(A/N: First, I want to again thank Mary Caroline for agreeing to beta-read this story for me. There are times when I need that second viewpoint, trust me.
Second, let me thank all of you who reviewed the last chapter! I am inexpressibly grateful for every comment I get.
And finally, to ears91, who reviewed and wondered exactly how Ron and Luna got together: thank you for making me think! You'll see the results of that below.)
(Disclaimer: Insert standard boilerplate about not owning these characters here. Sigh.)
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"Restoring Hope"
by Paracelsus
*
13 August 2008 - Year 10 P.V.
*
"Of course we want to keep the piece on Myron Wagtail's three wives," explained Luna patiently. "But we also need the exposé on the Ministry, and we need it for this issue." She fixed her senior copy editor with a tranquil look that, nonetheless, conveyed to him that his only acceptable response was Yes, ma'am.
On the other hand, Quintus Tenpenny had worked at the Quibbler for many years under Leo Lovegood. This was hardly the first time he'd had to face down the editor-in-chief, and young Luna wasn't her father. "Scrimgeour's not the buffoon that Fudge was," he pointed out. "He'd never fund secret heliopath armies, or plot against the goblins, and our readers know that."
"But his administration has been suppressing the production of full-size Speaking Glasses, merely so the Floo Network Authority won't become obsolete." Luna waved at the newly installed Glass on her office wall. "This is the only size they're allowed to sell."
Tenpenny shook his head. "That's S.O.P for the Ministry… nothing new there. Hardly sensational enough to get people's attention, that."
"If we had full-size Speaking Glasses, we might've gotten help a lot faster two weeks ago, when Hogwarts was attacked," Luna told him.
"The way I heard it, it was because we don't have full-size Speaking Glasses that your sister-in-law was able to call for help," retorted Tenpenny.
Luna sighed. It was true that Fred had been experimenting with Speaking Glasses, hoping to change their size with Engorging and Reducing Charms. The results had been rather catastrophic for anything that tried to pass through an altered Glass (particularly if it had been Engorged), but a Reduced Glass could still be used for talking - and it fit in Angelina's bag just fine. So much for not being able to find people as they travel, she thought.
"They're still interfering with Speculum's business, just to preserve an entrenched bureaucracy. We need to hit the Ministry for that. And… for those who worry I might have a personal stake in arguing Speculum's interests…" Luna thought hard for a minute. "All the royalties Ronald and I'd normally receive from Speculum will be donated to a special relief fund, for the families of the people who were killed at Hogwarts."
Slowly, Tenpenny nodded. "Now that should get readers' attention. I'll add your statement to the piece and run it."
"Thank you, Quintus. Now let's see what else we have here." She spread the story slips out across her desk and started looking them over in detail. "Fergus? Another interview with the Middlesex Medium?"
Young Fergus Ferriter nodded enthusiastically. He was the Quibbler's best investigative reporter, and he seemed to do everything enthusiastically. "She's been in touch with the Beyond, and the spirits have told her why Bellatrix won't permit Avada Kedavra to be used."
"Well?" asked Tenpenny sharply, as Luna read the story slip. "Don't drag it out, man!"
"Because…" Ferriter let the pause stretch dramatically, just to irritate Tenpenny. "Because Bellatrix has made a deal with the ghosts! They'll join her side in the conflict if she agrees to stop using the Killing Curse!"
"That makes no sense…" began Tenpenny.
"Actually, it does," said Luna vaguely. "Avada Kedavra is too clean, too final… a person killed by it can't possibly become a ghost. The more it's used, the fewer ghosts are made. I can see they'd be concerned about a reduction in their numbers… but…" Her gaze came up to meet Ferriter's. "When you say 'they'll join' Bellatrix, Fergus, who do you mean?"
"The ghosts, of course… Ah."
"Yes, ah. Nobody speaks for the ghosts as a group except our own Ministry. Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, Spirit Division, I believe. Unless Scrimgeour's changed things."
Tenpenny passed the story slip to Ferriter. "Get a statement from the Ministry responding to this. We'll run their denial along with the Medium's claim." He smiled cynically. "Actually, their denial will make her claim sound that much better."
"Right, then. What else?" Luna continued to scan the story slips. "Vampires in Albania… new uses for soapwort… good, another article about house elf abuse, we need to stay on top of that after what happened…" Suddenly she snatched up a slip and waved it at Tenpenny. "Quintus? I thought we discussed this one yesterday."
"She's news, Chief," said Tenpenny imperturbably. "As much as you might like to pretend otherwise, she's news."
