"For I see that then I was still all in a state of innocence, but that innocence, once lost, is lost forever."
~ Susan Hill, The Woman in Black
. . .
Her heart pounded in time to the mattocks driving against the hard-packed earth, rock splitting at the center and giving way to damp sand beneath. The workers lined the perimeter of the site, steadily expanding the circumference with each swing of their ax.
She narrowed her eyes, adjusting her goggles, condensation heavy along the seal, sweat dripping down her nape. The sun scorched above, bright and insistent, casting her long shadow across the sand.
Her pulse swelled as her spade breached a new layer of earth, the consistency changing beneath her gloves. She set the tool aside and began sweeping mounds of debris away with her palms, holding her breath, sensing something profound within reach–
Her fingertips struck a rigid surface, revealing the pale outline of ceramic buried in the sediment. She smiled with child-like anticipation, ripping her gloves off and digging the item free with her bare hands, nail-beds caked red with sand.
At last her treasure broke free from the ground, wholly intact and without blemish. The hieroglyphs carved along the shell gleamed brightly in the midday sun, as though saturated in ink. She grasped her hard-won prize tightly in her palm, skin burning upon contact with its heated surface as she sat back on her heels, panting with exhaustion.
"Papa!"
She pulled her goggles away, dropping them to the sand and wiping the sweat from her face with the back of a grainy forearm.
"Papa!"
She glanced to the side, where she instinctively sensed his presence.
He kneeled in the sand, fully immersed in his own dig, but immediately set his tools aside at her excited beckoning, turning his head.
Her mouth ran dry.
He appeared so young. So handsome. So much like the photos in the albums…
She blinked, a distant whisper echoing through the halls of her mind, too faint to discern, too delicate to grasp. And then he smiled, and her thoughts scattered like moths. His teeth gleamed white in the sunlight, eyes glittering just as brightly. "What it is, darling?"
She wet her lips, the skin parched and chapped. "I found something!"
His grin widened, creases appearing along the corners of his mouth and eyes. "Magnificent! Let me see!"
She wasted no time pushing to her feet, knocking sand from the knees of her trousers, running as fast her boots would allow, white blouse billowing in the heavy wind and braid slapping heavy against her back with every step. She sank to his side a moment later, the ground softer, pulling her in. She uncurled her palm, extending her find proudly.
He laughed shortly. "My goodness! What a remarkable discovery!"
She beamed, bouncing in place as he tilted his head, examining the mysterious cylinder more closely.
"Do you know what this is, Hermione?"
She nodded with a school girl's eagerness. "It's a canopic jar."
"Very good, my darling. And do you know what it contains?"
She nodded once more, head caught on a swivel. "A heart."
"Excellent!" His voice held a vibrant buoyancy that made her pulse skip. His spine straightened, movements becoming more animated as he pulled his sand-caked gloves free one finger at a time.
"But it doesn't contain just any heart." His hazel gaze flickered up, latching onto hers with such intensity she felt her muscles lock in place. "This is the heart of our Queen."
She blinked, fingers tensing around the cylinder. "Our Queen?"
His eyes flashed. "Yes."
She squinted as the sun seemed to pulse above, brightening to a blinding degree, a powerful surge of heat quick to follow, filling her lungs with a gust of steam.
He leaned in, voice low, surrounding her from all sides. "Our most Sacred Ruler. The Great Mother. The Beloved Creator of our people."
She leaned away, bracing the sand at her back as she attempted to scoot away, succeeding only in sinking deeper.
"Papa…"
"Don't be afraid, Hermione."
His voice was lower yet, unfamiliar to her ears. She squinted, the sun over saturating everything, a white-wash of radiation. But she sensed his approach just the same, felt the air shift and the sand move as he leaned closer.
"You never have to be afraid again." A sweltering beat. "She's been waiting for you."
Tears spilled from her eyes, evaporating beneath the scorching heat, skin raw, blood boiling.
"You aren't my father."
He rose to his full height with graceful swiftness, a dark stretch towering above her, head blocking the sun and giving her a blessed reprieve from its blinding rays. But the juxtaposition cast his features in total darkness, his outline a shadowy mass that seemed to swell in size with every frantic breath she took.
"Of course I am, darling."
She blinked rapidly, desperately trying to make out his face, at last catching the gleam of two silver eyes, as though they were coated in liquid metal. She choked on a scream, scurrying back, the sand sucking her down with every desperate push.
She gazed around in sheer desperation, opening her mouth to call for help, but the surrounding workers faded into the horizon like a shimmering mirage, their axes falling forgotten to the sand. Terror flooded her veins, rendered her mute and dizzy. She gazed hopelessly at the endless stretch of desert encompassing her from all sides.
"This is your kingdom, Hermione."
Her head snapped forward, eyes captured by his silver gaze, ears ringing as he smiled once more, revealing a pair of jagged, gleaming fangs.
"Welcome home."
And then he descended upon her.
She screamed at last, throwing her arms overhead and twisting away. The sand gave out beneath her, sucking her down into an endless red hot abyss.
She opened her eyes.
And gasped for air, curling into herself as she coughed into her gloved hand, eyes tearing. The rug was rough and scratchy beneath her cheek, the rest of her surroundings hazy.
Except for the orange face situated directly before her, watching her with unblinking eyes.
She wheezed once more, slowly unfolding her coiled limbs as oxygen flooded her lungs in a satisfying rush, her airway free at last. She tried to swallow but the flesh felt swollen and raw. She rolled over slowly, dizzy, and got her hands and knees beneath her, taking a long, steadying breath before slowly pushing to her feet.
She swayed, gripping the back of her chair for balance, vision swimming for a terrifying moment. A soft mewl drew her gaze downward. Crookshanks padded closer, eyes wide and full of apology, tail sticking straight in the air with obvious uncertainty.
"It isn't your fault." Her voice was weak. She cringed at the sting of pain it induced, wiping her cheeks dry with gloved fingertips. "I'm an idiot for opening it in the house."
She wet her lips, casting her gaze forward. The ashes remained spread across the wood, unassuming in their innocence. Her jaw clenched as she pondered what the hell she ingested. Ancient Egyptians were known for setting clever booby traps to both maim and deter grave robbers, though mixing something into the contents of the jar would be a desecration of the heart itself…
It didn't make sense.
Unless the ashes underwent some sort of composition change over time? Or perhaps the white spirit caused a…
She shook her head, vision swimming anew, a distant buzzing taking up root in the back of her mind, insistent and grating.
Did I ingest poison?
She breathed deeply through her nose, holding it in her lungs until they burned with the same heat as her throat. She couldn't go to the emergency clinic, couldn't leave her father by himself for any stretch of time. If he awoke and wandered out of his room, into the kitchen, or worse yet, into the street…
She swallowed heavily, closing her eyes, trying to calm her racing heart and frazzled nerves.
I'm sure I'm fine. If it was a deadly toxin I'd be dead.
Right?
She pried her lids apart, gazing warily through the window, pulse skipping at the sight of pale daylight bleeding across the sky, dawn rapidly approaching. She glanced to the clock, blinking as the hands sat frozen in place.
She pushed away from the chair, staggering barefoot across the room in her work attire, the overwhelming need to see her father suffusing her limbs with enough coordination to maneuver down the narrow hall without plummeting head first to the wood.
She paused outside his door, clutching the knob with both hands, the brass rattling beneath her trembling grip. She opened the barrier slowly, heart in her throat, an inexplicable terror set into the very marrow of her bones, as though he were somehow connected to the chaos of the office.
The indigo sky filled his room with enough light to discern his outline beneath the covers, the steady rumble of his breathing permeating the rapid beating of her heart, until her pulse slowed to match the rhythm, vision clearing of the dense fog she hadn't realized had formed. She stood in the doorway for another few minutes, content to watch him sleep, a guilty part of her hoping he would sense the watchful gaze upon him and awaken, see the unrest in her eyes and tightness in her shoulders and beckon her inside like he used to.
She sagged against the frame.
What the hell am I going to do?
Even if he woke, he couldn't provide her true council. True comfort. Not anymore.
The father she once knew was alive only in memory, just like her mother. But this loss ran deeper, carved a bloodier rivet in her heart. For unlike her mother's quick and painless demise, her father died little by little each and every day, right before her eyes. And there was nothing she could do to stop it. Nothing to slow it. Nothing to escape it.
She closed her eyes and stepped into the hall, softly closing his door and pressing a trembling hand to the wood, feeling so much worse than before she opened it.
Movement drew her notice. Crookshanks sat just beside her, amber eyes gleaming as he curled his tail around his legs. She held his gaze, pushing away from the door.
You're an adult, Hermione. You have to learn to handle problems on your own.
She dropped her arm, hands curling tight as she lifted her chin and gazed down the endless stretch of hall to the glow of her office.
This was one mystery she would be forced to solve herself.
And time was running out.
Harry broke through the black swell of trees into the clearing, moonlight illuminating his path, alighting off the wet leaves and grass, casting the slick ground into a churning sea of darkness.
He lost his footing, legs skidding out from beneath his frame, tailbone colliding against the earth with a bone-jolting crunch. But his shout of pain was swallowed by the malevolent call of a wolf howl echoing powerfully through the trees.
He pushed to his feet with a groan, teeth grit and hands caked with mud. He charged headlong through the flat stretch of woods until a familiar structure appeared just ahead, visible through the black, twisted trunks, sitting in the center of the wilderness as though it was the original inhabitant of the terrain, the forest springing forth in reverence to its dark master.
Another howl tore through the night and ripped through his mind, clearing away his thoughts and giving rise to pure base instinct. The need to survive.
The full moon watched his mad dash across the dead leaves to the front porch, the wood groaning beneath his weight, the house growling in warning. The gleaming front door swung open before his trembling hands even made contact with the wood, revealing a tangible darkness that watched him with steady, glittering eyes.
He ran headlong inside, more terrified of the predator at his back, and Grimmauld eagerly swallowed him whole, the door slamming shut with the same definite finality. He sagged against the barrier, doubled over and fighting to catch his breath, the shadowed entry slowly taking shape in his peripheral.
But the outline of sheet-draped furniture dissipated into smoke as heavy footfalls sounded outside, leaves crunching and twigs snapping as their owner made a slow, methodical approach from the treeline.
"Potter."
He closed his eyes, adrenaline replacing every ounce of blood in his body with a dizzying surge.
Boots tread heavily along the rickety steps, the air swelling, snapping, alive with electricity.
"You can run."
The back of his shoulder throbbed. His palms pressed flat to the warped wood at his back.
"But you can't hide."
Footsteps paced along the sunken porch, a figure passing the boarded windows, breaking up the beams of moonlight filtering through.
"I'm coming."
And then the footsteps stopped just outside the door, the next words spoken in a throaty whisper, ghosting through the barrier and burning a scorching trail along Harry's nape.
"I'm almost here."
The knob began to turn.
