Hope everyone had fabulous holidays! Wishing everyone a wonderful new year with health, peace and success in plentiful bounty.

My sincere and utter gratitude to the phenomenal, hilarious and utterly talented Scarlettcat for betaing the following two chapters. Her fanfic Babysitting Blues is a unique take on the Dramione ship. Her Hermione is sassy, funny, flirty and not afraid to do whatever it takes to get the job done. Is it her Hermione's fault that all those men want her? Merlin no! Are all those men sinfully tempting? Damn straight! Infinitely comical, brazenly out of the box. Definitely NC-17. Not for the conservative reader. All of which, of course, made her perfect for my appallingly boring rants. To this attempt at reigned-in idiocy, she added colour, humour and spark. She edited 28 pages of absurdity, all during the holidays! I am infinitely grateful for all her work and time… and the trust she placed by exchanging emails with a complete stranger. I promise not to spam or stalk you S :) (I have worked on this after the betaing, so mistakes all mine.)

This chapter and the next are experiments. I have tipped my toes into the waters of 'THEATRE OF THE ABSURD'. Therefore, not everything will fall into neat little squares. Lamentably, I am too OCD to leave things too out there so it isn't completely DADA either. Please let me know what you make of it.

More ANs below chapter

Reality, or Something Absurdly Like It

The Ministry official leaned back against his metal and plastic chair. The hasty movement stirred a thin patch of hair gelled to cover his shiny bald scalp. He smoothed the crisp film of hair carefully back into place and looked at his subject from the top of his reading glasses.

"Ms. Granger, as you are undoubtedly aware, every word that you and I speak will be noted down by this Diktat Quill. My report will be incorporated into the Ministry records. I recommend some of that brew," he pointed to a steaming cup that lay on the table between them, "it will help recall and prevent unintended perjury. So, what would you like to tell me about the incident?" An insipid smile was his encouragement for her to proceed.

Hermione crossed her arms in front of her chest, then unfolded them to lay them palm up on the arms of the uncomfortable chair she occupied. "Nathaniel wished to inform his aunt that he didn't steal her pigs."

The Ministry official's thick eyebrows reached up to his thin strip of hair. "Is that all you would like to tell me?"

Hermione trumped up a weak smile of her own. "The other team members you debriefed, would have, undoubtedly, already offered relevant details. This meeting is a formal necessity, but I am certain you are weary of hearing the same details parroted repetitively."

"I appreciate your empathy Ms. Granger. Alas, someone has to do the job. Please, do have some tea," insisted the official, sliding the chipped white cup filled with the murky substance closer to her. "Perhaps you will feel more at ease."

The various warnings of Mad Eye Moody flitted across Hermione's mind as she sceptically regarded the suspect concoction, the less than delicate china, the long wooden table and the nameless man before her. Betwixt all that, she also managed to wonder if the cup had been washed thoroughly enough between the last debriefing and hers.

While Hermione had never met this middle-aged man before, she could read him like a book: Stuck in a job that didn't inspire him anymore, frustrated that he had peaked his career, yet worthy of her respect, because he stuck unerringly to the ethics that he valued. She somehow had to make sure he didn't read her as easily. Resignation lined her grimacing eyes as she reached forward and let her lips skim the teacup. The change on her face was subtle, but the Ministry official knew the signs to look out for. It was time to begin.

"Right then, Ms. Granger, start at the very beginning, leave no details out."

"Well, I received my letter for Hogwarts on my eleventh birthday. It was a hot day. I was wearing a blue cotton sundress and I had two pigtails in my hair to keep the hair out of my eyes while I played hopscotch. One pigtail was higher than the other and Damion teased me mercilessly about it. But I should probably go forth in the story, yes?"

"Yes please." The official nodded in approval, assured that his brew had done it's job.

"On my first trip to Diagon Alley, I purchased my first-year books, uniform and trunk. The first wizarding book I ever read was my first copy of Hogwarts a History, sixth edition, dark red leather binding, gold leaf pages..."

"We can skip forward a little more," the official interrupted, his shiny forehead marred with thick lines of dissatisfaction, "Give me details from the morning of the incident."

