"Hell is empty and all the devils are here."
- William Shakespeare, The Tempest

Chapter 4

She was running late that morning. Her dream from the previous night left her confused and groggy when she woke up. All Hermione could remember were ribbons wrapped around her arms and legs and whispers of a tale of a prince helping her fly. She mulled over her dreams for a while, willing herself to remember all the details. She lost track of time and stayed in bed for far longer than what was planned. After taking a shower and quickly getting dressed, Hermione rushed to a cafe to grab breakfast before heading to the Bodleian.

She entered its halls thirty minutes after it opened. She stopped by the call desk and greeted Anna cheerfully.

"Good morning, Doctor Granger!" Anna replied. "It's a busy day at the library today," she added in an almost conspiratorial whisper.

Hermione's eyes turned to confusion. "It's a Sunday and the term had barely started!" She exclaimed.

"Oh it's not students, Doctor Granger," Anna continued in a whisper, her eyes shifting to the doors leading to the research hall. "They're older, academics it seems, and not all from Oxford either since I don't recognize many of them. I might have missed a memo of an event happening nearby," Anna said frowning. "Although we do have a famous researcher in there too. I've been to some of his talks and they were fascinating."

Hermione frowned. "Well then, I should probably get inside and hope my spot is still free."

At this, Anna smiled brightly. "I made sure to reserve your table, Hermione, don't worry. I'll go in there with you to deliver the books he requested. He's sat at the spot next to you."

Hermione nodded her head and Anna rounded the table with her arms full of two aging textbooks. Together the two women walked to the set of propped open doors and entered the research hall.

Immediately Hermione's senses were assaulted with magic. She may not do magic herself, but she was still a witch and some witches were gifted with keen instincts. Some, like her, could faintly sense the power of another being nearby, almost like catching a whiff of someone's perfume. The more powerful this witch or wizard, the more other beings could feel their magic. Usually, powerful wizards tend to hide their magic as to not draw any unwanted attention. Some of those in the room were not doing any hiding, however. They wanted the rest of the occupants to be aware of their presence and know what they were capable of.

All of the magic bombarding her senses was also giving her a headache. Hermione kept her gaze on the clock at the far end of the hall and tried to remember a trick her Aunt Olivia had taught her when she was younger. She concentrated on the clock, studied its shape, noted the text of the numbers, and listened for its movements. She honed in on the tick and tock the clock was making as its second hand pointed around the circumference. As she became astutely aware of the instrument, her headache began to fade.

Concentration was key when it came to warding off unwanted magical attention.

Her shoes clicked on the marble as she and Anna made their way past the stack of books and the long mahogany tables with its colourful occupants. Hermione noted that they weren't all magical; in fact, most of the library patrons were just ordinary humans. But still, the tables had at least a witch or wizard with their heads buried in a manuscript as they intently read.

Or rather, they were trying to make it look as though they were reading. Because as Hermione passed, their heads lifted and their necks turned to look at her. They didn't even try to hide their gazes, they met her confused eyes with their own. Some smiled, some nodded in greeting, some just looked at her until she was forced to look away. Hermione spied Lavender on a table in the middle of the hall with her study things scattered about. The blonde raised her head and gave Hermione a hesitant wave and smile. Hermione could only look at her in return.

What the hell was going on?

Witches and wizards usually don't mass in groups with humans around. It was far too easy to know that something was amiss, and even Hermione could tell herself. One wizard was blatantly twirling his wand out in the open. A witch she passed by smelled like an apothecary, wafts of cloves and dragonroot reaching her nose. Another wizard was dressed in an obnoxiously loud suit of purple and lime green. Thank goodness he wasn't hearing the pointy hat otherwise it would have been really obvious.

Why were they here in the Bodleian?

She and Anna reached the rear of the hall. She saw that her table was empty save for one person whose back was turned to the rest of the room. All she could see was a head of black hair bent over a book. A leather bound notebook was resting underneath his right hand with his fingers around a black fountain pen. Hermione spied the contents of the notebook and she saw notes written in elegant cursive. At least this one seemed to be actually working. She rounded the table and sat down at her usual spot, facing him.