Harry bolted forward, blinded by raw, overwhelming terror, scrambling up the main staircase on his hands and feet. Walburga watched from her perch above, eyes glowing in the darkness, lips curled in a sinister grin.
And then the wood splinter beneath his weight, the stairs breaking at the center and sucking him down into an endless void of darkness.
Harry sprang forward with a shout, unbalancing his weight from the narrow sofa and toppling to the ground in a fit of twisting limbs and blankets.
He groaned, closing his eyes and rubbing his bruised shin, kicking the ottoman out of the way with force. He rolled to his back, staring at the cobweb-strewn ceiling and wondering if he'd ever be afforded a restful night's sleep in this mausoleum.
He took a steadying breath and rolled to a seated position, reaching for the crystal decanter sitting at the head of the couch, thankfully spared from his dramatic tumble. But as he tipped the bottle to his lips he realized with a long and mournful sigh that it was empty. He ground his teeth and slammed the container to the ground, the impact radiating through his arm and shoulder as he lifted his other wrist to check the time.
He blinked, tilting the glinting face in every direction before finally pressing the watch to his ear.
Stopped.
His hand dropped to his lap, head falling back with a soft thud against the couch, a dust cloud bursting free from the cushion and dancing in the gentle glow of dawn.
"I really fucking hate this place."
Ron blinked slowly, sunlight blinding against the thick haze of his vision as he yawned, a lion's roar, stretching his arms overhead and pressing his palms flat to the cracked drywall. He settled a moment later, scratching his bare chest and rolling to his side, reaching out.
His hand met empty mattress.
His gaze flickered up, catching sight of her immediately, standing beside the window, arms crossed and silk robe wrapping her tight, sunlight illuminating her lithe silhouette through the thin fabric.
He drew a hand over his face, wiping away the last remnants of sleep.
"Lav?"
She didn't react. Didn't move. Just continued to stare ahead, offering him her back and the honeyed river of her hair.
"You okay?"
She tilted her head at last, drawing in a slow breath. "I had a bad dream."
He yawned again, this time able to capture it with the back of his hand.
"Oh?"
She shifted, a floorboard creaking beneath her slight weight. "It's still with me. Lingering in the air. It has a bitterness I can almost taste and smell."
He scratched the side of his head, hair a rumpled mess. "I think that's the burnt coffee, babe."
Her arms dropped. And then she gazed over her shoulder, eyes fixing to a spot on the wall just past his head. "It's eight."
He blinked, pushing up. "Christ. I overslept." He drew the sheets around his nudity, gazing around the barren floor. "Let me get my wallet." And then his brows creased. "Where the hell are my clothes?"
"On the chair. I folded them."
He followed her gaze. "Oh. Thanks."
He threw aside the bedding and started across the room, pausing as she spoke.
"Don't worry."
He stopped before the chair, reaching for his trousers and glancing back. "What?"
She faced the window once more. "Last night was free."
He shook the garment open, studying her reflection in the foggy pane. "You don't have to–"
"I'm glad you found a lead on Ginny." The declaration rendered him mute. "I hope you find her."
He wet his lips, stepping into his pants, jerking them up with stilted movements, something heavy and sour hanging in the air, indiscernible yet unavoidable.
"Me, too."
He started towards her, movements slow and tentative, the sun reflecting brightly off the dusty surface of the floor and furniture.
"Lav, are you alright, babe?"
She nodded, grabbing her arms and drawing her shoulders in. "Yes." He started to reach for her but she pulled away before his fingertips made contact. "It's getting late. I'm sure you have a lot to do today."
His hand curled in the empty air, dropping to his side.
"Yeah." He swallowed. "I guess I do."
He made his way back to the chair and finished getting dressed, the room silent but for his movements. At last he started for the door, vest and tie in hand, only to pause before the barrier, heart in his throat.
"Er…" He rubbed the back of his neck, daring to look at her. "Can I see you tonight?"
She shook her head, the waves in her hair catching the light and shimmering magnificently. "I have an appointment."
His jaw set, eyes darting away as a sudden heat tore through his chest. "What about after?"
"It's a new client. I don't know how long it will run."
He nodded, clutching the fabric in his hand until the veins stood out in stark relief from his pale skin.
"Alright. Well. I'll see you later then."
She glanced at him once more, eyes smoky and vacant.
"Good luck, Ron."
The fire spread, setting his blood to boil.
"Thanks."
He left the bedroom, closing the door with more force than necessary and cutting a quick path down the hall, shoulders tight as he emerged into the kitchenette, eyes focused on the door ahead.
The smell of burnt coffee grew thicker, a toxic cloud he couldn't escape. And then faint movement at the counter caught his eye. His spine straightened.
"Morning, Patil."
She continued to study the newspaper laid out before her, steaming mug held aloft. "You're looking more dumbfounded than usual, Weasley. Spend all night searching for that elusive clitoris again?" The corner of her lips curved into a wry grin as she turned the page and lifted a knee, propping her foot on the stool. "Perhaps Lav can draw you a map. I doubt you'd be able to read the instructions."
He stopped in the middle of the room, rounding on her. "Why do you hate me, Patil?"
She glanced up with an innocent look of confusion. Steam poured from his mouth and ears, the inferno reaching a tipping point at last.
"Seriously. I've never been anything but polite to you, I help Lav whenever I can and–"
She scoffed loudly, dismissing him with a flick of her wrist. He stepped closer, fists clenched.
"What's your problem?"
Her dark eyes darted up, flashing dangerously. "You just answered your own question, Weasley." She slammed the mug atop the chipped tiles, pushing the newspaper aside. "You think you're somehow different from the others. Better." She braced her hands along the lip of the table, talons digging in. "You think you're the best goddamn thing to ever blow through here."
Her eyes gleamed feral in the morning sun, teeth sharp and hungry. "I assure you, the world continues to turn when you walk out that door. And Lav gets along just fine without you."
He watched her carefully, gaze tracking her rigid posture from top to bottom before he awarded her with a deviant grin of his own.
"Carefully, Patil. You almost sound jealous."
She scowled, pushing back, stool screeching along the linoleum. "Get out of my apartment!"
He backed away slowly, chin raised. "Happily."
He wasted no time throwing open the door and slamming it in his wake, the frame vibrating with the force. He tugged his vest into place and pulled his tie overhead, wishing he could wrap it around someone else's neck and pull tight.
Harry took the steps two at a time, subconsciously carding a hand through his hair before knocking loudly on the door, then cringing, hoping he didn't wake the Professor.
There was a faint shuffling followed by a distant thump before the barrier gave way to the shadowed interior. Hermione's face appeared in the opening, the darkness casting her face in strange contrast, bags heavy beneath her eyes.
He wet his lips, shifting forward. "I'm sorry I'm late, my alarm didn't go off this morning and my watch–"
"I know. The clocks here stopped, too."
He blinked. Her voice was deep, scratchy. He wondered if she was sick. But his surprise overruled his concern.
"Really?"
She nodded, stepping back and opening the door fully, allowing him room to pass. "There was a major power outage last night, took out everything south of the Park."
He closed the door, glancing sideways at her. "Why would that affect anything mechanical?"
She started down the hallway. "Whatever caused it must have been magnetic."
He rubbed a hand over his face, still fighting the pull of exhaustion. "I'll take your word for it. We've already established I never made it to class."
She awarded him with a dazzling smile over her shoulder. "You always made it in time to copy my homework."
He smirked in turn, following her into the office. "Not every assignment. Just enough to keep my D average."
She laughed, shaking her head and skillfully stepping over an orange mass laid out in the center of the rug.
The feline watched Harry with steady, distrustful eyes, as though daring him to come any closer. She seemed to notice the silent exchange a moment later, deriving great amusement from the battle of wills.
"Don't mind him. He just has to warm up to you."
Harry lifted a dark brow. "I'm sure that will happen."
He tore his gaze away from the floor and focused on her movements. She turned to face him, crossing her arms.
"Uh-oh."
She blinked. "What?"
"I know that look."
Her eyes narrowed. "What look?"
"The I'm-preparing-to-scold-my-idiot-friends look."
She huffed, a loose curl blowing away from her face. "I don't scold my idiot friends. I lecture them. There is a difference."
He fought to contain his smirk, failing miserably. "I think I'd prefer to be scolded."
She rolled her eyes, the lines of her face softening though her arms remained tightly crossed over front. "Well, I have neither gift to impart on you today. I only meant to tell you… I think we should hold onto the jar." A weighted beat. "For now."
He drew back. "What?"
She wet her lips, eyes drifting to the rug. "I thought about it last night and…"
The gears in her mind screeched loudly. Harry tilted his head, studying her vacant expression.
"Mione?"
She blinked, seeming to awake from the sudden stupor, clouds clearing and gaze coming into sharp focus, glinting with diamond points as her shoulders leveled out, feet parting.
He sighed, settling in for what was certain to be an epic lecture.
"If I show up to work with it in hand I'll have a hell of a time explaining how I got it. I can't very well tell them I found it on my doorstep this morning, tied up in a ribbon. And if I mention your name you'll be investigated in conjunction with the robbery, which also means the… incident in the Park may come to light."
She set her jaw. "If I sneak it back whoever paid to have it stolen will likely strike again. Except this time they'll be forced to target the Museum itself and I won't endanger the lives of the staff."
He shook his head. "They may already be in danger, Mione. Who's to say these people won't steal something else?"
"They had the opportunity to take more when they robbed the shipment. But they only wanted the jar." She held his gaze, voice clear and steady in its certainty. "It's special. They won't bother with the rest of the collection."
His lips pressed thin as she continued, hazel gaze drifting as though the remainder of her speech was contrived on the spot.
"So, we're better off holding onto it until I can figure out how to return it. Maybe organize an anonymous delivery to the Museum Curator, or even to the police themselves, after I make sure to remove any trace of our handling, of course. Your fingerprints are on record, I can't risk them drawing any connection to you."
She swallowed, eyes flickering to the opposite wall as the wheels continued to spin in their depths.
Harry shifted forward, closing the distance between them, the cylinder coming into view on the desk, hidden behind her hip.
"Are you sure you're okay with this?"
She met his gaze with intense swiftness, halting his approach.
"Do you still think it's related to Ginny's disappearance?"
His thoughts stuttered. "I don't know." He carded his fingers through his hair, glancing to the sunlight-drenched window. "I'm meeting with someone next who can hopefully shed some more light on the matter."
"Who?"
"The less I tell you the better."
Her arms dropped to her sides. "You've already brought me in this far."
His shoulder blades tightened, skin prickling. "I had no idea I was bringing you a stolen artifact or that it was directly connected to your job. I would've never–"
"I know, Harry." She rubbed her eyes with a low moan.
He watched her closely. "Are you okay?"
She nodded, expression pinched and lids pressed tight. "Just a headache. I've had it all morning."
"Did you get any sleep?"
She sighed deeply, eyes fluttering open. "I'll be alright." And then tilted her head, gaze assessing. "Did you get any sleep? You look as bad as I do."