"Which the Prophet is running very nicely. We're supposed to be the alternative to the Prophet, not its echo." Luna crumpled the slip and dropped it in the waste bin, which swallowed it and burped. "And Hope is not the next Chosen One! No prophecy was ever made about her!"
"People are interested…" Tenpenny stopped short as he was struck with a freezingly cold glare. Luna's eyes were like two chips of blue ice.
Luna gave it a moment before she slid the remaining story slips back to Tenpenny. "There will be no stories about my daughter in the Quibbler. This discussion is closed." Her voice was light, one might have said sweet, were it not for her eyes.
And Tenpenny found that the only response he could make was, "Yes, ma'am."
*
Her assistants had finally left her office. Perhaps she could relax for a moment. She leaned forward over her desk, resting her elbows on the desktop and her head in her hands. "Oh, Daddy, I miss you so much. How in the world did you manage this madhouse?"
The Speaking Glass gave a soft, low chime… someone was calling her. Ronald, of course, Luna thought. That's why he wanted me to have a Glass in my office, after all. Angelina was right… men and their gadgets…
She stepped over to the Glass and touched its frame with her fingertips. Her reflected image blurred, and became Ron's face. "Hello, My Good Love. I was just wondering if you'd make it back to Ma Maison for dinner tonight."
"I'm sorry, My King, it looks like another late night for me. I'm still learning the ins-and-outs of Daddy's job." Luna sighed and rubbed her nose ruefully. "Tell Bill and Fleur not to hold dinner for me…"
"Oh no, you don't get off scot-free," Ron said, and held up a wrapped sandwich. "You have to eat, Luna. If you don't eat, the Aciculate Vacuoles will be attracted to your hunger and make your joints hurt." He was smiling slyly, watching for her reaction.
Which, she had to admit to herself, must have been gratifying to watch. Luna wasn't often dumbfounded.
"You remembered," she finally squeaked.
"How could I forget? I may be thick as a Bludger," Ron told her, "but I'd never forget that. Ten years ago this week, wasn't it?"
Luna looked as happily excited as a child on Christmas morning. "Tell me, beloved. Tell me the story."
He couldn't help laughing. "All right, let's see… you found me at the Burrow, trying to get Hope to sleep…"
"While you yourself hadn't slept for days," remembered Luna, too excited to let him tell it. "A month since your brother Percy died, and your father still in St. Mungo's… Fleur ready to give birth at any time… Ginny gone to pieces over Harry's death… and you weren't much better, My King, you have to admit. You were a wreck… and you had a newborn daughter to care for."
"So you Apparated right into the Burrow, took Hope from me and got her right to sleep, led me to the kitchen, and warned me about the Aciculate Vacuoles," finished Ron. His look was tender now. "But this time, you've lost a loved one. This time, you're the one who's not taking care of herself. So here… let me…" The Glass gave another chime, lower in pitch, as Ron requested the Glasses to switch to open mode.
Luna touched her frame again, confirming the request… the mirror's surface faded and became intangible. Ron reached through the Glass and handed Luna her sandwich. She likewise reached through, to put her free hand behind his neck and pull his head forward. They shared a long and very thorough kiss. "Do you know," asked Luna when they were forced to break for air, "do you have any idea how much I love you?"
"You'll have to keep telling me, I guess," Ron smiled broadly. "See you when you get home." The Glass clouded for a second, then returned to its normal reflective state. Luna smiled at her image and absently brushed back a strand of hair.
I will tell him, yes indeed. Tonight. When we're alone. Goodness, it might take hours. She smiled dreamily and set the sandwich on her desk.
Where she spotted the final-draft layout for the upcoming Quibbler - with its lead article on the Ministry and Speculum. Oh, no, she thought in dismay as she was reminded of it, I forgot to tell Ronald about donating our Speculum royalties to the relief fund… oh dear.
Well, I should tell him that tonight, too, she reminded herself. Afterwards. I'm sure he'll understand, after all. The Quibbler has to uphold its reputation for impartiality. And besides, we're committed now.
And one last thought came unbidden (and she felt shamed for thinking it, but she couldn't help it): And at least, no royalties will mean one less thing to remind us of Hermione.
*
"We're trying not to make a habit of this," Ron told Bill and Fleur as they gathered for dinner that evening. "Imposing like this, I mean."
"Nonsense," Bill shrugged. "Ma Maison is secure, and your cottage isn't anymore. Not now that the Death Eaters've started using house elves for Apparation." He held up a hand. "But don't worry, we'll upgrade your wards. My boss Brasslock, compassionate soul that he is, insisted I install Gringotts-level wards here… I daresay we can do the same for you. And nobody beats the goblins when it comes to security."
"Wow. Curse breaking must be doing well, if the goblins like you so much they don't want you hurt."
