"There is something at work in my soul, which I do not understand."

~ Mary Shelley, Frankenstein

. . .

Hermione pushed up slowly, head swimming as she turned vertical. She took a steadying breath before swinging her legs over the side of the bed, Crookshanks landing before her in a silent pounce. He darted to the door, tail straight as a reed as he glanced back. She trudged after him, reaching for her robe on the hook with an unsteady hand. Blood rushed through her ears but did nothing to quell the menacing whisper possessing her mind, every word crisp and clear and haunting.

"I do now."

Her eyes snapped wide as she wrenched the door wide, fear seizing her with both hands. Crookshanks disappeared down the hall in a blur of motion, paws echoing down the staircase. She rushed to her father's door, pulling her robe closed and rounding the open frame. Sunlight spilled across the slatted floor and bed, the comforter pulled tight across the mattress, smooth and pristine and barren of life.

Hermione drew in a sharp breath, preparing to call out when male laughter met her ears, muffled and distant. She turned on her heel, following the sound to the staircase, tension easing with every step. Until halfway down, when she flashbacked to the dream, overcome with the memory. The flickering glow of the fire, the terror in her heart as she clutched the railing with both hands, navigating these same stairs barefoot and shrouded in silk.

"Come with me willingly, Hermione, and your loved ones can live in peace."

She descended faster, hopping the last step and charging through the archway, following the melodic flow of her friend's voice to the expansive kitchen, rounding the corner onto the checkerboard tile and staggering to a halt.

Harry stood before the wood burning stove covered in flour, even his hair, the dark strands cast grey by powder. She blinked, gaze flickering to her father seated behind the breakfast bar, silent and smiling, his eyes fixed upon the disastrous chef before him.

"Okay, this one's gonna be perfect, I can feel it," Harry stated, stepping back with a frying pan in hand and flipping the most misshapen pancake Hermione had ever seen into the air. Its uneven mass botched its downward trajectory. He reached out with lightning reflexes, catching the cake before it hit the ground, hissing as he threw it back into the pan.

"Ah! Crap!"

He shook his hand, pressing the blister to his lips and tossing the pan aside. Hermione pressed a hand to her own mouth, fighting laughter. Harry glanced back at the sound.

"Mione! You're just in time. Stand still, I'll flip this next one to you."

She stepped fully into the brightly lit room, tying the front of her robe. "You'll do no such thing, Harry Potter."

"Ah, come on."

She smiled, shaking her head and pacing closer. Crookshanks darted in from behind, stopping at the edge of the island and flicking his bushy tail, eyes fixed to the countertop.

"So, how did you sleep?" Harry asked, scraping his masterpiece from the bottom of the pan onto a plate.

Her smile instantly faded. He missed the look of panic that flashed across her features, her expression schooled by the time he turned around.

"Actually—"

Crookshanks leaped onto the breakfast bar, skidding into one of the empty plates and knocking it off the edge. Harry dove, catching it halfway down, scowling all the while.

"Little bastard."

The feline mewled at the insult, eyes narrowed. Hermione sighed, grabbing him around the middle and setting him on the floor.

"Hungry?" Harry asked, reaching for the plate once more.

"Harry—"

"Full disclaimer, we didn't have any milk so I had to get creative with the flavoring." He glanced across the counter, winking at her father. The latter continued to smile, though his eyes appeared adrift.

She tilted her head, examining the strange offering on the plate. "I'm afraid to ask."

"Best you don't." He cut into the middle with a fork. Hermione blinked.

"Are those beans?"

He shrugged slightly. "Protein and fiber, a well-rounded breakfast."

She shook her head, trying to regroup. "Harry, about last night—"

"I already know what you're going to say."

His words cut her mind adrift. "I… somehow doubt that."

"I'm glad you found it," he stated simply.

Found it?

"Found what?"

He lifted a dark brow. "My research."

Hermione opened and closed her mouth, realization slowly dawning. "In your bedroom."

He nodded, setting the fork aside. "I know it looks a mess but I promise, I'm going to get it all in order. I'm going to find her."

Hermione gripped the counter, heart sinking like a stone.

"I've gotten distracted too many times since arriving home," he continued. "But Ginny is my number one priority from now on. She needs me and I won't let her down."

She swallowed thickly, nails pressing crescent indentations into the wood.

"I'm going to get organized, plan out my days so I can cover as much ground as possible, searching at night isn't ideal but I'll figure something out."

She swayed in place. Harry blinked. "Mione, you alright?"

She nodded quickly. "Yes, I'm fine." And then forced a smile, hoping it appeared reassuring. "I believe in you, Harry." A steadying breath. "And I want to help."

"You've already done everything you can—"

"No, there's something else I can try. A resource I haven't tapped. It only occurred to me the other day."

His expression housed an obvious reluctance.

"What is it?" she asked.

"I just… don't like the thought of you leaving the house."

She reared back, lips parting as a barrage of arguments rampaged through her mind.

"You know what I mean," he continued quickly, raising his hands in surrender. "It's dangerous for anyone, and you're a known target."

"I won't hold myself up inside the house. Besides, I have a job to do. I'll be heading into work tomorrow morning—"

"Hermione—"

"Harry," she snapped, crossing her arms. "I won't lose my job. It's all I—" Her words fell short, eyes flickering to her father seated beside her, silently gazing at the cabinets. "It's important to me," she rephrased, glancing back to Harry. "And they're relying on me to get the exhibit up and running."

Harry held her gaze for another agonizing beat, seeming to weigh the merits of pushing the subject further. And then his shoulders dropped, the telling gesture sending relief buzzing through her spine.

"Just be home before dark."

She nodded quickly. "I'll call Susan, see if she's available for a few hours today."

"Susan?"

"An at-home nurse. She's just out of school but the best we've ever worked with. Papa adores her."

Harry tilted his head. "She probably reminds him of you."

Her chest tightened at the thought. Harry pushed away from the counter.

"After you call go ahead and meet with your contact. I'll wait for her to arrive."

Hermione shook her head. "You don't have to—"

"It's alright. I still need to clean up here… after making some eggs, I don't think I can eat this." He gestured to his mangled breakfast plate. Hermione smiled. "Besides," he continued. "I like being around him. He reminds me of dad."

Her chest loosened at once, filling with warmth.

"Thank you, Harry."

She touched her father's arm, leaning in to kiss him on the cheek before turning for the doorway.

Crookshanks leaped onto the counter the moment her back was turned, waiting patiently for his moment to strike. She laughed at Harry's heavy groan, glancing over her shoulder. "He likes treats."

Her friend peered up, Crookshank's bushy tail grazing his chin.

"In case you were considering an olive branch," she added with a wink.

His emerald gaze narrowed.

She laughed once more, entering the hall and rounding the corner, on the hunt for the rotary phone, amusement fading with every step.

What am I doing?

She drew a hand through her hair, detangling curls with her fingers, cringing as she struck a particularly large knot.

Ginny needs Harry more than I do.

Her eyes glinted as she entered the main hall, shoulders squaring with determination.

I can take care of Tom Riddle myself.


Ron twitched, caught in the midst of fitful sleep, only to jolt awake by a sharp pain to his shin. His entire body sprang to life like a live wire as he tipped sideways and clutched his leg.

A baby wailed in the distance, but the steady tap tap tapping beside his head drew the entirety of his focus. He pushed upright, eyes fixed on the shoe clapping the carpet, mirroring his rapid pulse.

"What the hell are you doing here, Weasley?"

He blinked, glancing up to meet the perpetually scowling face of Parvati Patil. Which was just as well. He was brewing for a fight. "Where have you been?"

The impatient tapping ceased at once. "Excuse me?"

"You were out all night?"

"That's none—"

"You know how dangerous the city is, what the hell were you thinking?"

She gaped, too enraged to form words for a good five seconds, long enough for Ron to scramble to his feet.

"I work nights, idiot," she recovered at last. "And where I decide to sleep is my own goddamn business."

"Lavender is missing. Do you really think adding your disappearance to the list is going to help her?"

She reared back, struck by the force of his seething words, hurt etching her features. But the elusive emotion was quickly replaced by rage as she surged forward, finger pointed in his face. "Listen here, asshole, I don't know who you think you're talking to but—"

"Oi!" A new voice shouted, the door across the hall opening to reveal a half-dressed woman. "Yell at your little boyfriend outside or kick his ass to the curb already! Some of us are trying to sleep!"

Parvati waited until the door slammed shut then rounded on him with renewed vengeance. "Listen good, Weasley, because I'm only going to say this once." She pressed close, voice low and menacing. "I agreed to let you help me look for Lavender, not dictate my every move. I know you're into paying for your kicks but I'm not going to obey your every command. You got that?"

Heat infused his face, pooling in his cheeks and the tips of his ears. "It's not like that with Lav," he uttered, voice strained.

"I don't want to know anything about your arrangement. I want you to leave."

His jaw tensed. "Look, it isn't safe out there."

"No shit, I've lived in this city my entire life."

"It's more than that, there's—" his eyes flickered to the neighbor's door.

Parvati arched a dark brow, tapping her foot once more. "Yes?"

He carded a hand through his hair, leaning against the wall. "You wouldn't believe me if I told you."

"Probably not. Now get lost."

He dropped his arm. "Why do you hate me so much, Patil? Why come to me for help if you think I'm the scum of the earth?"

She blinked, falling unnaturally still as the silence fettered them in place. And then, to his great consternation, she glanced away first, pulling the keys from her bag and marching to her door. "Fine. You have two minutes to spout whatever bullcrap is stirring around in that dipshit head of yours."

Ah. That was more like it.

She shouldered open the door, gesturing with her chin. "In. Before the neighbors call about the useless vagrant sleeping in my hall."

"Fucking hell."