He glanced away. "I've never had a good night's rest at Grimmauld."
"Then stay here."
His chest seized. "You have enough on your plate."
"You aren't a burden, Harry. Quite the opposite. I'd love the company–"
"Thank you, Mione. As tempting as it is, I need to get the house in working order if it has any chance of selling."
She nodded, albeit reluctantly, settling back on her heels. "Just know the offer is open indefinitely."
His eyes tracked over her face carefully and then flickered to the jar. It seemed larger than it had a moment ago. He shook his head at the ludicrous notion.
"While we're on the subject…" He wet his lips, bracing himself. "I want to take the jar to Grimmauld."
She drew back, bumping the chair. "Why?"
He held her gaze intently. "If there are people looking for it, as there undoubtedly are, I don't want you anywhere near it."
She raised a brow. "You left it with me all night."
"That was when I thought we were unloading it this morning." He moved directly before her. "I want to hold onto it, Mione. I promise I won't touch it, you can wrap it up tight as the Orlov Diamond for all I care."
She released a sharp breath and turned in place, facing the desk. "If you insist. But you must be careful with it, Harry. I have every intention of returning this to the Museum in the same condition it's in now."
He nodded, watching her slide her cotton gloves into place.
"Scout's honor."
She turned her head, gaze narrowed. "You were kicked out of the Scouts."
"Semantics."
She rolled her eyes, sliding open the top drawer. "In that case, there's something else I want you to take."
He watched her extract a narrow glass vial, corked with a rubber end. He tilted his head as she held it aloft in the sunlight.
"Dirt?"
She glanced away as he took the vial, turning to the desk and grabbing more materials out of the drawers.
"Sort of."
He raised a brow, continuing to stare at the dusty contents as she began packaging the cylinder.
"Deliver it to Remus as soon as you can. Ask him to analyze the sample through the lab."
His heart skipped, once, twice, vision fading at the edges. "You can't process it at the Met?"
She shook her head, long hair falling forward as she became engrossed in her task. "We use a third party. AMNH has an in-house biology team and much faster turnover."
He swallowed thickly, throat tight. "I…" He gripped the vial until he was certain it would shatter in his palm. "Are you sure you can't take it to him?"
Her movements stilled, eyes flickering up as the discomfort radiated off from his form in palpable waves.
"Harry, you're going to have to tell him you're home eventually. It might as well be today."
He ground his teeth, nodding tightly. "You're right."
"I usually am."
The tension snapped like a band. He laughed shortly, shaking his head and tucking the vial into the pocket of his vest.
"Are you sure you're comfortable with all this?"
She resumed her task, bundling the artifact tight in rolls of fabric and parchment. "No." She folded the ends over cleanly, fingers moving with deft skill. "But Ginny's still missing. An artifact was stolen. You and Ron were attacked and a man is dead." She wet her lips, shoulders set as she rose to her full height. "We're long past comfortable."
She turned with the wrapped package in hand. He took it with a nod, holding it with both hands to appease her.
"I'll talk to you this evening."
He started to back away, mindful of stepping on her awful cat, not wanting to earn any more of the creature's scorn, but her voice halted his tracks.
"Harry."
He met her eye, already sensing the message to come. She'd tell him to be safe, to be careful. But as the shadows surged along the walls and across her tight expression, he felt his own posture shift in anticipation.
"Whatever you do, you mustn't touch the jar."
He blinked, squeezing the bundle tighter, an electrical pulse racing along his forearms. He dismissed the strange sensation with a cheeky grin and a wink.
"Like I said, Scout's honor."
Theo held his breath as he reached into the cavity of the torso, sliding his fingers beneath the right kidney and carefully lifting it free. He set the slick bean-shaped organ into the swinging metal scale and recorded the reading onto the chart. The thick rubber gloves made holding the pen difficult, the instrument slipping and sliding from his blood-soaked grip.
But at last he had all the major organs accounted for. Their weight aligned with their appearance, no major anomalies or visible defects to account for the bizarre outward appearance of the body. Besides the fact the heart was punctured through the center, the right ventricle ripped clean away, making the cause of death easily discernible.
The skeletal samples were another matter. The corpse's bone density was certainly outside any range Theo had ever encountered before.
He stepped away from the table and pulled the cumbersome gloves free at last, flexing his fingers and grabbing up the tray of blood and tissue samples. He crossed the room and slid open the top drawer of the ice chest, situating the rack of vials inside as an incessant pounding started from the landing above.
He grit his teeth, pushing the drawer shut with his boot, a cloud of frozen condensation filling his lungs.
"Go away."
The banging continued unabated, harder, more frantic.
"Nott! Open up you creepy bastard!" Another pound. "I know you're in there! You never leave your cave!"
He closed his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose.
"I'm not leaving till you get your skinny ass out here!"
He pulled at the ties of his apron, ripping the blood-splattered garment over his head with a feral growl. "Fucking imbecile!"
He barrelled up the metal steps, gripping the handrails in a vice as the racket continued from the other side of the door.
"Nott Nott Nott Nott Nott!"
He slid open the locks and wrenched open the barrier, bright sunlight spilling in, blinding, but he knew his morning visitor by voice alone.
"Goddammit, Finnegan! You're more useless than the corpses on my table!"
The man smiled, leaning a palm against the brick of the alley. "Good to see you, too."
"What do you want?"
He gestured to a covered heap at his back. "I have a fresh one for ya, warm off the pavement. Scraped her up this morning."
"How wonderfully enticing." Theo set his jaw, spine straightening as he gripped the knob. "Unfortunately, I'm full-up at the moment. So kindly fuck off."
He attempted to slam the door but the idiot wedged the toe of his boot in the jam, eyes wide.
"Hold it! What do you mean full-up?"
"You're about as intelligent as the corpses as well."
"You can't be full, you have an entire warehouse to store them in!"
Theo scowled. "In case it's escaped your notice, Einstein, bodies decay. Rapidly. If I stack them like insulation along the fucking walls I'm bound to draw unwanted attention."
Finnegan opened and closed his mouth like a gaping fish. "Well, can't you put her on ice?"
"Ice melts. And there's the little problem of having it delivered."
"I can bring you some–"
"Finnegan." His gaze narrowed.
"I'm. Not. Interested."
He attempted to close the door a second time, groaning as the man stuck out a hand, pushing it the other way.
"Well what the fuck am I supposed to do with her?"
"Put her back where you got her for all I care."
"I can't! That place is swarming with cops–"
"Cops?" Theo stood at attention, releasing the door. "Where did you find her?"
"Outside the Park."
"Why were the police there?"
The man shrugged. "I don't know. I think there was another body inside. They've been piling up lately."
Theo's gaze darted to the tarp-wrapped body. "Are you able to discern her cause of death?"
"Since when has that mattered to you?"
"Does she have any visible puncture wounds?"
Finnegan blinked. "Like, from a needle? She doesn't look like a junkie."
Theo sighed deeply, shaking his head. "Never mind." His teeth clenched. "Alright. I'll take her. $8.50."
Finnegan reared back, gripping the door frame to stay upright. "What? That's only half the rate!"
"I'm charging you for the circus routine you conducted. If you'd brought the police to my door we'd both be on our way to the jailhouse."
"I was just kidding around–"
"$8.50. Take it or leave it. But decide quickly, I'm busy."
"There are others who would pay at least ten for a girl like this!"
"Wonderful, then you know your next destination."
Theo stepped back, gripping the edge of the door once more. Finnegan threw his arms up.
"Alright! Fuck!" His gaze flashed. "You're one twisted bastard, Nott."
Theo reached into his back pocket. "A twisted bastard who keeps you gainfully employed." He extracted the notes and change and handed them over, holding the man's gaze. "This is the last. I'll send word when I have space for more. If you show up before then, I'll leave you out here to rot with the rest of the garbage in the hot sun. Do you understand?"
Finnegan's face twisted in a sneer. "Perfectly, Doctor."
Theo gestured to the alley with his chin. "Go. I'll bring her in."
He watched the man saunter away, gait broken by some long-ago injury, before leaning down and hoisting the dead weight into his arms. The body was stunningly light. He wondered if Finnegan had the nerve to bring him another child. His eyes narrowed at the thought, vowing to cut business ties with the fool immediately.
He brought the delivery inside, kicking the door closed and carefully maneuvering the slight bundle down the staircase. He was halfway to the sublevel when he smelled something acrid on the air. His eyes flickered to the metal table on instinct.
His heart skipped, arms nearly fumbling their load. He quickly moved the body to a nearby gurney and then crossed to the center of the room, transfixed by the sight before him. He wet his lips, thoughts rapid firing as he tried to make sense of what happened, how such a transformation was possible…
And then his gleaming gaze slowly tracked upward, latching onto the door.
"You were right, Potter." His lips curved upward of their own accord. "I'm thoroughly intrigued by this one."
Lavender popped her head out from behind the door. "Alright, moment of truth!"
Parvati smirked, crossing her legs on the couch and settling back into the cushion. "Would you like a drumroll?"
"If you feel so inclined."
She laughed. "How about I close my eyes instead?"
"Even better."
She pressed a palm to her lids, shaking her head. Lavender shifted behind the door. "Ready?"
"I was ready two hours ago."
"That's how long it took to stuff myself into this thing."
Parvati snorted, falling silent as the hinges creaked and heels sounded across the hardwood, stopping just before her.
A sweltering beat.
"Alright. Open."
Parvati dropped her hand, shoulders tense and eyes still closed.
And then she slowly parted her lids, swallowing heavily.
Lavender raised a brow, palms outspread to either side as she rocked back. "Well? What's the verdict?"
Parvati drew in a short breath, nails pressing into the worn upholstery. "You look stunning. As always."
The blonde's shoulders dropped. "That's it? I spent a month's earnings on this thing."
Parvati wet her lips, glancing away. "You look mesmerizing, Lav."
Lavender released her breath in a rush, dropping to the arm of the couch and slumping back, idly picking up a lock of her friend's dark hair and twirling it around her finger.
"Okay, I'll bite. What's wrong?"
Parvati set her jaw, crossing her arms. "Nothing."
Lavender rolled her eyes. "I don't have time to pry it out of you before I leave, which means you'll be stuck here stewing with it all night." She leaned in close and ran her nails along the girl's bare arm, speaking in a sing-song voice. "Might as well just tell me…"
The brunette rounded on her, dark eyes flashing. "Why do you put up with that idiot?"
Lavender blinked, drawing back. "Who?"
"The Ginger lap dog who leaves a trail of drool behind everywhere he goes!"
She laughed shortly. "Ron isn't that bad–"
"He isn't good enough for you."
"Christ, we aren't dating, Parv."
"Did you charge him for last night?"
She sighed, turning away. Parvati shifted, facing her fully. "If you aren't charging then it's not business."