Bill gave a mirthless smile. "Hardly any curse breaking for me these days, Ron. It's all mediating between the goblins and the Ministry… I seem to be good at it."
"For whatever reason," interposed Fleur, "we're grateful for it." She turned her attention to their other guest for dinner, who stood in the door to the dining room with unusual meekness. "It means we can offer a safe haven whenever any of our family needs it."
"Um… yeah." Ginny cleared her throat nervously, then stepped into the room. "Hi, Ron… Hope."
"H'lo, Aunt Ginny. Did you like your birthday present?"
"I did, thanks." Ginny smiled hesitantly. "Um, I'm sorry your birthday turned out so badly."
"Yeah," admitted Hope. "It was pretty sucky." At her father's reproving scowl, she insisted, "Well, it was! I just wish everyone would stop talking about it!"
"After the little speech you made? I think not, petite," smiled Fleur. "It's been on everyone's lips. Even we heard about it…"
"Course you did. Thank you, Daily Bloody Prophet." Ron muttered something about being grateful for no photographers.
"Yeah… I imagine the day went downhill from there." Ginny held out a small, colorfully wrapped package. "But, in the spirit of 'better late than never'… Happy Birthday, Hope."
Hope carefully unwrapped the gift ("Tcha! Just tear it open already!" cried Isabeau impatiently) to reveal a bottle of Sleekeazy's Hair Potion. "I can show you how to use it, too," offered Ginny. "If you'd like, I mean." Everyone in the room recognized the conciliatory nature of the gift, and the offer.
"Yes, I would," said Hope, with a rare smile. "Thank you, Aunt Ginny." She set the bottle aside as everyone took their seats for dinner. The children - Hope, Michelle, Isabeau and two-year-old Ghislaine - were kept at one end of the table. There the twins enviously pressed Hope for more details of the attack on Hogwarts, while taking turns feeding little Ghislaine her food.
"Actually, I wish you had been there, Gin," said Ron. "You'd've been a big help in the fight."
"Yeah… sorry about that. I just couldn't bear to be there… you might say I don't do well in crowds on that day." Ginny gave a quick glance at Hope. "Particularly not with everyone saying they're Harry… although I appreciate the sentiment," she added hastily.
"I suppose," Ron replied gloomily. "I just wish someone besides Hope'd come up with the idea."
"It has certainly caught the public imagination," Fleur commented. "'I am Harry Potter' has become almost a battle cry. And perhaps it will stiffen some sadly limp spines… inside and outside the Ministry."
"Oh, the Ministry's got nothing but problems," said Bill dismissively. "Even if they caught Bellatrix and her Death Eaters tomorrow, there'd be something else. Dragonpox vaccinations, or stabilizing the Galleon, or vampire uprisings…"
"Vampire uprisings? That's really happening, then?" asked Ginny in surprise. "I thought it was just another rumor."
"The local vampires have been quiet enough," Bill allowed. "Albania's been having problems, though, and they've asked our Ministry for help. And of course, since our vampires have been quiet for so long, there's not much we can offer in the way of advice." He shrugged.
"Blood Replenishing Potion," said Ron abruptly. He was staring at his plate, not seeing the food piled there.
"Hmmm?" Bill waited a moment for Ron to elaborate. When Ron continued to stare at his plate, Bill said, "That won't help vampires, you know, Ron. You need to have blood in the first place, if the potion's going to work…"
"If we send them blood, and Blood Replenishing Potion, then the uprisings will stop." Ron stood up. "If we don't… they may start preying on humans again. Maybe even Muggles." He was perspiring, and his breathing was labored, but he managed quite a normal looking smile. "Back in a sec," he added, leaving the table and making for the bathroom.
Hope broke off from her conversation with the twins to watch her father in concern. "Uh oh," she said.
"Hope?" Fleur asked in concern. "Qu'est-ce que c'est?"
"I think Dad's going to have more bad dreams tonight," Hope told her. "And Mum's not here to calm him down."
*
Ron's dream that night was one of the worst he'd had in years. What made it so terrible was that it was no nightmare but a living memory:
"Albania in December?!" cried Ron. "Whose brilliant idea was this?" He wrapped his cloak around him more snugly, trying to shield himself from the cold winds. There were only a few snowdrifts on the ground, but he could feel the snap of snow in the air, ready to fall.
"If all you're going to do is complain, Ron Weasley…" began Hermione waspishly.
Harry stopped the argument before it could escalate, with a raised hand and a stern look. The look told Ron and Hermione that Harry had - there was no other word for it - taken command. He'd been doing it increasingly often, since they'd started their intensive training sessions at Grimmauld Place… in a way, he'd begun on the day of Dumbledore's death. He was truly growing - had grown - into his role of leader for the side of the Light.