His head lifted and Hermione sat face to face with Professor Harry James Potter. She had to stop an exclamation of surprise from escaping her lips as she felt the cool touch of his gaze. At the corner of her eyes she saw Anna carefully depositing the books she was carrying next to him.

"Here are the manuscripts you requested for, Professor Potter," Anna whispered breathlessly. "If you need anything else, please let me know," she added.

Harry's gaze didn't waver from Hermione's face as he nodded his head. "Thank you, Anna." He had to give a little smile at the look of surprise - and annoyance? - on the witch's visage as she continued to look at him silently.

Anna turned her attention to Hermione and bid her farewell. "I'll see you later, Doctor Granger." With a small wave of her hand, Anna turned on her back and walked out of the research hall.

For a minute the vampire and the witch just stared at each other. The former had a smile on his face while the latter had a clear look of agitation. Her nose wrinkled, her lips pursed, and she openly glared at him as she sat across the table. His smile only grew wider.

"Good morning, Doctor Granger," Harry greeted pleasantly. "What a nice surprise seeing you here."

"What are you doing here?" Hermione whispered furiously.

"Researching," Harry said easily, gesturing to the books in front of him and his notebook half filled with ink.

Hermione pursed her lips. "I see. Well, happy researching then," she said in a clipped tone. She turned her head down and tried to look at anywhere but him. She busied herself with organizing her workspace. She carefully removed her notebook and a black ink pen from her bag as well as a stack of papers held together by a large clip. She liked to print out her typed notes and go over them with pen since the physical act of writing always helped progress her thoughts.

She read over the first line of her notes, and read over them again, and read over them again as she felt his gaze unmoving from her form. The coldness on her spine was growing and a quick glance upwards confirmed her suspicions.

He was looking at her. His green eyes were on her face, moving from one feature to another.

Harry examined the witch sat in front of him. He studied her hair; noted how the chocolate waves were tinted with light brown and how tendrils escaped from her bun to frame her face. He examined her eyes, saw how they were narrowed in confusion and agitation. They reminded him of the smoothest whiskey, aged with time and flavoured with the fruits of the earth. Harry felt as though he could get drunk from her.

"You're staring," Hermione whispered, blood rushing to the surface of her cheeks. She couldn't help but blush from his intense scrutiny. It seemed as though he was researching her.

One corner of his mouth lifted. "You're right. I apologize," he said. "Although, aren't you curious why the library is so busy this morning?"

Hermione almost forgot about the other occupants in the room. She looked past the vampire and saw the wide expanse of the research hall, its long and wide tables peppered with library patrons. There were about ten different witches and wizards scattered around the tables mixed in with the library's human occupants. Some of them had the decency to avert their gaze when they saw Hermione looking. Most were gutsy and openly stared, the books in front of them forgotten. Hermione spied Lavender gawking at her, no doubt stunned that she was talking to a vampire.

If she wasn't so irritated by the whole situation, Hermione might have found it funny. Because there she was, a witch, separated from her own kind by a vampire. She could tell some of them wanted to approach her. One witch near the door was trying to catch her attention, eyes wide and mouthing something she couldn't quite understand to the confused look of an undergrad near her. But no one would dare approach her, of course. Not with Professor Potter almost acting like a guard between her and them.

"They're looking at you," Harry whispered. "They want to see if you would bring up the book again."

Hermione's head jerked to look at him. Fire was in her eyes as she felt the anger and irritation creeping up her face. "They're looking at me because I'm talking to you," she whispered furiously. "This is beyond ridiculous. I don't have that blasted book!" Hermione didn't bother lowering her voice as she let out her frustration.

"Shh!" A non-magical library patron hushed from the middle of the hall.

Hermione hastily stood up from her seat and repacked her bag. Her cheeks were red and she was breathing heavily. Would she ever be able to use this library again? Would witches and wizards and vampires keep following her around just because she found this book? She prayed that her little outburst was enough to deter them from coming back to the library. She had no intention to ever request for that book again.