He stepped inside, entering the crumbling apartment and thinking twice about his earlier concerns for her welfare. After all, if anyone could send a vampire running in the opposite direction, it was certainly Parvati Patil.


Theo awoke with a choked gasp, drawing back from his slumped position over the desk, cringing as his forehead peeled off the hard surface. He wiped the lingering drool from his cheek, blinking dazedly into the green light as he searched out the clock on the wall. There was no concept of day or night in this windowless bunker, sleep something he engaged in only when absolutely necessary. Alas, he had obviously passed out while working. He supposed that qualified as necessary.

He staggered to his feet, metal scraping cement as the stool pushed back. His spine was stiff, elbow sore from being pinned between the counter and his head. But he quickly dismissed the aches, striding for the row of cages with fresh purpose. It was essential to record Abigail's condition every hour. His data would be skewed now. Fuck.

He lifted the edge of the sheet draping her container.

And promptly froze.

A white mass lied at the center of the wood shavings, belly up and legs stiff. Her ruby eyes remained open, clouded in death. He set his jaw, dropping the sheet and shaking his head.

"Damn!"

He kicked the nearest bin, sending it rolling on its side, foot throbbing with the effort.

Get a grip. There's still work to do.

The thought drove him forward. He retrieved his gloves, pulling them tight before moving back to the cage and lifting the lid, carefully extracting her corpse. The body held its position. She'd been dead for hours. Double fuck. He could only hope her blood and tissue samples were still viable.

Can't believe I fell asleep like a fucking infant...

He made his way to the lab table, placing her atop a tray beside the carcass and reaching for the scalpel—

He blinked.

Wait.

Where the hell was the carcass?

Theo stared at the plate beside Abigail. Empty, save for a blood stain. He stepped back, eyes skimming the counter in confusion before kneeling down and searching the ground, wondering if he knocked the table without notice, perhaps in sleep. His eyes narrowed, studying the pool of blood collected atop the cement, just beside the table leg.

His heart skipped.

He rose swiftly and drew back, only to spot another glossy red droplet nearby. And another, and another.

A trail.

… well then. That couldn't be good.

His hands clenched, rubber groaning between his fingers as he picked up the scalpel and positioned it like a dagger, poised to strike as he followed the droplets across the laboratory. Every step caused pressure to swell against his ribs, crushing his lungs, until at last he reached the opposing wall, stopping beside the metal table and its sheet-covered corpse, the body laid out like a ritualistic sacrifice with white, bloodless feet protruding from the end of the fabric. But there was an anomaly among the macabre scene that drew Theo's gaze like a magnet. A blood stain marking the white cotton, near her left ankle, centered over a twitching lump.

He raised the blade overhead, reaching for the covering with a trembling hand. He held his breath and seized the corner, pulling it quickly and staggering back as he came face to face with the mangled mouse carcass, still very much alive.

Its back paw was missing, severed cleanly by Theo's own hand. Its tail was half gone, along with half its face and one of its eyes. The empty socket remained fixed upon Theo, chest heaving, skin missing across its middle, glossy ribs on full display. Blood-caked whiskers twitched, jagged teeth bared as it hissed like a feral cat.

And then lunged.

Theo released an undignified shout, staggering back so quickly he nearly lost his footing, catching himself against a rolling cart as the mouse shot through the air with astounding speed and agility. It twisted mid-flight, barely missing him as it hit the cement, scurrying into the shadowy corner.

"Fuck!"

His voice was edged in hysteria, entire body vibrating with shock and terror as he glanced around frantically, upturning a metal bowl in his haste, instruments striking the floor in an explosive crash. He jolted hard at a scratching noise to his left, cold sweat saturating his every pore as the creature's monstrous shadow projected across the opposing wall as it darted before the standing lamp.

Theo raced for the shelves, grabbing a beaker and holding it out like a shield, wielding the scalpel like a sword, gaze sweeping the floor.

"Alright…" He squared his shoulders, fighting the urge to run for the stairs, research and world peace be damned. "Come here, dead little mouse, come to Theo."

He shook his head.

I've officially lost the plot.

"Are you hungry?" He pushed on, twitching at every noise, his own footsteps included. "I'm sorry I cut off your foot." He turned in a tight circle, afraid to blink. "In my defense, you didn't look like you'd be needing it again."

Another noise sent his pulse into overdrive, closer, louder, near the shelves. He spun, muscles coiling at the high-pitched screech of metal. He bit his tongue, threatening to render it cleanly off as he forced himself nearer, every step one foot closer to insanity.

This can't be real. Surely I'm still asleep at my desk...

A container on the top shelf moved. Theo blinked, shoulder blades drawn so tightly they practically merged. The shelving was dark, overflowing with crap. Why the hell did he own so much crap? He edged closer yet, leaning forward, brows creased.

"Where the fuck are you…"

The response was immediate. The mangled bastard leaped out from between packed bins, its remaining eye narrowed with bloodlust as it aimed for Theo's head.

Theo screamed and tipped back, reactions too slow, the creature adhering to his chest with needle claws, rapidly scurrying for his face.

"Shit!"

He thrashed like a man on the torturing rack, managing to knock the vicious beast aside and into the neighboring wall. It bounced off the brick as though composed entirely of rubber, landing atop the ground in a silent pounce and charging ahead once more, unhampered by its missing limb. Theo stomped manically, trying to kill it underfoot, only for the blasted creature to leap onto his pant leg.

"Christ!"

He shook his leg until he was in the midst of a full-body fit, succeeding only in losing his balance and crashing to the ground, knocking the air from his lungs with the jarring impact. The creature was at his stomach, en route to his chest, burrowing beneath his vest. Theo released an enraged battle cry, dropping the scalpel to bat his attacker with a closed fist, knocking it aside once more. It rolled several times before springing up, shaking its head and charging for the baseboards.

Theo flipped onto his stomach and lunged with the beaker, movements quick and clumsy, chin scraping the ground as he reached forward with every bit of strength left within him. His eyes gleamed feral as he slammed the container down, victory splitting his chest wide as he trapped the beast underneath. It hissed and thrashed, charging the walls repeatedly. But the double-plated glass held. The creature stopped its tantrum at last, glaring out from the center of its enclosure, holding Theo's eye without blinking. Or breathing.

Theo panted wildly, aches and pains roaring through his body like a raging fire as the adrenaline faded. He rose to his knees, holding the beaker down with both hands, never breaking the animal's gaze.

"Well…" he uttered, blood dripping from his chin. "This is an interesting development."


Tom's eyes flickered across the page, speed reading the newest report, narrowing with every word.

Another shipment seized aport, its cargo confiscated.

He clenched his jaw, dropping the document atop the pile and leaning back in his chair.

Smuggling liquor was an enterprising endeavor, a golden ticket in such times of social and economic unrest if you had the wits and skills necessary to take the plunge. But it required dealing with the human authorities on a regular basis, Tom's least favorite past time. Which was why he left the task to Abraxas more often than not, his General's endless store of patience resulting in far less bloodshed than Tom was known for producing.

"Seems we'll have to pay the good Sergeant another visit," Tom uttered, rubbing his brow to quell the oncoming migraine.

Abraxas peered up from his own sea of paperwork at the opposite end of the office. "They'll want a larger bribe no doubt."

"I won't pay the NYPD another cent. They've been a thorn in our side from day one." Tom closed his eyes, tilting his head back to alleviate the tension in his neck. "I'll deal with the problem personally."

His General watched him closely. "You should sleep. Especially after a visitation."

"I'll sleep when I'm dead. Every pun intended." He opened his eyes, leaning forward to settle his elbows atop the desk. "Have you found anything?"

Abraxas closed the ledger. "Her records seem in order. Though there are a few receipts I'm still waiting on."

"If she's cooking the books again I'll kill her myself."

Tom reached for another page, another fire to extinguish. There was so much to oversee on a daily basis, not including his Master's upcoming arrival. He had to make sure everything was in order, every account balanced, every red carpet rolled out. He'd worked too bloody hard to have the City taken from him.

Not now. Not when victory was so close at hand.

Tom thumbed through the stack of reports idly.

He isn't coming to check the company ledgers.

He's coming for the relic.

His gaze drifted to the window, the glass blocked by a thick metal blind. He tilted his head, mind drifting, too exhausted to stay on course this morning.

"Do you remember what it feels like?"

Abraxas glanced up from his work, lifting a pale brow.

"Sunlight," Tom clarified, drumming his fingertips along the glossy mahogany, eyes fixed to the blind.

His General blinked, spine straightening in the leather-backed chair. "I… don't think so." The silence pressed, heavy and absolute. "Do you?"

Tom's gaze narrowed, considering his own question carefully. "Sometimes I think I do. But perhaps it's a false memory. Hard to keep them sorted anymore."

Abraxas nodded slowly. "Time is merely an illusion."

Tom leaned back, rapidly shifting focus once more. Back to the larger issue at hand, the first and most pertinent item on his ever growing to do list.

"I want you to pay a visit to Waverly this evening."

Abraxas settled his paperwork into a pristine stack. "I thought she vacated the premises?"

Tom turned his attention to the next item in the pile. Saturday's police report. Another missing person. "I made her my offer. I'm curious to see how she'll react."

A long beat. Abraxas watched him carefully. "You're really giving her a choice?"

Tom barely quelled his laughter. "Of course not." He peered up, eyes reflecting the stained glass of the Tiffany lamp. "I'm merely giving her the illusion."


Harry turned to the center island, pulling the rind from a piece of ham. He'd spent the morning cooking an edible breakfast for himself and Richard, then cleaning the wreckage left behind on the counters and stove. Hermione's father now sat at the window, gazing at the desolate backyard without expression while her demented cat perched atop the edge of the counter, tail swishing back and forth as it watched Harry's hands and licked its chops.

