Recap:

"Don't be," Imogen whispered, turning her head so their faces were inches apart. "I lost Raja long before he died. I've lived for years with the pain and the aftermath of the war only added to it. But now, with the work we're doing, with this new war, I can finally let go." She inched close to him and they both stopped breathing for a moment, counting the seconds like hours. Then, very quickly, she kissed him on the cheek, stood up, and ran back into the house.

"Shit," Ron sighed, touching the hot flesh of his cheek where her lips were. This was going to do some serious damage to his already fragile psychological state. After a moment he composed himself and stood to go inside, hoping Harry could spare a few minutes to help him straighten his own thoughts out.


Chapter 11: Desperate Redemption

Eyes lingering on a cluster of prancing fireflies, Hermione absently sank her fangs into her bottom lip, retracted them, allowing the blood to well and touch her tongue, waited a moment for the wound to heal, then repeated the same motions, as if in a trance. It was a nervous, habitual action that she'd developed as a vampire. Rational thought told her to remain mature and dignified, to resist the instinct to get angry. But—as a blood-thirsty member of the undead—she was fueled by instincts, and therefore could not ignore them. Instincts, however, had already driven her deep within herself, into a life of seclusion and revenge. Any rational thinking always came later, after a detrimental action, after an avoidable fight. But, staring out into the forest layered in shades of darkness, she couldn't completely disregard what her mind was telling her.

Earlier that evening, just after the meeting and distribution of assignments, Hermione—unable to help herself—eavesdropped on a conversation between Ron and an Irish war veteran named Imogen. They had been standing across the room, hidden behind several rows of other people, and yet their words were the only ones she could hear.

"Does your assignment take you very far?" Imgoen had asked, her meaning clear. She didn't want to be apart from him.

"Not particularly, and I have to come back often anyway."

Hermione's ears had perked at his choice of words, her face reddening with rage. He was speaking in a deliberate way, trying to sound intelligent rather than colloquial. He was flirting with her! After such a blow to her ego, Hermione had retreated to her shelter in the earth to sulk, only to be interrupted moments later by Harry, who followed her there.

"You rushed out of there in a hurry tonight," he opened with. "Did—"

"Is something going on between Ron and that Imogen girl?" she blurted out, seething. Harry's face became stiff and guarded at once. She understood; it was difficult for him to have such tragic best friends, and she did sympathize with him, only her emotions prevented her from acknowledging it at the moment.

"Yes," he answered bluntly. "They're taken a liking to each other. They…share similar pasts."

"Such as?"

With a weighty sigh, Harry explained about Raja and his demise, emphasizing the parallel between their fallen love story and hers with Ron. The comparison, however, fell on deaf ears.

"There's one key difference you're neglecting," she bit.

"What?"

"I'm still here! I may be dead, but I'm still around and he had the audacity—What are you smirking about!"

"You," he laughed, a tinge of sadness in his voice. "So determined, yet so lost."

"Explain," she hissed, as if he were one of her lacky minions.

"You're as in love with him as you've always been, yet your morals prevent you from being with him. Essentially you want him to see your love as dead, to see you as dead and therefore not to pursue you. But, at the same time, you clearly don't want him to be with anyone else, taking away his chance at happiness. Now I told Ron you would want him to be happy. Did I misinform him? Do you actually want him to be as miserable as you're determined to be?"

Hermione's heart dropped and she slumped forward.

"You're right," she moaned, biting her lip. "But—Oh Harry! How can I see him with her and not say anything? Not be angry? He…he's supposed to love me."

"And he does. Do you have any idea how hard this is for him?" Hermione sneered, as if to contradict him. "I'm serious. It's killing him. He still loves you as much as you love him. His attraction to Imogen in no way diminishes what he will always feel for you. Now I can't stop you from confronting him, but I can ask that you be fair. You did push him away, deny him any chance to be with you. You can't be both noble and jealous."

They'd exchanged a few more words, then Harry excused himself to some important revolutionary business. Hermione promised to consider his suggestions, but right now, as she sat and thought, she couldn't help but revert back to anger. How could he claim he loved her while at the same time he was flirting with that girl? True, Harry had mentioned an internal conflict in Ron, but his outward actions made his decision appear easy. He hadn't even looked at her in several long days, preferring solitude or, Hermione now knew, her company. Would he then grow to love Imogen, casting her by the wayside? And, if he did, what could she possibly say or do? Harry was right, she had shunned him and his love. But what she hadn't expected was for his love to wane. So devoted had he always been, she foolishly believed he would always remain, despite her denial.

