"You must come with me, loving me, to death; or else hate me, and still come with me."
~ Joseph Sheridan Le Fanu, Carmilla

. . .

Hermione carefully lowered the spout, allowing the chamber of the flask to fill with cool liquid. Multi-colored lights danced across the tiles and basin, sunlight reflecting off the stained glass at their backs. Harry glanced around, body wrought with tension as he lifted his own flask from the bowl.

"Are we even allowed to do this?" He asked, eyeing the parishioners scattered throughout the pews.

"Of course."

He edged closer, using his large frame to block view of their task. "You're sure it isn't stealing?"

"Since when have you shied away from stealing?"

His eyes narrowed. "I'm not sixteen anymore. And taking from a Church is a little different than swiping the teacher's grade book."

"What about swiping the principal's car?"

"I didn't drive it off campus."

The corner of her mouth lifted. "No, you drove it into a tree in the parking lot," laughing softly as he rolled his eyes. "The holy water is here for everyone," she assured. "And we left a donation in the box, we won't be smote down." Hermione paused, thinking better of it. "Then again, the day is still young." She pulled her flask from the bowl and screwed the cap into place. "I wish we could have found proper bottles. I detest these things."

"They're small and easy to conceal," Harry replied, opening the bag at his side. She peered inside, setting her flask atop the pile of recently procured items.

"Alright, that's the last of it." She bit her lip, eyes flitting from the mirrored compacts and wooden crosses to the bushel of cloves lining the bottom of the canvas. "I do hope we have enough garlic for everyone."

"We're more stocked than an Italian restaurant."

She ignored the quip. "I'd like for Ron to give some to his brothers as well, it's less conspicuous than lining the wall with crucifixes."

Harry raised a speculative brow. "Is it?"

"I have no idea," she sighed, stepping back as he closed the top flap. "My life stopped making sense the moment you brought me that jar."

He shifted away. Her head snapped up, eyes wide. "I didn't mean—"

"It's okay. And you're right. I wish to God I'd never brought this chaos to your doorstep."

Hermione shook her head, closing the distance and placing a hand on his arm. "You couldn't have known how deep this ran. And whether you brought it to me or not, vampires would still be running around the city. It's better we know the threat exists."

"I'd rather remain blissfully ignorant and safely off their radar."

She smiled. "I was trying to find the silver lining." And then jolted at her own words, hand falling away. "Crap!" A nearby patron glanced at them sharply. "We forgot the silver!"

His shoulders drew back, face tensing for the space of a heartbeat before he placed a staying hand on her shoulder. "It's alright, we've put together a decent Vampire Slayer Starter Pack, we can add more later." He glanced to the sea of stained glass. "Besides, we're losing daylight. I want to get you situated at Grimmauld before taking supplies to—"

"Get me situated?" She drew back swiftly. "What are you talking about?"

He glanced at her in bemusement. "You can't possibly think you can stay at your house after inviting a vampire inside."

A woman approaching the donation box glanced their way. Harry took Hermione's elbow and directed them towards the wall.

"We don't know if that legend applies," Hermione whispered, mindful of the cursory looks they were starting to receive.

"We also don't know if holy water burns them, and yet here we are, in a Church, reeking of garlic." Harry cast his voice low, gaze unyielding. "We agreed at the lab it was better to take every precaution, no matter how outlandish."

"My father—"

"Will come with you. There's more than enough room."

"Exactly," she hissed. "Plenty of room for him to wander off and injure himself."

"We'll seal off the east wing."

"And Crookshanks?"

Harry blinked, visibly fighting back a scowl. "He can prowl the hallways for mice, he'll be the happiest among us."

She sighed deeply. "The house is falling apart, Harry."

He scrubbed a hand over his face, lips pressing thin. Tense silence festered between them as he edged closer, the lines of his face set in absolution. "There are only two options to be had, Mione. You and your father come to Grimmauld, or I move into Waverly with you. But remember this… I've already faced off against one of these things and survived through sheer dumb luck alone."

Hermione swallowed, terrified of the prospect, unwilling to face how close she'd come to losing him.

"If Riddle comes back, if he overpowers me, you'll be left to defend your father by yourself again. And we have no idea if your superhuman strength will return," he continued, prompting her to glance around nervously, wary of eavesdroppers. "But I won't force your hand. You decide. I'll go along with whatever you want."

She closed her eyes, heartbeat reverberating through all four limbs, pressure building in her chest. "We'll come to Grimmauld," she relented, meeting Harry's emerald stare at last. "Temporarily, until we can find a more permanent solution."

He smirked wryly. "Like how to kill the undead bastard."

A man at the end of a nearby pew watched them with blatant interest. Harry leaned down, whispering in her ear. "Let's get out of here before the smoting starts."

She nodded, taking his arm and allowing him to lead her to the entry. He reached forward, opening the door and gesturing her forward.

"Harry?" She asked as they began to descend the stairs to the sidewalk. "Are you sure we shouldn't tell Theo about my…." She glanced around once more, mindful of pedestrian traffic. "Abilities?"

He adjusted the strap over his shoulder, the assorted contents clanking together. "As I said before, I don't want anyone else to know. Not even Ron."

