Author's note: I'd like to apologize to my readers for my inexcusable lateness. Also, my beta reader deserves a medal for her infinite patience.

Rating of this chapter: M

xxxxx

Change of Heart, part II

xxxxx

Paris, the suburb

1st January 2001, 3:15

xxxxx

The bedroom was quiet and still, except for the occasional crack of an ember in the fireplace and barely perceptible breaths of two people. A feeble scent of pine, lavender and sweat hung lightly in the air. It was sweet in its bitterness, reminding Harry of the other tastes he tried out for the first time tonight. Honestly, he couldn't understand why he was so fazed about the whole thing before. He felt no regret at all – though he probably should. He wasn't disgusted with himself in the slightest, though his friends would surely see it differently. And all of that because of that warm fuzzy feeling in his chest, which chased away his doubts and qualms. Instead of worrying, he watched Tom's porcelain skin, the way the locket rose and fell on his chest, the way he clenched his jaws slightly every now and then...

Apparently, he wasn't the only one awake. Voldemort was lying on his back, gazing at the ceiling, silent and contemplative, and Harry, giving in to his desire to touch him again, fully turned to him and lightly grazed his fingers over his bony shoulder. The cool, soft skin shivered slightly at the warm contact.

"Can't sleep?" he muttered in a sleepy voice.

The Dark Lord looked at him, his deep red eyes slightly glassy.

Just being watched by him sent Harry's heart racing. Usually, people tended to suffer a heart-attack under that stare, however their reasons principally differed from his. Harry couldn't resist a small smile.

He waited few more seconds for Voldemort to answer him, but as the man didn't, Harry moved closer to him and wound his arm around his bare chest.

"I guess you're making plans for how to deal with Negura for good," he suggested.

Finally, the Dark Lord let out a soft sigh of resignation. Though he was hiding it very well, Harry could still feel how he pressed himself closer, as if longing for more of his warmth. That simple action made Harry's smile grow wider and he quickly decided to conceal it by mapping the hard cliff of Tom's jaw with feather light kisses.

"I've been making those plans for decades, but to no avail," Voldemort suddenly said. "You had seen the poor result of my endeavour and pain back in the basement of your precious Order. Though defeated, I've learned my lesson. It seems that I cannot destroy him with my magic, no matter how extraordinary I am. I might have had a better chance with the Elder Wand, but since Umbridge still keeps it secure under Negura's direct supervision, there is virtually no chance to obtain it."

Harry raised his head a little and asked.

"And what about me?"

"What about you?"

"You're talking only about yourself. I can help you, dammit! I want to help!"

Voldemort raised his hairless eyebrow a little.

"Would you go steal the Elder wand for me, Harry? I know very well your occasional suicidal tendencies, but..."

"Come on! You know what I mean," Harry interrupted him with a disgruntled sigh and sank back onto the pillow.

"Negura is mine to kill," Voldemort said plainly.

"And that's the problem. He's dead already – or undead, if you want. Nevertheless, haven't you just said that he cannot be defeat just like that? I suggest to look at LeRoy's memory first and leave further scheming for later."

To Harry's surprise, Voldemort let out an irritated snort.

"The memory's practically useless now," he hissed. "Yes, it may confirm our assumptions about him having a Horcrux, but even if they are correct, we can no longer use that knowledge against him."

Harry's eyebrows furrowed, but it took him only a moment to puzzle out the source of the Dark Lord's vexation.

"I guess we cannot do much because he knows," he said. "He knows what we are after, right?"

"Exactly!" Voldemort cried out. "I planned to do this without Negura knowing for a reason! LeRoy's betrayal made the whole mission pointless."

Harry didn't know how to explain him, that he could hardly expect something else from a woman who detested him more than the murderer of her own husband. But he chose to say something else aloud instead.

"In case the memory contains information of the Horcrux's origin, appearance and protection, I don't think it's correct to say that the mission was entirely unsuccessful. Those would be quite valuable findings, wouldn't they?"

Voldemort's indignation seemed to grow regardless of Harry's attempts to mollify him.

"Imagine I knew you were attacking my Horcruxes three years ago," he hissed icily. "How far do you think you would get? I would make it impossible for you to reach the single one of my treasures! You wouldn't stand a chance!"

"That's true," Harry nodded and scratched his scar. "Well, but unlike you I'm not the greatest wizard alive, right? Given a time, you can break through even the most complex protective enchantments, can't you?"

Voldemort's eyes flashed crimson in the dark.

"That's not a general rule. There are few curses with a so-called 'indelible effect'. Usually, you have to kill the magician who cast it in order to remove the curse's action."

Harry gasped for breath.

"But if Negura's using it, there's no way out of that vicious circle! You can't kill him without destroying the Horcrux and you can't destroy the Horcrux without killing him!"

