph of him and her, taken from one of those spiffy new "digital" cameras her parents gave her for her sixteenth birthday. He remembered her vaguely telling him that she spelled the camera to work in Hogwarts, and she had Dean Thomas take the picture for them. He and Hermione were a bit at odds, then. What with her disapproval of the Half-Blood Prince's book, but he supposed she was too excited about the camera to make that an issue at the time. It had been a relief to him, anyway, that Hermione wasn't upset about something. Last school year, it seemed that was all she was: upset. Upset about potions, about Hagrid, about Ron, about him… so when she came to him, grinning about her new camera and wanting to get a picture of them-well, it was so nice to see her happy. He let all his worries fall away and hadn't even thought about saying no. She sat right beside him on the common room couch and they didn't even think about how to pose. They simply threw their arms around each other, smiled for the camera and Dean snapped the picture.
They weren't together then. Heck, he was rather hung-up on Ginny, even, but he held her in a warm embrace, and she had her head nestled against his chest contentedly, as if they were a couple.
I had to be the thickest idiot on the face of Hogwarts, he thought. Next to Ron, that is. Where was he at the time? Oh, right. Snogging Lavender.
He looked at the two other pictures, both moving. There was a picture of the three of them in the snow, her in the middle. He supposed he and Ron always inadvertently gave her the spot, for whatever Freudian reason. Hermione in the picture mildly scolded Ron for something and Ron rolled his eyes before they both cracked smiles, then she turned to Harry and beamed, while he beamed back, her gloved fingers lacing through his. They held hands for a while before she went back to scolding Ron.
The second wizard picture was of her and Ron looking over a book while he, Harry, peered at them from above Hermione's side. He had his arm draped over the back of her chair and his other hand rested on the table beside the huge book. She was teaching Ron something and Ron had his face scrunched as he struggled to understand. Harry was alternating between looking at the book and watching them. Every time he looked at the book, he would lean towards her, almost close enough to put his chin on her shoulder. All three of them suddenly looked at the camera, smiled, waved then went back to frowning over the book.
He wondered if all their pictures were like that; him unconsciously drawing as close to her as he could while she responded in the same way. They were never conscious about-well, holding each other, actually. It was a natural thing between the two of them. Harry always thought it was because they were such close friends who just happened to be boy and girl, which is why, when they were younger, it puzzled him why she and Ron were so repulsed at the thought of touching each other. As he got older, he realized Ron had acted so awkwardly because Ron fancied her. And so the saga continued to its disastrous, canary-infested end.
Harry grinned. All that kerfuffle so that Hermione and I could be together?
It was little wonder they spontaneously combusted that night at Privet Drive.
Still groggy from sleep, he staggered about his room, collecting clothes and a towel for his morning shower. He was done getting ready in fifteen minutes and he was soon bounding about the house, energized by his relatively good mood. Remus was back with them and Tonks opted to stay. Ron came into the kitchen a bit later.
Harry was happily making omelets when Tonks threw the wet blanket.
"Shacklebolt and Moody want to be here later to question Hermione," Tonks said. She had made no preamble, but she looked sincerely apologetic. There had been no other way to say it, so she had opted to be blunt.
Ron paled, but said nothing as he exchanged pointed gazes with Harry. They clearly agreed that this was not something they were pleased about.
Harry kept his temper in check. "Couldn't that wait? Hermione doesn't seem to want to talk about what happened and I think she shouldn't have to until she's ready."
Tonks shook her head. "The aurors and the Order have waited long enough. They need her statement. It's imperative, Harry."
His brows furled, his stomach knotting at the mere memory of what happened that awful night. "I'm sorry, Tonks, but I won't let you force her. Hermione is more important to me than the Order or the Auror Department put together."
She sighed. "Harry, please-"
"I couldn't even imagine how terrifying it had been for her…" he said quietly, looking Tonks straight in the eyes. "She was screaming and she was alone. And if you'd seen her parents…" He could hardly go on. He had attempted to reconstruct some kind of scene, once or twice, in his mind. Like some kind of punishment for his guilt, but he could never come to the end of it. He always stopped short, just before the sword was supposed to have been plunged into her. He couldn't bear the thought.
Remus placed a hand on Tonks' arm. They looked at one another, exchanging some sort of wordless communication. She nodded and leaned back on her seat.