"Why not?"

"Until we know for certain there's something going on I don't want anyone looking at you differently."

Hermione blinked, taken aback by the response. "My skin glowed, Harry, and not in the figurative sense. I looked like a human Christmas tree. Something is most definitely going on. Perhaps they should look at me differently. I might be dangerous."

"You aren't dangerous. Regardless of whatever's happening to you." His voice radiated with conviction. "But it's more than that. Nott's a scientist. I won't have him jamming you full of needles to quell his curiosity."

She clutched his arm tighter, maneuvering around a hydrant. "Maybe he can find a cure."

"You aren't sick!"

Hermione jumped, releasing his arm and stopping in her tracks. He blinked quickly, staggering back as though eager to distance himself from her, nearly colliding with a man walking in the opposite direction.

"Sorry, I just…" He carded a hand through his hair, glancing away, eyes gleaming in the sunlight. "Everything will be okay." He affected in a calmer tone, though it seemed to take a great deal of effort. "We'll figure out what's going on, without turning you into a guinea pig."

Hermione watched him carefully. "And Ron?"

Harry shook his head, stepping in line beside her as they resumed their trek forward. "He wielded a gun in Central Park on no more than a hunch, there's no telling what he'll do if he knows a vampire showed up at your door." He glanced at her from the corner of his eye. "Let's keep this between us. Just for now."

She took a deep breath, nodding slowly.

"But you have to be completely honest with me, Hermione. If anything like last night occurs again, you have to tell me."

She bit her lip, tension coiling tight within her gut. "I will." Her vision dimmed at the edges, a crackle of energy lingering in the air, ghosting across her skin. "I promise."

Theo tilted his head, examining the slumbering mouse with a critical eye. He'd spent over an hour cleaning the cages, cringing at the bits of blood and gore dangling off the bars, staining the straw. Abigail had chewed through two metal barriers, climbing through the divide and consuming four of her living companions... alive. Moreso, she'd devoured them clean to the bone, leaving behind nothing more than skeletons and tufts of fur. Then she'd promptly collapsed, stomach bulging with the evidence of her gruesome meal, white coat stained red and whiskers twitching as she dreamed innocently.

Since discovering the massacre he'd bounced steadily between horror and intrigue, unable to make sense of the anomaly. After all, she hadn't sported fangs, nor did her heart cease to beat. She hadn't drained her victims' blood or sprout bat wings… nothing about her outward appearance had changed, nothing about her actions reflected classical vampire lore…

He felt foolish for feeling a twinge of disappointment.

Theo crossed his arms and tilted his head in the other direction, hoping it may reveal a fresh clue to the ongoing mystery, thoughts racing all the while. He wondered if raw beef could have quelled her appetite, or if the prey had to be alive. Perhaps this was how the virus spread, turning hosts into carnivorous predators. Truly, there was only one way to be certain.

He had to continue testing.

Theo turned away at last, striding to the lab table and lifting the edge of a bloody handkerchief, revealing the remnants of a mouse carcass. He eyed it speculatively before reaching for his gloves, dutifully pulling them on and inspecting the material for any tears, refusing to take any chances. Without knowledge of how the virus spread he couldn't risk coming into contact with it.

The rubber groaned between his fingers as he reached for the scalpel, severing a small sample of the body and setting it atop a glass slide, carefully situating it beneath the microscope. He stepped to the edge of the table and leaned down, adjusting the lens as he peered into the scope, breath turning shallow with anticipation. But after a few minor adjustments he withdrew, jaw clenched in frustration.

There was no sign of the virus in the blood or tissue cells.

It doesn't spread through the bite...

He blinked.

The bite.

And turned swiftly, pulling his gloves free as he cut a determined path across the lab to the back wall, stopping before the metal table and the body it displayed. He'd stripped the corpse as soon as he'd gotten it situated hours prior, examining the female at length, making detailed notes of every injury. There were many to be certain, all of a similar nature.

Teeth marks.

But the bruising around the neck solidified the cause of death as strangulation. Just like the last body he'd purchased off Finnegan. The brutal slayings were yet another layer added to the ever-growing mystery taking shape in his laboratory, but one thing was now abundantly certain… There was a serial killer prowling the streets of New York City. And the madman had a rather perverse signature.

Theo braced his hands against the edge of the metal slab, eyes lingering upon a deep gnaw mark along the girl's ribs. At first glance, it seemed no more than another psychopath on the loose. But after observing the profound effects of the virus first hand, a new theory blossomed to life within his mind.

Perhaps the virus created more than just vampires.

Harry rounded the corner, adjusting the bag over his shoulder as he embarked on the final stretch of private road. He glanced up as the rod iron gates came into view, step faltering as he spotted a tall figure centered before the barrier. The visitor's head was tipped back, blue eyes narrowed upon the mansion as though it had caused him some personal affront.

"Ron?"

The man in question jolted and spun, movements harried as though electrified. "There you are! Christ, I was scared out of my mind! You were supposed to call me this morning!"

Harry blinked, trying to piece together the chaotic string of days and nights that comprised his homecoming. "Sorry, something came up."