He closed his eyes, sighing in defeat.

"We're so screwed."

Voldemort watched him so intensely that Harry could feel it even through his closed eyelids. However, when he spoke again, his voice was not as biting as it had been before.

"Luckily, the usage of such curses is limited for they can become very debilitating after some time. Even I didn't use them to protect my Horcruxes – though the potion I put into the basin with this locket had, in fact, an irreversible effect."

Harry looked up, seeing Voldemort gently caress the pendant on his chest before turning to him again. "Speaking of which..."

"Irreversible for a human," Harry breathed out, feeling a sudden bitterness as he remembered both Dumbledore and Kreacher.

The Dark Lord looked at him curiously.

"What did you say?"

"Nothing," Harry shook his head and sighed. "Anyway, I see you've been thinking about this a lot, haven't you?"

"I can hardly ignore this matter since it concerns the possible end of my existence!" Voldemort hissed venomously. "And yours as well."

"So what? I'm quite used to live with that perspective," Harry retorted and hoisted himself on his elbows. He was mad at himself, because his thoughts were bringing him back to the cave where Dumbledore was pleading him for death while he was the one slowly killing him. If he could choose one memory which he didn't want to have anymore, it would be that one without a doubt.

"Well, I'm not. Only a rash Gryffindor like you would risk everything without thinking!" Voldemort hissed back.

"Great! Perfect! If you're so afraid, why don't you go into hiding then!" Harry snapped.

"You dare to suggest that the great Lord Voldemort would show fear to his enemy?-! I am the most powerful wizard of all! I have no reason to hide myself!"

The Dark Lord rose from the bed, his fragile chest heaving vehemently as his breathing grew heavier, his eyes stabbing Harry like a daggers.

"And yet you were hiding from me for past three years!" Harry countered, eliciting a furious cry from Voldemort.

He lunged himself at Harry, but before he could immobilize him with his magic, Harry managed to wrench himself from his grasp. With his free hand, he reached out for the back of Voldemort's head, holding him in place as kissed his mouth greedily. The body on top of him squirmed as if it belonged to an agitated snake rather than a human. Voldemort tried to pull away while reaching for his wand, but Harry by miracle caught it first and … threw it away.

The older wizard gave out a yell of plain rage but Harry didn't release his crushing hold on him. He knew he was going lose anyway and so he decided to enjoy it while he could. Planting numerous kisses anywhere he could reach, whispering breathless words of adoration, Harry loosened his clutch and let his hands glide over the soft skin, feeling the hollows between each rib of the emaciated trunk and little bumps of joints of the long spine. He waited for Voldemort to shove him off and punish him, but to his surprise, the previous fiery resistance withered. Finding a vent for his anger in furious kisses, scratches and bites, the Dark Lord gave into his lust instead of his wrath. His cold lips were forceful, giving Harry's own pair brutal treatment.

Harry was the one who was squirming now as the cold fingers squeezed his biceps, testing the power of his muscles before moving over his shoulder to his chest, scratching his pectorals. Among the occasional bites, Voldemort was hissing short, incomprehensible syllables into Harry's ear, his gaunt body shaking almost uncontrollably. And as Harry listened to him, feeling his quick, tepid breath, smelling and tasting his skin, he was suddenly overtaken an urge to make it more gentle, regardless of his needs which prompted him to keep that pace and progress. He grazed his lips over the little junction at the base of Voldemort's neck and whispered.

"You're so beautiful when you're angry."

The Dark Lord froze. He raised his head, his cat-like eyes boring into Harry's green one.

They sat like that for some time, stark naked, the Dark Lord on top of him while Harry was holding him as close as possible. The older wizard seemed fascinated by something but it took him some time before he asked that.

"Is that how you see me now?" he asked in wonder.

"Yes."

It didn't even occur to Harry to deny it.

The pale lips moved to say something, but before any words could escape them, Tom obviously changed his mind and leaned down to kiss Harry. The brief touch of those chilling lips was a complete opposite to the previous unleash of passion. It was somewhat insecure, but Harry doubted he could receive anything better. It was impossible not to repay him with the same and more.

Swimming in the sea of happiness, Harry disregarded the cold hand on his chest until it was forcefully shoved away.

"Pick up your wand," Voldemort told him suddenly and rose from the bed, retrieving his own from the ground.

"What?-!"

Harry was lying on his back, gaping at Voldemort and frantically thinking of what he had done wrong.

"I said pick up your wand!" the Dark Lord hissed, summoning his robes.

"Why?" Harry asked indignantly. He wondered what was that about. Had Voldemort decided to still punish him? What would he do?

The older wizard didn't answer. He looked over the room, his eyes narrowing in suspicion.

"Where's your wand, boy?"

"Er … in the bathroom … I think," Harry said as he scrambled out of the bed. "But you didn't answer me first."