"Harry," said Remus. "It's important that Hermione do this. The only true weapon the Order and the aurors have right now is information. As you very well know, the lack of it costs lives. Losing one life to the violence is bad enough, but in the Granger attack alone, we lost eight. We must do all we can to avoid such a thing from happening again. I can't begin to understand what Hermione went through, but we must ask her to try and tell us all she can."
Harry frowned, but he saw reason in Remus's words. Even Hermione would agree to tell them all she could if it would help save lives, but he was determined to make it as painless for her as possible. Her parents were gone; he was all she had and he was determined to protect her. He'd failed her already; he wasn't going to let anything happen to her again.
"Alright, provided Hermione agrees to do it," he said. "And if she does, I want the interview conducted here. Not at the Ministry or anywhere else. Here, in Grimmauld Place."
Tonks nodded. "Done."
"Secondly, I won't have both Shacklebolt and Moody grilling her. I'll let Shacklebolt conduct the interview on behalf of the Aurors, but if anyone's going to represent the Order, I want it to be Remus, not Moody."
She started, astonished by the demand. "Crikey! As if I can tell Moody what to do!"
"You know I like Moody, but not for this," said Harry in an inflexible tone. "I'll only trust Remus and I'll make no compromises. If Moody doesn't like it, I'm sorry, but I expect he'd get over it if it's properly explained to him. At any rate, if he tries to barrel his way in here… well, you know I can keep him out of my house."
Tonks's jaw dropped momentarily before she looked at Remus.
Remus nodded, gesturing to concede the point to Harry.
Harry appreciated Remus's support. From the corner of his eye, he could see Ron smirking. He was glad Ron approved.
"Fine," Tonks grumbled. "Moody's going to blow a gasket, but he'll have to put up, I suppose. Anything else?"
"I'll sit in during the interview, if it's all the same to everyone."
Tonks sighed, throwing her hands up. "Sure. Why not?"
Harry managed a small smile. "Thanks. I appreciate your cooperation, Tonks."
"Right," she muttered, rising from her seat. "Now if you'll excuse me, I've some arrangements to make, thanks to Mr. Potter. I'll see you later, Remus." She dropped a kiss on Remus's forehead before shooting Harry a look.
Harry shrugged and reddened ever so slightly.
She patted his shoulder then did the same for Ron before she left the kitchen and disapparated from the living room.
"Well done, Harry," Ron said, grinning.
Harry felt his face grow warmer. "I hope I wasn't being mean to Tonks. I just-I just want to protect Hermione."
Remus smiled, calmly drinking his coffee. "I think you handled that very well, actually. You weren't mean to Tonks at all. I think she was just surprised you decided to put your foot down on something. You know you seldom do."
Harry was a bit embarrassed about that sad truth. "Yes, well… this is Hermione we're talking about, now. I simply won't have her picked on and prodded, not after what she's been through." He looked at his omelet and saw that it was a perfect mess.
Groaning, he scraped off the ruined remains of the egg and threw it in the trash, beginning his attempt at a second one. He noticed that Ron was giving him a speculative look.
"What?" he asked.
Ron's eyebrow arched. "Eh? Oh, nothing. I was just thinking… that you on the governing body of the Order of the Phoenix just might work. Hermione saw it, and I suppose she's right-again."
Harry stared at Ron, wondering if Ron was being snarky. It didn't seem like it. He cast Remus a glance and the old werewolf was grinning, offering no argument.
He turned back to focus on his work, feeling a bit self-conscious. He refused to comment and tried to pinpoint the exact time when he actually began to think that Ron might just have something there.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
A/N: This is a short chapter, I know. But the next one's going to be a doozie, so stick around. Hermione's coming home.
Buffy references:
Xander: What, I can't have information sometimes?
Giles: It's just somewhat unprecedented.
Buffy: See, this is a school, and we have students, and they check out books, and then they learn things.
Giles: I was beginning to suspect that was a myth.
Buffy: Oh! I know this one: "Slaying entails certain sacrifices... blah blah bity blah. I'm so stuffy, give
me a scone."
Giles: It's as if you know me.
More references in the next chapter. I'm sorry. I couldn't help myself, mainly because Buffy quotes kick ass.
HAVE A WONDERFUL THANKSGIVING!!!