"Came up?" Ron's gaze widened, bright and eager. "Did you find a lead?"

Harry's heart dropped like a stone, pace slowing as he drew near. "No."

Ron deflated at once, expression darkening, sending a powerful wave of guilt crashing overhead, ice down Harry's spine. He wanted to tell his friend everything, hated keeping him in the dark. But his words to Hermione rang true. He feared what Ron would do if armed with such knowledge, harboring no doubt the man would light a torch and lead the charge to find Riddle himself. If Harry couldn't overpower the infected, his friend certainly stood no chance. It was better Ron remained focused on Ginny, for everyone's sake.

"I was gathering supplies," he offered, stopping before him.

"Supplies?"

Harry nodded, opening the bag for Ron's perusal. The redhead leaned in, brow lifting. "You've got to be kidding."

"Says the man who pulled a gun in the middle of Central Park."

"With good reason."

Harry rolled his eyes, closing the flap. "Now that we know bullets are useless I figured we could try something old school."

"I'll start whittling stakes," Ron replied with a wry grin.

"Make enough for everyone. Sharing is caring."

His friend chuckled, then rubbed the back of his neck, laughter turning strained. Harry studied him carefully. "What's going on?"

Ron shuffled awkwardly. "I need to talk to you about something."

"Besides vampires and cannibals?"

"Yeah."

Harry fished the keys from his pocket. "That sounds fucking fantastic, come on in."

He unlocked the ivy-strewn gate and motioned his friend through, eyeing the street all the while, catching more than a few lingering stares upon them. Neighbors unsettled by his reappearance in their quaint, privately-gated lives. Uppity fuckers. Harry saluted an elderly woman pretending to prune her rose bushes, watching him blatantly. She huffed in annoyance, turning away as he closed the gate with a laugh. "Another day in paradise," he muttered to himself, leading Ron along the cobblestone path to the front door.

As they entered the foyer Ron's steps faltered, eyes brimming comically wide as he took in the dark interior. Wind whistled through the busted slats, crumpled leaves scraped across the wood floor. "Christ, this place looks like a mausoleum."

"It might as well be." Harry pushed the door shut, the slam echoing off the vaulted ceiling. He waited for bats to start fluttering. "The majority of its residents died here."

Ron's gaze drifted to the barren landing. "What happened to Walburga?"

"I took her down."

"I thought she was permanently adhered to the wall."

"It wouldn't have surprised me." Harry removed the strap from his shoulder, letting the bag drop to the floor with a thump, erupting a cloud of dust. "Weird shit keeps happening."

"Such as?"

Harry thought of the lamp exploding in his hand, the sinister presence dwelling in the shadows, watching, waiting... He tucked his hands into his pockets, shrugging casually. "Nothing of note." He eyed his friend. "Enough about me. What did you want to talk about?"

Ron widened his stance, seeming to brace for the weight of his next words. "Another girl went missing last night." A tense beat. "Maybe."

Harry's brow creased. "From where?"

"We're not sure."

Harry blinked. "We?"

Ron took a steadying breath, shoulder blades flexing. "It's Lavender."

The grandfather clock in the corner ticked loudly as Harry wracked his brain, coming up blank. "Who?"

Ron leaned back, struck by the question. "Who? The girl I met at the fair a couple months before you left."

Harry searched desperately for the memory the words evoked, images slowly taking shape in his mind. His spine straightened as the pieces clicked into place at last. "The girl..." His discomfort was palpable. "I thought… wasn't she…"

Ron lifted his chin, the challenge made clear in his gaze. "Wasn't she what?"

"Nevermind," Harry said automatically, sensing the impending storm on the horizon.

Ron crossed his arms, words clipped. "Yes. She tricks on the side."

"On the side of what?"

His friend scowled, neck and ears reddening. "Since when are you such a judgemental prick?"

"I'm not judging. I'm just trying to get the whole story."

"If you'd shut up I'd give you the whole fucking story."

Harry lifted his own chin, arms crossing as he mirrored the man's battle stance.

"Her roommate paid me a visit this morning," Ron continued, voice cutting like a knife. "Said Lav never came home after visiting with a new client, which has never happened before. They agreed neither would stay out overnight without notifying the other, especially in light of all the disappearances." His expression tensed, the heat in his eyes giving way to raw misery. "She thinks something bad has happened."

Harry's defenses split at the seams, arms lowering. "And what do you think?"

"I don't know." Ron swallowed heavily. "But I want to find out." Harry glanced away, wheels rapidly turning behind his eyes. Ron glared anew. "Oh just fucking say it."

Harry's head snapped up. "Look, I'm not trying to piss you off— but as your best friend I've earned the right to be direct, whether you like what I have to say or not." Ron rolled his eyes. Harry pressed on. "Lavender's been gone less than twenty-four hours, so there's no telling if she's even missing."

His friend opened his mouth, an argument simmering on the tip of his tongue. Harry held up a staying hand, barrelling ahead. "But even if she is, the chance her disappearance is linked to Gin or the others is slim. The majority of missing people come from wealthy, well-connected families. Gin's the outlier, but Lavender is completely off the reservation."