He raised a dark brow, movements stilling as he gazed upon the animal, Hermione's words washing over him in a soft ripple. He tore off a bite-sized piece and held it aloft. The feline stood at once, padding forward and sniffing the offering as though searching out poison. Harry sympathized, equally paranoid the creature would bite him just for the principal of it. But after a long, skeptical beat, the cat accepted the treat, chewing with a surprisingly delicate bite.

Harry smirked, tearing off a second piece and handing it over with more confidence, debating whether he should pet the ugly beast as well, only to quickly dismiss the notion. Best not to push his luck.

A knock echoed into the kitchen.

Harry glanced up, dropping the ham to the counter as he navigated around the island, much to Crookshank's hungry delight. He wiped his hands on his pant legs and started a path for the front door. Susan was early. He carded a hand through his hair, doing nothing to tame the mess, and opened the barrier wide, smiling politely.

"Hi, you must be—" He blinked, meeting the distinctly familiar and heavily guarded gaze from the porch. "Ron." Harry rocked back, gripping the frame and quickly recalibrating. "I'm so glad you're here. I looked for you yesterday—"

"Should I give you boys some privacy?"

Harry blinked, leaning to the side and spotting the girl slumped against the post, dark hair woven into a thick plait over her shoulder.

"Harry," Ron stated, shifting back. "This is Parvati."

She cringed, standing away from the beam. "Christ, it's creepy hearing you say that."

Ron shook his head in annoyance. "This is Patil."

Harry stepped forward, offering his hand. "Nice to meet you." She did the same, placing her palm in his own. Harry smirked, glancing back to his friend. "Why am I meeting her?"

"I haven't the faintest clue," Parvati replied, releasing his hand to cross her arms and glare at his friend. "But it had better be good or you're officially banned from speaking to me ever again."

Ron held his stare. "Isn't she wonderful?"

Harry laughed, stepping back and pressing the door wide. "Do you want to come in?"

She craned her neck, eyeing the black shutters on the second-story as they banged in the wind. "Not really. Looks like Dracula's Castle."

Both men stiffened, expressions tense.

She blinked, glancing between them. "Oh, I get it. This is all part of the song and dance, right? Is some moron in a cape and plastic fangs waiting in the closet to scare the shit out of me?"

Harry opened his mouth, glancing to his friend once more. "You told her."

"I tried to, but clearly she isn't taking the danger seriously. I thought you might help me convince her."

She began tapping her foot, drawing their collective gaze. "I agreed to come on one condition: I get to call the mental institution afterward. Perhaps they'll let you boys room together."

Harry's shoulders tensed at the casual threat. "This is a bad idea."

"No worries." She winked. "I'm sure you'll look just as handsome in a straitjacket."

"She's helping me look for Lavender," Ron stated, ignoring her entirely. "I want her to be prepared for what she may encounter on the streets." He lifted his chin, gaze darkening. "I won't let those bastards snatch another girl."

Harry deflated with a sigh. Fuck. He stepped further back, gesturing them inside. "Come on then."

They both entered slowly, eyeing the structure distrustfully as Harry closed the door at their backs. He turned to meet Ron's eye, still burdened by the weight of the unspoken words between them but deciding it best to ignore the elephant in the room until they had privacy.

Parvati walked to the center of the entry and spun in a slow circle, taking in the aged antiques, the dangling cobwebs and intricate crown molding. "Holy hell, this place looks straight out of a horror film."

Harry gave the room his own disgruntled once over. "Tell me about it."

Something fell in the kitchen, the metallic bang echoing loudly to where they stood.

Harry tensed.

"I'll be right back."

"Is someone else here?" Ron asked.

Harry opened his mouth, hesitating. Parvati watched him as well, curiosity brimming in her dark eyes. He wet his lips, scrambling for what to say. But there was no point in lying, not now. Richard was unpredictable, and Harry couldn't very well hide an entire human being. Besides, after his last fight with Ron, he wasn't keen on driving the wedge any deeper.

"The Professor," he stated simply.

Ron tilted his head, processing the information for several seconds before straightening. "Mione's here?"

"She just left."

Ron's brows creased. Harry trudged on. "She needed someone to look after him for a bit."

"What happened to Susan?"

Another noise rattled in the kitchen. Harry started backing away. "I'll explain later. You guys can head to the parlor, I'll be there in a few."

"The parlor?" Parvati repeated, lips curving in a wry grin. "Christ, I feel like a debutante."

Harry smirked. "You haven't seen it yet."

"Has a collection of human skin furniture, does it?"

"Only the lamp shades."

He turned for the hall, making a beeline for the other end of the house. His heart seized when he turned the corner and entered the kitchen, empty of human inhabitants. One of the cupboards stood open, upside down pot on the floor, its lid several feet away.

"Mr. Granger?"

Silence greeted him.

"Shit." He started down the hall, calling out. "Richard?" But still, nothing.

Mione's gonna kill me.

And then, as though summoned by the simple thought of her, Crookshanks darted out from behind Harry's feet, weaving between his ankles and successfully scaring the shit out of him.

He stumbled, catching himself against the wall and glaring down. So much for the peace treaty. The cat sprinted down the corridor and stopped at the connecting hall, glancing back with an expectant look, tail standing straight on end. Harry blinked. Then pushed away from the wall, following. Crookshanks led him around the corner and into an abandoned wing, taking off ahead and disappearing through a set of glass inlaid doors at the far end, the barrier parted wide.

The Conservatory.

Harry paled, step quickening. He could have sworn he'd locked those doors.

He paused at the threshold, gazing up at the domed glass roof before rapidly searching the terrain for any sign of life. The plants within were long dead, vines hanging in brown, broken tendrils. A garden of dust and decay.

He started forward, dried leaves crunching underfoot, spotting flashes of orange between cracked pots and warped flower boxes. Harry followed alongside the feline until he was nearly to the other end of the structure. And then he rounded a row of petrified trees, pulse soaring as he spotted his target at last.

Harry approached slowly from behind, rendered mute by the man's utter stillness. Richard gazed down with such rapt focus it drew Harry's own emerald gaze. His steps faltered as the plaque came into view. Black marble and cursive lettering, matte with dust. His eyes flickered higher, spotting the statue before Richard's frozen form.

Harry glanced away quickly, unable to look directly upon it. He'd forgotten it was here. Or perhaps he'd blocked it out. It didn't matter. He would lock and barricade these doors and never have to see it again.

He stopped directly behind the man, reaching forward and touching his shoulder tentatively, receiving no reaction.

"Mr. Granger?"

Richard blinked, rocking in place, as though waking from a stupor. He glanced up, meeting Harry's eye with a dazed look.

"Hello there." He tilted his head back, peering at the fogged roof. "I think I got turned around." He glanced back to Harry with guileless eyes, so reminiscent of Hermione it made Harry's chest ache. "Can you tell me where I am?"

Harry dropped his arm. "You're in the garden." He forced a gentle smile. "Perhaps you'd like to visit the library, find a good book to read?"

Richard tilted his head, gaze unwavering. "Yes… that sounds lovely."

Harry nodded, taking his arm and guiding him down the stone path, eager to exit this dead, forgotten landscape. They exited a few moments later, crossing the hall and entering the vaulted room next door.

The library contained nothing but empty bookcases and a plush chair Harry dragged to the window. Richard sat without comment or complaint, eyes fastened to the street beyond. The same spot Harry had imagined his midnight voyeur…

He rubbed his eyes in exhaustion, backing away slowly as he waited for the man to burst into movement. But Richard remained hypnotized by the neighborhood. Harry hoped the distraction would remain long enough to deal with the impending storm in the parlor. He finally turned away, exhaling with relief, only to stiffen in apprehension.

Ron stood in the doorway, watching them with clenched fists. Harry set his shoulder back, approaching calmly, careful not to draw Richard's notice. Ron opened his mouth to speak but Harry shook his head, signaling silence as he stepped out of the bright space and into the hallway, softly closing the door.

"There's something you're not telling me," Ron hissed the moment the barrier clicked shut.

Harry turned to face him, a wave of exhaustion crashing overhead, washing clean any excuse he might have made.

"I'm sorry. I was trying to…" Harry shook his head, unsure what he meant to say, what could possibly fix this mess of his own making. "You're right. I'm not a good friend. Not anymore." He was amazed how easily the words came, the simple truth lingering behind his tongue all this time. "I think I forgot how to be. I'm so sorry, Ron. I shouldn't have said those things yesterday. I was being selfish."

The silence stretched endlessly, measured only by Harry's thundering heart and the distant echo of the grandfather clock.

Ron shifted on his feet, glancing away. "You were focusing on Gin. I can't fault you for that."

"I was an asshole about it."

"Yeah, you were." A beat. "But I've dealt with worse."

Harry smirked, eyeing his friend closely. "You forgive me then?"

"Not yet." Ron's eyes narrowed with mock scorn, lifting once more. "But I'm considering it."

Harry fought back a grin, turning for the stretch of hall and starting forward. "Well, you'll have plenty of time to mull it over at the asylum, after your friend has us carted off in the paddywagon."

Ron fell into step beside him. "She isn't my friend."

"No? Just captain of your fan club?"

Ron rolled his eyes. "I'm only suffering her company because she's as determined to find Lavender as I am."

Harry's expression sobered. "We'll find her, Ron." He clapped his friend on the shoulder, a gesture of solidarity. "We'll find them both."


Hermione entered the lobby in a whirlwind, shoulders tightly drawn as she came face-to-face with the bustling Sunday crowd. She started forward, pausing as a voice called out from the front desk.

"Good morning, Hermione!"