With one last glare cast at Professor Potter, Hermione quickly rounded the table and walked down the hall towards the door. She could feel the ice on her spine from his incessant gaze. She could feel the other witches' gazes too, yet none of them were brave enough to approach her as she walked past their tables. The coolness on her back only dissipated when she rounded the corner and disappeared through the door.

Harry watched her as she stormed out of the hall. His pen was down and his notes laid forgotten. His body was half turned on his chair so he could watch her leave. A wizard to his right made an attempt to follow Hermione but a low, feral hiss from Harry's lips and a quick look from those sharp green eyes made the wizard stop in his tracks.

The message was clear. No witch or wizard could follow her, at least not with this vampire in the room. Harry knew his actions and everything that transpired inside the library would be twisted and retold over and over again. By sunset all the witches and wizards of Oxford and beyond would know that Hermione had the book. Moreover they would know that he, Harry James Potter, was somehow involved. Harry knew that he had just opened up the floodgates for more gossip and outrage. A vampire getting in between witches was unheard of and completely unacceptable, yet he had done that literally and figuratively with Hermione and the rest of the magical beings in the library.

Harry turned his back to the hall, to the witches and wizards radiating fear, and faced the table again. He hoped that his influence and reputation would deter any ill-intended advances towards Hermione.

A Potter was to never be crossed.

The last creature who did so met a gruesome end.

He hoped that his presence and the knowledge that Hermione no longer had the book would be enough to keep anyone else from Oxford.

A black limousine gleaming in the sunlight drove north on the A420. All of its windows were tinted obscuring the inside. An unmistakable crest stood tall and proud from the hood of the car which had many passersby squinting in curiosity. It was a crest they were unfamiliar with, made of an emerald shield flanked by two onyx winged dragons. A large platinum M stood proudly in the centre on top of a banner bearing a Latin inscription.

Sanctimonia Vincet Semper

Purity Will Always Conquer

Lucius Malfoy smirked as another Muggle pointed at his vehicle in awe. How typical of Muggles. They really do get excited about anything. The only reason he was in this vehicle to begin with was because Oxford was still very much a Muggle city. He would never hear the end of it if Muggles needed to be Obliviated since he apparated in front of them. The rest of the Council would never let him forget too, damn them.

He frowned. The Council could not know about this. Not like he would tell the blood suckers in the first place, but even the other witches and wizards could not know. The book was his and his alone.

A cackling to his right drew his attention to his companion. A witch with wild black hair and even wilder black eyes was looking out the car's window. She was laughing at the attention their vehicle had drawn and was twirling her wand with her right hand.

"Muggles are so adorable," she cooed. "And so pitiful. Tell me again why we need to be in Oxford. You know I can't keep my magic hidden for very long, Lucius."

So he had heard. Lucius rolled his eyes behind her back and forced himself to answer the witch with patience. If things were to go south, having Bellatrix Lestrange's power and cunning on his side would be formidable.

"To get a book, Bella," Lucius answered.

The witch hummed. "This book better be worth all the trouble, Lucius."

"It is."

The scull glided gracefully on top of the river's surface. The only sounds which pierced the silence of the dark night were the oars rhythmically hitting the water and her breathing.

Hermione had a long day filled with annoyances and disturbances. After her disastrous study session at the Bodleian with the vampire doctor and the other witches, she had retreated to a cafe to review her research. A wizard which she hadn't seen in the library accosted her quite loudly until another vampire, this one a petite female with blonde hair, showed up at the cafe and the wizard retreated in fright. Hermione felt snowflakes at the top of her spine the whole time she was there even though the vampire didn't approach her. Whenever she looked towards the vampire though, the blonde would avert her gaze and continued typing on the laptop in front of her. Hermione only stayed at the cafe until she had finished her lunch. The cool kisses at the back of her neck were really starting to get uncomfortable. She left the blonde vampire seated in the cafe and walked back towards her college. The snowflakes followed her, however, but an exasperated glance behind her revealed yet another vampire. This one was keeping its distance. His auburn head was bent as he read the book in his hands with his back resting on the brick wall of a storefront. She soon realized what was happening when she saw a brown-haired witch across the street; the same witch she had seen in the Bodleian waving her hands frantically to catch her attention. The witch clearly wanted to approach her but fearful glances towards the reading vampire dissuaded her. Hermione watched as the witch stalked off in the other direction.