"As you wish," responded Hermione blandly. "Draco woke up before I did that morning. We both sleep fitfully when under stress, but he more so than I. He has not been sleeping well at all since he showed up a fortnight ago. He gets up in the middle of the night, gasping, no leeches, no leeches!"

"Err… the morning, please, Ms Granger." the official murmured uncomfortably.

Hermione swayed her head side to side, a small dreamy smile spreading into her dazed gaze, "He… aroused me from my slumber by sprinkling soft kisses along my collarbone. His sweet warm lips trailed their way down my stomach and onward leaving me writhing in bed, half-asleep, half-awake. His hands roamed endlessly over my body… The sex these past two weeks has been blissful. When he isn't fucking my brains out, he's making glorious love to me. He's been… there, you know? I rather wish he'd make it official and tell me he loves me… but only if he really does. But I think he does, you see. My parents always said to pay attentions to deeds, not words, and the deeds all seem there. He even did this whole mine thing when we were… in a vulnerable moment and… and hoodwinked me into admitting that my bleeding heart was his." Hermione's sullen expression altered as an idea brightened her face, "Will you be talking to Draco today? Uhm… are you quite all right?"

By this time, The Ministry official had closed his eyes, looked queerly perplexed and appeared to be shaking slightly in a pre-apoplectic fit. He had turned a peculiar colour between scarlet and purple and a vein throbbed in his forehead. Hermione heard him mumble something, but could only make out the words, "dosage" and "not paid enough."

He opened his eyes and collected himself before speaking, coherently this time, "Yes, I mean no. I think perhaps it would be best if we commenced your report from when you reached the Ministry." In a nervous gesture, he reached up and slicked back his stringy patch of hair, leaving it considerably slimmer than before.

"Very well." Hermione smiled benignly and stared into the space behind him with a glazed expression on her face. He had not asked her a question, so she wasn't compelled to answer.

"Yes, then, what happened after you reached the Ministry?" he caught on.

Hermione's cloudy eyes took on the glow of direction. "Draco wasn't there. He said he couldn't walk into an official Auror meeting, so he walked me to Shacklebolt's office and made me give my word that that I would restrict my actions to only my assignment for the day, and I would not endanger myself any further."

The Ministry official sighed in relief, and encouraged her to continue.

"I walked into the Minister's office, Harry was there. The meeting wasn't supposed to start for another few minutes. Aurors and members from my department, you know, the DRMC, were assembling. Thomas walked in and as soon as he saw me, went red, bowed his head down and walked to the corner of the room, farthest away from me." Hermione fell quiet after that, shoulders tensed, staring aimlessly into space.

The Ministry official looked into his previous notes, "Mr. Briverion confessed that he accidentally admitted to you that Mr. Malfoy had accompanied Mr. Potter on an assignment. The Minister authorised it with the belief that Esway would be more cooperative with another Slytherin. Please, continue."

Hermione's shoulders slumped down in relief, "The Minister was looking at the watch in annoyance and then he walked in."

"Who walked in, Ms. Granger?"

The official saw Hermione's eyes move around, ostensibly lost in thought.

"Ms Granger?"

Hermione levelled her gaze at the Ministry official, "They told me his name was François."

The middle-aged man went through some of the notes on his desk, flipping some pages up and down before his finger went down a list on a page. "I don't believe I am acquainted with him. Someone else must be debriefing him."

Hermione shrugged, as her glazed eyes went to the wall again. "I saw François for the first time, earlier this month. Reba, the Auror, told me he is a Hit Wizard, an undercover assassin for the Ministry. She told me he moved to London a few years ago. He specializes in infiltrating underground Dark Arts groups and… eliminating… rogue, deadly, criminals who evade… lesser consequences. He… wore long black hair… curly, but not frizzy, reaching just below his shoulders. He looked quite… that is… he had beautiful olive skin and jet black eyes that could pull you into their abyss. Though it wasn't just his appearance. Something about his personality… it captivates you. Sucks you right in. Err… yes. We have never spoken, because, well, he does not speak, does he? Though he smiles plenty. My parents would love his teeth; they could be fluorescent, except, I think I caught the flash of a silver molar. My parents could fix that. Ironically, or logically, I'm told he is the best they have at casting non-verbal spells. If you were to go by looks alone, he could pass for a peace-loving, institution-hating, tree-hugging, vegetarian hippy. The type who teaches Pilates or Yoga, because his muscles have excellent tone, especially his tight..." Hermione shook her head. "Maybe that's what makes him a good Hit-Wizard? Onlookers wouldn't expect an assassin behind that charming façade."