Hermione spun, pulse fluttering. "Penelope." She searched the young woman's face, looking for some sign of injury or trauma, any trace of Riddle left behind. "Good morning." Sensing nothing gravely amiss she edged closer. "Are you alright?"

Penelope smiled. "Yes, I'm quite well." And then tilted her head. "Why wouldn't I be?"

Hermione gripped the edge of the desk. "I'm… just not used to seeing you here on the weekend."

The young woman laughed, nodding. "I'm picking up extra hours."

Hermione forced a smile, cringing with the effort. But her acting skills were clearly subpar for Penelope blinked, expression wary. "Are you alright?"

Hermione stretched her grin wider, certain she looked insane. "I'm great." And swayed in place, feeling light-headed as she spoke the words aloud.

Alrighty, time for a change of subject.

"Have you seen Draco this morning?"

"No," Penelope replied, folding her hands atop her lap. "He doesn't usually come in on the weekend unless there's an exhibit or event."

Hermione tapped her fingers along the counter. "I thought as much." She smothered a sigh of disappointment. "Have you seen Anthony?"

"He arrived a couple hours ago. I'm not sure where he is but I can have him called—"

"No need," Hermione pushed back from the desk. "I'll find him. Thank you, Penelope."

"Of course."

She started across the pale marble, carefully sidestepping visitors as she went, afraid of coming into direct contact with anyone. No matter which direction she forced her thoughts she couldn't dispel her rising sense of dread, defenses at the ready, an iron wall between her and the outside world. Her stomach twisted, snippets of the dream replaying in her mind on an endless loop the entire morning.

Maybe I should have told Harry...

Her hand tensed atop her bag.

He'd insist on barricading me inside Grimmauld. I'd be crawling the walls and in no less danger than I am now.

She maneuvered around a standing advert for the upcoming Amenemhat exhibit.

Besides, I'm clearly capable of defending myself against the infected. Harry's better off staying focused on Ginny. I can deal with my problems myself.

Her justifications felt as flimsy as a newspaper boat floating atop a puddle, but she was too deep in to turn back now. She changed direction, opting to take the long way around, hoping a trip through her favorite displays would settle her nerves. She adjusted her purse over her shoulder and crossed the threshold into the first room.

The model ruins of Anuradhapura. Hermione weaved through the intricately carved pillars, then past a line of guests admiring the Standard of Ur. She stepped beneath the adjoining archway, emerging in a brightly decorated space with tapestry-covered walls. The Buddist designs were always first to catch her eye, flowing reams of silk covered in detailed imagery meant to evoke peace and serenity. Their vivid coloring brought the paintings to life, the movement and flow a thing of transcendent beauty. Alas, she tore her gaze away with great reluctance and crossed into Ancient Greece.

It was one of the largest and most popular rooms of her department, each wall covered in intricate artwork chronicling the famed Titanomachy, a mythical battle raging across heaven and earth as the young Olympian Gods challenged their Titan predecessors for control of all creation. The majority of panels illustrated bloody war scenes, ending with Zeus's castration of his father Cronus, the remaining Titans dragged by chains into the pits of the Underworld for eternal imprisonment. Zeus tossed the severed appendage into the sea, Cronus's seed staining the water red before giving rise to Aphrodite in the final painting. The radiant Goddess rose gracefully from the lapping foam in her iconic clamshell, love and harmony born from destruction and chaos.

Hermione passed an assortment of busts on her way to the exit, pausing only to glimpse the intimidating statue of Eris herself. The notorious Goddess of Discord held her golden apple aloft, a glittering temptation to every mortal who gazed upon her likeness for centuries past. Her marble hip was cocked in a subversive gesture of rebellion, eyes narrowed, a silent dare to all. Her slitted gaze seemed to follow Hermione across the room, more alive than she had ever noticed before.

She breathed a sigh of relief as she turned the corner, free of the mischievous Goddess's notice at last. She was about to embark across Ancient Rome when a soft whisper caught her notice.

"Hermione."

The voice seemed to come from above. She blinked in confusion, glancing upward, then all around, studying the milling patrons but spotting no eyes upon her. Static was quick to follow, filling her ears from a distance, muffled and broken.

What on earth...

The intercom must have been on.

Hermione turned on her heel and started for the front desk, the volume growing louder with every step. Until she reached Ancient China. The sound changed direction and she realized it wasn't coming from the entrance after all. She changed direction as well, dutifully hunting down the source and noticing with mounting unease that no one else appeared to notice the disturbance. At long last, she reached a new doorway, the static seeming to emanate from within.

Hermione paused at the threshold of Ancient Egypt, taking a stealing breath before stepping inside. The static increased tenfold, echoing off the walls and swirling around her in a powerful vortex, and yet the first thing to draw her notice was the absence of guests— an unusual anomaly for this collection, especially on the weekend.

The back half of the room was closed off by velvet rope and a crimson curtain strung from the ceiling, swaying beneath the air vent. A sign stood before the barrier, announcing the upcoming exhibit and warning visitors of construction. Hermione ventured forward, muscles rigid with brimming fear, though her curious disposition spared her mind from total hysteria. Sunlight glinted off the glass cases lining either wall, showcasing a myriad of treasures.

Nefertiti's golden bust stood atop a raised dais at the very center of the room, allowing the notorious Queen to reign over all in her midst. She tracked Hermione with glittering eyes, ever watchful, ever knowing. Never to be outdone, Cleopatra gazed down from the panoramic painting stationed above. Marc Antony kneeled before her throne, head lowered in defeat and worship. A golden asp laid across her neck, jewels gleamed in her hair and a thousand suns burned behind her eyes.

Hermione wet her lips, unable to break the Queen of the Nile's steely gaze until nearly colliding head-first with a stone carving. She gasped, staggering back, only to meet the crumbling eyes of Hatshepsut, Egypt's first female Pharaoh. She watched Hermione with the same unyielding intensity, setting her skin aflame.

Her heart thundered as she passed the stone effigy and moved to the curtain, where the noise was the loudest. She held out hope it was merely a forgotten radio left behind by a member of the night crew. A long shot, but her logic-hardened brain demanded she stay within the realm of reason until sanity failed her completely. She raised a trembling hand, grasping a fistful of fabric and holding her breath, standing frozen as the statues at her back, terrified of what she would find, what this moment could mean…

She pulled it aside with a quick exhale, stepping inside the enclosure. It was dark, illuminated only by a thin strip of sunlight. Plaster stones littered the marble, scaffolding lining the walls. The display was meant to look like the inside of a tomb but the layout was terribly inaccurate, a folly that would normally annoy her a great deal… but right now she couldn't muster a care in the world. Instead, she paced slowly between loose planks and toolkits, searching for a radio. A sign. A burning beacon. Anything

All at once, the noise stopped. The silence was a vacuum, so great and absolute it terrified her more than the static itself.

Hermione pressed a hand to her mouth and stumbled back, getting wrapped in the curtain before fighting her way free, batting at the fabric as she found the blessed sunlight. She turned promptly, practically sprinting across the room, desperate to distance herself from this madness, her former sanctuary turned horror fun house.

Visitors in the next room eyed her curiously. She forced her gait to slow, willing their gazes away and reminding herself of her purpose for being here. The virus would not deter her from seeing this mission through.

Two minutes later she was heading down the steps for the sublevels, passing security with a curt nod before entering the employee offices. If Anthony was anywhere it would be here, buried beneath mountains of work even on the weekend. His dedication to the job was what first drew her notice, his love for learning prompting her to take the young man under her wing, tutoring the brilliant acolyte whenever possible.

She began down the hallway, doors on either side standing open to reveal empty workstations. Hermione made it halfway down before accepting defeat and turning to leave, the pervasive silence settling deep in her bones. She was feet away from the stairs when a soft thump sounded from the other end of the corridor.

She blinked, glancing back. "Hello?"

The light in the Archive room was on.

"Anthony?"

Silence.

Hermione started forward, hands trembling as she stopped in the doorway. The room was empty. She held her breath, reaching for the light switch—

And caught sight of the folder at the center of the table, a closed notebook at its side. Her translations. Everything just as she'd left it after Draco forced her to depart early.

She stared at the items for a long moment, the air pressure shifting, turning dense, and crept closer, drawn forth by an invisible thread at her center. She stopped at the edge of the table, grabbing her journal and flipping through the pages, searching searching searching—

Her eyes widened as she found the entry.

Thousands gathered in the city center to hear their Queen speak. Neferitatjenen stood atop a golden altar, skin awash in radiant light that could be seen for miles across the desert, as dazzling as the midday sun...

annot. Egyptian royalty often decorated their bodies with khol, henna and fragrant oils, the latter most likely accounting for the Queen's god-like appearance...

Hermione stared at the page so hard the letters rearranged themselves, words turning to gibberish.

Oh my god.

She flipped to the next page.

her voice was known to echo down the Nile, reaching soldiers stationed for miles along the riverbank, blessing them with sacred spells to bestow supernatural strength and unparalleled bravery...

could communicate with her subjects through their dreams...

Hermione shut the notebook with a snap, dropping it to the table and staggering across the aisle, catching herself against the doorway and fleeing into the hall without a backward glance. She made it halfway down the hall when it hit her like a freight train.

The scent.

She drew to a stop, rocking back on her heels and glancing in either direction, senses overcome, thoughts rapidly scattering. Fear and confusion fell by the wayside, nothing mattered but hunting down the source, as vital as drawing her next breath.

She began climbing the steps, trying to place the scent in her mind as she eyed the air vents along the ceiling. Surely the fragrance was being pumped into the museum like a toxic perfume cloud...

Unless I'm imagining it. Just like the static.

Auditory hallucinations, phantom odors, a complex kind of delirium. She'd expected to lose her mind someday, it was in her genetic make-up after all, but never like this. Hermione was almost to the top of the stairs, so focused on her newest mission she failed to notice the figure heading in the opposite direction, shouting her name.