"I'm tired of discussing this with you. I'm sorry you don't like him, but he's one of my most loyal clients and I have no plans of ditching him." Lavender ran her fingertips over the silk of her dress, smoothing invisible wrinkles. "Besides. He treats me good."
Parvati raised a challenging brow. "Does he?"
"Compared to others, yes."
Her gaze darkened. "I told you to quit."
Lavender's clenched her teeth as she leaned forward, preparing to stand. "I'm tired of having this discussion as well–"
"Lav, please." Parvati grabbed her arm, holding her in place. "You could earn a decent wage at the factory–"
"A decent wage? So you read fortunes nearly every night because you're bored with all your free time?"
She glared, releasing her arm as though burned. "Working at the mill and reading fortunes is a hell of a lot better than turning tricks all day."
The blonde leaped to her feet, the rhinestones in her headband catching the light. "Christ, tell me what you really think!"
"Lav–"
"How can you bear living with such a whore?"
"That isn't what I meant!"
"No? What did you mean?"
Parvati shot to her feet, fists clenched. "You put your life at risk every time you let one of those disgusting animals put their hands on you! It's a miracle you've only been beaten and raped once!"
Lavender staggered back with the impact, eyes brimming with tears. "That– that wasn't–" She pressed a hand to her chest. "How dare you bring that up!"
"I have to! I'm worried sick every goddamn day!"
"Then stop! I didn't ask you to worry! I didn't ask for your advice!"
"Well tough shit! I care about you so I'm going to worry! And I'm your fucking friend so I'm going to give you my fucking advice!"
"Friend?" She shook her head, crossing her arms. "I don't think so."
Parvati surged forward "Please–"
"Don't touch me!" Lavender threw her hands up, backing away. "If you were my friend you wouldn't sit in silent judgment every single day!"
"I don't judge you–"
"You do! I see it in your eyes and hear it in your voice! You try your best to disguise it but it's still there, brimming just beneath the surface, always one second away from reaching the top."
Parvati swallowed thickly, her own gaze misting over, blurring her surroundings, only Lavender's face in perfect clarity.
"I just wish you didn't put yourself at risk–"
"Is that really it? You're terrified for my safety?"
"Yes!"
The blonde leveled her with a stare. "Because five people have been gravely injured at your factory already this year, and I don't see you handing out safety pamphlets to the rest of the crew."
Parvati stepped back, knees hitting the table. "That's totally different."
Lavender slowly advanced, propelled by the vehemence scorching a path through her veins. "Is it? What about the neighborhood you read fortunes in, Parv? How many murders have occurred there in the last month?"
"I… that's not–"
"Of course not. Because you risk your life with your legs closed, so it's acceptable."
"Stop putting words in my mouth!"
She shook her head, turning towards the door. "I'm leaving."
"Lavender, please–"
"We can talk more when I get home."
"But–"
"I can't be late." She grabbed her satin shawl off the rack and cast a measured glare over her shoulder. "Wouldn't want to keep my new customer waiting. He's loaded. I'll earn our entire month's rent in a night. You're welcome."
Parvati's fists curled tight once more, nails puncturing the calloused skin of her palms. "I'd rather work my hands bloody for the money."
Lavender scoffed, opening the door. "Fine. You can come up with your share on your own then."
She slammed it behind her with a bang, deafening as a gunshot. Parvati pressed a hand to her heart and sank to the floor.
It felt like one, too.
Hermione stopped at the corner, pedestrians clustered around her as they waited for the light to turn. She felt an electric current race along the back of her neck, ghosting down her spine as soft as breath, the sensation of being watched overwhelming her senses.
She glanced over her shoulder on instinct, heart jolting as she caught sight of the man standing a few paces behind.
Staring blatantly at her backside.
The brim of his cap lifted, eyes widening as he met her gaze. She glanced forward sharply, a flush blossoming across her cheeks as the air seemed to swell, a heavy buzz gaining momentum in the back of her mind, followed by a steady metallic click, spaced at regular intervals, like a timer.
Or a countdown.
Her eyes darted to the street lamp, watching it turn from green to yellow as the clicking grew faster and faster.
She swallowed heavily, swaying in place as more people piled along the curb, pressing into her shoulders, forcing her heels along the cement. She felt claustrophobic, breathless, buried alive–
The light turned red and the crowd surged into the crosswalk, dragging her forward. She staggered for a moment, gasping lightly and pulling at the collar of her blouse, forcing one foot in front of the other as she attempted to pull free from the mass of bodies.
She emerged from the crowd at last, breathing deep and turning the corner, only for her chest to seize anew as the sprawling Museum came into view, blood red banners rippling in the breeze, proudly announcing the upcoming exhibit. She took a steadying breath before embarking up the stairs, lifting her arm to grasp the handle of the door.
She gasped as the barrier swung open of its own accord, a well-dressed man exiting swiftly, drawing up short as his gaze fell upon her. She forced a polite smile, attempting to sidestep his form, only to freeze in place as his arm shot out before her chest, grasping the door and holding it wide.
She blinked twice, nodding her appreciation and darting inside, ignoring the bright gleam in his gaze as he watched her pass.
"Hermione!"
She shrieked, jolting in place as a figure appeared at her side.
"Sorry! I didn't mean to startle you."
She released a sharp breath, pressing a hand to her racing heart as she deflated. "It's not your fault, Anthony. I'm just a bit jumpy today."
She tucked a loose curl behind her ear, starting a path across the lobby. "Good morning." She glanced sideways as he fell into step beside her. "How do you always manage to catch me at the door? You don't stand there waiting for me, do you?"
"Sometimes."
She blinked, lips curving up as he turned a feverish red.
"I– I mean, only when I know you're on your way and I have something important to share–"
"Relax, Anthony. I'm only teasing you."
He blushed harder, making her smile outright. "So, what news do you have to share today?"
"Oh, right." He peered forward as they progressed over the sea of glossy tile. "Mr. Malfoy said he'd be by to speak with you later regarding an important matter."
Her gut clenched painfully at the reminder. She cleared her throat, grasping for a change of topic.
"Did the Museum suffer a power outage last night?"
He shook his head. "No, it just missed 5th Avenue. Were you hit?"
She nodded. "All of Greenwich."
"Bizarre. They still can't figure out what caused it."
"I assumed a transformer exploded."
"It did. But they don't know what set it off. The readings were normal all night until seconds before the surge hit, then every meter skyrocketed. They're bringing in specialists to try and work it out."
"This was in the newspaper?"
His expression turned bashful as he tucked his hands into his pockets. "Not exactly… my girlfriend's brother works for the utility."
She met his eye and grinned. "Insider knowledge. I love it."
He smiled in turn as they entered an arched corridor at the other end of the floor.
"And why haven't I met your girlfriend? You get free tickets to the Museum whenever you want, you must bring her by."
He glanced away, shoulder lifting in a shrug. "I didn't want to mix work with personal affairs."
She nodded slowly, gazing ahead at a pair of security guards approaching from the opposite direction, deep in conversation. Her heart slammed painfully against her ribs. But she kept her chin raised, nodding politely as they passed, once more directing her attention to the young man beside her.
"A sound motto indeed, but one that mostly applies to dating one's boss. I think your career can withstand bringing your girlfriend to the Van Gogh exhibit one night."
He laughed shortly. "Alright. I'll do that."
He paused at the end of the hallway, extracting his hands. "I've got some paperwork to finish up here."
She nodded, adjusting the strap over her shoulder. "Alright, swing by later if you'd like, we can finish up our lesson on Runic texts."
He began to back away. "Thank you, I will."
She watched him turn on his heel and then did the same, rounding the corner with a swift forward glance, only to collide with another body, staggering back with the impact.
"Oh! Please excuse–" Her jaw clamped, recognizing the sleek blonde bob a moment before the rest of the symmetrical face came into view. "Daphne?"
The woman stepped back on her heels, steadying herself with far more grace. "Hello, Hermione. My apologies."
"I–" Hermione shook her head, shifting awkwardly. "It wasn't your fault."
She studied her delicate features more closely, taking note of the red-rimmed eyes and smudged mascara.
"Are you…" She wet her lips, hands opening and closing uselessly at her sides. "I'm so sorry, Daphne. I meant to tell you sooner but the police were–" She stopped abruptly, unsure how to continue. She changed course instead, pushing forward. "Have there been any updates?"
Daphne swallowed thickly, ruby painted lips pressed thin. "No." Her eyes followed suit. "The police are fucking useless, pardon my tongue."
Hermione nodded, chin lifting in solidarity. "Don't apologize. I share in that sentiment wholeheartedly."
Daphne roamed Hermione's figure with more care, causing her to shift awkwardly, feeling terribly plain before the heiress.
"Ginevra is still missing?"
The question caught her off guard, jolting her heart.
"Yes. Though they refuse to group her disappearance with the others. They still say she ran away from home without a single belonging or dime to her name."
Daphne inhaled through her nose, the edge of her jaw cutting a sharp line as it clenched. "My father's hired a team of private investigators, but they're hardly more competent than the NYPD it would seem."
"They've found nothing at all?"
"Nothing substantial. Only rumor and hearsay from street vagrants."
Hermione felt something inside her give way, falling to the bottom of her stomach, dead and lifeless. She opened her mouth to ask more but Daphne spoke first, eyes hard-set and faceted.
"They said there's less than a five percent chance Astoria is still in the city." A beat. "And I mustn't forget, there's less than a twelve percent chance she's still alive at all."
Hermione's brows creased. "That's a lot of math to base on zero findings."
The blonde nodded stoically, tears brimming at last. She turned her face away, wiping covertly at the corners. "Well, I just came to pay Draco his update. I should be going."
Hermione shifted towards the wall as the woman began to stride past, only to reach out on instinct, hand encapsulating her arm of its own accord.
"Daphne."
The women halted so quickly she rocked on her tall heels, swaying like a reed in a storm. Hermione held her gaze. "Don't listen to the statistics. Listen to your heart."
Daphne searched her gaze for several moments, finally wetting her lips, voice low and strained. "My heart's shattered. I don't know what it's telling me anymore."
Hermione swallowed thickly, gently squeezing. "They're both out there. Somewhere." Her fingers uncurled, hand dropping away. "We'll bring them home."
Daphne continued to stare at her in silence, until at last she lifted her chin, eyes sparkling as she peered down her nose. "It was good to see you, Hermione."
She turned away without awaiting a response, starting up the corridor with poised and measured steps.
"Goodbye, Daphne," Hermione whispered to the air, starting in the original direction she'd been heading.
A few minutes later she pushed open the door of the Archive Room and drifted inside with a weighted sigh, quickly approaching her preferred desk in the corner. She pulled the shawl off her shoulders and slung it across the opposite chair, noticing the parchment wrapped package already situated at the center of the workstation.
Her disheartening exchange with Daphne was already forgotten in lieu of her festering panic regarding the jar. She wondered if Malfoy told his father, if the British Museum had been notified, or even the authorities...