"In the bathroom?-!" Voldemort chuckled incredulously. "And what would you do if Negura stood at the door right now?-!"

"I don't think that having my wand would help me much against him," Harry shrugged and fastened a towel around his waist. He wasn't overly shy or something, but, you know, Voldemort was already dressed as well.

"I see," the Dark Lord hissed softly and with the flick of his wand the alder wand came flying towards him.

He handed it over to Harry, watching him patronizingly.

"Don't clutch it so hard in your palm. You limit the movement of your wrist which imperfects your magic."

Harry's mouth slackened a bit. Had Voldemort just given him a tip on how to improve his magical skills? On the other hand, Harry remembered that he suggested it some time ago.

"Oh, okay," Harry nodded and did as he was told, but the handle didn't feel right in his hand. He was worried that he might drop it accidentally as it loosely dangled between his fingers.

"That's better," the Dark Lord nodded, making Harry abandon all his critical comments.

"Now I want you to vanish that," the older wizard said and pointed at the wall separating the bedroom from the living room.

Harry looked at him incredulously and took an unwilling step backward.

"Are you joking? How am I supposed to do that?"

"Don't you know any vanishing spells, Harry?" Voldemort smirked, mirth shining through his gleaming eyes.

"Of course I do! But a wall is not rubbish left over from potion making! This is insane!"

"Insane you say," Voldemort whispered and raised his yew wand.

"Evanesco," he hissed, and the next second the wall was gone as if it never existed.

Harry blinked once, twice, and then he corrected himself.

"Insane for me at least."

"Appareo!" Voldemort hissed and with a flick of his wand the wall was back, untouched.

Harry was simply astonished by the effortlessness with which Voldemort dispatched a ton of bricks and plaster only to bring it back the next second.

"Do it," the Dark Lord said, his voice disallowing any argument.

For a second Harry mused if Voldemort really didn't understand that they were on entirely different magical levels. It seemed more likely that he just wanted to see his failure, just like Snape used to do, and Harry could only hope that it wasn't the case.

"Fine, I'll try," he sighed and raised the wand. Honestly, he really couldn't see a meaning in this.

"Evanesco," he said and the alder wand twitched in his hand in a protest. The whole wall swayed, but remained in place. The only apparent result of his attempt was a two feet wide hole in the middle of it. Seeing that, Harry already prepared himself to hear a mocking voice telling him that he was hopeless case. But Voldemort said nothing like that.

He stepped closer to him, so close that their bodies were almost touching and then he lightly attached his lips to Harry's temple.

"Do you want to know why you didn't succeed?" he asked, his cold voice having a supple quality. Harry only shook his head, recovering from his surprise.

"Because I'm not powerful enough?" he finally said when he composed himself enough. "Look, I'm tired. Can't we leave this for later?"

"No!" Voldemort snapped, seized his chin and looked into his eyes. "That freak is after you too, Potter! You must improve now or else it will be too late! Besides, your failure has nothing to do with your powers, which are rather significant."

"So, what did I do wrong?" Harry asked, secretly gratified that Voldemort acknowledged his potential even though he didn't show him anything yet.

"You should have asked what the teachers in Hogwarts did wrong, but … very well, let's start from the beginning," Voldemort replied as he let go of his chin.

"You're a repressed wizard, Harry," he said, taking the seat on the bed, "limited by your own estimation of your qualities. This is one of the things which I wanted to change in the education of young magicians in Hogwarts. Children must be taught first how to do the magic properly and only then learn how to effectively control it. Your problem is that you've learned the second part far better than the first one."

"Did I?" Harry asked, biting in his tongue. It was not the right moment to unleash a scathing critique of the Dark Lord's reforms in Hogwarts. Still, he wished he could explain how wrong Voldemort was about his ideas.

"Yes," the Dark Lord hissed softly. "There is, however, one exception which I find rather … captivating."

"What exception?"

"Your Patronus Charm. They say you've learned to produce a corporeal Patronus in your third year."

Harry was amazed how well Voldemort seemed to be informed about his achievements.

"Yeah," he nodded.

"That's certainly an unusual skill for someone of such a young age," the Dark Lord pointed out.

"Professor Lupin taught me that because I needed a protection from the Dementors," Harry shrugged.

"So you were trying that spell over and over again until you succeeded?"

"No, not really," Harry said hesitantly and came to sit beside him. "Actually, I had seen myself doing it."

Voldemort hid his surprise well. His eyes located Harry's and then an understanding flashed in them.

"A Time-Turner," he said quietly.

"Yeah, exactly. Me from the future saved myself, Hermione and Sirius from a horde of Dementors. It took me some time before I realized that, because I thought first that it was my dad who was saving us. But that was … impossible."

"Yes, it makes a perfect sense now," Voldemort quickly said, suddenly appearing uncomfortable.