Hermione's posture stiffened and the flaring of her nostrils revealed disapproval before she straightened her back and continued, "I have to confess, I am ambivalent about his choice of profession. I have still not processed how I feel about Hit Wizards. And I am not sure I approve of such mysterious types, anyway. The things they can hide behind their smiles!" Hermione shuddered. "I'm so used to outspoken men who are brashly vocal about their opinions." Her tone softened, her eyes still unfocussed, "Have you heard of the story behind his speechlessness? It is a tragic tale indeed."

The Ministry official resignedly shook his head, curiosity evident in his beady eyes, so Hermione continued with a melancholy tilt to her voice, "According to Reba, well, according to rumour, he was held hostage by demon-worshippers who tortured him and cut his tongue out." Hermione winced. "He manages to be… graceful… and eloquent despite… it all. Maybe that's why people find him… appealing."

The Ministry official pinched the bridge of his nose. "Ms Granger, shall we proceed to the meeting?"

"Oh, yes, the meeting. Well, nothing much happened. Except, right before we were supposed to Apparate out… uh… Harry gave me a ring, with instructions. At 9:02 am, several of us apparated out to different locations. I apparated to the location where the vampires had last been seen… a small division of woods off Maltese Park. I cleared fallen leaves and turned the exact location upside down. I'd been there the day before, too, with Reba sectioning off the area and searching for clues. I had mentioned out loud that I would be back today for another thorough search. Someone must have heard. I had barely spent five minutes turning over rocks and leaves when I felt an unnatural breeze stirring behind me. Six, no, seven vampires had appeared in an instant. One of them, I don't know his name, but he had a crescent moon tattoo on his face… well, he grabbed me, and they Apparated me into their lair."

Hermione was fanning herself, the stress of the recalled moment giving her hot flashes. Or maybe it was just another after effect of the miscarriage? Her hormones had not been the same since. The month-long PMS was disorienting. Nausea at food smells (that had irritated her during her pregnancy), sore breasts, a stomach that felt like an overfilled waterbed. She had all the overwhelming symptoms of pregnancy, without the benefits of one.

The Ministry official was leaning forward on his table. Hermione noticed that he didn't seem to have too much of a neck and his head simply rolled around on his shoulder in a bobble-head fashion.

"Then what happened?" he enquired urgently.

"I am not really sure." Hermione shrugged.

"What do you mean, you are not really sure?" the official demanded.

Hermione had a faraway look in her eyes, which changed to an expression of intense concentration for a fleeting moment before she shook her head in what appeared to be the rejection of a notion.

"I could give you a dialogue by dialogue account, but I would not be able to do it justice. Could you, perchance, arrange for a Pensieve? My memories, without the filter of my interpretation, are likely to provide a more accurate witness."

The Ministry official bobbed his head in what could have been a nod or a shake and screechingly dragged his metallic chair backwards. Hermione grimaced. The portly official ambled to the door and opened it to whisper to the guard stationed outside. He closed the door behind him as he exited the room, leaving Hermione to her devices till he returned with a Pensieve, roughly fifteen minutes later. On his return, he set the large stone bowl on the long wooden table and sat down, causing his chair to rather annoyingly, screech again. He motioned for Hermione to pull her chair forth. She picked her chair as she got up and placed it closer to the table, quietly.

Hermione aimed her wand gracefully at her temple and swirled out distinct silver wisps that she gently sprinkled into the basin.

"I would very much like to revisit these memories with you." Hermione requested in a tone that made it clear it wasn't really a request.

"Of course, Ms. Granger. On the count of three, then. One… two… three!"

Hermione and the official found themselves being pulled into the depths of her memories, landing in one of the many corridors of the Ministry.

Draco was walking with Hermione.

"Granger, I do not condone your participation in this operation. I understand it, but I do not approve of it."

Hermione placed a mollifying hand on his arm. "I am doing my job Draco. That is also a part of who I am. You can not have one without the other."