She shook her head, walking to the supply shelf and grabbing up a pair of cotton gloves, slipping them into place as she approached the desk, eyes affixed to the package. She was too deep into this mess to turn back now. There was no point in worrying, in asking too many questions and drawing attention to herself or Harry. No, she made her choice and had to watch the chips fall where they may. A terrifying prospect, but losing another loved one was even worse.
I'll wait for Malfoy to stop by and deliver his news… then I can fill out an official report. Everything will be by the book.
They won't suspect a thing.
Her hands trembled as she took her seat and slid the package closer, carefully opening the bottom flap and sliding the stacked parchment free.
Translating was always an old standby. Her most beloved pastime. And exactly what she was in dire need of at the moment.
Harry sidestepped a busted crate and rotting pile of garbage, stopping before the metal accordion gate and knocking swiftly, shoulders tight with anticipation.
There was no response from within. He grit his teeth, feet spreading into an age-old defensive stance as he knocked once more, the side of his fist absorbing the heavy impact with every mighty strike.
At last the steady tread of footsteps could be heard echoing off the stairwell hidden beyond, prompting him to drop his arm but not his defenses.
Another fleeting second passed, saturated with eerie stillness before the door swung open, Nott's scowling face revealed, absent any goggles.
"Finnegan you fucking idi–" A beat. "Oh. It's you."
Harry raised a dark brow, a noxious odor filtering out of the warehouse and filling his nose with a chemical sting. "Way to make a guy feel special, Nott."
"I'm sure you're just as big of an idiot as my last visitor."
"Too late to sweet talk me now."
Nott rolled his eyes, stepping back onto the metal landing and allowing Harry room to pass. As he crossed the threshold the smell increased only slightly, the worst of it seeming to dissipate into the alleyway beyond.
Nott slammed the door, sliding the heavy locks into place and submerging them into a pool of halogen light. "I wasn't sure if you were coming back."
Harry peered over his shoulder, confusion written on his face. "I told you I would."
Nott led the path down the swaying staircase. "You're also tied to a homicide. I'd thought you'd skip town."
Harry scowled at the back of the man's head, cursing his neatly styled hair, so well maintained compared to his own defunct mane. "It wasn't homicide. It was self–" He shook his head, lungs decompressing in a whoosh. "Never mind. Just give me the fucking body."
Nott stepped onto the sublevel, casually tucking his hands into his trouser pockets, shoulders eased. "I'm afraid I can't do that."
Harry blinked, step faltering. "Why not?"
Nott stopped beside the metal table they'd last huddled around, a familiar blood-stained tarp wrapping a lumpy mass. "I ran into a bit of a problem."
Harry's heart rattled around the walls of his ribs, creating powerful tremors that ran the full length of his body. "What kind of problem?"
Nott's gaze shifted to the table. "This kind of problem."
He lifted a hand and grasped the top of the fabric, pulling it away in an impressive flourish.
Harry's eyes flickered down.
And blinked.
He stepped closer, movements slow and tentative, perversely drawn to the image before him. "What the hell did you do to it?"
"I performed a standard autopsy."
His head snapped up. "And then set it on fire?"
"This building isn't equipped for smoke ventilation, otherwise I would have an onsite cremation oven."
Harry shook his head, stopping at the edge of the table and peering down at the blackened, smoking skeleton laid out before them.
"I don't understand."
Nott tilted his head, eyes slowly tracking the charred remains, cataloging every detail as he went. "I didn't either. At first. I turned my back for a few minutes and returned to find it positively charred to shit." He propped a hip against the table, crossing his arms in a disturbingly casual repose. "And then I realized what I had done, unwittingly of course, and tested my hypothesis with a few of the samples I extracted prior to the–"
"English, Nott."
He sighed, holding Harry's gaze. "The body burned in the sunlight."
Harry clutched the lip of the table for balance. "What?"
Nott's eyes turned to the landing above, tone stunningly measured. "I opened the door. Daylight filtered through the stairs and onto the table. That was the only environmental change that occurred, the only possible explanation to be had."
Harry wet his lips, leaning forward, drawn by the lure of the words. "You're certain it was the sun?"
Nott met his gaze once more. "As I said, I tested the hypothesis with tissue samples I collected previously. They practically burst into flame the moment I opened the door."
Harry's jaw worked silently for several moments, chewing his words, unable to spit them out. He studied the blackened corpse, transfixed by the eyeless sockets, a black abyss contained at the center of each.
"You know what this means."
Nott stood away from the table, glancing to the wall and dropping his arms. "It means we're dealing with a rare and as of yet undocumented genetic disorder."
Harry rounded on him quickly, an insurmountable pressure rapidly swelling in his chest. "Fuck genetic disorder! You know what this thing is!"
Nott's fists clenched tight, though his voice remained startlingly calm. "As you said, Potter, I'm a man of science. Therefore I must classify this anomaly within the realm of–"
"He's a goddamn vampire."
The silence following the statement was a tangible weight bearing down upon them both, locking them in place. Nott wet his lips, lifting his chin, eyes scanning the wall as though reading an invisible text.
"There are certain types of photodermatitis that cause–"
"A person to burst into fucking flames?"
He dragged a hand over his face, clearing the beads of perspiration from his temples. "If the body was introduced to a chemical agent beforehand–"
"And what about these?"
Harry gestured to the fangs, proudly extended and just as lethal as they appeared in the woods.
Nott rocked unsteadily on his feet, placing his hands on his hips and peering at the ground between his feet. "The shape of a person's teeth hardly–"
"They fucking retract!"
His jaw snapped shut. Harry advanced on him quickly, grabbing his shoulder and spinning him in place. "His blood was thicker than tar. He took six bullets to the chest and gut and laughed about it." He held Nott's eye with steely intensity, daring him to look away. "Why are you denying what's right in front of you?" He leaned in closer. "Nott. You're the most intelligent man I know. Don't disappoint me now."
Nott's chin swiveled from side to side as his eyes flashed, no doubt overcome with an overabundance of information, desperate to process it all at once. At last he stepped free from Harry's tight grasp, eyes glittering in the pulsing light.
"Given the overabundance of physical evidence and subsequent research findings…" He took a deep breath. Harry held his. "It would seem this man's condition is adjacent to some form of… vampirism."
Harry rocked back on his heels, the pressure in his chest dissipating at once. "Was that so hard?"
Nott's features turned as sharp as his scalpel. "This isn't a game, Potter. The magnitude of such a discovery alone…" He shook his head, carding a hand through his hair. "This defies every rule of nature and science known to man."
Harry stepped towards the metal table, focusing on the body once more. "On the bright side, you finally have the earth-shattering breakthrough you've been after."
Nott's drew closer. "This is hardly a cure to cancer or Alzheimer's."
Harry went rigid, glancing over his shoulder. "Alzheimer's?" His fists clenched. "Do you still talk to her?"
"Put down the sword, Potter. Your fair maiden isn't the only one affected by the disease. And it has no bearing on the current circumstances. If I take this public I'll be an even bigger laughing stock than I am now."
Harry shook his head, facing him fully. "We aren't taking it public. Not until we find Ginny."
"Who?"
"This man was lingering outside a crime scene in the Park, where another girl was–"
"He attacked you in the Park?"
Harry blinked. "Yes." He watched as Nott began to pace around the end of the slab, running a pale hand over his mouth. "What is it?"
"I just received another body from that area. With the most peculiar wounds."
Nott cut a direct path across the room, submerging himself in shadow and disappearing from sight. Harry forced his feet to follow, stomach clenched painfully as he ventured once more into the unknown. A metallic click echoed off the walls, followed by a surge of light as a lamp was switched on, revealing a narrow table pressed along the wall.
A body was centered across it, covered by a white, pressed sheet. Only the feet were visible, skin yellow and veins blue, the delicate arch suggesting a feminine frame. Nott grabbed the top of the fabric and pulled it back without warning, revealing the head and shoulders of the naked corpse.
Harry's back went stiff, vision hazing as a pale, gaunt face came into view. She was young, perhaps only a teenager, with an auburn bob that so closely resembled Ginny's his heart seized for an earth-shattering moment.
But no, upon closer inspection this girl couldn't look more different from his missing friend. His shoulders lowered, breath releasing in a slow rush. He allowed his gaze to track past her face and hair, settling upon the mottled, bruised flesh of her neck.
His fists clenched as Nott pulled the sheet lower, as though reading the direction of his thoughts. The precise incisions of her autopsy were revealed to the green light, stitches evenly spaced and pristine. Her breasts were small, as was her waist, every rib straining against the skin, malnutrition evidenced further in her shrunken pelvis and gaping thighs.
But her wiry frame wasn't the cause of his racing heart or shortened breath. He stepped closer, leaning in, eyes wide and transfixed as the floor radiated beneath his feet with a distant hum, causing every bone to vibrate. His lips parted at last, voice low.
"Are those bite marks?"
Nott tilted his head, eyes tracking her injuries with clinically detachment. "It would seem so."
Harry stepped to the middle of the table, focusing upon a deep wound on her hip, the skin broken in several places, surrounded by purple and blue flesh.
"These are human teeth."
Nott nodded slowly, gripping the sheet tightly. "That would also seem so."
Harry paled, eyes alighting from one bite to the next. They covered her torso, her breasts, her thighs. He swallowed thickly. "His teeth retract. Maybe this is another way vampires feed off victims."
"Her blood wasn't drained. She died from strangulation."
Harry shook his head, pushing away from the table and its inhabitant on stiff knees. "Are you telling me there's someone else out there, gnawing on people like a goddamn animal?"
Nott pulled the sheet back into place, hiding the mangled corpse from view, tone deadpan. "Welcome to New York City."
Hermione carefully laid another scroll to her right, ensuring the papyrus didn't overlap. She turned to the next page in her journal, absently squirming in her chair as a chill stole across her limbs. The room was temperature and humidity controlled, designed to keep out moisture, leaving the air frigid. She kept meaning to pick up her shawl but was too engrossed in her task to abandon her work for even a moment.
She smoothed a strand of hair away from her face with a cotton gloved hand and then set to her task once more, carefully selecting the next document off the pile to her left.
As much as she missed the days on on-site excavation, translating ancients texts had always been her one true love, the first skill she ever developed, still too young to accompany her father on his trips just yet. The scrolls laid out before her now had already been translated by the British Museum, but Hermione was tasked with creating a separate document for the Met, equipped with American colloquialism and her own personal flourish. She had a way with language that institutions were hard-pressed to find in their host countries.
The key wasn't simply in interpretation, which any Egyptologist worth their salt could accomplish, but in disseminating the information in a way that wasn't only educational but highly engaging. She derived no greater joy than in watching students gather around her translations, parents reading her words aloud to their bright-eyed children, the open excitement on their young faces as they experienced an Ancient Myth for the first time.
Perhaps her writing would one day inspire the next generation of archaeologists and scholars. Perhaps they could go on to accomplish all the things she never could.