"What makes sense?"

"It explains why you were able to produce it. If you had seen yourself, you didn't have to question your abilities, because you knew you could do it. There was no mental block holding you back from the success."

Harry stared at him, his mouth slacking.

"You..." he began and then coughed to clear his throat. "You think that it's all in my head, don't you? That I don't believe in myself."

"You do believe in yourself as a man, Harry, but not as a wizard."

"That's not true!" Harry yelped and jumped on his feet.

"Isn't it?" Voldemort asked pointedly and his lips curled into a tiny smile. "When I asked you to perform the vanishing spell, you said 'I'll try', not 'I'll do it.' You doubted yourself, don't deny it."

"Fine... Fine! I can do it then!" Harry shouted and turned towards the wall, fuming in anger so much that he missed a genuine smile on the Dark Lord's face. Glaring at the plaster as if he saw there Umbridge's face, Harry resolutely raised his wand.

"Evanesco!" he roared, eager to prove that he was not repressed or whatever Voldemort thought about him.

The light erupted from the tip of his wand. It never did for this spell before - and the next moment the wall was crumbling. The large hole Harry created with the spell unhinged its structural integrity and soon nothing was left of it, only a heap of rubble.

"I guess I overdid it a bit," he said then, regaining his calm while watching the debris.

"No fear. It was actually much better than before, Harry. Only you held your wand wrongly again," Voldemort said smugly. "Repair it now," he added.

If there was one general rule which applied to magicians as well as to Muggles, it was that mending something back together was a way more difficult than destroying it.

Harry felt like he was finishing a Marathon, when the last bricks finally returned to their original place.

"Good. Goyle needed two days to do what you managed in eight minutes."

Harry turned to him with an exhausted expression, but he welcomed the praise.

"In addition, his wall weren't solid at all. It crumbled apart the other day, half-burying Wormtail beneath it."

"Oh, I hope it hurt a lot," Harry noted, wheedling another smile out of his companion.

"Anyway, you need to explore your potential further," Voldemort continued. "Practice as often as you can, give yourself seemingly impossible tasks, push yourself to your real limits to accomplish now, come here."

"Yeah, I have to work on this. I haven't even vanished the whole wall yet," Harry said and sat down beside him again. The Dark Lord, however, didn't care for his rant and kissed him teasingly. His cool tongue nudged against Harry's lips and just as he opened them for him, he drew back.

"That wasn't my expectation. I wanted to show you one more thing," Voldemort said as they parted, still smiling, and Harry could only think of how much he loved to see him like that.

"What is it?" he whispered and leaned in to steal another kiss. He succeeded and even managed to win access to that soft, wet mouth. After a minute Tom slowly pulled away.

"Do you remember the book you were reading back in the Shrieking Shack? It was supposed to teach you this."

He conjured up a small candle, placed it on the sheets between them and fired it up.

"This is a trick how to learn to control the flow of your magic," he explained as he pointed the tip of his wand at the flame. "It's imperative for you to learn to vary the amount of magic for every spell you use in order to gain efficiency."

"And how can that candle help me?"

"Sit back, Harry," Voldemort said and Harry moved away just before the flame suddenly exploded, reaching the ceiling, scalding it. The Dark Lord remained perfectly composed and as he continued in his explanations, the flame changed its intensity, colour and shape.

"Apparently, you weren't able to release the necessary amount of magic, but this shall teach you how to do it. You need to learn to feel your magic. You must feel it at your fingertips, you must be aware of how much you are allowed to channel through the wand to reach the best effect."

"Right, but how are you doing it? What kind of spell it is?" Harry asked, watching the blaze take the shape of snakes and dragons. It kind of reminded him the Fiendfyre and Harry shuddered at the thought.

"It's not a spell," Voldemort whispered and put the wand away, making the flame shrink instantly. "You merely saw my magic affect the flames accordingly to my will. Now it's your turn to try to do the same."

Harry still didn't get how it was done, but decided to give it a try anyway. He aimed the tip of his wand at the candle, concentrating on his wish to enlarge the flame.

After a few minutes and many unsuccessful attempts later he put the wand away and shook his head.

"It's not working."

"You must feel your magic," Voldemort insisted.

"What is it supposed to feel like?"

"Usually like a pleasant warmth flowing down your arm, tingling at your fingertips. The unforgivable curses are know to produce this feeling most intensely."

Just as he said it, Harry suddenly recalled how he cast the Imperio Curse at the goblin at the Gringotts and later on the Cruciatus Curse at Amycus at Hogwarts. In both cases he experienced exactly what Voldemort described.

"All right. I can imagine it now. What next?"

"Start with a nonverbal spell and then focus on the feeling in your wand hand."

"Is there a special spell which I should use?"

"No. Remember, this is not about the magic itself..."