"Hermione!"

She jolted, turning to face the man beside her, clutching the railing at her back to remain upright. "Anthony." Her muscles coiled tight. "Do you smell that?"

He blinked, glancing to the landing and back, expression awash in bemusement. "Smell..." He peered at the steps beneath their feet. "Custodial came through last night, perhaps they were a bit overzealous with the ammonia."

She opened and closed her mouth. "No, it smells like…" Her mind spun for the right word, then settled upon the simple truth. "Food."

Her heart thrummed with the realization.

He raised a brow. "Maybe they're cooking in the breakroom?"

Even he sounded unconvinced. She wet her lips, glancing to the upper level beyond her control. "Perhaps."

Anthony tilted his head, considering her carefully. "Are you alright, Hermione?"

Are you alright, Hermione? Are you alright are you alright are you alright...

Always the same question, over and over and over. She was so tired of hearing that question.

"I'm quite fine." She gathered the remnants of her sanity and straightened. "As fate would have it, I was looking for you."

He stood at alert. "Do you need help with the Egyptian texts?"

She fought back a cringe, unsettled by the reminder. The cursed texts, a dark outline of her fate.

"No, I've nearly finished translating them."

He deflated, eyes casting down. Guilt seized her.

"But I'll need your help getting the exhibit in order, there's so much to do still," she added.

Anthony smiled and bounced in place, eager as a schoolboy. "I'm happy to assist however you need."

She smiled in turn, his boyish enthusiasm contagious. "There is something you can help me with actually... I need Draco's home address." She wet her lips, leaning in. "To speak with him about something pertinent to the upcoming exhibit." She knew Anthony didn't require an explanation but felt inclined to give it, adding depth to her subversion.

"Oh…" He blinked, visibly processing the request. "Yes, I can pull it from the employee registry, assuming he's updated his file."

Hermione nodded, hoping that was the case. She knew the location of the Manor, but the heir to the Malfoy fortune had moved out years ago. She had Draco's phone number but didn't feel comfortable discussing this particular matter over the party line, nor did she put it past the stubborn man to hang up the moment she breached the taboo topic aloud.

No, better to corner him in person, ensuring she received the information she needed before the day's end. Time was of the essence. For everyone.

"I can pull it from the registry," she said. "I was just curious if you knew it off the top of your head."

"Please, allow me. The back office is closed today, I can borrow the keys from Penelope."

She sighed, grateful for the offer. Anything to avoid another painfully awkward exchange with the young woman at the front desk.

Besides… Hermione still had to search out the source of the elusive scent.

"Thank you, Anthony, I appreciate it."

He flushed, nodding quickly and stepping higher on the staircase. "I'll meet you in the lobby in a few minutes."

She gripped the brass railing until she was certain it would dent beneath her palm. "Sounds good."

He started up, only to pause a moment later, glancing back with a strange expression.

She paused as well, waiting.

"I… feel like there's something I meant to tell you…" he trailed off, eyes clouding. "But I can't remember what it is."

She offered a smile, though the sudden change to his cheerful countenance was unsettling. "Happens to me quite often."

He blinked, gaze brightening in the next beat. "I suppose if I can't remember it wasn't that important to begin with." Her heart skipped at the words. He shook his head with a laugh. "Anyways, I'll see you upstairs."

He resumed his path forward. She waited until he crossed the landing and rounded the corner before darting up herself, heels clicking across the marble as she reached the first level, determined to find the source of this budding madness.

She slowed in the main hall, glancing around the sea of patrons for any hint of what it could be, thinking perhaps a lunch cart was stationed outside. But she spotted no food in their hands, no crowd outside the doors.

Could it truly be in my mind?

She continued towards the heart of the museum, feet carried by instinct, the scent growing stronger with every step. Her stomach clenched tight, whether by hunger or fear she wasn't certain or particularly keen to know. And then a mighty scent wave struck her, overpowering her senses, as though she were suddenly standing in a cloud of it.

She spun in a tight circle, dazed, lost, possessed

Her eyes fixed upon a little girl not ten feet away, straightening a pink hair barrett as she exited the restroom, the white door swinging shut behind her.

Hermione swallowed thickly, mouth watering as she started forward in a trance. Her vision tunneled upon the door, pushing it wide with a steady hand, stepping into the brightly lit space and swaying in place, the scent saturating her every pore. She tipped back with the force of it, leaning into the wall as fire consumed her throat, reminding her of the night she inhaled the ashes. Clawing, gasping...

Movement drew her focus, sight hazed by tears. A young woman stood before the row of pedestal sinks, a blurry silhouette. Hermione blinked rapidly, gaze clearing, sharpening, until the fluorescent lights became blinding, their electrical hum radiating through her bones, twisting her ribs. She raised a hand, blocking out the glare until she was able to see the stranger quite clearly.

The woman's head was tipped back, a handkerchief pressed to her nose. She glanced over her shoulder and blushed.

"Oh, sorry, didn't hear you come in," she offered by way of greeting, lowering the fabric.

Hermione dropped her hand, breath trapped in her lungs, suffocating her from the inside. The square was soaked through with red. The scent assaulted her in a fresh onslaught, muddling her thoughts as she gazed upon the blood stain with single-minded focus.

"I just hate these things, sneaking up at the worst possible times." The woman laughed lightly, dabbing her nose. "Especially in the fall, all the dry air I suppose."

Hermione's entire body pulsated in time to her heart. A steady, melodic beat. A battle drum. The start of a hunt.

She wasn't aware she'd pushed away from the wall, that her feet traveled steadily forward across the tightly packed tile, closer closer closer—

"There's no need to worry, I get these all the time."

The woman's smile fell as Hermione continued her approach. She shifted back, spine pressing the lip of the sink, alarm taking root in her gaze. Hermione was upon her now, lifting her hand—

The door swung open.

An elderly woman wielding a walking cane stepped inside. Hermione balked, awoken violently from her daze, staggering back with horror in her eyes. The young woman balled the handkerchief in her fist, a thin trail of blood marring her upper lip as she watched Hermione with open apprehension.

Hermione glanced away sharply, scrambling for an apology but her throat was clenched too tightly to force the words free. She didn't trust herself to linger in the cramped space a moment longer. She spun on her heel and ran to the exit, pulling the handle with such force the door struck the opposite wall with a bang, drawing the attention of nearby guests. Hermione blushed, tilting her face down as she navigated the corridor, struggling to keep her steps measured.

Stay calm. Just get out of here.

She cut a straight path through the lobby, escape just within reach. Her pace quickened, pulse pounding in her temples, her wrists, her ankles. She pressed a hand to her middle, stomach aflame, as though she'd swallowed acid—

"Hermione!"

She whirled around.

Fuck! What now?

Anthony stepped forward, lifting a piece of folded paper with a smile. Penelope watched them from the corner of her eye, pretending to fill out paperwork.

"The address," he said.

Address? What address?

Realization smacked her upside the head, prompting her forward. "Oh, right." She couldn't force another smile. "Thank you, Anthony."

He extended the offering, brow raised. She braced for the question. Always the same question.

Are you alright, Hermione?

But he surprised her when another emotion altogether twisted his youthful features.

Fear.

His fingers tensed upon the paper, holding it tight in his grip, refusing to release it to her possession.

"Anthony?" She leaned forward, casting her voice low. "What's wrong?"

His throat bobbed, eyes gleaming bright. "Hermione…"

"Yes?"

He blinked, swaying in place, rigid as a signpost. And then, just as suddenly as it came, the look passed.

He shook his head, dropping his hand. "Sorry, I…"

She reached out, placing a hand to his arm. He stiffened beneath her touch.

"I forgot it again." His smile was as brutally forced as hers. "I'm sure it will come to me as soon as you leave."

She searched his face. "That's usually the case. Luckily, I'll be back tomorrow, you can tell me then."

He lifted the paper once more. "Here you go."

She released his arm, accepting the address. "Thank you again."

She wanted to ask more but suspected pressing the matter would only make it worse. Penelope watched them openly, papers discarded at her side. Hermione swallowed lightly, backing away and turning on her heel, starting for the exit.

"Be careful, Hermione."

Her heartbeat echoed in her ears, off the ceiling. She turned slowly. "What?"

Anthony laughed, gesturing to the wall of glass. "There's construction at 5th and 83rd."

Hermione blinked.

Construction.

Holy shit.

This day.

"See you tomorrow," she uttered, mind beyond reason as she turned once more, address clutched tightly in hand. She tried to remember how to put one foot in front of the other, the simple task of walking a complex concept to her now.

The exit was only feet away. Freedom so close she could taste it…

The door opened. A man entered.

Hermione stopped in her tracks, rocking back on her heels.

For fuck's sake.

The new entrant glanced around the crowded lobby as he pulled the cashmere scarf from his neck. She held her breath, willing herself to turn invisible, desperate to channel a new superpower here and now.

Alas, his silver gaze alighted upon her, narrowing at once.

"Ms. Granger." Disdain laced every syllable of her name.

She straightened, lifting her chin. "Mr. Malfoy."

He arched a pale brow, staring her down his nose. "Leaving already? I do hope you'll be able to work within the timeframe the board has set. We cannot adjust the date of the exhibit."

She fought to suppress a scowl. "I'll make it work. I always do."

His eyes glinted like daggers, roaming her figure from top to bottom. "You appear ill."

Hermione bristled.

Lucius smiled, teeth a brilliant white. "Perhaps we should call in McLaggen to assist."

The blood drained from her head in a powerful rush, pooling at her feet and locking her heels in place.

"McLaggen is in New York?" She whispered.

"Arrived home on Friday," he announced with exuberance, basking in her discomfort. "He reached out to me this morning, offering his services."