She shook her head, dismissing the melancholy notion and focusing upon the task at hand. She translated for the British Museum and similar institutions often, but typically only had black and white photographs at her disposal. To have the tangible artifacts in hand was a rare treat indeed, one she wouldn't waste by dwelling on the past.
She wet her lips, aligning the papyrus before her and leaning in, pen poised at the ready as she began reading. Like the others before it, this text documented the reign of Amenemhat and Neferitatjenen, describing the era as one of great wealth and prosperity. According to the authors, the people loved them. Of course, history was often recorded by educated slaves and servants whose most pressing concern was appeasing their master.
Still, given the extravagance of the burial finery, it seemed the Pharaoh and his consort were truly beloved even in death.
She tilted her head, eyes narrowing as she tried to discern the more faded hieroglyphs along the edges of the document. It seemed Amenemhat paid tribute to his gods throughout the year, and they in turn blessed him and his people with riches far greater than any Kingdom had known before, erecting a new capital city from the very sand, every structure made of solid gold.
Her heart seized as she read the name of the fabled land, images flashing through her mind, an onslaught of emotion she was helpless to quell.
Itjtawy.
The Golden City.
Lost forever to the great sands of Egypt.
Of all the fantastical tales her father told throughout her childhood, and there were many to be certain, Itjtawy was always her favorite. The one she asked him to recount time and time again, until she could repeat every word without pause or fail, much to his great delight and amusement.
Every time they visited Cairo she begged him to allot time for their search of the fallen city. He always refused, setting his foot down, citing work and permit deadlines as far more pressing concerns. But a few days later he always relented, driving her 100 kilometers south of the capital where scholars claimed the city once stood.
Alas, every time they arrived, they found nothing but sand.
Some myths said the city was still alive today, buried deep beneath the desert, cursed by vengeful gods to punish mortals for their earthly vanity. Her father told her the city was in the sky, raised to Aaru by those same gods to honor the ancient people of Egypt for all eternity.
But Hermione held a different belief, one that she derived all her own, after countless hours of painstaking research. She believed the ancient texts purposely misled scholars as a way of protecting the true location of Itjtawy.
It still existed. Somewhere.
Waiting to be found.
And she vowed to be the one to find it.
She smiled at the text before her, heart swelling with the surge as she blinked her tears at bay, mortified they formed in the first place. Such memories felt like a lifetime ago. She supposed in a lot of ways they were. If only she could go back to being a girl, so innocent, so ignorant, no worries to fill her days beyond the all-important matter of treasure hunting.
She swallowed thickly, finishing her translation describing the Golden City and setting the papyrus aside, reaching for the next. This one instantly caught her eye, a familiar symbol pulsating from the parchment, saturated more boldly than the surrounding images.
Her eyes widened as she read further along, fingers tightening upon the pen, a tremor seizing her wrist. It discussed the Festival of Intoxication held in Sekhmet's honor, held at the height of akhet when the streets of Itjtawy ran thick with blood.
She smirked at the dramatic flourish, the vivid mental image it conjured. She almost regretted having to add an annotation to the bottom of her page, explaining the mechanics of the phenomena.
Akhet, or the inundation, was the period of summer when the Nile overflowed into the streets, courtesy of melting snow from the Ethiopian Mountains and heavy rainfall. Of course, the water's blood red color had just as lackluster an explanation. The surrounding vegetation radiated enough heat to stain the overflow red with sediment.
How she wished she could leave the myth unexplained, further weaving magic into the minds of the patrons who visited the collection. Alas, it was her job to discern fict from fact, and if she was one thing, it was highly competent at her work.
She squirmed anew, eager to learn more about the elusive celebration in the goddess's honor. She'd heard it referenced in several texts over the years but never came across any specifics. She pinned her bottom lip between her teeth and read on.
It seemed the celebration served a dual purpose, to honor the War Goddess and to initiate new members into her temple. The living and undead alike sought her favor, competing for a chance to serve her for all eternity.
Candidates were brutally tested, facing down the Ritual of Death and battling beasts of the underworld to prove their devotion and worthiness. But the challenge posed two parts, not only the object of survival but the greater purpose of overcoming one's greatest fear. Those who slew the beast but still bore doubt and fear in their hearts were disqualified, unworthy of serving their Warrior Queen. Only a select few were ushered into the doors of the temple and granted elite membership.
Sekhmet's priests and priestesses were considered extremely powerful and, at least according to the passage, answered directly to Neferitatjenen, who oversaw the great temple.
Hermione wet her lips, leaning back.
Curious.
She would have assumed the Pharaoh himself would control such a powerful institution. But perhaps this was the most practical arrangement, especially if he was engaged in matters of war throughout the summer months when invading forces were more likely to attack.
Still, she was curious about his consort. Neferitatjenen seemed to have great power and control of her people, a rare quality for female rulers of the period. She finished translating the description of the Festival and set the parchment aside, grabbing for the next in the pile, hand trembling of its own accord.
This one spoke of her in great detail, as though it could sense the direction of Hermione's thoughts and sought to provide answers. It talked of Neferitatjenen's presence, how she seemed to radiate a bright light when she stood at the altar before the masses, how her voice radiated over miles of desert effortlessly, filling the minds of her soldiers no matter how far away they resided, inspiring hope and bravery in their hearts. She could compel an entire army to charge into battle or to lay down their weapons and die with merely a word.
Hermione leaned back once more, blinking slowly as her pulse thrummed. The descriptions between Sekhmet and Neferitatjenen were becoming more and more blurred with every text, which she supposed made sense considering the latter held such close ties to the former's temple. The people obviously viewed their Queen as the mortal representation of Sekhmet on earth, a living embodiment of the Goddess herself–
"Our most Sacred Ruler. The Great Mother. The Beloved Creator of our people."
She gasped, rearing back in her chair, nearly tipping it off balance before the legs settled back to the floor. The air seemed to swell around her, as though a new presence had entered the room, electricity snapping along her skin, raising the fine hairs along her arms and nape.
Movement to her side drew her gaze, she spun rapidly, nearly toppling anew, choking back a shout of panic as the figure materialized fully before her eyes, not an apparition at all.
No. Unfortunately, he was quite real.
"So tell me, Granger." He crossed his arms and leaned against the desk, feet crossing at the ankles as he gazed over his shoulder at the texts strewn before her. "If you read the wrong spell aloud will the dead rise from their tombs and try to kill us all?"
She shook her head, fighting to regain her composure, settling back into her seat and pulling the chair forward. "Your mind has clearly been warped by one too many fiction novels, Malfoy. Try reading something with a bibliography once in a while."
"I'll take that as a no."
She carefully set the parchment aside, grabbing up the last and final text in the shipment. "Egyptian spells were meant to reunite Kings with their Gods and usher souls through the underworld, not reanimate the dead."
"How boring." He tilted his head, blonde hair falling into his pale gaze. "What about the plagues?"
His dress shoes gleamed beneath the overhead lights, an errant distraction to her peripheral vision, as was the thick cloud of aftershave assaulting her senses, overwhelming in the barren space.
"What about them?"
"Won't they unleash chaos upon anyone who defaces an artifact?"
She sighed deeply, giving up her attempt at translating the final text and pushing back from the desk with a huff. "Is that how you're hoping to get the jar back?"
He gazed around the bright space with a mischievous expression. "A nice swarm of locusts would certainly liven things up around here. The Archive Room is far too sterile."
"It's supposed to be sterile." She leaned forward and began gathering the completed documents, carefully gripping along their edges and lifting from the center. "And the Plagues of Egypt, as you know them, are a Biblical narrative that derived separately from the Ancient Egyptian polytheistic belief system."
She wet her lips, stacking the texts with just as much care. "Furthermore, sacred spells were recorded for the use of priests and priestesses alone. Only they were able to channel the power of Heka, magic, thereby making the writings useless in the hands of the common people." She opened the package the documents came in, carefully sliding the papyrus back inside. "And lastly, even if magic were real, no one alive today is able to read Ancient Egyptian properly."
He blinked, studying her profile as she focused on her task. "You read it all the time."
"I interpret it all the time. I convert the symbols into meaning in my mind and suss out the overall message." She folded the flap over the end, wrapping the twine around the clasp to bind it in place. "Hieroglyphs are written in consonants. We estimate vowels by comparing the root of the word against African languages existing today and then pronounce them in our own native tongue." She centered the package before her, finally taking a full breath. "In other words, if I were to attempt to read an ancient spell aloud the dead would rise only to laugh at me."
Several beats of silence followed.
She blinked, wondering if he'd left. But when her gaze lifted it was immediately captured by his own, his features quaking with barely tamped amusement.
"Well. The more you know."
She scowled, crossing her arms. "Are we going to discuss the jar sometime today?"
"You've been the one rambling about spells and plagues for the last twenty minutes."
She rolled her eyes, pushing back from the desk and rotating in her chair to face him, carefully crossing her legs to avoid brushing his knee. "We need to fill out a report–"
"There's no need."
Her heart stuttered. "Why not?"
He rubbed the back of his neck, face tensing as though struggling to suppress a mighty yawn. "I got a call from the British Museum early this morning to check on the status of the shipment."
She leaned forward, pulse throbbing in her knees and wrists, drowning out the hum of the overhead lights. "What did you tell them?"
"The truth, obviously. Though I left out the details of your rather unbecoming panic attack. You're welcome."
"Malfoy. What did they say?"
"They apologized for their mistake. Seems someone forgot to pack the jar, just as I said."
She pressed back in the chair, arms falling bonelessly to her sides as her jaw fell slack.
"What?"
He pinned her with a narrowed gaze. "I believe the words you're looking for are you were right, Malfoy, and I'm sorry I–"
"That can't be."
"Christ, Granger, I know it's hard for you to wrap your giant brain around but mistakes do happen on occasion."
She swallowed heavily, struggling to keep her voice steady. "It wasn't the British Museum you spoke to."
He blinked, ankles uncrossing as both feet braced the floor. "What are you talking about?"
She leaped to her feet in a whirl, taking him so off guard he nearly lost balance as he stepped back. Her eyes were unrelenting, fists balled tight. "Who actually called?"
He searched her gaze, as though trying to discern the question for some hidden meaning. "Some British chap–"
"What was his name?"
"I don't remember–"
"Think, Malfoy!"
She blinked, vision swimming with white, sagging into the desk as the floor tilted beneath her feet.
"Granger–" He dove forward as she lost her balance, gripping her arms before she plummeted to the ground. "Christ, you're pale as a sheet."
"I…" She blinked slowly, trying to clear her sight of the smoky haze. The hum of the overhead lights became deafening, smothering the rapid pace of her heart. "I'm fine."
"Mumbles the swooning woman."
She grit her teeth, pushing against him. "I'm not swooning."