"...but about the feeling of it. Yeah, I get it now," Harry nodded and raised the wand again, quickly picking up the Engorgement Charm, which should work just fine with the flame. The good thing was that nonverbal spells no longer represented a problem for him. His unfinished Auror training was beneficial after all.

He flicked his wand, turning the candle into a blazing torch. However, after few minutes he still felt no noticeable change in his hand and as his disappointment peaked, he looked at Voldemort who was watching him intently.

"I must be making some mistake. It still doesn't work," he sighed and glanced aside.

Once he did it, he registered a movement by the corner of an eye and quickly looked back. Voldemort was no longer on the opposite side, but behind him, kneeling down, pressing his front to his back, the cool lips tickling his ear.

"Let me help you," he hissed softly and the following moment his cold hand enveloped Harry's warmer one. Harry instinctively clutched the wand more firmly in his palm. Voldemort's fingers curled around his own and he mentally cursed that his body was on fire the moment Tom touched him, not to mention that his other, injured and bandaged hand began to lightly stroke his belly. It seemed to him that the lesson was going to be over soon enough.

"Don't do anything, just watch," were the next words he heard and then something like an electric current ran through his wand hand.

"Usually this is impossible to do without experiencing the pain, but since you shared your magic with me … it makes us compatible," Voldemort explained, his high cold voice slightly clouded. And indeed, Harry noticed that the unpleasant sensation slowly turned out to be more and more comfortable by every second. The feeling of invasion underneath his skin was gone, replaced with a strange, pulsing heat reminding him of a heartbeat. The flame grew before Harry's eyes and yet it was the last thing to which he paid attention.

The feel of the Dark Lord's skin was strikingly intimate. Voldemort was sharing with him so much more then just a few square inches of contact. It was his magic and heated life force what was permeating Harry's hand now. And he felt himself respond to it, his body sending similar warmth back into the Dark Lord's fingers.

"Keep the flame up," Voldemort whispered, loosening the clutch, making Harry mutter a weak protest when the contact was broken.

He did as he was told, however. Finally, the flame was fully under his control.

"It should bend to your will now," the Dark Lord agreed with that. "This method can also help you to obtain a certain amount of control over the Fiendfyre, however, never forget that the cursed fire exhibits a wayward behaviour."

Harry nodded, showing that he listened, but the candle no longer interested him. He turned to look at the Dark Lord daringly, loosing the concentration.

"Exciting, isn't it?" Voldemort said breathlessly. His nostrils flared and the slit pupils of his crimson eyes were dilated, drinking the sight of Harry's flushed face.

"Not as much as you are," Harry whispered. If he were talking to Ginny, he would be already asking for more, but with the Dark Lord it was more difficult. It was a dangerous game where he never knew which boundaries he was allowed to cross. He had problems estimating his reaction to the most simple instigation, not to mention the more complicated ones consisting of feelings and desires. Nevertheless, he couldn't keep quiet for any longer and so he continued.

"I'm sure you'd kill me on the spot if you knew what I am thinking right now."

Voldemort leaned slightly back and sneered.

"Ah, yes. You think that I don't know about it yet, do you?" he asked. "You think that I wasn't aware of what you were thinking when I offered you my return service. But I could feel how much you wanted to control me. The though of me beneath you arouses you more than anything else. You want to dominate me, Harry, don't you?"

Harry knew that Voldemort had to suspect something, but this was too much. It seemed that his head was transparent for every thought the Dark Lord wanted to read. On the other hand, Harry had to admit he was constantly staring in his eyes and didn't really bother to 'clear his head'. Apparently, this was the result. He bit his lip, hard.

"You don't look mad," he breathed out then.

"Actually, I find this rather amusing. No one has ever thought of me in that way."

So he wasn't angry. Harry's heart quickened its pace at the thought of his assent. He skipped a comment about Negura and nervously licked his sore lip before he asked.

"So … would you … er … would you like to … try it?"

"No," Voldemort refused, breaking their eye contact.

"Just for once … and if you didn't enjoy it I would..."

"I think I said NO!" he shouted, standing up and taking a step away from Harry. "Amusing or not, why exactly should I be interested in your dirty, offensive ideas?-!"

"God, I don't want to … humiliate you or trample on your pride or anything!" Harry moaned. "That has nothing to do with this! I dream about it because..." He shook his head, closing his eyes tightly. "Look," he sighed, "those are just my personal preferences, nothing else. I swear I had no intentions to insult you!"

When Voldemort didn't answer, Harry cautiously peeked at him, seeing that his glower was half way gone.

"It's time to leave," the Dark Lord said coldly then, flicking his wand to retrieve the rest of his robes.

"Wait!"

Harry leaped from the bed and wrapping his arms around his waist firmly.

"I kind of hoped that we would do it once again before going home," he quickly said and kissed him before Voldemort could wake from his surprise.