She squared her shoulders, grinding her teeth. "I'm perfectly capable of completing the work myself."

His amusement blew away like dried leaves.

"We'll see." Darkness bled across his features. "I'll be monitoring your progress very closely, Ms. Granger. This exhibit will bring a great deal of publicity and revenue to the museum. The board is greatly vested in its success."

"Then please do tell them I have it under control." She rested a hand atop her purse, smiling sweetly. "Good day, Sir."

She marched past, satisfied her parting words conveyed the true message in her heart.

Piss off.

She wrenched the door wide, his glare following her over the threshold and down the stairs until she stepped onto the sidewalk with a sigh of exhaustion, half-convinced she was still trapped inside the building, her escape only an illusion, a sweet fantasy to be ripped away the moment she opened her eyes.

But as she put half a block between herself and the Met she dared to unclench her fist, opening the slip of paper and reading the address scrawled in looping cursive. Her stomach twisted anew, but not with the visceral hunger of before. No, now she was fueled with determination, a driving obsession to see today's mission through.

She would help Harry with his investigation. They would find Ginny.

But first, she had another pit stop to make.


Bella paced slowly between the rows of evening primrose, silk robe trailing the stone at her feet, dampened by manufactured heat. She ran an idle fingertip across a bloom, its petals closed tight, the scent of honey and lemon hanging thick upon the air. Gardening shears tapped her bare thigh with every step, held loosely in hand as she turned another corner, eyes gleaming in the darkness.

A figure appeared in the doorway connecting the greenhouse to the estate, tall shadow stretched across the walkway. He tucked his hands into his pockets, watching her meander through the rows with a curious eye.

"You're up early," he stated, baritone trembling the leaves. "Still restless I see."

She tilted her head back, reaching up to grasp a tendril of twisting ivy overhead. The vines spindled out, wrapping the posts and growing across the metal roof.

"There's an electricity in the air. Keeps me awake." She lowered her arm. "Can't you feel it?"

He stepped over the threshold. "Afraid not."

The tip of the sheers pricked the silk of her garters. "It's old, very old… and calls to my blood. I can hear it whispering to me, even in my dreams."

"It's probably your father. He should be close to mainland by now."

"I know my father's call." She slowed her steps, admiring another bloom. "This is something different. Something wild… and powerful." The white bud rested in her palm. "Very powerful."

He considered her words, stepping further inside the Garden. "I think you're just anticipating his arrival, darling."

She crushed the flower in her hand. Petals rained down, collecting at her stockinged feet. "Thank goodness I didn't ask for your opinion on the matter."

He stiffened, lips pressing thin.

"Don't give me that look," she spoke over her shoulder. "I can't abide your glowering stare."

He raised his chin, shoulders drawing wide. "Tell me how to help."

"That's more like it." She smirked, glancing back at last. "The boys are up to something. I can feel it as surely as the current on the wind." She began pacing closer, hips swaying with every step as she lifted the sheers, tapping the edge of the blade against her ruby painted lips. "Pay a visit to the Penthouse this evening. Keep an eye on Tommy's pretty little lapdog."

She stopped before her White Knight, placing a hand to the center of his chest, just beside his heart. His pupils dilated, body leaning in.

"My big brother has a secret," she whispered, resting the shears atop his shoulder and pressing the blade to his throat. He growled with pleasure, grabbing her waist as she leaned in, tilting her head until their mouths aligned. "And I'm going to find out what it is."


Hermione stepped over a pile of empty tin cans, carefully navigating heaps of garbage until reaching the accordion gate on the opposite end of the alley. She kicked aside a stack of rotting newspaper, banging the metal with the side of her fist and hoping desperately Theo would be in. Then she blinked, wondering if he ever left.

Her thoughts stalled as steps echoed across the metal staircase on the other side.

"Who is it?" His voice was muffled and annoyed.

She leaned in, placing a hand to the brick to steady herself. "Hermione."

The door opened a sliver, just enough to reveal a pair of wild, shifty eyes, dark circles collected beneath.

"Are you alone?"

She raised a brow. "...yes."

His gaze narrowed, darting to the alley as though doubting her word. Then the door slammed shut, causing her to jolt. Metal scraped, the lock sliding away before the barrier parted wide, followed by the gate.

She stepped back, taking in his appearance. Blood speckled his shirt and jaw, the skin broken at his chin and his normally pristine hair in such disarray it rivaled Harry's.

"Theo… is everything alright?"

He smiled widely, expression decidedly maniacal. "Never better. Please, come in."

He stood aside, gesturing her forward. She stepped across the threshold, shoulders pulled tight as she squeezed onto the catwalk, glancing around the eerie industrial space. It appeared different somehow, another beast entirely without Harry's comforting presence at her side. She knew Theo would never harm her, not intentionally. But she felt unsettled all the same, tension mounting as he slammed the door and jammed the lock into place.

She shook her head at her own paranoia, glancing to her purse for distraction. "Oh, before I forget, I brought you this." She reached inside and withdrew her offerings. "Holy water and a crucifix."

Theo turned, staring at the flask and cross with a blank expression. "How wonderfully thoughtful."

She rolled her eyes, handing them off before crossing to the stairs. "Just be thankful it's not garlic. Harry wanted to cover your floor with it."

"I don't doubt it." Theo followed behind, steps quick and certain while Hermione clung to the handrail for dear life. "But something tells me this isn't the main purpose of your visit."

She emerged on the lower level, wringing her hands as she gazed upon the chaotic laboratory. "I need your help, Theo."

He tilted his head, crossing to the nearest table and depositing the items. "Something's happened," he stated, propping his hip against the edge and crossing his arms.

Hermione took a steadying breath, unearthing the dark secret from the pits of her soul. "Harry didn't want me to say anything, but I—"

Something rattled at their sides, causing her to jump a foot in the air.

Theo stepped forward. "Shit. Hold on."

He strode across the room to a sheet covered box. She edged sideways for a better view, watching as he lifted the corner of the fabric, revealing the front panel of a cage. There was movement at the bottom.

Mice?

She closed the distance, peering over his shoulder, the contents coming into view—

Hermione gasped, covering her mouth with both hands and rearing back.

Four mice scrambled over each other to climb the grate, gnawing at the bars with bloodied, broken teeth, clawing desperately with mangled paws and jagged knubs, ears ripped and dangling, eyes scarred and missing, bodies torn, shredded. She shook her head, intestines squirming at the sight.

"Hm…" Theo's contemplative hum broke through her shock like an explosion. "This cage won't hold for much longer. Reinforced steel should do it, I'd think."

"Theo…" He glanced up. She met his eyes in horror. "What the hell is this?"

He blinked, appearing confused for a staggering beat. "Oh, right." He tilted his head, examining the cage and its ghastly occupants. "It seems the virus is far more unpredictable than I could have ever anticipated."

Hermione paled. "The virus did that?"

He nodded, watching with clinical detachment as they continued to scramble for freedom, red eyes possessed with bloodlust.

"They're ravenous," he stated.

She wet her lips, mouth dry. "For blood?"

He tilted his head the other way, studying them from a new angle. "For flesh."

Her eyes flickered up, fixed upon his profile. "What?"

"The only conclusion I've drawn with any certainty is the virus evolves rapidly within the host, making it nearly impossible to study on a limited scale. If there's a pattern, I have yet to discover it."

She swayed in place, realizing she was on a collision course with the ground only when his hands seized her, pulling her upright.

"Granger." He examined her waxen complexion. "Perhaps a seat is in order."

She swallowed back a sob, standing on her own even as her heart plummeted. "I have it, Theo."

He blinked, releasing her arms at once. "How?" He didn't bother asking for clarification, the terror in her eyes making her meaning clear enough. "The night of the attack? Were you bitten?"

"Before then." Hermione closed her eyes, strangled by the dark memory. "The jar. I opened it." She turned away from the cage, wiping the tears before they fell.

"The contents carried the virus," he concluded gravely.

She nodded, opening her eyes. He held her gaze for a tortuous beat, then stepped back. "Sit. Let me take a blood sample."

Her knees trembled as he gestured to a stool beside a rolling cart.

Needles. She hated needles. But she removed her coat and purse without argument, making her way across the lab and perching gingerly on the edge of the seat. She watched his silent approach, a single question weighing heavily upon her heart.

"Am I going to become…" Her eyes drifted to the rattling cage. "Like that?"

Theo pulled on his gloves. "I don't know." He opened a drawer on the cart and withdrew a gleaming syringe, holding it to the light. She closed her eyes on instinct, nausea turning her stomach inside out.

He shifted beside her, voice lower, softer than moments before. "Extend your right arm. I'll do my best to be quick about it."

She nodded, doing as bade and focusing on her breathing. The gloves were cold on her skin, his touch firm and certain. The needle prick came without warning, for which she was grateful, seeing no need to suffer twice by worrying about the pain to come. He held her limb steady as he filled the vial, only to withdraw the metal with the same seamless skill he inserted it with.

"Give me a moment, I'll examine it now."

She opened her eyes, reaching for a cotton ball on the tray and pressing it to the blood welling atop her skin, relieved it carried no scent. She didn't think she could survive another episode.

Her thoughts broke apart as Theo picked up a slide, the tink of glass drawing her gaze. She watched him transfer her blood to the plate with a dropper, every movement precise. She rose to her feet as he sat before the microscope, feeding the slide beneath the lens and leaning in.

The silence was deafening, torturous. She pressed down on the cotton swab until her arm throbbed.

At long last, Theo leaned back.

She inhaled sharply. "Well?"

A tense beat. He tilted his head, shoulder blades tightening. "I don't know."

She shook her head, crossing towards him quickly. "What do you mean? Do I have the virus or not?"