Draco went still and turned around, to corner Hermione against the wall. She stiffened in defence.

Draco's hand came to caress her throat, and any one who watched the scene could be misled into thinking that it was a tender gesture. Hermione knew better. It was territorial; meant to be intimidating.

"If you limited yourself to the requirements of your job, of any one job, we wouldn't need to have this conversation," Draco whispered stonily in her ear. His thumb flicked across the vulnerable cleft at the top of her sternum. "Putting your neck out further than it needs to go, that I object to."

"So, simply stated, what's good for the goose isn't good for the gander?" Hermione's voice had come out a tad too husky for her liking.

"Stop being difficult, witch." Draco's hand went down to grasp her shoulder. He looked like he wanted to shake her, but he was too much in control of himself to allow an infraction like that. "Just, give me your unswerving word about one thing."

Hermione jutted her chin out; she wasn't going into this blind. "Let's hear it, Malfoy."

Draco looked around to ascertain that no one was in hearing distance. "In my absence, listen to François."

"François?" Hermione gasped, astounded, while the visitors to the memory stared on unnoticeably. "The Hit-Wizard? Why?"

"We are close. He will look out for you, in my stead. You can trust him… mostly."

"Draco, what is this about? You don't trust. It just isn't your forte. Why, sometimes I see you surreptitiously sniff the meals I cook. You don't even trust me not to poison you! And out of nowhere, you declare I can trust my life in the hands of a Hit Wizard? An assassin who may boast questionable value for life in the first place?"

Draco bristled, before his placid composure befell his features, before an amused smirk highlighted his face. "Ah… you saw that, did you? I just need to test the food for coconut. I am severely allergic, you see. It gives me, how do I put this delicately… the most severe case of flatulence. I would be unbearable company if you were to feed me anything with coconut. Remember that lunch at the Weasleys? When I had to rush back to the Manor because I… wasn't the most pleasant smelling blossom in the room? I didn't sit on a dungbomb that some Weasley had planted in the back pocket of my pants. I was the dungbomb in my pants."

Hermione's head was tilted to the side in bemused disbelief. "Why do I get the feeling you are trying to distract me?"

"I just reveal my deepest most gassiest secret, and you still don't think I'm sharing enough? Witches! Remind me to modify your memory later tonight. Now, off you go." Draco unceremoniously pushed her away.

Then, just as suddenly, Draco jerked her roughly back to him, her breast flush against his chest. Surprise was the predominant emotion on Hermione's face. Even as a visitor to memory, Hermione could appreciate Draco's daybreak gold eyes staring passionately into hers. It turned her on, watching him with her like that.

"Hermione, I forbid you to put yourself in any more danger than is strictly necessary. Once your assignment is over, you leave. Then you stay away. Do you understand me?"

Hermione nodded and then shook her head.

"What does that mean?" Draco snarled and took a step back, his face remote.

"I understand what you are saying, Draco. I appreciate the concern. But you have no right to dictate my professional life. I will not let you interfere with my work any more. I am no more fond of putting myself in jeopardy than you are, so the best I can do is promise that I will take all possible measures to ensure my safety."

The other Draco made his appearance, the cold, impenetrable Slytherin with shuttered eyes, and only a withdrawn, arctic brutality. "See to that, or you might not see me again," he hissed his dismissal before stiffly walked away, leaving Hermione to stare after him in frustration. She slowly turned the other way and continued through the corridor to the Minister's office.

The setting changed abruptly for the visitors. Hermione was no longer walking in the corridor but in a chair around the Minister's large table, in his office. The large office was filled to capacity with Aurors, members of DRMC and experts in the field from corresponding departments around the globe.

"I thought I would pick up the pace and proceed to the more pertinent parts," Hermione whispered to the Ministry official, who nodded distractedly.

The din of the softly murmuring officiates dissipated when the door to the office opened inward with a creak. The entrant lured attention with his overshadowing presence.

Reba sighed loudly. Azmeth, a young DRMC member, emitted a sound close to a whimper. Hermione looked up to find a dark gaze scanning the room in unreserved amity. Azmeth's excited waving caught François' attention and he favoured her with an infectious grin. The young girl blushed and nodded at the empty spot on the sofa next to her. The proposed seating arrangement may have sufficed if François was a six-year-old girl.