Intaking a deep, painful breath she stood and made for the house, intent on speaking to Ron in a friendly, civilized manner. She did love him after all and owed him gentle understanding as he so selflessly gave her for so many years.

Her spirits were surprisingly high as she crossed the threshold, energized by the prospect of doing good after so much unintentional evil. There were dozens of lingering rebels scattered about the farmhouse, deep in discussion of the all-out war they planned to launch by the end of the month. Her eyes scanned their excited faced, looking for the most familiar one. When she failed to locate him, she asked Imogen's brother where his sister might be.

"I saw her leave with Ron Weasley about an hour ago," Hagan replied, smiling. It's so nice to see her happy after so much pain." Hermione's heart clenched and she suppressed a sneer as she thanked him and moved on, her former elation completely evaporated by what should have been a good thing. She didn't wish any ill towards Ron or Imogen, but—at the same time—she couldn't stand the idea of seeing them happy together when she had failed so miserably at it.

"Dinner?"

Hermione turned sharply on her heels, unable to frown, having been startled out of her thoughts. Draco gave her a sly grin, motioning with a curled finger for her to follow him out the door. Taking her time, she met him on the porch, unable to ignore the alluring quality of his pale features in the brilliant moonlight. Despite everything about him, he was still an attractive man.

"If you brought me out here—"

"Don't be so hostile," he laughed, stepping onto the lawn. "I'm thirsting, as I'm sure you are. I only wanted to enjoy a meal."

"Enjoy? I can think of a million people I'd rather enjoy killing others with. Sauda, in fact, has not yet eaten. Why would I choose to hunt in your company rather than hers?"

"I never asked you to make a choice, Hermione. You're the one who insists on being so rigid about everything. If we have to spend eternity together, what's the use in being miserable?" She opened her mouth to speak, but he rushed to continue. "I know I am supposed to be miserable, that's my punishment. But at the cost of your happiness? That doesn't seem like part of your big plan. I'm your slave for as long as you say so, for eternity if you wish. My existence is completely up to you. Now you can be bitter and vengeful and you wouldn't be wrong in doing so. But don't you also want to enjoy your life? I know I'm not supposed to be the one telling you this, it should be someone who actually cares about your well-being, but considering the fact that my well-being is linked directly to yours, I'm taking it upon myself to tell you this."

"This is so fucked up," she growled, then dropped from the porch onto the ground and led the way to go feed, very aware of the huge smile plastered on Draco's face.


Hermione found her scribbling away on a scrap of parchment in what was once a drawing room. Her fine black tendrils of hair sparkled like tinsel in the hazy lamplight, her head bowed in concentration. Hidden beneath baggy pajama pants and a bulky sweater was a slender, living body, pulsing with sweet, rich blood.

"Can I have a word with you?"

Imogen's big dark green eyes flashed up, unstartled. She knew Hermuone had been standing there; perhaps she'd even anticipated this conversation.

"Of course." She set down her quill, giving her full attention.

"Now I know it wasn't your intention—from what I've seen you're a perfectly nice girl—but…well, your relationship with Ron Weasley is…hard for me to swallow." Hermione had been working on this little introduction for hours, trying to sound humble, yet authoritative, hence the use of the word "girl" rather than "woman". She didn't know how old she was, but something in her manner hinted at premature adulthood—she'd grown up too fast, her experiences uneven with her age. "I'm not going to go into details—"

"I know."

"You know what?"

"The details."

"You…you knew about us?" Anger began to boil in her gut. Perhaps she wasn't the innocent little victim she wanted everyone to think she was.

"Please don't do this," Imogen whispered, her expression reflecting true concern and sympathy. "And I don't try to appear innocent."

"So you practice Legilimens." It was not a question.

"I mastered it in the years Raja was under the Imperius Curse. It was the only way I could be sure his actions were not his intentions. Even then it was difficult to believe and witness."

"You know Ron and my struggle, yet you're pursuing him anyway?" It was the hardest thing to keep her voice low and steady.

"Look," Imogen sighed, folding her hands in her lap. "I admire you. I followed stories about you throughout the war; it's what gave me strength. The last thing I'd wish to do was intentionally hurt or anger you."

"But?"

Imogen's nose twitched in apparent agitation. She had never wanted to have this discussion.

"I'm not going to stop seeing Ron because you don't want me to. Because you don't want anyone to. He needs to move on, to start a life without you at the center of it. By your own edict, you and him can never be together."

"And how do you know what Ron wants or needs?" By now she'd dropped all semblances of pleasantries. This girl was a threat and must be stopped.

"Because he's told me, dozens of times. He can't have you, he's starting to accept that. Don't make it harder for him."