He pushed back from the table, rolling the chair around to face her. "You have something, but I don't recognize it."

She stepped before the microscope and leaned down, peering into the eyepiece without bothering to ask permission. It had been many years since she'd operated such a tool, sophomore biology if memory served, but she was able to recognize the foreign invaders plaguing her cells quite clearly. Inky tendrils reached out and punctured her white blood cells, filling them with a dark poison, spreading as rapidly as a swarm of—

"Locusts," She whispered, drawing back in a numb stupor.

Theo studied her closely. "It doesn't match the sample I took from Potter's attacker. Nor does it align with any of the mice, Abigail included."

"What does that mean?"

He stood swiftly, drawing a gloved hand through his electrified hair and starting to pace. "The virus evolves between hosts. The only comparable data was found in the second set of mice." He turned on his heel, beginning a new lap. "I introduced the virus into Abigail's system when she was alive. Now she's dead." Hermione's pulse rioted, hooked on every word. "At least for now," he added as a passing afterthought, unphased by the insanity.

He glanced to the trembling cage. "She introduced her strain to the others as she ate them. The virus got into their system..." He wet his lips, eyes bright. "And brought them back from the dead."

She swallowed heavily, trying to make sense of the swirling chaos. "Alright… so what does that mean for me?"

He stilled, head snapping sideways as though remembering her presence. "I haven't the faintest clue."

Hermione deflated. "That's rather unhelpful."

"I know. I'm sorry." He didn't sound the least bit sorry. She slumped into the table.

"I have a theory…" he continued. "But I've conducted too few trials to stand by it with any conviction. Moreover, the studies I'm running are all derived from a single viral strain."

"I speak many languages, Theo, but science clearly isn't one of them."

"You were infected with what appears to be a three-thousand-year-old virus. It looks different because it is different. None of these trials mean anything for you." His eyes glinted green in the pulsing light. "Your strain is closer to the original source, if not the very first. It will be less diluted, less evolved. Pure." He lifted his chin, crossing his arms. "Which also means… it may hold the key to a cure."

Her heart pounded through her chest, bruising her ribs.

"Do you still have the jar?" he asked.

"Yes," she whispered, mind reeling with renewed hope.

"Bring it to me, as soon as you can."

She stepped away from the table, buzzing with excitement. "I'll have to ask Harry where he hid it, I'll bring it to you immediately."

"See that you do. In the meantime, I'll use your blood as a starting point. Do you mind sitting for another sample?"

Hermione shook her head, darting for the stool without hesitation.

"Theo?" she asked, sitting once more. "How long do you think I have?"

He reached for a fresh needle, removing the cap. She sensed the automatic response in his eyes and spoke first. "I know you don't speak in absolutions. But if you had to guess… I need to know what to expect."

He set his jaw, resting the needle at his side. "Have you experienced any unusual symptoms?"

She blanched.

"I'll take that as a yes."

"I… had an unusual burst of strength. The night of the attack."

He tilted his head, intrigue coloring his expression.

"And…" She squirmed in place. "My skin glowed."

His brows creased. "Glowed?"

"The ashes belonged to the heart of an Egyptian Queen," she explained. "Going off the texts, it's clear she was infected. The people viewed her a Goddess incarnate. Glowing skin seems to be par for the course."

"What an exciting prospect," he smirked. "Perhaps you'll amass a cult following and have a sixth borough erected in your honor."

Hermione folded her hands atop her lap. "I'm more concerned with becoming a ravenous monster who devours everyone within said borough."

His amusement faded. "All viruses are programmed to spread. To replicate and evolve. But their hosts are never helpless." His eyes narrowed. "And you, Hermione Granger, are far from helpless."

Her gaze flickered up, a soft smile curving her lips. "Thank you, Theo."

He stepped back and lifted the syringe, needle glinting in the light. "In the meantime, keep me closely apprised of any new and developing symptoms." He held her gaze captive. "Nothing can be gained by keeping secrets."

She released a slow breath, holding her arm aloft. "Truer words were never spoken."

Theo leaned in, plunging the syringe into her vein a second time. Hermione kept her eyes open, watching the needle invade her flesh. She didn't flinch.


Harry took a stealing breath, dodging between pop-up merchants and milling shoppers as he traversed the Sunday market. The scent of onions and cooked meats hung heavy in the air, underlaid by body odor and flowery perfume, his skull throbbing with the noxious combination.

East Village was bedazzled with bright colors and crowded street vendors, its Russian, Ukranian and Jewish influence unmistakable thanks to country flags and native text printed across colorful monikers. Restaurants and shops lined either end of the sidewalk, windows glowing and patios jam-packed with the weekend lunch crowd.

A man selling skinned fowl from a butcher stand waved a dead chicken in Harry's face. He ducked out of the way, narrowly avoiding a beak to the eye, only to collide with a cobbler station, the smell of leather stain clearing his airway with a chemical burn. He backed away carefully, pausing to allow a group of children to run past, the boy at the back of the procession wielding a baguette like a sword.

The neighboring stand overflowed with baubles and trinkets, the next with hats, another with jarred honey and jams. Harry's heart galloped with joy as the exit revealed itself, the final two stands of the roadside market just ahead. But before he could emerge from the chaos an elderly woman entered, pushing a rolling cart and blocking his path.

He stood aside to allow her room to pass, unable to tear his gaze from her hunched form. Her head was shrouded in a black scarf, her cart brimmed with rotting fruit and swarming flies. She peered up, one eye clouded with cataracts, the other startling bright, both narrowing with malice as they roamed Harry's figure from top to bottom, as though sensing the taint upon his very skin. He pressed against the stand at his back, desperate to escape her astute inspection. She continued to trudge past, the wheel of her cart squeaking loudly, her haunting gaze emblazoned on his mind even after she looked away.

He breathed deeply, releasing the table and darting into the street, then onto the curb and between the alleys, crossing steadily to the pawnshop on the corner. He opened the heavy door and slipped inside, grateful to see the store was bereft of patrons, allowing him a brief and blessed reprieve. The shop itself was bursting at the seams with junk, though he supposed it may all be considered another man's treasure. However, after living as a nomad for so long Harry couldn't bear to look upon the clutter for more than a few seconds.

He crossed between the aisles, stopping before a glass counter at the wall, filled with rows of gleaming bracelets and watches, aged coins and crystal figurines, all perched atop a velvet throw. A silver bell sat atop the glass, a handwritten note beside it. Ring for Service. Harry did just that, glancing up as a noise sounded beyond the plastic curtain behind the register.

It was then Harry saw the second sign, mounted high on the wall for everyone to see.

thieves shot on sight

The curtain parted, a short and portly man emerging from between the folds. He pulled out a napkin tucked into his collar and wiped his hands, still chewing.

"How can I help you, kid?" He asked around his mouthful.

"I'm looking for a girl."

"Ain't we all."

Harry reached into his vest slowly, eyes fixed to the six-shot pistol strapped to the man's rotund hip. "A specific girl."

He withdrew the black and white image from the inner lining, holding it aloft. Ginny's senior photograph, the only picture her parents could rummage of their daughter sitting still and facing the camera. The image was five-years dated, but she looked largely the same, save for the length of her hair.

"You recognize her? She'll have a bob now."

The man wiped his hands once more, swallowing his food and taking the photograph, holding it close to his face.

"She yours?"

Harry tensed. "A friend." He forced his stance to relax. "And missing."

The man nodded. "Lots of that going around."

Harry leaned in, bracing the edge of the counter. "Anyone local?"

"Local kids go missing all the time." The shop owner shrugged, setting the photo on the glass. "Most get written off as runaways. Most of 'em are."

"And the others?"

"Gone all the same." He slid the image across the counter. "Sorry, kid. I ain't seen her."

Harry sighed, carefully retaking the paper. "Do you have a notice board?"

The man nodded, tipping his chin towards the entrance. "On the wall behind the door. Mostly concerts and events."

"Mind if I hang her flyer?"

"You got flyers?" He raised a bushy brow. "Big spender. Don't suppose you want to spread some of that wealth my way?"

Harry grit his teeth, reaching for his wallet. "What'll it cost me?"

The man tipped his head, watching as Harry withdraw the bundle of leather before crossing his arms over front. "Nothing. Go ahead, hang it."

Harry blinked, freezing in place as he glanced up.

"I hope you find her," the owner added.

Harry nodded, tucking his wallet back into his pocket. "Me, too. Thank you."

"Don't mention it." The man stepped away from the counter. "Now, if you don't mind, I'm going to finish my lunch."

Harry smirked. "Don't let me keep you."

The owner waved his hand in dismissal and farewell, disappearing through the curtain once more. Harry turned on his heel and started for the door, opening his bag and withdrawing one of the few papers he had left. Creating lithograph copies had been a time-consuming and costly endeavor, at least according to Ron. The Weasleys had scraped together all their spare dimes to buy the stack. The copies were almost out, Harry intended to purchase more this week.

He stopped before the bulletin board, removing a tac from a business card for a local tailor and pinned Ginny's image to the very center of the collage. He settled back, meeting the gaze in the photo, pain alighting in his shoulder. He rubbed the muscle, fingertips pressing the burning skin, pain spreading up and around to his chest. Her face seemed to come to life, mere paper unable to contain the vibrant life force of Ginevra Weasley. A two-dimensional image could never hope to capture her vibrancy, her sheer force of nature.

The rest of the shop faded to smoke, his peripheral melting away, nothing existing beyond her wild grin, her piercing eyes. Unrestrained laughter echoed in his head, drowning out the bustling market beyond the door, drowning out his thundering heartbeat...

A knock sounded, jolting him awake.

Harry blinked into the shadows of his childhood bedroom, gazing around in confusion only to spot the shadow cast across the wall, a dark silhouette illuminated by moonlight. He pushed up, leaning against his headboard and turning to the window.