The Minister for Magic glanced at the clock on the wall before inquiring with a casual smile, "Thank you for coming, François. You are late for a reason?"

François smiled abashedly at the mild rebuke from the Minister and nodded. He reached into the pocket of his coat and took out a transparent plastic box, which he tapped with his finger. The box enlarged into a veritable buffet of a breakfast platter – croissants, danishes, muffins, doughnuts and other obligatory essentials. He placed it on the table, in between the Minister and Hermione, and winked at her. Hermione brought her right hand to her chin and then forward and down, signalling her thanks in sign language. François bowed graciously, briefly placing his hand on his heart briefly. The gesture tugged his midnight-blue silk shirt down, which was unbuttoned till the fourth buttonhole; his smooth pectus and chiselled pectorals were briefly glimpsed. Several eyes, male and female, stayed glued for much longer than strictly professional. He splayed his hands, offering his gift to those gathered and walked quietly to stand in an unremarkable corner which went on to become the least inconspicuous one, as Azmeth conspicuously made her way over.

The Minister nodded and gestured forth the Aurors who had just returned from their nocturnal assignments. "This is considerate of you, François. Our night shift could use the fuel, and the rest of us have a long day ahead." Shacklebolt turned to the room. "I wanted to remind everyone that all vampires in the coven are not hostile. Some in the group are Muggle victims, forced into this existence by their sires. We learnt as much from the group in Australia. Also, keep an eye out for Vicot Esway." Shacklebolt handed out an old picture of Vicot to be passed around in the room. "Not above suspicion, but he warned us that Ashram is a vulnerable target. The increased security there, provided by your efforts has helped keep the children safe. Esway then also sent information to Potter that could have purportedly helped us catch the principal sire of the coven, who is customarily the leader of a vampire group. That was either a trap or Esway was compromised - Potter and his team walked into a bloody brawl. Regardless, do not stake Mr Esway on sight, he could have been sincere in efforts to assist us. In fact, try not to stake any vampire that isn't on the attack. Subdue with your wands and the wooden bullets, if feasible. Of course, if it is between you and the vampire, chose you! These creatures are fast and they are strong. Do not take any chances."

The Minister went on to update the assembled with the paltry news from the previous night. The day's assignments were revised.

Hermione could see herself sitting with her spine ramrod straight, her head trained rigidly towards the Minister. She saw François glance at her occasionally, as he did everyone in the room. She observed him ignore the flirtatious smiles from Azmeth, the DRMC fledgling who had found her North. Every once in a while, people would walk up to the table where Hermione sat and would reach past her, on her right, for a pastry. When François left the wall that he and his newly acquired shadow were leaning against, Hermione saw herself shrivel in her chair, trying to take as little space as possible, moving as far to her left as she could without falling off. One bum is, after all, enough to hang on to a chair.

When François approached the table, Hermione observed from this vantage point that he stood closer to her than perhaps, strictly necessary. He could have avoided crowding her personal space as he did, which he didn't. When he leaned in, he turned toward her just a little, so his chest grazed her shoulder. Hermione jerked away, face flushed. She saw the mischievous glint in the black eyes and the leisurely grin he beamed at Harry, who stared right back with granite-hard eyes coloured with exasperation.

After picking up a Danish and a napkin, François sauntered over to Harry and handed him an ivory envelope. Then François returned to the spot Azmeth was keeping warm for him.

While the Minister finished the outline of the day's plans, Harry tore open the sealed envelope and read a note inside. A relieved smile softened his features as Harry retrieved something from the envelope and inspected it carefully, moving it so it glinted in the light. Harry raised his eyes and gestured a thumbs-up to François, the British Sign Language equivalent of "good". As the Minister concluded his briefing, Harry approached Hermione.

"Mione, your plan B."

Hermioneread the note and peered inside the envelope to fish out the plain silver ring. She held it up to scrutiny and finally slipped the ring on. It must have been charmed to fit, because it sat perfectly on her right hand's ring finger.

The scenery around them changed like sets in the theatre and the Ministry official and Hermione found themselves in another memory.