"How long have you known Ron?"

"Herm—"

"How long!"

"We've only just formally met."

"Then you couldn't possibly know him, and you certainly don't understand the complexities of our relationship. We have been in love since before you were even thinking about boys."

"How young do you think I am?" Anger was beginning to seep into Imogen's voice. She was not one to be cornered, and would do anything to win. It was the main reason she survived the war. "I've been through hell and back with Raja. I know love and I know pain, and I know when to move on. My age has nothing to do with my level of experience."

"I never questioned your experience."

Imogen's eyes shot wide open and her fists clenched. Slowly she climbed to her feet, measuring her breaths.

"I don't appreciate your insinuations or your unprofessional behavior. Don't you have better things to worry about than who your ex is interested in?"
"You have no idea," Hermione seethed, having to forcibly keep her fangs from descending. "The love of your life is dead! You don't have to deal with seeing him betray you—"

"That's enough!"

Both angry women turned to find the object of their affection standing rigidly in the doorway.

"I can't believe this," Ron hissed, pointing a shaky finger at Hermione.

"Me?"

"Don't you dare start with me. I have been patient with you for too long. It's you who betrayed me, sacrificing our love for your own piece of mind. And you know what? I'm finally coming to terms with that, because that's what you wanted. It was your choice. And now you dare to judge me on my choices? As if I had a say in the matter. I'm moving on, Hermione," he said, coming in the room to stand beside Imogen. "It's time you did the same." Taking Imogen's hand, he pulled her to him, pressing his lips to hers in their first real kiss.

"I thought I meant something to you," Hermione whispered, backing out of the room.

Ron turned to face her—still clasping Imogen's hands—his eyes reflecting both anger and sorrow. This was killing him, but it had to be done.

"You did."


Draco paced in his underground lair, contemplating the best way to sell his plan to Benjamin Black. He needed someone willing to drink Polyjuice Potion and pretend to be him, which came with considerable risks. But, in order for the plan to work, he needed a decoy. Just as his thoughts were beginning to come together, the overhead door slammed open and Hermione came trampling down the stairs. Mumbling under her breath, she didn't notice Draco for a full two minutes. And, as soon as her eyes landed on him, she burst into tears and collapsed on the floor. He allowed her to sob for an extended period of time, then lifted her up and carried her to her newly acquired coffin, which he noted was almost identical to his and not a lavish display of power as he'd previously thought.

She slipped into the satin-lined box easily enough, but when it came time for him to leave, her arm shot out and dragged him in with her. Before he could protest she was on top of him, tearing at his shirt to reach the milk white flesh beneath. Without uttering a word, she sank her teeth into his neck, hurtling them both into orgasmic spasms. Clumsily—for neither had been with another since they were turned and therefore were unsure of the protocol—they pulled off each other's clothing, giving nips and bites here and there in aggressive anticipation.

Tentatively, Draco reached between her legs that straddled him, not entirely surprised to find blood on his fingers. Not the thick blood of a menstrual period, but the smooth blood of a fresh wound, diluted to a creamy pink. Smirking, he licked his fingers, nearly severing his pinky in his excitement.

"Tell me you want me," she breathed, arching her back.

His finger flicked over her clitoris, sending shivers through her as she sat atop him.

"I want you. Merlin, I want you," he groaned, then slid his blood-hardened member deep within her. Every muscle in his body tensed: already it was the best sex of his life, and they'd only just begun.

Thrust after thrust brought each of them close to climax. Draco's strong hands reached out to grab her soft, yet firm, waist, guiding her motions. Slowly one of his hands climbed up her stomach to clasp a plump, bouncing breast. He kneaded and stroked the flesh, pinched and twisted the hard, straining nipple. A fiery heat began to rise between them, gradually building to release.

"D…Draco," she moaned as tingles prickled her cold white skin. Suddenly she grabbed his hand and sank her fangs into the taught flesh of his wrist, rocking them both over the edge to climax.

Panting, Hermione collapsed onto him with him still inside her.

"Wow," she breathed, still reeling. "I—"

"It's never been that good," Draco interrupted, kissing her on the forehead. Sensations still crawling over him—coupled with the memory of her saying his name—caused Draco to become immediately aroused again. Feeling him harden inside her, Hermione lifted her head and smiled.

"Once more before sun up?"
"You read my mind," he laughed, pulling her to him with fevered passion.


Well there you have it. Chapter 11, and Chapter 12 is already started. Not sure where I'm going with this from now on. I only have a rough sketch, but it always comes together in the end.

REVIEW!! Please 