For their parts, Ron and Hermione now knew that they should have listened more to Harry, before and during that battle. They were determined not to make the mistake again: they now recognized that when Harry gave a command, it was important - and they responded to his wishes.
Though not always without question.
"We need a Warming Charm," Harry said after a moment, "over as broad an area as possible. This whole clearing, if we can." He had his wand out and was taking aim at the far side of the glade. Hermione and Ron immediately followed suit.
"Good idea, Harry," Ron said through chattering teeth. "Keep us from freezing to death…"
"I don't want it warm for us," said Harry. "I want it warm for the locals."
"Like I care why."
"The locals?" asked Hermione, fixing on his words.
Harry nodded. Already the remaining snow had melted away. The air temperature had risen appreciably… steam was rising from the damp forest soil. He looked around carefully, then approached a large lichen-encrusted boulder. Crouching before it, he began to hiss gently, almost caressingly.
Parseltongue, Ron realized.
After a few seconds, a serpent wound out from under the rock and faced Harry. They hissed at one another for a bit, then the serpent turned and disappeared back under the rock.
"Didn't he like us?" asked Ron.
"That one couldn't help us," said Harry. "He's too young. He's gone to fetch someone older. Someone who remembers when Voldemort was last here."
Minutes passed, and the Trio had to renew the Warming Charms to keep the glade temperate enough for reptiles. Finally, a reddish-brown viper emerged from under the boulder. It coiled half its four-foot length on the ground in front of Harry, raised its head and neck erect, and regarded Harry irritably. Harry hissed at the snake, but it didn't reply.
"I think Voldemort actually possessed this one while he was here," Harry said to Ron and Hermione, without taking his eyes off the viper. "I reckon he's not right chuffed with humans."
"Perhaps he can be bribed?" suggested Hermione. "Accio mouse!" A terrified field mouse came flying from the underbrush, and she hastily added, "Stupefy!" before it reached her. She caught the unconscious mouse and, holding it by its tail, approached Harry cautiously from behind.
"He won't strike," Harry reassured her, sensing her concern. He took the mouse from her, his gaze still not wavering from the viper's, and hissed some more.
The viper hissed back for a moment and flicked its tongue at the mouse. Harry shook his head and hissed again. The negotiations went on for a few more minutes before the snake turned and glided out of the clearing. "He says there's a spot where Voldemort's spirit would always return," Harry reported. "It's close by. He'll show us where it is, and then he gets the mouse."
The Trio followed the viper as it slithered through the forest. Harry led the way, followed by Hermione, with Ron keeping watch on the rear. There was a moment when the trees grew too thick to be passable by humans… Harry had to hiss at the snake to wait for them as they tried to find a way around the trees. Harry and Ron were about to blast out a path with the Reductor Curse before Hermione, with an exasperated snort, simply Apparated around the trees. Sheepishly, Harry and Ron did the same.
"Honestly," she huffed as they resumed their trek, "not every problem has to be solved by blowing things up." The boys wisely chose not to challenge this statement.
Eventually, they came upon the remains of a ruined chapel, overgrown with vines and weeds. "Romanesque architecture," Hermione commented. "By the looks of it, this has been around since before the Crusades."
They continued to follow the viper as it glided through the ruins and into an abandoned graveyard. Ron began to look around nervously. "I've got a bad feeling about this…"
"Shhh!" said Harry and Hermione together, as the viper entered a small, heavily weathered mausoleum. Stairs led down into an underground crypt, dank and with nitre-encrusted walls. In one corner, a trickle of water poured into a stone basin. At the end of the crypt was a large stone sarcophagus, the top carved into the figure of an ancient knight with a wizened face. The knight lay with his sword held point down atop his breast… and with a stone snake entwined around the sword.
Sitting on the stone block, at the knight's feet, was a small two-handled golden cup engraved with a badger.
Harry tossed the mouse to the viper, which caught it in mid-air. It swallowed the mouse whole, pausing only to let it work partway down its gullet. Then, with a final hiss, the snake left the crypt through a crack in the wall.
"I recognize the face," said Harry, approaching the carved figure. "It's the same as in the Chamber of Secrets. That's Salazar Slytherin… well, I guess we know where he went when Godric Gryffindor kicked him out of Hogwarts."
"Which is why Voldemort kept returning to Albania, not once but twice," noted Hermione, taking out her wand. "We knew this place must hold a special meaning for him, for some reason. And the cup would be…?"
"Helga Hufflepuff's cup," finished Harry. He likewise had his wand out, moving it slowly around the cup. "Just like in the Pensieve memory Dumbledore showed me."