Ginny smiled from the other side of the glass, waving excitedly.

Harry shook his head in amusement, throwing his covers aside and stumbling from the bed, steps clumsy with sleep. He fumbled with the lock before sliding the pane up.

"Gin? What are you doing here?"

"What do you think? It's your birthday!"

He glanced to the metal clock on his bedside table, squinting to read the narrow hands. "Not for another hour."

"Good. I'll be the first to wish you a happy birthday." She backed away, stepping through the shrubs. "Come on."

He raised a brow, eyeing her speculatively. She merely laughed, tossing her fiery hair. "Hurry up or you'll miss it!"

Harry shook his head and ran to the closet, grabbing his trainers off a pile of dirty clothes before dashing to the window. He climbed over the ledge in his faded t-shirt and sleep pants, emerging in humid summer heat as he landed in the mulch, jumping the bushes and chasing her across the overgrown lawn. He was supposed to mow the grass the weekend prior but had procrastinated, as always, opting to play football in the park all day instead. His mom was going to kill him if he didn't get to it soon.

Ginny's tinkling laughter drew him into the street. She stopped beside her shiny green bike, her most treasured possession, and threw a leg over the seat, gripping the worn handles.

"Mine's in the garage," Harry said, standing on the curb. "My parents will hear if I open it."

"Then hop on the back, Potter." She winked, smile glittering in the street light.

He leaped forward without hesitation, stepping onto the spoke pegs and gripping her shoulders tight as she started forward. Her hair chased them in a blazing trail as she pedaled like a bat out of hell, navigating between parked cars and hydrants and trees, onto the sidewalk, around the corner and up the hill, legs pumping furiously as they wove through the shadowy streets of Brooklyn. They laughed wildly, howling at the moon and shouting at brake lights, barrelling through stop signs without pause or worry.

She made a tight turn onto Parkside, their destination obvious. A thrill seized him.

"What are we doing here?" He shouted down to her.

"You'll see!"

She stopped at last, tires spitting gravel as they parked on the parade ground, the sprawling green of Prospect Park a shiny beacon on the other side of the road. Harry hopped down, grin splitting his face in half as he spotted a familiar sight at the chain link fence.

"Ron?"

His friend turned, tossing his arms up. "Bout time! Fuckin hell!" He waved them over. "Hurry! The guard will be back any minute!"

Harry glanced at Ginny as she dismounted. "What are—"

"Trust me." She reached forward and took his hand, pulling him onto the blacktop. Harry followed without reservation because he trusted her absolutely.

They took a running start for the fence, jumping high and scaling the gate with an agile combination of teenage speed and love for misdemeanor crime. The trio landed in the grass. Harry followed the brother and sister team across the field and into the trees and bushes, arms held wide and wind in their hair as they laughed wildly into the night.

Excitement squeezed his lungs in a vice as he spotted two more figures in the clearing ahead, rummaging through a cardboard box.

Fred glanced up at the approaching stampede. "The esteemed guest of honor arrives!"

George followed suit. "I thought we were shouting surprise?"

"Not till after he sees his present," Fred replied.

George smirked. "Ah, that's right."

Ginny rolled her eyes, reaching the twins first despite being the shortest among them. "Don't spoil it, idiots!"

Harry laughed, staggering to a halt beside her, Ron at his heels. "What's going on? Why are we here?"

"Well, you see, Harry..." George rose to his feet, placing a hand behind his back to conceal the item contained within and slinging his free arm around Harry's neck. "We wanted to wish you a very special happy birthday… Weasley style."

Fred flanked him from the other side, clearly hiding something behind his lanky frame as well. Harry's blood pressure surged, dread and excitement gripping him tight as Ron and Ginny kneeled before the box and fought over its contents.

"Fifteen is such a milestone in a young man's life," Fred stated, throwing his arm over Harry's shoulders.

George nodded, expression twisted into a grim impersonation of maturity. "We should know, wise elders that we are."

"So we put our rather sizable brains together and devised the perfect way to commemorate this joyous occasion."

"The most spectacular present a young man could hope to receive."

Harry lifted a brow, glancing between them. "How illegal is it?"

"Very, but that's beside the point."

"Oh for fuck's sake!" Ginny shouted, sitting back on her haunches and throwing up her hands. "Just show him already, you crooning twats!"

George whistled low. "Hark, are those dulcet tones of our sweet baby sister I hear or the ramblings of a drunken sailor?"

"She's right, get on with it!" Ron snapped, elbow deep in the box.

The twins sighed in unison.

"Not an ounce of showmanship between them," Fred lamented.

"It's not their fault." George led Harry forward. "We used up all the looks, brains and humor in the womb, they were left with only scraps."

Ginny flipped them the bird.

"Alright," Harry said with a laugh. "I give, what the hell is it?"

The Weasley clan grinned, their family resemblance on full display in the bright moonlight.

"Harry Potter," Fred announced, pulling his hand from behind his back. "Get ready for the best birthday of your young, delinquent life."

George followed suit, revealing his hidden treasure to Harry's gaze at last. Ginny and Ron stood, arms overflowing with bounty.

Harry wet his lips, eyes gleaming bright, reflecting the assortment of colorful contraband on display.

"Holy fuck."

. . .

Harry rested the stick against the side of the box and slowly drew his hands away. It balanced, the final piece in place, nestled beside its many companions.

"Are you sure we should do it this way?" Ron asked from the opposite side. "Isn't it better to do them separately?"

"We already explained it to you!" His sister hissed, inserting her last tube inside the holder. "The cops will show up the moment it starts, the only way to get our money's worth is to do it all at once. Besides..." She smiled with malevolent delight, withdrawing a lighter from her back pocket and flicking the lid, flames dancing in her blue eyes. "This is a fuck ton more exciting."

"Our sister, the next Lord Byron." George stood from his pile.

Harry reached for his borrowed lighter, flicking it open and sparking the wheel. "Ready?" He asked, flame dancing in the warm breeze.

They all nodded with manic excitement.

"Alright, kiddos," Fred announced, the last to ignite his flame. "On the count of three…"

He wet his lips, shadows dancing across his face.

"One."

Harry lowered his lighter.

"Two."

And held his breath, adrenaline surging.

"Three!"

They all lit the end of their fuses.

"Run!" Ron shouted, springing to his feet.

They didn't need to be told twice, stumbling away from the pile and sprinting across the field, screaming and laughing and kicking up grass the entire way.

Ginny tripped over a patch of crabgrass, losing her footing. Harry spun on his heal and caught her before she hit the ground, pulling her into his side with a breathless laugh before resuming their frantic dash to the treeline. They skidded across the gravel trail and took shelter behind a wooden bench, ducking low and gazing through the slats. The twins dove behind a cluster of bushes while Ron perched behind a massive oak tree.

They all held their breath in collective silence, eyes wide, fixed ahead, no one daring to blink. The fuses continued to sizzle and spark, almost to their connector bases. The smell of gunpowder and sulfur was thick on the air, clouding his senses as the first round of fireworks detonated.

Roman candles and bottle rockets, a modest start. But within seconds the aerial explosives fired to life, shaking the earth and rattling every bone in Harry's body.

The night turned to day before his eyes, heaven illuminated in all its majestic glory by bursting brocades and screaming comets and gleaming pearls, sparkling confetti and blooming Dahlias replacing the stars with red and gold, blue and green, violet and silver, an endless patchwork of colors spilling across the sky. The noise was deafening, the lights blinding. An utter masterpiece.

He was so caught up in the show he forgot to remove his arm from around Ginny's waist, gripping her tighter with every earth-shattering tremor. And while Harry's gaze remained fixed above, face awash in sparkling light, Ginny's eyes remained fixed on Harry.

The Catherine Wheel burst to life in the grand finale. The sky bled crimson, sparks cascading in every direction in a brilliant show of light and sound. A line of squad cars screeched around the corner, flashing lights and blaring sirens swallowed whole by the smoke-hazed street.

Harry turned his head, watching the twins gesture wildly before sprinting away. Ron followed their lead, darting out from behind his tree and heading for the gate. Harry's emerald gaze latched onto Ginny. Her face glowed red in the hellish blaze, a fallen angel staring up at him with such raw intensity his thoughts instantly scattered.

He was too young to understand the look in her eyes, the hand clutching his shirt, centered over his heart. He leaned in, kissing her cheek in silent thank you before taking her hand and pulling her up, fingers interlaced as they sprinted across the field. The Wheel fizzled out, filling their eyes and lungs with black smoke. They coughed and laughed and ran, police hot on their heels and hands tightly clutched until they finally reached Ginny's shiny green bicycle.

Harry inhaled sharply, pulling from the memory in a nauseating rush. He scrubbed a hand over his face, stomach filled with jagged rocks, eyes trapped by her unrelenting stare. And in the musty solitude of the pawn shop, Harry placed a hand to the wall and leaned in, pressing his face an inch from her own and whispering low, willing the image to come to life one more time, if only to answer his burning question at last.

"Where the hell are you, Gin?"


The room was dark. Nearly black. Void of light but filled with sound.

A floorboard creaked as Beethoven's Moonlight Sonata filtered through the hallway. Slow and melodic, beautiful and dark, every note perfectly timed, perfectly constructed by a skilled hand.

Wind whistled over the sloping rooftop, branches scratching at the glass. The floorboards creaked once more.

The piano cut off abruptly, followed by the low murmur of a male voice. Then a loud bang, quick footsteps pounding up the steps, down the corridor…

The slamming door echoed like the crack of a whip, its tremor seeping through the wall, rattling the picture frames, the sconces, the headboard.

The clock tick tick ticked, washed away by a strangled sob.

And in the blackness of the room, Ginny Weasley opened her eyes.