"The vampires' hideout… they just brought me in a moment ago," Hermione whispered to the Ministry official who muttered what may have been a "finally".

The room was neither dark nor dingy, but it was definitely a lair. There must have been windows behind the thick, heavy drapes covering an entire wall, but daylight could not have stolen in past the velvet and brocade guards. Electricity powered and lit up the room. That told Hermione that the use of magic must be minimal and the location must be a muggle mansion with someone still paying the bills.

The opulent room played host to about thirty odd vampires. The Ministry had feared the coven to be larger, though they had taken into account that the vampires had not been in Britain too long. Furthermore, the vamps had been fairly discrete in their attacks, entailing leaving the magical population well enough alone. They must have been attacking stray muggles here and there without causing a furore in the muggle newspapers.

Hermione's eyes scoped the room for it's inhabitants, features and possible exits. Seeing few familiar faces, she raised her eyebrow in query, "So this is home? An old mansion in the middle of…"

"Manch..." a well-groomed young man started to fill in the location.

"Shut it, Sweeney!" an authoritative voice boomed from the other side of the room, brooking no argument.

Vampire eyes flicked to and fro, between Hermione and the far side of the room, where the interruption had originated, and where a head bobbed up and down from behind the crowd.

"All right, all right, clear the bloody hell out. Let her through, you fangers!" a thinner, shriller voice rang.

The crowd parted down the centre, some vampires shifting to the left, some to the right. One vampire girl continued to stand in the middle her head oscillating between both sides as if caught in a conundrum.

Hermione walked up to her, "Let me guess, Libra or Gemini?"

The vampire shrugged sheepishly, "Libran. With Gemini rising."

Hermione pointed to the left, ""Head there, better view."

The indecisive vampire scooted to the left and Hermione walked through the cleared path, to the obvious leader in the room. Cloaked in a rich burgundy velvet that had seen better days and less dirt, he was sitting on a throne that must have been the part of a stage play once. The peeling gold paint indicated that the prop had seen better days. Something was wedged under one of the chair's legs, to lend it stability. The dilapidated throne was placed on a large, raised, wooden dais.

Hermione nudged the Ministry official and whispered quickly to him, "Those four vampires were orphaned during the Final Battle." She pointed out the vampires she knew. "They were old enough to remember inherited prejudices, when we opened Ashram. The one on the throne is Nathaniel. He was often at the centre of trouble at the Sanctuary, though he usually stayed out of trouble at school. I used to speak to him frequently, and I thought it helped, but I suppose not."

"Nathaniel, is that a book under your chair?" Hermione asked, censure evident in her tone.

"Why yes, Ms Granger, I finally found a use for my copy of Hogwarts, a History."

Hermione's face was marked with the condemnation of a livid schoolmarm. She shook her head and studied her audience again.

"Nathaniel, why on earth are you sitting on a table with its legs sawed off? And Sebastian, why are you wearing that yellow cape?"

The curly-haired red-head in a ridiculous yellow cape made an exaggerated face and squinted his eyes, donning the all-knowing look of a mystery man who knows much, but reveals little.

"We don't need a table to dine,

For, you well know that blood is our wine.

We put the feeder under the prop

So our leader could sit on the top.

The cape is canary, not yellow

Because all-black is dismal and I am a merry fellow."

Sebastian raised one eyebrow but couldn't hold it for too long.

Hermione gaped at Sebastian, as another good-looking vampire with healthy black hair and sharp features approached her from the side. His tight, twisted smile bared his retracted fangs.

Hermione turned to the official and hastily introduced the prominent characters, "The poet was Sebastian. He used to habitually follow Nathaniel around at school and got into all kinds of mischief with him. The vampire approaching is Vicot Essway. He was Nathaniel's best mate in school but managed to maintain a low profile during his time at Ashram. Vicot was the one who came to the Sanctuary a few weeks ago and wrote to Draco later..." Hermione's account was cut short when Vicot reached her.

"You'll have to excuse Sebastian's limericks, Ms. Granger. He had trouble keeping jobs because of PTSD, so he worked in this travelling theatre troupe for a while after leaving the Ashram. In one of the Dada plays, he played the part of a vampire who talked in the most prolific of rhymes. He still has the script with him, and really, it is the most brilliant, lyrical prose. He romanticised the idea and hoped that Awakening would automatically grant him the gift. Not much luck."