"Look, all this is fascinating," Ron interjected urgently, "but can we just take the cup and go!? I really don't think this place is safe…"
"I'm using the spell we brought back from Durmstrang," Hermione said, "to verify that it is a Horcrux." She gave Harry a quick look. "And it is."
"And I'm checking for protective spells," said Harry. "The cup must have something to guard it, just like the locket had. Voldemort wouldn't have left it just sitting here!"
"Der! Graveyard? Moldy crypt? Can you say 'Inferi'!?"
"I don't know," came a new voice from the stairs. "Can you say 'vampires'?"
All three of them whirled. Lounging in the entrance to the crypt was a pale slender man of indeterminate age. He was watching them with a mixture of amusement and boredom. "We don't often get visitors here," he greeted them pleasantly.
"It is a little off the beaten path," Harry agreed. He stood warily, his wand at his side… as long as the vampire made no overtly threatening moves, neither would he. His quick sidelong look told Ron and Hermione to do the same.
"My manners," murmured the vampire. "I am Dzaferi, and I welcome you to my home." His voice had only the merest trace of an accent.
"Thanks." Harry made no move to introduce them to Dzaferi. "Sorry, we didn't mean to intrude on your home. We only came to, um…"
"To find a relic of Helga Hufflepuff," put in Hermione, unwilling to lie to a vampire, but knowing the danger of the full truth.
"The cup," nodded Dzaferi. He straightened and spread his hands regretfully. "Alas, I'm afraid I cannot allow it to leave these premises. It's very important, you see."
"Listen, I don't know what Voldemort told you about the cup," Harry started to say.
"Voldemort? Oh, you mean that Riddle parvenu? That's right, he tried to get us to call him that when he first gave us the cup. I believe he's been here a couple of times since then in spirit form, too. Persistent devil, I'll grant him that."
"'Us'?" Ron whispered to Hermione. Looking to either side, he saw wisps of fog seeping through cracks in the crypt's walls. The wisps condensed into more vampires: at least a dozen of them, leaner than Dzaferi, and hungrier-looking.
"Whatever he told you," Harry insisted, "you have to listen to us. We need that cup."
"As do we, my young friend. No, we do not do Riddle's bidding. He wanted the cup kept here safely, yes, and we do that, but not for him. We need Lady Hufflepuff's cup. We cannot let it go."
The newly arrived vampires were slowly beginning to crowd the Trio. Nervously, they took a step back until they bumped against the stone sarcophagus. One female vampire, who might have been beautiful if she hadn't been so gaunt, was giving Ron a slow, seductive smile.
"Tikja!" chided Dzaferi. "Behave! These are our guests… for the moment." Ron didn't like the use of the qualifier.
Hermione pursed her lips. "As guests, then, are we free to leave?"
Dzaferi raised an elegant eyebrow. "Well, there is such a thing as a permanent guest… Oh, don't misunderstand me," he added with a low chuckle. "We're not looking to feed on you. This is why we must keep the cup. With its magic, we don't need to drink your blood to survive." He gestured at another vampire, who stood near the end of the sarcophagus. "Enver?"
The vampire Enver picked up Hufflepuff's cup and handed it reverently to Dzaferi. "Are you familiar with the ritual of the Mass?" Dzaferi asked, raising up the cup. "Where the water and wine are said to become the blood of Christ? The magic of Lady Hufflepuff performs a similar miracle for us." Dzaferi walked to the stone basin and filled the cup with water. He waited a moment, then poured a dollop onto the floor of the crypt.
It splattered red.
"We drink from Lady Hufflepuff's cup, and are satisfied," said Dzaferi. "We need never depend on living prey while it is here… and so it can never leave. You understand, I'm sure."
Ron understood, all right. This was a far better protection for the cup than anything the Dark Lord could devise. Even if the vampires didn't work for Voldemort, they'd keep the cup safe out of their own self-interest… a much more reliable motive. "Right," he said. "Well. Sorry to've troubled you, then. We'll just be on our way…" He took Hermione's arm, concentrated and tried to Disapparate.
Nothing happened. Bloody wonderful, thought Ron, he's got Anti-Apparation spells on the crypt. We have got to start scanning for those things…
"Oh, but you've just arrived," smiled Dzaferi. A cat eyeing an unsuspecting sparrow might smile like that. "We cannot let you depart without showing you our hospitality…"
The vampire nearest to Harry began to lunge forward - only to stop abruptly as he found the end of Harry's wand pointing at his heart. "Permanent hospitality is a little overwhelming," Harry said. "And we've got things to do, that we can't do if we're undead. You understand, I'm sure."