The feeling of the lips against his own was amazing, Harry couldn't get enough of how it felt. The more kisses he received the more he wanted. This blissful experience of being that close was becoming his safeguard from the cruel reality, which was right there behind those walls, waiting to show him its ugly face.

When Voldemort pulled away again, Harry hardly held back a moan of frustration. But the Dark Lord was unyielding.

"You'll come to see me tomorrow and we will continue this," he decided. "Now I'm taking you back. My intuition is telling me that Negura's up to something. I don't wish to linger in this insecure place any longer."

Harry slowly nodded.

"Okay," he said, hiding his disappointment. "If you feel it's best that way then we'd better go. Just give me a minute to get dressed," he added, gave him a peck on his lips and headed for the bathroom.

When he returned, he saw Voldemort fastening his cloak and adjusting the long sleeves around his hands. The bedroom already looked like before, the fireplace was gone, the painting on the wall was yellow again and the furniture was back in the previous positions.

Once they removed all the evidence of their presence, they left the flat in companionable silence, both careful to check twice every shadow they passed. Outside the house, Voldemort seized Harry's hand and Apparated them on the closest rooftop. Then pulled out Dumbledore's watch to modify the settings and Harry just watched him without any protest. What needed to be say was said already, there was no reason to dwell on the topic any longer. When Voldemort signalled him to come closer, he did so without any hesitation, watching him conjure the rope which tied their wrists together. Feeling him so close, Harry secretly wished for the rope to never be torn apart.

With one last look into Tom's face he took a deep breath and the next second they disappeared in a gust of a wind.

xxxxx

The Burrow

1st January 2001, 2:01

xxxxx

The long expected celebration of the New Millenium was already drawing to a close. Though Ron and Lee were still performing some humorous scenes for Neville, Charlie, George and Hannah, the older members of the Order no longer participated in that. They stood by the fireplace, discussing the recent situation quietly.

Hermione stood apart as well, watching Ron with love in her eyes while listening to what Arthur was saying to Kingsley. She was too scared for Harry to feel any merriment. Moreover, the reports of the growing number of deaths which Mr. Weasley furtively passed to the previous Minister terrified her.

"Your head is teeming with Wrackspurts," a soft, dreamy voice suddenly told her. Hermione jumped and turned to Luna, who seemed to appear out of thin air, wearing her famous dirigible plum earrings and Spectrespecs.

"No, it's not," Hermione said resolutely, though she understood Luna's curious stare. She was supposed to have fun too and not to stand somewhere in the corner. She wished for a moment that she could tell her what was bothering her.

"You're worried about Harry. You've been repeating his name over and over to yourself," Luna continued dreamily and Hermione gasped for breath. It was beyond her comprehension how could she make such a novice mistake. Leaving with an excuse that she wanted to check if Molly needed a help in the kitchen – which she never did – Hermione went to the adjoining room and leaned against the wall.

She almost spoiled it right now after the whole night of keeping the secret that Harry was gone. No one had to know, not even Ron, who occasionally insisted that he wanted to go wake him. Fortunately, she stopped him every time he tried, insisting that Harry needed his rest more than listening to some jokes.

It felt so wrong to deceive Ron like that, however what made her feel much worse than that was the constantly growing fear for her friend. She couldn't claim she really understood Harry's feelings for that … man, if she could even call him that, and yet she helped him to leave the Burrow secretly. She reminded herself that she cared a great deal about his happiness. It was his life and he was surely sensible enough to know what he was doing. Still, she could hardly count his planned visit of You-Know-Who's hideout among the good ideas. Hermione felt that she was supposed to argue with him longer, maybe even convince him that he was making a premature decision. Now, if anything happened to him, she would never forgive herself.

Hermione sighed and came closer to the dark window, looking outside with a silly hope of seeing him coming back.

Pressing her nose to the glass, she watched the pitch blackness outside. And then, suddenly, she thought she saw a quick movement behind it.

A thrill of fear ran through her spine.

She yelped quietly and took a quick step backward, placing her palm over her breast to calm her alarmed heart.

Someone was outside!

But, honestly, who else could it be but Harry? The Burrow was concealed by the Kingsley's and Arthur's protective charms against any intruders. No one except the members of the Order could enter it, not even Negura transfigured into a bat.

Hermione relaxed and looked around. No one heard her surprised gasp over that uproarious laughter coming from the sitting room. Fortunately, she didn't give Harry away.

Quickly running towards the back door, she opened them a chink and asked.

"Harry?"

No one answered her.

"Harry, is that you?" she said a little louder.

Again, no answer, until...

"Hermione," whimpered a feeble voice. "Hermione, please, help me...!"

Just as she heard it, she flung the door open wide and cast a nonverbal Lumos.