Hermione barricaded herself inside her rooms for the remainder of the day. Would this parade of magical beings ever stop? Could she please be left alone again like she was before this damn book materialized? She sat on her table for hours trying to get work done but she was far too agitated and annoyed. She had too much pent up energy that she couldn't sit or stay inside any longer. She dressed in her workout clothes and put on her running shoes. She locked her rooms behind her and walked towards the boathouse on the riverbank. She moved with practiced ease as she grabbed a scull from one of the hangers, hoisted it on her shoulder, grabbed two oars with her free hand, and walked towards the water. She lowered the boat onto the water's surface and carefully stepped onboard. Hermione reached over the bank and grabbed the oars she had set aside and started paddling like she was used to.

Now that she was rowing, Hermione allowed herself to think. She wished that her proclamation at the library that the book was no longer in her possession would make the witches, wizards, and vampires leave her alone. She wanted her normalcy back. She wanted to be able to do her work with no disruptions. She didn't have very long either. Her deadline to finish her research to be considered for a faculty position was fast approaching. She didn't need whatever this was getting in the way of her plans.

No, she couldn't have that. She had worked far too hard to break away from the magic in her life.

She didn't like that Professor Potter was complicating things.

Professor Harry James Potter of neurology had intrigued her as much as he scared her. She had done her own research of him after their first encounter and was awed to find out that he belonged to Oxford's All Souls College. It was perhaps the most prestigious college at the university which only accepted the most brilliant of minds. She had heard all about the grueling entry exam, of course. Its infamy stemmed from what many dubbed as The Essay. Candidates were given a one-word topic. It could be any word from "bias" to "water" and candidates were simply required to write about the topic however they desired. The papers were reviewed by members of the college before finalists undergo a final oral examination.

Hermione wondered what word Professor Potter had to write about.

It wasn't that he scared her. It was more of the unknown that he carried with him that made Hermione's heart beat a little faster. Professor Potter had many secrets. That was clear to her. He never told her why the book was so significant, only that he had been searching for it for a long time. She wondered how long was long to a vampire. Five years? A decade? Fifty years? More? She didn't know how old he was either. Physically he looked to be near her age. But his eyes held wisdom and knowledge one could not possibly experience in a single lifetime.

She wished she knew what was so important with the book.

She wished she knew why Professor Potter wanted it.

And she wished she knew why one part of her wanted to be near this vampire even though another part of her wanted to run away and hide.

She was breaking so many rules just talking to him. Not that she cared about those rules but they were rules she was made aware of all her life. Hermione could just imagine her Aunt Olivia's face if she knew the company Hermione had that day and what transpired at the library.

Witches and vampires were like oil and water. For as long as Hermione could remember, vampires were almost like outcasts in non-human communities. They weren't gifted with magic like witches and the other creatures. Hermione scoffed at the word gifted. She thought magic a burden, but she digress. Vampires were different in that they had preternatural abilities instead of supernatural abilities. Their physiologies were human but what their bodies could achieve was far greater than any human or witch. They were stronger and faster. They had improved senses like the eyesight of an eagle and hearing like a bat. What other creatures feared of vampires was that they were virtually unkillable. They have the ability to heal quickly and many vampires lived for hundreds of years.

Hermione had always thought that this feud between witches and vampires was borne out of jealousy. The rest of her kind needed magic to survive. Most of them needed the little piece of wood to do this or to do that. That's why most witches and wizards lived in magical communities where they could let their magic run free. Being without magic was suffocating.

The vampires, on the other hand, only need themselves.

This was why she wanted no part of that world. She didn't want to be reliant on magic nor did she care about the delicate politics between the different creatures.

All Hermione cared for was doing her work and doing her work well. She was an academic, and all she wanted was a quiet life for herself, perhaps with a husband and children in a few years, as she taught history at the university.