Hermione and Ron had their wands up, too. Each of them knew spells for fighting vampires, of course - vampires had been only one of the Dark threats they had trained all autumn to fight - but they were cornered, with no means of escape, and quite outnumbered. And the vampires were edging closer…
"Wait!" cried Hermione desperately. "What if… what if you didn't need the cup anymore? What if we found you a way to survive without it? Would you let it leave then?"
"But why should it leave, when you are staying with us?" laughed Dzaferi. His laughter died abruptly as Harry slashed his wand across and down, like a scythe. A line of flames sprung up on the floor, encircling the Trio and forcing the vampires back a pace. Non-verbal Flagrate spell, Ron deduced. Nice and dramatic, that.
"Sorry I didn't introduce myself earlier," said Harry formally. "My name's Harry Potter... Oh, you've heard of me, have you?"
The vampires had, indeed, heard of Harry. They retreated still further, watching him fearfully. Dzaferi snarled for an instant before he could restore his urbane expression. "Your legend precedes you, milord Potter. Had I known who graced us today, I would not have been so insistent on offering hospitality."
"We can leave, then." Harry made it a statement of fact.
Dzaferi nodded regally. "But Lady Hufflepuff's cup stays." Equally a fact.
"Let me ask it again," interjected Hermione. "If you didn't need the cup to survive, would you let it go?"
The vampire regarded Hermione curiously. "Without the cup, we would have to prey on the local human population, as we did half a century ago. You surely don't countenance that?"
"Hermione, what're you doing?" Ron whispered. "You can't reason with them, they're vampires!"
Hermione ignored him. "Will you let me try something? If it doesn't work, you'll be no worse off than before."
Dzaferi smiled indulgently. "I'm agog with curiosity. By all means, proceed." He leaned against the crypt wall and watched them under half-closed lids.
Hermione looked around for a working space, then stepped to Slytherin's sarcophagus. Reaching into her pocket, she brought out a small box, which she set on the slab. A tap of her wand, and the box began to expand rapidly. Within seconds, a full Potions laboratory was laid out before her, complete with a cauldron, scales, and stockpiles of ingredients. Ron and Harry looked on with amazement.
"And in your other pocket, you probably have Greenhouse Three," joked Ron.
"Some of us believe in being prepared." Hermione lit a blue fire under the cauldron, then opened one of the largest flasks. "These are professional Potion bases," she explained to Dzaferi as she emptied the contents into the cauldron, "normally used by commercial Potion manufacturers. You'd be surprised at the number of Potions that can be produced, quickly and in quantity, using one of these as a starter."
"You mean… all those Potions we made in Snape's classes… from scratch… we could have taken a shortcut and used these instead?" Harry looked disgusted.
"Yes… just as we could have used a Quick-Quotes Quill instead of ever learning how to write," Hermione retorted scathingly. "The point of Potions class was to learn the theory and the techniques, Harry, not just the recipes. Another reason you should never have relied on the Prince's book."
He bowed his head momentarily, accepting her rebuke as he always did… then he tapped his fingers on the rim of the cauldron, bringing them back to the matter at hand. "So what are you brewing here?"
"Blood Replenishing Potion," Hermione replied. Her fingers flew with dexterous speed, measuring out crushed herbs and noxious extracts… no hesitation, no wasted motion, her manner exact and efficient.
"I regret to point out that vampiric magic is not the same as human magic," said Dzaferi blandly. "Any magic we used as humans is lost to us… including Potions. We wouldn't be able to brew…"
"You only need a sip at a time. This batch alone will last you six months," Hermione cut in. "We can arrange for a large supply of Blood Replenishing Potion to be delivered… enough to last for many years." She met Dzaferi's gaze squarely. "We won't abandon you."
"Yeah, well, there's one other minor problem, Hermione," said Ron. "They're vampires. There's a reason they drink blood. They don't have any blood! Blood Replenishing Potion won't help them a bit."
Hermione didn't immediately answer. She gave the cauldron a final stir, then extinguished the flames. "When vampires have just gorged," she said at last, "there's blood in their veins. Their flesh fills out… their skin changes color. If, at that moment, they start taking Blood Replenishing Potion, they never need to drink blood again."
Despite himself, Dzaferi looked impressed. "Most ingenious, milady. I find your logic compelling."
"All right, then." She brought out a medicine cup and ladled a spoonful of Potion into it. "So who'll go first? Drink from the Hufflepuff cup first, to get your blood level up, then this dose is all you'll need to maintain it…"
"No," interrupted Dzaferi firmly.
Hermione shook her head in confusion. "What? But… but you said…"
"If we're to use your Potion to replenish blood," declared Dzaferi, "we shall begin with true human blood." He smiled smoothly, evilly. "I must insist."