Ron stewed in silent ire.

"I'm just telling you the facts, and you're angry because you know I'm right," Harry continued, undaunted. "Searching for this girl will detract from Ginny. You're free to do whatever the hell you want, but think about why you asked me to come home. Gin's time is running out. Each moment you spend looking for Lavender is a moment your sister slips further away."

Ron's fists clenched, teeth grinding. "I can search for them both."

They held each other's glare pound for pound, floor rumbling with the intensity. Harry glanced away first, recognizing a losing match as easily as stepping into the ring. Ron's mind was made up the moment he arrived at the gates. He hadn't come for advice. He'd come for support. Harry felt another twinge of guilt stir in the pit of his stomach. But there was nothing for it. He stood by everything he'd said.

"Do what you need to do then," Harry concluded simply.

Ron shook his head, dropping his arms and striding for the door, radiating anger with every step. Harry wet his lips, struggling for the right words, a way to remedy this festering wound. But his mind went stunningly blank as his friend paused at the door, gripping the handle tight.

"You left, Harry. You were gone for two years, without a single word." Ron shook his head, glaring pointedly at the wall. "Mione buried herself under work. Gin closed herself away. Fred and George moved out and Charlie ran off to the fucking jungle. I had no one." His jaw swiveled from side to side, voice turning hoarse. "Except for Lavender."

He swallowed heavily, Adam's apple bobbing high. "She listened. She cared. She was my only source of…" The knob rattled beneath his fist. "Yes, she's a hooker. But she's my friend as well and right now she needs me. I'm not going to let her down. I'm not choosing her over Gin. I won't lose either of them." A weighted pause. "And you were wrong before." He glanced back, meeting Harry's agonized gaze. "You say you're my best friend. But not anymore. Now you're just a stranger I barely recognize. And the only thing keeping us connected is Gin. If she's dead…" A deafening beat. Harry released a slow breath. "I think you should go back to California."

The pain was immense, crippling and swift. Harry rocked back, struck by a physical blow. His throat pulled tight, silencing any words he might have conjured. Instead, he watched in silent misery as Ron opened the door and stepped through, slamming it at his back with such force it threatened to split the frame. A fresh plume of dust burst to life with the motion, caught in the breeze and dancing in the sunlight before settling in a film across Harry's front. And for just a moment, he wondered if he wasn't just another forgotten antique trapped within these crumbling walls.

Hermione crossed her legs, shifting restlessly as the cab turned the corner onto the busy thoroughfare. Her fingers tapped the lid of Crookshanks' crate, the plastic container wedged firmly between them. She watched her father closely, unable to hide her mounting anxiety as they ventured deeper and deeper into traffic, terrified the sight of the bustling city would overwhelm him.

But it seemed her fears were for naught. He bounced eagerly in his seat, eyes wide and fixed to the window like a kid on Christmas morning. The sight gave her pause, soothing her nerves and bringing a delighted smile to her face.

Until he spoke.

"I wish Hermione could see this."

Her heart dropped. She swallowed her disappointment, leaning forward to catch a glimpse of whatever held his attention rapt. But all she spotted were trees and cars, shops and cafés, a sea of pedestrians absorbed in their own mundane daily tasks.

"One more year and she'll be old enough to come along. She's so excited to travel. To dig."

Her pulse skipped at the sting his words induced. She fought the surge of emotion, wondering what scene was playing through his mind at this very moment, hoping the memory was more pleasant than their current reality.

He tilted his head, eyes reflecting brightly in the smudged window. "She's going to be the greatest archaeologist the world has ever known."

Hermione glanced away, heart lodged firmly in her throat. The pride in his voice was unmistakable.

If only he could see me now.

She closed her eyes as they turned the corner, entering the private community at last. Crookshanks mewled, echoing her rising discomfort. She stuck her fingers through the grate, stroking his fur in an attempt to provide comfort to them both.

"I do hope the permit extension was approved. We've already hired the crew. I don't want to face an uprising if we have to send them home," he continued, eyes never straying from the window.

"It'll be fine, Papa. We're almost there." Her eyes drifted up, meeting the driver's curious gaze in the rearview mirror. Warmth stained her cheeks, relief loosening her spine as her father fell silent at last. She turned her attention to her own window, watching the houses grow larger and larger until they were passing mansions, coming to a stop before the largest and darkest of them all. The sprawling Gothic structure filled the pane, blocking out the sunlight.

And then her father opened his door, leaping out as the cab was rocking to a stop. She spun with a gasp, grabbing the crate and scrambling after him.

"Papa, wait!"

"M'am! A dollar eighty!" The driver shouted, turning in his seat.

She blinked, settling into place. "Oh, right. Sorry." She reached into her purse, breathing a sigh of ease as her father stopped before the ivy-covered gate.

"It's alright," the stranger stated, voice softening. "My mother went through it at the end as well."

Hermione's gaze snapped forward, movements stilling. She replayed the words twice in her head, unable to contrive a response. "She…"

"Died. Two years ago."

Hermione sat frozen for another jarring beat before leaning in, drawn by their mutual misery. "May I ask… how long did it take?"