Professor Potter was disrupting her plans and she was annoyed.

Hermione rowed for at least an hour. Her strong arms moved the scull delicately through the river. Traffic on the River Thames at this late hour was nonexistent. It was also a foggy night, but Hermione trusted on her abilities and experience. She was familiar with the winding curves of the river, of its little estuaries and streams branching from the main channel, like the back of her own hand. Hermione could row through the River Thames with her eyes closed if she wanted.

She parked her scull where she entered the water and carefully disembarked. She bent down to pick it up and hoisted it over one shoulder. She walked to the boathouse in the dark, her shoes crunching the gravel on the path.

After Hermione entered the boathouse, she walked to the back where the sculls were kept. She hummed a little to herself as she gently set the boat on the hanger and pulled on the rope to elevate it on the stack. She was just tying the rope when she felt the familiar coldness at the back of her neck.

"Do you really think it's wise to be out here by yourself at night?" Professor Potter's voice came thundering from behind her.

She whipped around and saw the vampire. He was at the entrance of the boathouse. The streetlamp behind him was creating such interesting shadows on his face which only made him look more sinister. He was staring at her intently, his lips in a scowl and his green eyes dark with fury.

Hermione was never one to appreciate it when other people questioned her actions, especially if they had no right to do so. She let out an indignant huff and crossed her arms in front of her chest. She stared the vampire down, not caring that their eyes meeting only cultivated a blizzard inside her. She felt cold, but how dare this vampire ask her that question?

"I can take care of myself just fine, Professor Potter," she said icily.

Something in his mood shifted. He stiffened. He was so still, almost like a statue, as he stood there in the shadows. She saw his eyes change colour. They were darker now, like the colour of a forest at midnight. She felt the hair on her arms rise. She heard him growl.

In the blink of an eye, Professor Potter was towering behind her. His hand was curled softly in her hair, holding her head to the side exposing her neck. His other hand was on her waist holding her firmly in place. His face was inches from her skin. She gasped but held still, not knowing what to do. Was he going to bite her?

Harry breathed deeply. She smelled so intoxicating. He could get drunk from her scent and he wanted nothing more than to sink his teeth into her throat and taste her blood. There was fear in the air now. He could still smell her defiance, but it was mixed with terror and alarm. He smiled against her skin and only whispered in her ear.

"Is this taking care of yourself?" He asked, his voice as smooth as silk.

She extended her right arm and forcefully jabbed her elbow behind her hitting him in his stomach. His hard-as-rock stomach. Pain erupted from her elbow when it made contact but it did the trick since he let go of her. She immediately stepped forward before whirling around to face him. He didn't even look ruffled after just receiving an elbow to the gut and there was a bit of mirth in those eyes now.

"Why are you here, Professor Potter?" She asked, her voice strained. She cradled her elbow with the other arm.

He didn't answer her question. Instead, he asked his own. "Do you know just how many creatures want to get their hands on that book? How many creatures would use you to obtain it? If it were some other vampire that found you tonight they would not have hesitated to bite you to get answers!" He shouted. This witch was really getting to him. His mask of careful indifference shattered when she entered his life.

"Why do you care what happens to me, Professor Potter?" Hermione asked. His presence was screwing with her brain. She couldn't think properly with him around.

Harry paused for a second. The witch asked a good question. "Because throughout the years I've been searching for the Chymical Wedding only you were able to find it," he saigh roughly.

"What is so important about this damn book?!" Hermione asked in frustration. She started pacing in agitation in front of him with her arms crossed. Her head kept turning to look at the vampire as she waited for his reply.

"Do you really have no idea?" Harry asked in a whisper.

She stopped pacing then and glared at him. "Don't patronize me, Professor Potter," she said coldly.

"I apologize," Harry said with a bow of his head. "I've never met a witch before who didn't know its value. Have you heard of the Book of Life?"

At this, Hermione scrunched her brows in thought. She had read more than her fair share of books and old manuscripts before but she had never come across a book titled as such.

She met his eyes and shook her head.