And her body stiffened, she couldn't brought herself to move.

It was Angelina, she recognized her right away. The dark skinned girl was lying on the cold ground, her whole body shaking madly. Her hands were gripping her throat and collar - all of it was covered in fresh blood. Her chocolate eyes were those of a desperate, dying person.

"It hurts! Please … help!" she cried.

Hermione made an instinctive step towards her, but just one. Her knees shook so badly that they nearly gave out. All of it looked so real, but her rational part couldn't stop questioning it. Angelina's chances to survive Negura's attack back in the Grimmauld place were minimal, even though George believed it wholly.

"Angelina, hold - hold on!" she stammered. "We'll help you!"

Sprinting inside, she burst into the sitting room, spoiling the meaningless point of Lee's joke.

"Come with me! Quickly!" she cried out.

Ron, Neville, Luna, Hannah and Charlie jumped to their feet in a second. Kingsley and Arthur who were already standing, pulled out their wands immediately.

Hermione didn't wait for anything and anyone and ran back - just to see Molly's trembling back as she dragged Angelina's body inside.

"Wait!" she exclaimed, but her voice was drowned out by George's outcry.

"ANGIE!" he roared, running past Hermione towards his girlfriend.

"Angie … Angie … you're so cold!" he cried as he took her in his arms. "Please, hold on ... DAD! Hurry up! Give me Blood-Replenishing Potion!"

"Wait! We must check first...!" Hermione began but her voice was drowned out in the rising commotion. Then, Mr. Weasley gently pushed her aside as he knelt beside his son, giving him the small bottle.

"Here we go...," he said, but Angelina pushed the bottle aside, breathing heavily.

Hermione didn't know what to do first. Kingsley, Ron and Charlie ran into the dark night to catch those who were responsible for this while she was torn in between the urge to stay here and discover the truth and follow her boyfriend.

"We should check...," she began again, but Angelina interrupted her with a loud, painful groan.

"Georgie … they were hunting us…," she moaned, delirious. "My friends … they helped me … escape... Please, allow them … to hide here … don't let them die!"

"Yes, of course, they are welcomed. Now drink...," George began, but Hermione cut across him.

"NO! You must not say that!"

Everyone turned to her in a deaf silence after her wild exclamation.

"What is it, Hermione? What's wrong?" Lee asked, clearly uncomprehending the source of her horror.

"Don't you see?-! This is a common vampire's trick! She's DEAD! It's a trap!"

But it was too late.

Angelina's body stopped its frantic movements and she looked up calmly at her, her lips twisting up in a small smile.

"I've always admired how clever you are, Hermione."

The room fell silent.

The suddenly cold, chocolate eyes turned to her stunned boyfriend.

"I'm sorry, Georgie," she said with a fake apology, "but Hermione was absolutely correct. You should have listened to her."

"What … what do you mean?" George gasped breathlessly.

"I no longer belong only to you, love," she whispered and slowly got up, licking her bloodied fingers. "But also to my dearest Leader," she added and her smile grew wider, baring her pointed fangs.

And right in that moment the first flashes of curses cut the air outside. Just a second later Charlie, then Ron and finally Kingsley invaded the house in a whirl.

"RUN! THEY'RE COMING!"

Hermione only saw Ron's hand grasping her shoulder, dragging her towards the fireplace. She squirmed out of his clutch, pointing her wand on an old bowl standing at a small dark cabinet.

"Portus," she breathed out soundlessly just before Ron was about to push her beneath the mantelpiece.

"Oh, don't bother! Your fireplace has been disconnected from the Floo Network," said a pleasant, amused voice, making them all stop in their stampede.

The voice belonged to a slim, averagely tall vampire dressed in an elegant, anthracite suit. His grey eyes skimmed the room with a mild interest.

"Come closer … you have been honored by our Leader's visit," he added maliciously and made room for a taller person to enter.

Hermione's breath stopped as she saw the other, taller figure come into the light.

This monster, whose navy blue eyes could freeze the blood in her veins, scared her just as much as Voldemort. He looked directly at her and then at Ron, a detached smile plastered on his nicely shaped lips.

"So it's a definite truth," Kingsley said sharply. "You're a vampire no matter what you proclaim!"

He bowed a little as if Shacklebolt paid him a compliment.

"My deepest apologies for interrupting your surely pleasant celebration. I am aware how incredibly rude it is to pay you such a late visit, however, I came in regards to an urgent matter, which needs to be solved immediately."

Hermione's shaking hand carefully touched Ron's.

"Ron," she said so quietly that her lips almost didn't move. "Tell everyone to touch the bowl when I say now."

"What do you want?" Neville asked boldly while Ron nodded and passed that message to his mother.

"Well … yes, it's rather controversial business. As everyone else I always thought that the Order of the Phoenix is an organization whose aim is to fight Lord Voldemort. That's why I wanted to reach an agreement with your leader, which is, if I'm correct, Harry Potter."