"My idea, it was my idea!" Nathaniel shouted.

As soon as he had said the words, all vampires immediately reached for their pockets - back pockets, jacket pockets, purses, handbags, old grocery bags and even a plastic Jack-o-lantern shaped Halloween basket. Hermione's body tensed in preparation as she reached for her wand.

As one, the vampires retrieved and took swigs from all manners of hipflasks and bottles, before replacing them.

Hermione looked at Vicot in query, but he prevaricated, smiling slightly, "You'll see."

Her hand was still clenched around her wand when quick as an inhuman flash, Vicot reached out and plucked it from her grasp. Carelessly, he threw it towards a bystander, who fumbled the catch, juggling the wood to and fro between his hands till it accidentally touched his chest. The vampire looked up in dismay, uttered "Bollocks!" and fell, unconscious.

"It's a piece of magical wood, you arse!" Nathaniel bellowed at Vicot. "You know a wand is like an atomic stake! I don't know who the fuck that was, but he was on our side. How many times do I have to tell you to be less rash? It's like I'm talking to a wall. You never listen to me! No one ever listens to me!" Nathaniel hollered.

The vampires reached for their flasks, all simultaneously sipping at their drinks.

"I'll try to be more careful, dear," pacified Vicot, pursing his lips in an affected apology.

"Promises, promises." Nathaniel scowled before directing his attention back to Hermione.

"How generous of you, Miss Granger, to so conveniently walk into our trap. We were planning to demand you as price for our hostage. Honestly, having you here stumps me a little, we were prepared for three days of negotiations to get you here."

"Now that you have me here, what do you plan to do with me?" Hermione enquired icily.

"I forget." Nathaniel looked vacantly at her.

Someone in the crowd behind her cleared their throat.

"Oh, right," Nathaniel resumed, "we are going to drink your blood! Mmheeeheheho. Vicot, approach the bench."

Nathaniel whispered when Vicot neared him, but he was loud enough to be overheard. "Was that laughter evil enough, or still a little forced?"

"Personally, I would end it in a hee haa haaw, not heheho… Don't curve your tongue quite that much at the end. Yes, that's a little better. If you can, raise one eyebrow. No, never mind, leave that be."

Interrupting their little lesson on evil, Hermione attempted to reason with her captors. "Nathaniel, you know vampires can survive just as well on animal blood. You are a vampire, but you do not have to be a murderer. Stop now, there's just too much at stake. Don't hurt any more humans, and I will try to get you a more lenient trial."

Nathaniel shook his head in gloomy disagreement, "Like there is a place left in society for us. Like there ever was a place in society for us? We won't get a fair trial; we won't even get a trial. It'll be straight into the sun for us all. That or a stake through the heart." The crowd murmured in agreement.

Hermione persisted, "I am staking my reputation, even my life, on the promise of getting you fair treatment, if you just surrender now. It still isn't too late, for most of you, anyway. This does not have to end like the sting in Australia, where most were overcome. Raza, your friend from school, he was slain there, wasn't he? It didn't have to be that way. I know this life was not your choice to begin with. We can arrange for rehabilitation counselling. It's been known to help transition vampires with an eighty seven percent success rate. We can provide supervised accommodation and animal blood. I've read pig's blood is closest."

This caught Nathaniel's attention. "So you're willing to sacrifice a pig's life to save yours. I am sure pigs everywhere appreciate your magnanimity. And here I thought, you treated all life as sacred."

Hermione bristled under the attack on her morals. "All life is sacred! But given a choice between killing a pig and killing a human, I would have to kill the pig. Human life is the most sacrosanct."

"And pig life is not? You are such a speceisist!"

"A speceisist?" Hermione's hands and nose went up with incredulity.

"Who are you to decide that the pig is not God's most beloved creation? Do you talk to God? Does God talk to you?" Nathaniel argued.

"Er, no… but humans can think and feel..."

"And pigs can not?"

"Humans have a soul, unique personalities, they feel love."