"Chymical Wedding is what many believe to be the Book of Life. It is the book that described how witches and vampires came to be in this world," he explained in a whisper. He saw her eyes widen at his words.

"Origin?" She asked almost in awe.

Harry nodded his head. "Yes, like Darwin's Origin but for us creatures."

Hermione carefully considered his words, her mind racing. If what he was saying was true then she could understand why the book was so valuable. But that still didn't answer why he wanted it, nor did it give her any more of a clue as to why the book appeared to her.

Deciding that the second question was probably harder to answer, Hermione asked him the obvious.

"Why do you want it?" She asked softly.

His green eyes met her brown ones. The coldness she felt settled into a snowfall. "Life can only be understood backwards; but it must be lived forwards," he said. "Understanding our past is key to living our futures."

"Kierkegaard," she mumbled.

He nodded. "Every single day the magic in this world is dissipating, Hermione," he told her. She breathed when he heard her name from his lips. That was the first time he ever called her by her first name. "Witches and vampires are a dying breed. Newer witches and wizards are capable of less powerful magic. Vampires are finding it harder to sire new vampires, nor do they have the desire to do so. This world is becoming more and more human throughout the generations."

There was silence in the air as he let his words sink in. He was studying her reaction carefully. Her brows were furrowed as she stared at the ground next to him, thinking over his words, dissecting it for information. When she looked at him again, he saw her eyes filled with confusion.

"But how could you possibly know this?" She asked him.

He had to smile at that. "The details would have to wait for another day, Doctor Granger, but I am a scientist. I've done my research."

Hermione's heart beat a little faster at the implicit promise that they would be seeing each other again.

"I don't know how to get the manuscript back," she said softly, at a loss of other words to say. "I'm sorry."

Professor Potter simply nodded his head.

Hermione bit her lip. "I should get going, Professor Potter."

"Of course," Harry said easily, although there was a big part of him that wanted her to stay. "Please don't let me keep you. Be careful on your way home."

She nodded in goodbye and turned on her heels. She walked towards the entrance of the boathouse. She could feel his gaze on her; she could feel the ice storm getting stronger and stronger with every step she took away from him.

She was so caught up on making a normal exit, on not running from her place and out of his sight, that Hermione didn't notice the loose rock on her path. Her left foot stepped incorrectly and the next thing she knew she was going down hard on the ground. Unlike what happened during her run, her magic wasn't there to stop her fall. She braced herself with her hands and felt the sting as her palms met the gravel.

She was burning with embarrassment. She quickly stood up and looked at her hands. They were scraped now, and she groaned when a little trickle of blood escaped from the cut.

The ice storm had grown into a tempest. She shivered and fisted her hands, trying to think of what to say to save face.

Hermione turned around with a smile on her face, ready to make light of the situation, ready to laugh off her fall. One looked at him stopped her in her tracks.

His eyes have gone as dark as the night sky. He was unmoving, his body rigid and tense. She could see his hands clenched into fist, his muscles taut. He looked like a lion waiting to pounce. He looked at her, his eyes wild as he tried to keep control. He swallowed heavily and she watched as his Adams apple bobbed in his throat.

She knew what he saw; knew what he felt.

She was the prey and he was the predator.

Hermione quietly drew her hands into the pockets of her sweater. The blood, her blood, needed to stop spilling. But she knew it was too late. The scent of her blood had already permeated the air. The hunt had already begun.

Her instincts told her to turn around and run. Every nerve in her body told her to flee. She could feel her heart pounding faster, feel the sweat start to coat her skin. Hermione looked at the man, at the vampire, not knowing what to do.

A frightened whisper left her lips.

"Harry…"

With great difficulty, he opened his mouth to speak.

"Walk away, Hermione," he said in a pained voice. When she opened her mouth to say something again, his snarl cut her off. The words caught in her throat. "Turn around and walk away." He commanded, enunciating the words slowly.

She nodded her head and turned on her heels once again.

She took a step.

And then another one.

"Go," she heard him urge her in a growl. "But don't run."

With a tempest to her back and her heart beating fast, Hermione walked out of the boathouse and away from the vampire.