Her struggles tipped them both off balance, her dead weight dragging him down with her as they sank to the floor in a slow sprawl. The buzzing changed, spitting off in different directions until it wasn't an electrical current she heard anymore but voices, an endless sea of whispers, distant but distinct, loud and incessant, overlapping so heavily she couldn't discern one from the next.
"Do… do you hear that?"
She felt him tense beside her, arm pressing his chest, able to feel the steady thrum of his heart but unable to see his face.
"Hear what?"
She squinted, peering up, the lights blinding as the desert sun. "The voices…"
His sharp exhale ghosted across her neck. "I'm calling an ambulance–"
"No!" Her outburst shocked them both. She spun in place, gripping his lapels with wide eyes, his pale, pointed features slowly taking shape from the ether. "I'm okay."
"I beg to differ."
"Please, Malfoy. I can't…" She forced a steadying breath, loosening her grip on his jacket and trying it again, calmer. "A hospital will try and admit me."
"Exactly."
She could practically hear the scowl in his voice.
"I can't leave my father unattended and I can't afford overnight care for him."
A heavy beat. His face came into clarity at last, eyes containing a rare flash of emotion she was hard-pressed to identify.
"Surely one of your friends–"
"I was so worried about the jar I forgot to eat after yesterday afternoon. That's all." She swallowed once more, working past the constriction in her throat, images of waking up sprawled across her office floor invading her mind. "My blood sugar dropped. I don't need a hospital."
His jaw ticked, eyes flickering between hers for another handful of seconds before his chin lifted. "Can you stand?"
"Yes." A raised a brow at her rapid-fire response. She bit her lip, shoulders dropping. "With assistance."
He released another heavy sigh, gripping her arms in a vice as he gathered his feet beneath him.
"Alright, up we go." He hoisted her along as he stood, groaning with the effort as she tipped into him, unsteady on her feet. He pulled the chair in and dumped her atop without ceremony. "You're going to leave these texts where they are and go home."
She lifted a hand to her forehead, shielding her eyes from the light, temples throbbing. "The exhibit is in two weeks, I have to–"
"That's an order, Granger."
She pressed back in her seat, indignation fueling her equilibrium. "You aren't my boss."
He tilted his head, eyes shining with a steady confidence inherent only to men of his station. "Would you prefer I send my father down to give the command instead?"
She couldn't hide her cringe. He nodded, expression wrought with victory.
"I didn't think so."
"Malfoy, I just need to eat something and I'll be fine."
"Then consider it a personal day. I don't care how you rationalize it to yourself, just don't set foot on Museum grounds for the next eight hours or I'll have you escorted off."
She shook her head, stomach flip-flopping with the effort. She pressed a hand to her middle, breathing slowly. "Always so dramatic."
"Mumbles the previously swooning woman."
"I didn't swoon." She crossed her arms and glanced away, bottom lip slipping forward in a pout she was helpless to contain. "Fine. I'll have a lie-in. Waste an otherwise perfectly productive day when there's a mountain of work only I can perform balanced atop a rapidly approaching deadline."
He stepped away from the chair. "That's the spirit." And started to cross the room, speaking over his shoulder. "Be gone by the time I get back."
She bit her lip, watching his departure, speaking before she could contain the outburst.
"Malfoy."
He paused at the door, turning in place with a harried and expectant look. She opened her mouth but the words failed her, everything she wanted to tell him about the jar turning to smoke on the air. She couldn't tell him the truth without incriminating herself and Harry.
So she changed tactics, venturing into even murkier waters.
"I ran into Daphne earlier."
He went rigid as a post, solidifying to marble before her eyes. She pressed on, too far in to turn back now. "I'm sorry about Astoria."
His expression remained carefully void of emotion, jaw clenched tight. She was certain he would continue to stand that way forever, yet another addition to their Greek sculpture collection, when his lips finally parted, voice low and guarded.
"So am I."
She nodded, fingers interlacing atop her lap. "I'm glad you're there for Daphne. She seemed…" She shook her head, unsure how to complete the statement. "Like she could use a friend."
He broke from the rigid mold at last, exhaling with such swiftness she felt the breeze it created from across the room.
"Was there a point to this?"
She sat straighter. "I just… if you ever wanted to talk about it, with someone who understands what you're feeling–"
"Fucking hell, Granger." He rubbed his eyes with his thumb and forefinger. "You can read over fifty ancient dialects but not simple body language."
"I just wanted to offer."
"Spectacular." He dropped his hand, a raging tempest in his eyes. "Now your bleeding heart can rejoice and I can get on with my day." He opened the door, straightening his pristine coat and silk tie. "Other swooning women to catch and all that, I'm sure you understand."
He turned on his heal and departed with as much silent grace as he entered with.
She leaned forward, shouting into the hallway.
"I didn't swoon!"
His laughter followed him down the corridor. A moment later he turned the corner, disappearing from sight. She pivoted in her chair, staring at the sealed package of texts. She thought of the accompanying shipment. The stolen jar. The fake call. The dead man.
A violent sandstorm was fast approaching, heading right for her.
And just like in the desert, there was no shelter to hide behind.
Harry stood before the ornately carved door, hands trembling at his sides as he contemplated bolting for the tenth time in half as many minutes.
His eyes were affixed to the golden nameplate centered before him, reflecting his green gaze back in all its conflicted glory. The irony of his cowardice wasn't lost on him. That he had an easier time accepting the existence of fucking vampires than facing the man situated beyond the barrier.
He shook his head, glancing away at last, raising his arm and knocking softly before his nerve failed him entirely.
"Come in."
His chest ached terribly at the familiar timbre and all the memories it invoked. He braced his shoulders and opened the door, feet remaining firmly planted beyond the threshold of the hallway.
Papers shuffled softly. "Can I help–"
The man seated across the office gazed up, eyes brimming wide behind rectangular lenses, light glinting off the wire frame. He dropped the pen to a stack of papers situated before him, mouth hanging wide.
"Harry?"
Harry swallowed lightly, stepping forward at last. "Hello, Remus."
Remus stood swiftly, nearly toppling the chair in his haste, pulling his glasses away and carelessly dropping them to the desk, rounding the obstruction in a few paces.
"Is it… is it really you?"
Harry nodded shortly, stepping further in and closing the door at his back. "It's me."
His shoulders loosened as the man's jovial laughter filled the room, followed by his rapid footfalls as he crossed the floor and pulled Harry into a tight embrace.
"It's… I can't tell you how much I…" He shook his head, gripping Harry's biceps tight and pulling back. "I've missed you, Harry."
Harry's throat felt swollen, voice strained on departure. "I've missed you, too."
Remus nodded, clapping him on the shoulder, hand lingering in place as though attempting to keep Harry rooted to the spot.
"Ron told me he was searching for you. I hope you don't mind I gave him your contact. You said to share it in the event of dire circumstances and I thought–"
"It's alright, Remus. I'm glad you told him." Harry's eyes lowered with the weight of his shame. "I should have returned sooner. It shouldn't have taken a tragedy to bring me back."
"You're home. That's what matters." Remus's gaze gleamed in the sunlight, hand tightening on Harry's shoulder. "All that matters."
A tense beat passed. Harry stepped away first, prompting the man's arm to drop. He turned his head and caught sight of the large plaque on the wall, centered between a plethora of treasures– certificates and awards, mounted and framed fossilized specimens and geological photographs, a dizzying representation of a scholar's life.
"So, you're the Head of the Archaeology Department now?"
Remus laughed softly, eyes following the direction of Harry's gaze. "The previous Head had to retire quite suddenly due to health complications, they were a bit desperate to find his replacement and settled on me."
"Don't be modest. You're the most brilliant employee the Natural History Museum has ever had."
His answering smile was tinged with a familiar sadness, one that Harry had grown so accustomed to seeing upon the man's face he hardly recognized him without it.
"That particular honor rests with your mother." He met Harry's eye. "But I appreciate the kind words, nonetheless."
Another heavy beat followed before Remus rocked back on his heels, gesturing to his desk.
"Here, sit, tell me everything you've been up to. I've been dying to hear about California." He crossed the room and pulled out his chair, lowering slowly, blinking as he caught sight of Harry's guarded expression from across the room. "Oh. Alright." He sank down the rest of the way. "How about what you've been up to since you got back?"
Harry glanced to the windows. Remus arched a brow.
"Christ, that bad, huh?"
Harry nodded, facing forward once more. "You know me, never a dull moment."
Remus chuckled lowly, palms pressing flat to the wood. "That's what Sirius always–" He blinked, jaw working silently. "Sorry. I…" He shook his head, carding a hand through his sandy hair and gesturing to the opposite chair. "Please, Harry, take a seat or you'll give an old man a neck cramp."
Harry couldn't contain his answering smirk, crossing the room with tentative steps and sitting in the designated chair, gripping the armrests tightly.
Only to lean forward, memory sparking.
"Oh, before I forget, Mione asked me to give you this."
He reached into his vest and extracted the vial, sliding it across the glossy desktop. Remus tilted his head, reaching forward and taking the glass between his thumb and forefinger, holding it before the light.
"What is it?"
Harry pressed back once more, ankles crossing. "No idea. You know her, probably something relating to one of her projects."
He allowed his gaze to roam the papers scattering the workspace, trying to convince his shriveling heart it wasn't a total lie. Hermione didn't tell him what the vial contained and he didn't push her on the subject. It seemed too great a step to start holding each other accountable for the truth. Especially when he harbored so many secrets of his own.
Remus didn't seem to notice the direction of Harry's thoughts, absorbed in the item at hand. "That's our girl, only content if she's buried beneath three miles of work." He brought the sample closer, turning it over in his hand. "Seems to be a sediment sample of some kind. Though the consistency appears almost like…" He shook his head, leaning back and carefully setting it aside. "She wants me to run the sample through the lab, I presume?"
"Yes. She said you have faster turnaround."
He rested his elbows on the desk, fingers steepling before his chin. "Since I don't have a case to assign it I can't give it priority, but I'll send a note as soon as the results are in."
Harry nodded.
And then silence fell upon the room like a heavy blanket, pressing hard upon their shoulders. Until at last Remus spoke, voice low and measured, causing Harry's ears to prick and his shoulder blades to tighten.
"Harry." He held his gaze with unshakable intensity. "Am I allowed to ask, what happened to your eye?"
Harry fought to control his visage, blunt nails pressing the underside of the armrests until they threatened to split. "Boxing mishap. There was glass on the mat. Didn't see it until it was wedged firmly in my face."
Remus paled, hands dropping. "Then it's a miracle your eye survived at all. Why didn't you call?"
Harry effortlessly fell onto his old standby. "It looks far worse than it is. I was in and out of the hospital in a day, the stitches were out in a week."
Remus pinched the bridge of his nose, as though the information caused him acute pain as well as distress. "At least you're home in one piece." He sighed deeply, slowly lowering his hand and lifting his chin. "So, I take it you're helping with the search?"
Harry felt his stomach clench anew, safely past Scylla and onto Charybdis. "Trying to. Though it seems every time we make headway in one direction something steers us in another."
