Historical Reference: While they may seem a modern convention,the production of wristwatches dates back to the 1600's. Initially, they were worn exclusively by women (and marketed as bracelets). Though by the late 1800s, it became common for military officers to wear them, as well, men still largely favored pocket watches until the early 20th century.

Chapter Twelve

Sounds in the Night

She'd not slept a wink by the time Tom knocked on her door, shortly before midnight. Hermione had fretted over what to do. In the end, she'd relented to logic. Her trunk was much too heavy for her to lug about easily on her own, so she'd instead nicked a satchel from the servants' quarters and loaded it down with as many of her things as it would hold. She'd simply have to leave the rest behind. The overstuffed bag waited for her as she slipped out into the corridor to join him and Augustin, a forced smile plastered across her face.

So badly she wanted to follow her heart and stay, but how could she, knowing what she did now? Tonight, after this, she'd slip away. Oh, sure, fine picture she'd make, lone young woman traipsing along the road to the nearest town in the wee hours of the morning with naught but the clothes on her back and a sack ready to burst over her shoulder. But she wasn't certain what else to do. There was no arranging for a carriage without Tom and Augustin finding out, and her precious logic—which she'd almost entirely ignored while she'd been here—dictated that she leave as soon, and as inconspicuously, as possible.

While she descended the staircase between them and crossed the parlor floor toward the foyer, she tried to quiet the painful, thundering beat of her heart. She listened to them speaking on the oddity of this entire Bellatrix situation, overwhelmed for a moment by how much she was going to miss the sounds of their voices. Each glance toward either of their faces wrenched another ache from her chest at how much she knew she'd long to look into their eyes, again, after she was gone.

Every gentle touch or fleeting caress of their fingers against hers made her wonder if they could really be monsters when they treated her like such a treasured thing?

Around the back of the main house, Peter had built the up a large bundle of kindling into a rough platform. Bellatrix's body lay atop, still shrouded in that white linen. Hermione stepped away from Tom and Augustin, taking hold of the lit candle Peter held out for her. By some miracle, the night was windless.

She waited, swallowing hard as she stared at Bellatrix's form. Closing her eyes, Hermione whispered a small prayer. Oh, certainly, she thought the witch might not appreciate the thought, but it wasn't even truly a prayer. Hermione's muttered words asked, simply, that Bellatrix Lestrange be permitted to rest peacefully. That she no longer be disturbed by the torments of her last moments alive.

Checking the timepiece upon her wrist, the candlelight glinted off the face as she counted down the seconds. At 11:59, she stepped directly up before the pile of wood. Closing her eyes, Hermione bowed her head, repeating her small not-really-a-prayer beseechment. Opening them, she looked again.

Drawing a deep breath, she let it out slow as she counted backward from ten.

At last, the hands both pointed to 12. Nodding, she whispered as she pressed the flame into the kindling and waited for it to catch, "Rest well, Bellatrix Lestrange."

As the fire built, she stepped back. Her attention fixed upon the pyre as the orange-yellow glow consumed the image before her by increments, she felt the moment Tom and Augustin had moved up on either side of her.

They were all silent as they watched the fire.

Hermione let her eyes drift close as she felt their cool hands wrap around each of hers. She willed herself to remember the sensation of their skin on hers, to remember the feeling of them stationing themselves so close and so protectively beside her.

She wasn't even gone yet, but already she missed them so much she could scarcely breathe.

An hour had passed after returning to her room by the time she worked up the courage to grab the satchel and sling it over her shoulder. But then, it wasn't really a matter of fear, she recognized that. It was the struggle with herself. Her heart told her these men might be monsters, but they were her monsters, and they'd never harm her.

Logic dictated that if she remained with them, harm would come to her, even were in not by their hands or whims.

Lord, did she hate logic, just now.

And, logic felt a bit like madness in this moment. Vampires didn't exist! They didn't! But then, neither did witches or ghosts, yet she'd just burned a witch's body at the behest of that witch's own ghost, so what the bloody hell did she know?

Hermione opened her door and stepped out, pulling it closed as soundlessly as she could behind her. Tears crowded her throat as she turned toward the staircase.

Perhaps she should confront them, instead. Rather than simply vanishing into the night, as they'd wondered if Bellatrix had before they'd found her. Walking away from them was difficult enough, she wasn't sure she could bear the weight of leaving them behind without a word, as well.

But then, perhaps she was mad.

Pivoting on her heel, she instead faced toward the master wing, where their rooms were. Yes, she should at least confront them. If they laughed off her suspicions and it turned out she was, in fact, no longer sane, at least there would be some strange relief there. Oh, certainly, she'd be languishing in an asylum, but she would do so knowing she'd imagined all this and fairy tale monsters were only that. The stuff of fairy tales.

Dropping the satchel beside the staircase landing, she started back along the corridor. Oh, this was probably a terrible idea. They'd try to convince her to stay. And perhaps she wanted them to . . . .

It was hard enough imagining them saddened and confused by her decision as it was, toss sleep-rumpled on there and she wasn't certain of her decision to confront them about her departure and her reasons, at all.

And, then again, she might just be trying to stall her exit from the house. She seemed the very definition of indecisiveness right now.