"There's… there's too many of you. We couldn't possibly give enough blood…"
"But you've just brewed Blood Replenishing Potion, yes?" Dzaferi countered in triumph.
Hermione, Ron and Harry traded helpless looks. It was obvious that Dzaferi wouldn't simply let them walk away with the precious cup… not unless they sacrificed something in return. He wanted his pound of flesh - or more precisely, of blood. And he took a predator's pleasure in knowing that the Trio, having come this far, would be forced to give it to him.
Glancing at the supplies laid out on the sarcophagus, Harry picked out a small beaker. Decisively, he cancelled the ring of flames and strode out to confront Dzaferi, beaker in one hand and the dose of Potion in the other. "Hold these," he commanded Dzaferi, who accepted them without comment. Then he pulled up his left sleeve. "How much?" he asked over his shoulder.
"A full pint, I'm afraid," Hermione replied nervously. "For each of them."
He nodded and squeezed his left fist, so that the veins stood out on his forearm. Placing the tip of his wand against a vein, he muttered "Diffindo" and sliced his wand downward. As the blood spurted from the opening, he retrieved the beaker from Dzaferi and held it to catch the flow of blood. "And when this is done," he told Dzaferi in a hard voice, "we leave. Unmolested, and with Hufflepuff's cup."
Dzaferi's nostrils flared as the metallic smell of blood filled the crypt. "Agreed," he said. As soon as the beaker was full, he snatched it from Harry's hand. Harry immediately applied pressure to the wound, staunching the flow.
The vampire leader inhaled deeply over the beaker, as though savoring a fine wine. He took a sip, swallowed, and smiled appreciatively. Deeply, eagerly, Dzaferi drank the rest of Harry's blood, and chased it with the Blood Replenishing Potion. He licked his lips, smiled again and gave a contented sigh. "Your blood is… wonderfully potent, milord," he said, as he handed the empty beaker to the vampire next to him. "My compliments."
"Um," said Harry, taken aback by this display of gastronomy. He stepped back to the cauldron, where Hermione quickly dosed him with Potion. As Harry went to the next vampire to donate another beaker of his blood, he could hear Ron and Hermione rolling up their sleeves behind him.
*
Hope was growing impatient. She refused to let herself fall asleep until she could speak with Hermione… difficult to do as long as they were staying at Ma Maison. She had to sleep in the same room as Isabeau and Michelle, and they insisted on lying awake in bed and chattering. And even after they'd fallen asleep, Dad had come into the room to check on her. Hope had had to pretend to be asleep, too, until he eventually left.
But now, finally, maybe she could get some more answers. She slipped the portrait out from under her pillow, tucked it into her nightdress, and scuttled for the bathroom. She passed the room where Dad and Mum were sleeping and could hear Dad tossing restlessly in his sleep. Bad dream again. I knew it. I have to find out why, so I can help!
A small candle in the bathroom gave just enough light to see by. Hope locked the door, then brought out Hermione's picture. She put her finger to her lips to indicate quiet, waited until Hermione nodded her understanding, then began without preamble. "Tell me about Albania," she whispered.
"Albania is a mountainous country on the Adriatic Sea, with one of the sparsest wizarding populations in Eastern Europe…"
If it had been safe to scream in frustration, Hope might have vented. Instead she laid her hand flat on the portrait, covering it completely, and waited until it fell silent. When she removed her hand, she saw Hermione glaring at her, absolutely furious. "Some little respect, young lady, if you please," she snapped - quietly enough.
"Tell me about vampires in Albania," Hope said. "And you know what I mean."
Hermione continued to glare for another minute. "One of the Horcruxes was a cup that had belonged to Helga Hufflepuff," she finally began. "Voldemort had given it into the care of a group of Albanian vampires - they were using its magic to stay alive, so they fought to protect it. We persuaded the vampires to give up the cup, in exchange for a better way to stay alive…"
"Blood Replenishing Potion?"
"Yes, exactly. And we had to give them some of our own blood as well. They agreed, and we brought the cup home."
Hope waited. "That's it?" She'd got a lot more details when Hermione told her about finding Ravenclaw's athame!
"Please trust me, Hope, when I say you don't want specifics." Hermione pinched her lower lip. "Now tell me, what prompted the question?"
"It sounds like your vampires are in revolt… and nobody knew it was because they've run out of Potion and blood. Dad had to tell Uncle Bill that we need to send more Potion… and now he's having one of his bad dreams again." Hope ducked her head for a moment. "He won't tell me the details, Mother. I don't know what causes his flashbacks. All I want to know is how to stop them."