"How long have you been back?"
He shifted uncomfortably, clutching the armrests until the backing groaned beneath his fingers. "Wednesday afternoon."
He watched as the warm brown eyes situated across the desk filled first with hurt, then confusion.
"Have you made progress since then?"
Harry opened and closed his mouth, settling on the closest truth he could fully grasp. "Nothing that directly relates to Gin. Not yet."
Remus leaned back, shoulders dropping. "I spoke with Arthur on Monday. I try and stay apprised of the search without imposing on them. I know Molly's been very active with the church. She seems to be doing much better than last time."
"She thinks Gin's alive. They all do. And they'll keep on thinking it until we find hard evidence proving otherwise."
Harry watched as Remus glanced to the desk, a bit too sharply.
"You think she's dead."
Remus shook his head, gaze darting back up and complexion waning further. "Of course not, I would never say such a thing–"
"You don't have to. I can see it in your eyes."
His jaw clenched. "I don't think she's dead." He flattened his palms along the wood, as though bracing himself. "But I do think two weeks is a very long time to be missing, in New York City no less."
Harry nodded, fingers loosening from the chair, leaving indentations in their wake. "I thought the same thing when I first returned."
Remus watched him carefully, sunlight dancing across his face and the paneling at his back as a beam of sunlight broke apart. "And now?"
Harry took a deep breath, holding it in until his chest burned with a fire he both feared and craved. "Now, I'm trying to keep an open mind."
He pulled free from the man's gaze, glancing to the window for reprieve, only for his eyes to get caught halfway there by the inset bookcase stretching from floor to ceiling at their side.
He blinked, transfixed. Remus shifted.
"What is it, Harry?"
Harry fought to keep his voice and expression neutral as his eyes rapidly flickered over the varied titles, wondering if it was possible...
"Grimmauld's library is still in boxes, I haven't had time to sort the upstairs."
Remus tilted his head, blinking slowly and following Harry's steady gaze. "Would you… like to borrow a book?"
"If you don't mind, there's not much in the way of distraction there."
He lifted a hand, gesturing to the shelf. "Please, help yourself. You still read before bed?"
Harry pushed swiftly to his feet, muscles burning with anticipation as they uncoiled at last. "Not in a long time. But perhaps it will help me get some actual rest."
He crossed to the wall, well aware the other man's eyes remained fixed firmly upon him.
"It's not an easy house to sleep in," Remus agreed. "Or be awake in. I was amazed Sirius decided to live there after Walburga died."
Harry stopped before the shelves, fingertips tracing the spines. "He was always a glutton for punishment."
A tense pause. Remus released a low sigh.
"That he was."
Harry's heart skipped as a particular binding came into view, sandwiched between two short and fat tomes. His shoulders stiffened as his fingers touched the spine, pinching the free edge and pulling it forward.
Remus leaned back, smiling. "Reminds me of when you were a boy, obsessed with Camelot and dragons."
Harry held the book in both hands, gazing down at the gold lettering along the leather cover.
Mythical Beasts of the Ancient World, Illustrated Guide
He wets his lips, eyes gleaming. "A little fantasy might help me unwind."
Remus drummed his fingers along the corner of the desk. "Then I feel I should warn you, nothing in my collection is fiction. Not for entertainment purposes, anyway. Everything's written from an archaeological and scientific standpoint."
Harry lifted his chin, gripping the book until it threatened to bend. "Even better."
Remus stood, hovering in place for a solid beat before edging closer, every step making Harry's spine go straighter and stiffer until he was certain he'd break apart with the next touch.
"Harry, is everything alright?"
He whipped his head around, brow raised as Remus stopped at his side, eyes downturned in a look of abject devotion and misery, the duality causing Harry's shoulder to erupt with flame.
"Aside from Ginevra, of course."
Harry dropped the book to his side, other hand balled tight to hide the tremor. "As alright as can be expected."
Remus searched his gaze. "It's just that… you seem… different." He shook his head, rubbing the back of his neck and sagging into the bookcase. "I'm doing a terrible job at this, aren't I? I've never been good with words unless I'm describing bone fragments or stratum evolution."
The corner of Harry's lips turned up. "You're doing a fine job, Remus. And I assure you, besides my concern for Ginny, I'm fine."
Remus watched him for a short eternity more, just long to enough to ensure Harry felt inescapable guilt sear a path through his most vital organs like acidic bile.
"It's good to have you home, Harry."
Harry swallowed thickly, throat tightening. "So people keep telling me."
"It bears repeating."
He smiled, forcing his hand to relax and grip the edge of the shelf instead. "You want to hug me again, don't you?"
"Desperately."
He laughed fully as the man surged forward without further invitation, pulling him into another bone-crushing embrace that left them both swaying in place.
After several moments Harry realized Remus had no plans of letting him go any time soon. Rather than twist his way free, he accepted his fate, embracing it fully and dropping his forehead against the man's narrow shoulder.
Wondering when the next bomb would drop.
Hermione inhaled long and deep, air sweet on the back of her tongue, sun warm on her skin. She started down the hallway, sheer curtains blowing in the gentle breeze, daylight spilling in from the open windows, heating the tiles against her bare feet.
She continued her path ahead, pushing the pale fabric aside as it washed her vision with white, obscuring her view of the end of the corridor.
Of the door.
Bright red and glossy. Mesmerizing.
She continued to journey forward, sunlight cutting into her gaze, another curtain blowing into her path. She pushed it aside, standing before the barrier at last. It radiated a powerful current, humming along the floor, radiating through her soles and calves and knees and thighs, pooling warmth at her center. She blinked, confused and frozen, and peered past her white gauzy dress to the floor at her feet, feeling something damp against her toes.
Her heart lurched as water poured out from the crack beneath the door in a powerful torrent, filling the hallway in a rapid rush. Soon her ankles were fully submerged, the hum echoing through her head at deafening volumes, overtaking the terror-filled scream trapped within her mind as the water reached her knees.
And then it changed color.
The flood emitting from beyond the door was stained a deep red, mixing with the river already hovering at her hips, turning the water pink, then ruby, then crimson.
It was at her elbows now. She tried desperately to move her feet but only succeed in swinging her arms. She reached for the only item within grasp.
The knob.
And wrenched the door wide.
Unleashing a tidal wave upon her head.
She screamed at last, words smothered by the ocean of blood that swept her out to sea, sucking her through the open doorway and into the red abyss.
Hermione gasped for breath, snapping upright so quickly her vision swam.
She pressed a hand to her chest, panting heavily, feeling the sweat cool along her forehead and neck. She peered around the darkness, unsure of her surroundings for a jolting beat. But her eyes affixed to the opposite wall a moment later, moonlight glinting off gold frames, revealing a familiar pair of maps.
She fell asleep in her office.
She never slept in her office.
She lurched forward, swinging her legs over the side of the cushion and springing her feet, staggering down the hallway like a drunkard, mind still heavy with sleep, nerves still rattled by the remnants of an already forgotten dream.
"Papa?" She opened his door, peering into the moonlit room with bated breath, sagging against the frame as his steady breathing met her ears a stuttered beat later.
She closed her eyes, rubbing her forehead, barely recalling putting him to bed.
She stepped into the hall and softly closed his door before embarking for the kitchen, turning on lights as she went. She grabbed the kettle off the stove and trudged to the sink, steps weighed by fatigue, her impromptu nap seeming to do more damage than rejuvenation. She reached for the faucet handle but drew up short as a soft tapping filled the room, drawing her focus to the French doors.
Her gaze lowered to the ground as a bright flash of movement caught her eye. She shook her head anew, crossing the tiles and turning the lock, opening the door wide enough for the feline to slip through, body pressing so narrow he seemed to defy the laws of physics.
He raised his nose in the air, sniffing haughtily, glowing eyes slitting thin as he directed the full force of his displeasure upon her. She wet her lips, mouth dry.
"Sorry, Crooks." She shut the door, locking it once more. "I don't remember letting you out."
I don't even remember arriving home from the Museum…
She paced to the stove, leaning against it.
Wonderful. Yet another terrifying development to contend with.
This is how it starts…
Misplaced keys. Open windows. Forgotten dates and appointments. Tiny lapses in the day that grow closer and wider and–
She closed her eyes, nails raking across her scalp.
It's thought to be hereditary…
She forced her lids open, wiping at the corners, refusing to pay the notion any more focus. If she had it, she had it. There was nothing to be done either way.
She turned on the faucet with a sharp tug, jamming the kettle beneath the stream, tongue pressing the roof of her mouth as she fought to keep her rising emotions at bay, only for her thoughts to stutter on a single image. The heart of all the ensuing madness.
The damn jar.
She shook her head, turning the water off and the stove on, heart leaping in time to the click click click of the gas burner as the flame erupted to life, dancing before her eyes as she slid the kettle atop.
She emerged into her office thirty seconds later, flicking on the desk lamp and pacing to her phone in the corner, picking up the receiver and wedging her finger in the rotary dial.
Only to draw up short.
Shit.
Is the phone at Grimmauld still connected?
Even more pertinent…
Do I still remember the number?
She gnawed at her lip, lids squeezing tight as the dial tone thrummed loudly in her ear. Worse yet, Grimmauld was wired to a party line with the entire street, about eight estates total. Perhaps not the best medium to discuss stolen artifacts, large scale crime rings and dead bodies.
She sighed in frustration, slamming the phone onto the cradle.
When a knock sounded at the front door.
She jumped, the noise uprooting her. She'd been so far gone inside her own mind she'd forgotten there was an outside world. But there was only one person it could be at this hour. Her heart bound as quickly as her footsteps, relief turning her weightless.
Crookshanks braced his paws against the entry rug, back arching high as he hissed with a mighty roar, an impressive tribute to his jungle ancestors. But she had no time for such antics, edging him aside with her toes as she turned the deadbolt and opened the door.
"Well, he still hasn't warmed up to y–"
She fell silent, heart stopping.
For it wasn't Harry standing before her.
Not even close.
"Oh, apologies, I…"
She trailed off as a sudden, inescapable fever burned its way across her neck and cheeks, giving away her innermost thoughts as she stared upon the handsome stranger standing on her doorstep. Broad shoulders stretched from end to end of the frame, dark hair swept back in a pristine wave, tinged blue in the moonlight.
"Good evening, Ms. Granger."
His accent was unexpected. British, measured and deep.
She tilted her head, clutching the knob until the brass indented her palm. "I'm sorry, do I know you?"
His answering smile gleamed bright, straight and inviting, even as his eyes turned soft as smoke.
"Not yet."
Her heart thumped erratically, blood leaving her head in a powerful rush and pooling at her feet, locking her heels in place.
"Please, allow me to introduce myself." He wet his lips, leaning in just the tiniest fraction, every movement slow and precise. "My name is Tom Riddle."
His pupils expanded, her reflection staring back at her from the center of his predatory gaze. "And I've been looking for you."