Reaching Augustin's door—she thought to wake him and then pull him along with her to Tom's room so that she might speak with them both at once—she lifted her hand to knock. Yet, a sound from inside the room halted her, mid-motion.

Licking her lips in an anxious gesture, she gave herself a shake. Preparing to knock once more, she was again stopped by a noise from within. The sort she readily recognized now from those dreams.

Curious in spite of her emotional state, Hermione dropped her hand to her side and quietly shifted her skirts so that she could lower to her knees. Leaning near, she reprimanded herself in a seething internal whisper as she peered through the keyhole.

The sight before her caught her breath in her throat. She brought up her free hand to cover her mouth, but couldn't seem to look away.

Tom knelt on the floor beside Augustin's bed, his entire body bared to her eyes. He was curled forward, over the other man's lap. One arm around Augustin's naked hips, Tom's other hand was assisting his mouth as he—

Oh my Lord, I should not be watching this!

Yet she still could not tear her gaze from the sight. Tom's rhythmic motions, Augustin's head falling back as he gripped his fingers into Tom's hair. She couldn't deny a sweet, flickering warmth that the spectacle sent rippling through her.

"It's not quite enough," Augustin said in near-growling whisper.

Though he uttered what sounded like a chuckle, Tom didn't lift his head from his task. He unwound his arm from Augustin's hips, offering up his wrist.

Clutching his free hand around Tom's, Augustin let out an ecstatic sigh. He bared his teeth, the canines easing out into longer, needle-sharp points. She could actually hear the sound of it as he brought Tom's wrist to his lips and bit down.

That was when a noise she couldn't stifle escaped her. It was true, all along it had been true. All along she'd known on some level, but here it was before her very eyes. Augustin was taking Tom's blood, the way she'd experienced them both doing with her in all those dreams.

She'd drawn a gasp.

The startled sound from outside the door caught both men's attention, and they immediately stopped what they were doing to look in her direction. "Hermione?" they said in unison. Tom shot to his feet and started toward the door, grabbing a dressing gown from the end of the bed on his way.

Panic clogging her throat, Hermione scrambled off the floor and tore across the corridor, back toward the staircase. She could hear the door opening behind her and Tom's footfalls as he followed.

How she made it down the staircase without tripping over her skirts in her hurry was beyond her. She didn't even have the presence of mind to grab the satchel as she went past. They knew she knew, now, and not in some fashion that could be shrugged off and explained away.

She raced across the ground floor, yet somehow Tom managed to get ahead of her, rounding to place himself before the doors as she ran into the foyer. Hermione stumbled to a halt, barely keeping her footing. He caught her around the waist and steadied her.

She hadn't ever before thought they'd have harmed her, but after actually witnessing proof of what they were . . . ? "Please don't hurt me," she said, her voice spilling out in a trembling whisper as she struggled out of his hold, backpedaling a step.

His brows pinched together as he shook his head. "We would never!"

"But I saw it! I saw you and him. I—I know the things I dreamed were real, now." She pressed her hands to the sides of face as she forced herself to go on, bewildered tears welling in her eyes. "You, both of you, you seduced me and took my blood. How is that not hurting me?"

"Because it was you who invited us," Augustin's voice rang out from atop the staircase.

Hermione tore her attention from Tom and pivoted on her heel to peer back into the depths of the house. Unlike Tom, Augustin had not bothered covering himself at all. Gloriously nude, he stood there, staring back at her, his expression strangely open and trusting. What an odd thing to notice in such a moment, she thought.

"Good Lord, man. A dressing gown would've killed you?" Tom asked in a hissing breath.

Augustin shook his head, a thoughtful frown gracing his lips as he started down the staircase. "There would be little point as she's seen everything, already. Besides, I'll hide nothing from her any longer."

All of Hermione's proper sensibilities were screaming at her to look away, to blush and act appropriately abashed by Augustin's behavior and . . . wanton nakedness. Yet, she could not seem to look away from him. More, she didn't want to, and for more reasons than how painfully beautiful he was.

It seemed madness that she was standing here at all. But then, with the way Tom had moved just moments ago—quicker than should've been possible—to reach the front doors ahead of her, Hermione knew she had no hope of outrunning them if she tried to bolt from the house.

Remembering how he'd slipped across the ground floor so fast, there was a sudden, hazy recollection playing before her mind's eye. When the painting of Bellatrix had fallen, Tom and Augustin hadn't simply moved quickly to protect her—they'd moved faster than was humanly possible, she simply had not registered the swiftness at the time, there had been too much going on. When she'd stabbed herself with the pen, they'd been unable to stop her simply because the action had been so very unexpected.

They had tried to protect her. She supposed the least she could do was give them room to explain this madness. "What do you mean, I invited you? I don't understand," she said, her tone pleading. "I don't feel like I understand any of this."

"We'll tell you everything you want to know."

She gave a nod, pouting in a mix of anger and confusion. Gone, now, was the fear. Though, the wild desire to openly stare at Augustin's naked form was rampant and distracting, but she forced herself to ignore that for the time being. "Good, because that's precisely what I want to know. Everything."