He sighed, resting an arm over the seat. "The day she stopped recognizing me and my brother marked the end. She passed a few months later."

She fell back into the cracked leather upholstery. A few months? Her father only recognized her half the time anymore...

Suddenly the gate parted, a familiar figure emerging.

"Mione!"

She jolted at Harry's voice and Crookshanks' answering hiss, fishing the bills from her wallet and handing them over. "Thank you for the ride. And I'm so very sorry for your loss. Please, keep the change."

He nodded, accepting the cash. "Have a nice day, Miss."

Hermione tore her gaze away, lifting the crate and rising from the cab, eager to leave the melancholy atmosphere behind. She closed the door with her hip, smiling as Harry approached. "Sorry it took so long. I wasn't sure how much to pack."

The trunk popped open at their sides.

"Do you mind helping with the bags?"

"Course not," he replied at once, carding a hand through his chaotic locks. "You head in, I'll bring them up."

A low growl emanated from the back of the carrier, Crookshanks huddled at the far end as though preparing to pounce. She fought to steady the container, shaking her head in amusement as Harry scowled, meeting the feline's glowing gaze through the bars. She turned the direction of the carrier around, breaking their staring contest and starting for the gates.

"Come on, Papa."

Harry blinked, spinning on his heel, seeming to remember the man's presence at the same moment. He smiled warmly, holding out his hand. "Hello Profess—" He choked back the second half of the title, grin strained. "Mr. Granger."

"James!" Her father called out, startling them both with an explosion of exuberance. Harry stiffened as he was clapped on the shoulder and pulled in for a tight embrace. "It's been too long!" Her father laughed, drawing back and gripping Harry's arms. "How's Lily? Have you gotten the nursery together?"

Harry opened and closed his mouth, blinking quickly.

"Helen has been badgering me with questions but I told her not to call you every five minutes. After the scare we had with Hermione she's practically beside herself whenever a friend's due date draws near." He gripped Harry's shoulder once more, squeezing. "But there's nothing to fear, my friend. Your son will be born healthy and strong."

Harry's throat bobbed, muscles drawn tight. "Thank you…" his eyes flickered to Hermione and back. "Richard."

She blinked back tears, glancing away as her father's demeanor changed in the next breath. His eyes dimmed, limbs going lax as his hands dropped lifelessly to his sides. She cleared her throat, stepping forward and gripping his arm.

"Let's go, Papa."

She began to direct him towards the house, glancing silently at Harry. He held her gaze a moment more before turning for the trunk. She glanced down, navigating the cobblestone path to the front porch. But once they reached the rotting steps her father stopped, rocking in place as though hitting an invisible barrier.

"We aren't supposed to be here."

She stumbled over a stray rock, taken aback at the gravity of his voice. She studied his profile, adjusting her grip on the carrier handle as Crookshanks began rioting anew. "Sure we are, Harry invited us." She fought to maintain her grip on the thrashing crate. "It's alright, Papa. This is only for a little while. We'll be home in no time."

He blinked slowly, clarity slipping beneath the murky surface of his mind. She took his hand as they embarked the rickety steps. The front door stood ajar, revealing a shadowed entry. A cool breeze swept past as they crossed the threshold, dried leaves scattering in the current. The boarded windows afforded little sunlight but the cobwebs on the ceiling hung in stark relief, casting intricate shadows across the walls. She released a weighted sigh, resigned to spending the next few days cleaning.

At last, she set the rattling crate on the ground, kneeling beside it. "Alright, Crooks. Remember, we're guests here. I expect you to be on your best behavior." He settled at once, purring low and pawing innocently at the bars. She rolled her eyes, unconvinced by the display but reaching for the door all the same, barely opening it a crack before the feline darted out like a shot, tearing around the corner in a flash of orange. "Don't break anything!" She called after his shadow, rising to her feet.

A sudden creak on the landing drew her gaze. The opposing wall stood empty, the wallpaper shifting before her eyes, the panel beneath pulsing in time to her own heart. She blinked, rubbing her eyes, the wall turning stagnant once more, but the shadows continued to undulate. A trick of the light. Her shoulders drew in, feet shuffling closer to her father.

"Right then. Let's wait for Harry, shall we?"

He startled her by taking her hand in both of his palms. "Please, Hermione."

She glanced up, speechless at his use of her name, the conviction of his tone. He held her gaze steady, the gleam of his irises and intensity of his expression reminding her of something just out of reach… a time long ago, a dream long forgotten.

"You aren't safe here, darling." He squeezed her hand until the bones threatened to break, pressing it to his chest, heart beating steadily behind his ribs. "Promise me you'll—"

Harry entered loudly at their backs, kicking the door shut as he lowered their bags with a thump. Her father released her hand. She swallowed thickly, searching his gaze. "Papa?" But his expression rapidly turned vacant, eyes drifting aimlessly. She shook her head, leaning in. "Promise you what?"

He turned away, beginning to shuffle forward. She released her breath in a dizzying rush, drained by the onslaught of emotion, looking to Harry on instinct. Her eyes held a desperation she couldn't hide, though she hadn't the faintest clue what she was seeking. But her friend seemed to know just what she needed, his smile an instant balm to her nerves.