Hermione didn't seem to be listening for the moment. "I thought we arranged for Blood Replenishing Potion to be supplied every year," she said to herself. "I suppose the deliveries could've been disrupted… the new Death Eater attacks could've done that…"
"Uncle Bill will see that the right people know what to do," Hope told her. "I want to know how to help Dad. What was so bad about your trip to Albania?"
"You've never met vampires, have you, Hope?" When Hope shook her head, Hermione continued, "They're not alive, technically speaking. When you're with them, you know they're not living people. Their body language, their eyes… they're cold, physically and emotionally. And they were so close around us..." She shivered. "Harry, Ron and I had to give them our own blood, pint after pint of it, and watch them drink it… we might as well have been cattle to them, or sheep. That's pretty… humbling."
She flashed a sardonic smile. "And when all the vampires would much rather drink Harry's blood than mine or Ron's, that's pretty humiliating."
"So that was it?" Hope pressed. "That's all that happened?"
Hermione sighed. "That was it for the trip to Albania, itself. Of course, there was the aftermath…"
*
"I'm telling you, I'm fine!" Hermione insisted, just before she threw up again.
"Yeah, and we believe you," said Ron. "'Cause, y'know, medical experts agree that heaving up chunks into the loo is a sign of perfect health." He stood behind her, holding her hair up and out of harm's way. Harry handed her a glass of water as she raised her head again.
"It's because of the blood we had to give yesterday," continued Hermione. "It's made me a bit nauseous, but that's typical for blood donors. And we did give so much - and the Blood Replenishing Potion wasn't meant to be overused that way…" She took a sip of water, swirled it around in her mouth, and spit it into the toilet. Then she drank the rest of the glass thirstily.
"It wasn't the most hygienic of locations, though," Harry said worriedly. "The cold, the crypt… the undead… Maybe we should all get checked by a Healer."
"Heyyy…" Ron began.
"Just in case," added Harry.
"I thought we were trying to be, oh, I dunno, secret and undercover," objected Ron. "Hard to do that when we're all marching into St. Mungo's and asking for private consultations. You know what'll happen, Harry. The first sighting of The Chosen One in six months? They'll be on you like doxies on a honey pot."
"I just don't want us falling sick, Ron," said Harry… but he was looking at Hermione as he said it.
"We're not falling sick, Harry," Hermione said stubbornly.
"No, of course we aren't." Harry thought for a moment. "Christmas break is coming up at Hogwarts," he said nonchalantly.
Hermione looked at him suspiciously. "Yessssss?"
"It'd be perfectly in character if we were to show up at Hogwarts over Christmas break," he continued. "Just for a quick visit. You know: See all our friends again. Consult the library. Confer with McGonagall about the Order." He paused. "See Madam Pomfrey."
"Say hello to Ginny," Ron added in the same tone.
Harry refused to rise to the bait. "Yes, I'm sure you've missed her. She being your sister and all."
"We can visit Hogwarts for Christmas if you like," conceded Hermione. "But we don't need to see Madam Pomfrey. At least I don't. A good night's sleep and I'll be…"
"Hermione." The way he said her name, somehow rough and tender at the same time, brought her up short. He waited until he had her full attention, then took her hand. "Please?" he asked simply.
She felt she was losing herself in those pleading green eyes, floating in an emerald free-fall. It took a long moment for her to find her voice again. "All right, fine," she said crossly. "If you insist. But I'm telling you, all she'll say is that I'm low on electrolytes."
*
"And of course, Madam Pomfrey said nothing of the sort," Hermione added wryly.
"Christmas… and I was born in July… Oh." Hope's eyes went wide. "That's when you learned…"
"That I was having you, dear daughter." Hermione smiled, bringing back the memory. "I didn't tell any of our friends during our Christmas visit… there would've been far too many awkward questions. Heavens, I put off telling Harry and Ron as long as I could. I knew they'd never let me out of the house once they learned I was pregnant. And I absolutely refused to be sidelined, merely because I was having a baby."
Hermione raised one eyebrow as Hope tried to suppress a yawn, with only limited success. "A baby, I might add, who should be in bed asleep. Come on, off to bed with you."
Hope nodded in acquiescence and unlocked the bathroom door. She was about to slip the portrait back into her nightdress when she thought of something else. "Mother? Didn't you say you were painted during that Christmas break?"
"I wondered if you'd spot that." Hermione smiled and pressed her hand against her lower stomach, the pose she'd held when she'd first been unwrapped. "I rather wanted to be painted before I started to show. If I'd waited too long, this portrait would always be showing signs of pregnancy. Can you imagine suffering from mood swings and a squashed bladder, forever?"