"And pigs do not? Blasphemy! You know, I helped my aunt run her farm after I graduated because no one else would hire the son of Death Eaters. I lived with pigs for two years, and let me tell you, they can be smarter than some humans in this room! Why, there was Oscar, who followed my aunt wherever she went. He couldn't bear to part with her, sat outside her bathroom when she was in, oinked incessantly when she was sick and tried to get her to pet him when he thought she was mad at him. Then there was Belle, who was the biggest flirt at the sty. That swine could reel the hogs in better than the shepherd dog. Then there was Freida, she was the motherly one. All the new piglets ended up nursing with her. And dear Anna, she was so loving, she was the first to give me a chance at the pen. Always saved an affectionate shove for me. She didn't eat for days after we barbequed her mate. I begged my aunt not to serve her at New Year's but she didn't listen. She never listened." Nathaniel wiped tears from his eyes.

As one, the vampires reached for their flasks.

Hermione inched her head closer to Vicot. "A drinking game?"

Vicot raised his flask to her. "Every time he claims the vampire army was his idea or…"

"Or that no one listens to him?" Hermione filled in.

Vicot shrugged. "No one does."

"Really? Then how is he the leader of this coven?"

"Who said he is?"

"The man is sitting on a throne, on a butchered pedestal."

"Keeps the lesser minds fooled, and him happy. After all, he is the oldest vampire in the room, our principal sire."

Vicot's smile had turned five more shades evil.

Hermione took a step away in revulsion. "You command this coven?"

Dear all, Wow, it has been long since I updated, I know. I'm sorry. I have excuses… Work, the flu and discovering real books (Fabulous series like the Mortal Instruments by Cassandra Clare, Vampire Academy by Richelle Mead… also her Storm Born and Thorn Queen for adult readers… then the Cassandra Palmer series by Karen Chance… I've been taken with paranormal romances like never before!) Then, of course I had no clue how to handle the Vampire face-off. I loathe writing action sequences. So I was wondering for ages what to write before I came up with the idea to turn it into a tragic comedy of sorts. Then I had to figure how to make it tragic, or comic, or at the very least, absurd. Not my comfort zone, at all.

I can't help but psycho-analyse my reluctance towards finishing the story I may be… scared. What will happen after I'm done with the story? How will I fill the chasm that will be created without your reviews and PMs? Sigh. I could always get some balls and write the real book floating in my head, demanding to be written… but would any one be interested in buying it with actual money? Oh, the whimsical dreams of another wannabe writer!

Dear, dear Liz16, thank you for the lovely Christmas message, it was my favourite present this year! I wanted to send you an online present… but you have, sadly, disabled private messaging. I was unable to post this at Christmas, but here it is now, and I hope you like it. Hope you had good holidays too!

A huge thank you to geminiamr05 for posting my story's link at Accio DHR. A website where people recommend… you guessed it… DHr fanfics.

This was 14 pages, but since I am a good girl, and I wanna make up for being gone so long… guess what? I will (after more tedious last-minute edits) post about 13 more pages tomorrow. Not so bad, eh?

As always, your reviews and concrit mean more than I could ever express. A HUGE thanks to everyone who recently wrote in support and encouragement. I just regret it took me this long to respond. Superstars in my world: blueskyshymoon-olgameisterfunk, the written princess, mw87, Lily237, serena2010, tfobmv18, mentarisenja, margaritama, Slytherinchica08, Chelsey89, nathy7, kh2020, Erica, Pixie-Fate, helenkeomany, evenstar101, MissMally, Coeur de l'amour x2, Italian Rose, Liz16, brandonlov, blueidpanda, ren-san, Squash, Super-girl-straight-from-hell, caseyjarryn, mayaharuna, tofi-stars, Frozen Darkness, Valkarie, HarryPGinnyW4eva, Kels2247, Krish, Hicksy59, Lily, TheCullenCrest, lyl wind, Kayla, DaOnLeeSam, Simkey, CimiRace, ebbe04, Malechi x2, Li0n3ss, SolarGuardianChick, alina290, The nameless soul, CEA, Rats, Ceylon x2, The Epitome of Wonders and Amanda x 6 (with valuable concrit that I will definitely keep in mind if I go back to polish the story from the start, once it's all done. Done? Gasp!

Please review, to cure me from this fit of hyper-ventilation? Yeah, leave a review, save a life :)