"Let me show you upstairs. I'll bring your bags after."

She nodded quickly, reaching for her father once again, taking his hand and following Harry up the grand staircase. He led them to the first room in the east corridor, pausing before the door.

"I figured you want to be side-by-side. I spent the most time cleaning up in here. I nailed the windows shut and… well, I tried to dust." He rubbed the back of his neck, cheeks coloring as he pushed the door wide, switching on the light. "I know it's a bit—"

"It's great, Harry. Thank you."

Her friend sighed, her words seeming to provide little consolation as he watched her lead her father to the bed at the center of the room. He sat on the edge without argument, staring blankly at the wall. She lowered to her haunches before him, trying to catch his gaze.

"This is your room, Papa. I'll be right next door. If you need anything just call out, I'll come to you."

He didn't react to her words, didn't meet her eye. Her shoulders dropped, hand pressing her chest as the silence ate its way through muscle and bone, hollowing her ribs. One day soon he'd stop talking altogether. The memories would fade entirely. She would fade entirely...

Hermione looked away with a grimace, rising swiftly and exiting the room without a word. She wiped her eyes as Harry emerged behind her, gently closing the door at their backs. He tried to meet her gaze but she refused to glance in his direction, until at last he relented with a sigh, leading the way to the open doorway beside her father's room.

The layout of her bedroom was identical to the first, apart from the dizzying pattern of the textiles and wallpaper, the furniture greatly mismatched, a clear sign Harry had thrown it all together just before their arrival. His haphazard preparation was further evidenced by the knee-deep layer of dust coating nearly every hard surface. He crossed his arms. "I know it's…" His brow creased. "I changed the bedding but I'm still going to clean—"

"It's alright, Harry."

His emerald gaze snapped forward. "No, it's not. None of this is alright." The intensity of the words silenced her. She watched in a numb stupor as his arms dropped, body drawing near, an approaching hurricane she had no desire to escape. "I'm so sorry, Mione."

She blinked rapidly, tears overspilling her eyes in a powerful torrent, the floodgates crashing open all at once. She sucked in a trembling breath, releasing it in a strangled sob. Harry reached forward, grabbing her arm and pulling her into his chest. Hermione sought immediate shelter, burying her sopping face in his shirt, desperate to block out the light, the room, reality, for just a moment. She fought to control the volume of her outburst, terrified her father would overhear, that he'd worry... if worry was something he was even capable of feeling anymore.

"I'm so scared," she gasped, eyes squeezed tight. "Everything is falling apart and I can't put it back together. I don't know how." She took comfort in his solid presence, the hands stroking her hair, the chin resting atop her head. "I'm tired of being scared, Harry." She clutched the fabric of his shirt with both hands, fists trembling. "I'm tired of being alone."

He swallowed heavily, throat bobbing against her temple. "You aren't alone anymore. I'm here now." His arms tightened around her back, the heat of his body quelling the frigid chill in the air. "And I'm not going anywhere."

Tom stood with unnatural stillness, stomach tightening as he gazed upon the building across the street. Even from a distance he knew it sat vacant, the powerful cloud of her scent absent, her energy signature reduced to a faint glimmer. His Egyptologist had left and taken the old man and beastly feline with her.

Tom stepped away from the curb, turning for the sidewalk and wondering just how much she knew. He'd be finding out soon enough. Discovering her home empty wasn't a surprise, but the lack of squad cars awaiting his return was telling. She hadn't turned to the authorities following the attack… which meant she was hiding something. Something that terrified her more than him. And he was certain he knew what it was.

Tom progressed down the pavement, pedestrians veering out of his path with every step. The scent of fear and desire poured from them in toxic clouds, a heady combination he was used to eliciting and rarely paid notice to. But tonight they were proving a great hindrance, overlaying the remnants of Her scent, a fragrance unlike any he'd previously encountered in this cesspool of a city.

He stepped off the curb and began to cross the street, so absorbed in his task he barely smelled the smoke exhaust in time, moving back with lightning reflexes as a car swerved, honking wildly. His jaw tensed, gut clenching with hunger and agitation. He was distracted, still on edge from this morning's phone call, leaving him in desperate need of release… before finding his Egyptologist. Otherwise, he was bound to do something abundantly foolish, and she was far too precious to waste.

He paced back to the sidewalk and made his way towards the first alley he passed, empty save for an overflowing dumpster and slumbering vagrant. He leaped the ten-foot expanse between the blacktop and fire escape, deftly ascending the metal steps to the rooftop. He stepped along the edge, breathing in the night air and all of her collective scents, shoulders drawing wide. He could still smell her, just barely. She'd left hours earlier, likely by cab, which only degraded her scent further. But he sensed her aura, a static electricity dancing across his skin, leading the path ahead.

He darted forward, leaping from rooftop to rooftop, a dark smudge on the inky backdrop of night, making it another handful of blocks before he heard the shrill scream tear through his concentration. He paused, attention diverted beyond his control, predatory instincts flaring red as the wail turned muffled, followed by the low hiss of masculine voices.

"Shut her up!"

"I'm trying! Hurry the fuck up!"