"If you came here for Harry," Ron screamed, his face turning red in anger, "than you'd better turn around and go back where you come from while you can! We will never hand him over to you!"

The smaller man standing beside Negura obviously couldn't hold back a cruel chuckle.

"But we didn't come here for that boy. We know very well that he isn't here tonight!"

"What?" Ron gasped in alarm. It seemed that he was thinking about Harry being kidnapped without them knowing about it. When it came to that point, Hermione's throat narrowed as well, for there was an unrelenting possibility that they really had caught him already.

Ron's reaction made the grey-eyed vampire smirk acidly.

"He didn't tell you anything, did he? Your sweet, innocent hero doesn't want you to know! What an amazingly compromising situation! We must tell them, my Leader, right?"

Negura didn't speak on that matter for some reason. He kept his face carefully blank.

"We just returned from Paris," the smaller vampire continued cheerfully, "where we coincidentally saw Harry Potter and Lord Voldemort having a great time together. Your dearest Boy-Who-Lived isn't here at the moment because he's too busy sodomizing his archenemy abroad..."

"Nestor."

That single word coming from Negura's lips stopped the derisive tirade. The vampire in the anthracite suit turned to the Leader, bowed his head a little and kissed a small ring on his own little finger.

"How dare you to say such disgusting lies about Harry Potter?-!" Neville, who first woke up from the shock, sputtered into the heavy silence and raised his wand.

"Do you expect us to believe a single word of that crap of yours?-!" Lee added.

"As if Harry would ever do such an abominable thing!" Ron spat out, making the vampire laugh out aloud.

"Oh! That's what is called a blind trust. You wouldn't believe it even if you saw them copulating with your own eyes...," he sneered.

"Nestor!"

The vampire looked at Negura again, apologizing with another bow.

"That's enough," the Leader finally said. "After all, we didn't come here to discuss Potter's immoral behaviour, only to explain why I decided to act the way I did. I want them to know the reason for their upcoming suffering."

Just as he said it, nearly a dozen of wands was pointed at him and yet he remained unperturbed.

"Cuthbert," he whispered and from the darkness behind him stepped out a hooded figure, coming to stand by his side.

"They all know," Ron meanwhile whispered to Hermione's ear. "But I need to get upstairs to save Harry."

"He's not there," Hermione breathed back, her watery eyes meeting his, pleading for understanding. She was surely the only one who didn't doubt the truth behind that nasty vampire's words. If only there was a time and a room to explain that.

Because she saw that her response made Ron's chin drop in horror.

"Do you see that bushy headed girl beside that red-haired boy?" Negura said aloud in a calm voice, interrupting them.

Hermione was instantly gripped by a panic attack, and Ron had to feel the same as he too froze beside her.

"I know that Potter cares about them the most," Negura said plainly. "They'll be coming with us back on the Ministry. Alive, Cuthbert … for now."

"How dare you?-!" Kingsley snarled. "You have no authority to do that!"

"Whoever you are, whatever you plan to do, I WON'T let you lay a hand on my son!" Arthur sputtered, his face unrecognizable in his fury.

"You won't dare to touch MY children!" Molly screamed, her eyes glittering with tears.

If possible Negura looked even less interested than before.

"I have all the authority I need, Shacklebolt. And the cries of two pathetic parents are hardly going to stop me. But you can try, of course, since you obviously think you can defeat me."

His proclamation was supported by a truly evil snigger of Negura's handsome companion. The second vampire under the cape who the Leader called Cuthbert, didn't say or do anything.

He just waited and that was even more threatening than anything else.

"If may fail to stop you, but Harry will do it!" George shouted as he looked at Angelina standing behind the Leader. He seemed to be crushed by worse pain than the qualms of conscience.

"That's not very likely, for Harry Potter is finished. I will personally..."

"NOW!" Hermione cried out and raised the wand.

"Accio!" she screamed in the same moment as Kingsley sent his Patronus upstairs.

The bowl jumped from the cabinet, sweeping over the room towards them and she was just about to reach it just like everyone else. She almost felt it at her fingertips when a sudden powerful force slammed her away of it and down on the floor. Ron fell beside her with a loud thud, coughing.

The Portkey was gone and half of the Order with it. Those who saw the two them falling on the floor didn't catch it and began to fight.

Hermione saw Neville, Molly and Kingsley by the corner of her eye. She tried to sit up and shake off that spell from her shoulder, but that hooded figure was already above her, leaning to her...

She could see beneath his cape, she could see he was missing a half of his face. Her mouth wanted to scream but her lungs lacked the breath.

Hearing Ron's desperate cry she attempted to raise the wand again and fight, but then a sudden impact to her temple sent her into darkness.

R&R