Tom continued ahead, dismissing the commotion at his back. Until another scream filled the night, desperate, dying, followed by a gasp of pain. He stopped once more, stomach growling.

Fuck.

"Ow! Dumb cunt bit me!"

A sharp slap, a sob.

"Hold her still, I'm going first."

Tom changed direction, leaping onto the neighboring rooftop and pacing to the edge, peering into the dark divide between abandoned buildings.

"You went first last time."

"And I'm going first again, you have a problem with that?"

He spotted movement at the back of the alley, the exit blocked by a metal fence. Two men stood facing away from him. One punched the other, sending his companion sprawling into the brick wall.

"That's what I thought. Now shut the fuck up and hold her down."

Tom's eyes gleamed, catching sight of the woman laid before them, barefoot and kicking, stockings ripped and blouse torn, revealing a dirtied camisole.

"Stop crying, stupid bitch. This is what happens when your kind comes into our neighborhood." The first man lowered his weight atop her legs as she continued to thrash. "You don't like it, you can go back to whatever filthy country you came from."

He pressed a hand to her mouth, only to withdraw the appendage a moment later, skin broken and bloody.

"I'm from Harlem, you fucking idiot!" She screamed, eyes glinting manic with rage and tears, blood gleaming on her teeth.

He slapped her, splitting her bottom lip. Tom dropped to the pavement several yards away. Neither man glanced in his direction, preoccupied with holding down her limbs. Her dark eyes darted between her attackers, and then caught sight of Tom's approach, flaring even wider. The man atop her legs seemed to sense a new presence, glancing up at last. Tom grabbed him by the scruff of the neck and wrenched him back, tossing him with more strength than intended. The frail human flew several feet through the air, colliding with the brick and collapsing in a heap.

The man holding her wrists sprung to his feet, pressing into the gate with a terrified yelp. Tom reached out and grabbed him by the throat, intending to pull him forward but instead tearing out his larynx. Blood spurted like a fountain, soaking Tom's hand and shirt as the human clutched at the gaping wound, face turning white as chalk.

"Shite." Tom dropped the organ atop the garbage at his feet, staring at the carnage dripping from his palm before wiping it clean on the man's jacket as he collapsed to his knees.

Splendid. Another mess to clean.

The young woman gasped, crawling backward until she pressed flat to the gate, arms wrapping her legs as she inhaled sharply, intent clear in her terrified gaze.

Tom pinned her with a lethal glare. "Don't scream."

She gulped, lips trembling as she nodded frantically.

"Good girl. Stay put."

He turned on his heel, walking casually to the center of the alley where the first man staggered to his feet, clutching his head, a thin bead of blood dripping from his hairline to his jaw. Meanwhile, his throatless companion fell face-down atop the cement, gurgling blood and spittle, movements slowing, red pooling beneath his still form.

The stumbling idiot caught sight of Tom at last, body locked with terror. "Whoa! Get the fuck away from me, man!"

Tom continued forward, unabated as the human staggered back, tripping over his own feet as he pulled something from his pocket, fumbling to keep his grip. A click, followed by a narrow gleam of metal. He held the switchblade aloft, arm trembling.

"I'll kill you!"

Tom ripped the blade from his hand, tossing the toy aside. "Let me see your arm."

The man blinked, colliding with the brick, staring after his discarded knife with visceral panic.

"Roll up your sleeve or I'll sever the appendage from your body," Tom instructed calmly, stopping a few feet away.

The human swallowed audibly, shrugging free of his coat and rolling up his sleeve with jittering movements. Tom's gaze narrowed upon the pale expanse of flesh in the moonlight. No track marks. What do you know, his first pleasant surprise of the evening. He smiled, eyes glinting brighter than the forgotten blade. "This is what happens when your kind comes into my city."

He reached out with blinding speed, gripping his prey by the head and shoulder and exposing his throat, surging forward with his fangs fully extended, twin daggers plunging into the pulsing artery with bruising force. He took four deep swallows, just enough to quell the worst of his gnawing hunger pains, a pitiful consultation prize to the burning appetite his Egyptologist had created. The scent of her blood still lingered upon him like a physical touch. Alas, this meager meal would have to suffice.

For now.

Tom pulled out of the man's neck with a violent tug, widening the wound and stepping back, straightening his suit jacket as the human fell to his knees, blood cascading down his chest in a gleaming river. Tom adjusted his cufflinks and turned to the end of the alley as the man fell forward with a pained gasp, bright red coating his hands as he attempted to staunch the rapid flow.

A soft keen filled the dampened night. The girl watched his slow progress through horror-stricken eyes, shoulders drawing tight as she made herself as small as possible. Tom wiped the blood from his chin, carding a clean hand through his hair as he reached the huddled figure, gazing steadily upon her, considering. Though he was no longer driven by base hunger he wasn't opposed to washing out the bitter taste in his mouth with something much sweeter…

As though she could read the direction of his thoughts she scooted sideways, colliding with a stack of busted crates, trapped and sobbing. "P-Please..." she gasped, tears streaming down her cheeks, tracking mascara in their wake. "Please don't kill me."

Tom sighed, the feral gleam in his eye fading at her broken plea. "Stand up."

She blinked twice, as though confused by the command, but came to her senses in the next moment, struggling to rise on trembling legs. He inspected her disheveled figure from bottom to top. "Tell me your name."

She pulled the tattered scraps of her blouse together, arms crossed tight over front, a meager shield. "Angelina."

He watched in silence as she fussed with the remainder her clothing, pulling the hem of her bunched pencil skirt over scuffed knees, toes curling against the filthy pavement.

"You shouldn't travel alone at night, Angelina. Especially through this neighborhood." His tone was edged in boredom, unsurprised with mortal stupidity at this point. He removed his jacket and held it out. She leaned back, startled by the swiftness of his movements, even more so by the offering, but accepted it with a trembling hand.

"T-Thank you," she whispered, voice quivering, hysteria blossoming to life now that the adrenaline had ebbed. She slid her arms into the garment, swimming in its mass as she pulled it closed across her front.

"You don't live here," he stated, able to discern as much by her current predicament.

She shook her head. "I was meeting a friend after work."

Tom raised a dark brow. Humans. They practically sought out a violent death. "That was very foolish."

She closed her eyes, a lingering tear spilling free. He inspected her a hairsbreadth longer before stepping back, confident she wouldn't cause a scene. "Get out of here."

Her eyes snapped wide, bloodshot and glistening. He gestured to the mouth of the alley, impatience riding him hard as she finally pushed away from the gate.

"Thank you!"

She made it five feet before he called her attention back.

"One more thing."

She stopped in her tracks, swaying precariously, muscles tensed as though braced for attack. He waited until she met his eye, casting an invisible net upon her.

"You'll remember this night, their attack, your unbridled terror. You'll remember how close you came to being raped and killed before narrowly slipping their grasp." His eyes took on their metallic gleam, hypnotic. "You escaped on your own. You never saw me or the bodies. And you'll never venture into this neighborhood alone again. Do you understand?"

She swallowed thickly, stare vacant and glazed. "Yes."

He nodded, releasing her. "Go."

She staggered in place, pressing a hand to her temple before spinning in a dazed rush and sprinting for the mouth of the alley, pausing only to collect her discarded heels, oblivious to the corpse lying a few feet away and the rapidly expanding pool of red beside it. A moment later she rounded the corner, her heartbeat blending into the traffic.

Tom shook his head. It was like herding mentally challenged cats. He paced to the body at the wall, staring down with bored detachment. And then he caught sight of the red drenching his shirt front, anger rapidly swelling.

Shite indeed.

It seemed his plans for the evening had changed once more. He could hardly pay Ms. Granger a visit looking like the creature she feared he was. Unlike their first encounter, his intention tonight wasn't to terrify her. Quite the opposite. Alas, he needed to discard of the bodies before human law enforcement discovered them. Their cause of death was too suspicious to leave for daylight hours. By the time he finished sunrise would be fast approaching. Not nearly enough time to commandeer her; not with her supernatural abilities to contend with.

Tom leaned down, grabbing the corpse's arm and dragging it towards its lifeless companion at the other end. There was little choice now. If he couldn't go to Hermione…

He'd bring Hermione to him.

Harry took a steadying breath, squaring his shoulders before knocking, shuffling awkwardly in the narrow hall. To say he dreaded the impending conversation was a gross understatement. But he couldn't leave things the way they stood. If something happened before they had the chance to reconcile… he'd never be able to live with himself. He'd already wasted two years. He refused to lose another second.

The door opened. He braced himself, then deflated as another face greeted him on the other side, complete with an obscene smile.

"Captain Potter," Fred announced at deafening volume, crossing his arms and leaning into the frame. "We're honored you deemed to grace us with your presence."

"And what brings you to our humble abode?" George asked, appearing from thin air as though dropping in from a trapeze.

Harry sighed. Of course, this had to turn into a colossal pain in the ass. "Is Ron here?"

"Haven't seen Ronniekins since this morning," Fred responded, Cheshire grin still firmly affixed, setting Harry even more on edge.

"He wasn't at the Burrow either," Harry muttered, scratching the back of his head and glancing away. "If he comes by later, will you tell him…" He swallowed heavily, thinking better of it. "Nevermind."

The twins exchanged a loaded glance, eyes gleaming bright.

"Do I scent a lover's quarrel?"

"Trouble in paradise?"

"Sleeping in separate rooms, are we?"

Harry rolled his eyes, pushing away from the frame. "Thanks anyway." He started to turn when a hand caught his arm, pulling him back.

"Oh come on, don't run off, we're just playing around," Fred laughed, throwing an arm around his neck, immune to Harry's scowl as he dragged him inside. "I'm starting to think you don't have a sense of humor outside of the ring."

George closed the door behind them. "Stick around, say hi to Charlie."

Harry blinked, shrugging free of the restraining grip. "Charlie's here?"

They laughed in unison.

"The caveman is drawing bison on one of these stone walls." George created a megaphone with his hands, shouting into the clothing-strewn hallway. "Charlotte! You have a gentleman caller!"

A muffled thump sounded. Harry glanced around the living room, pulse skipping at the unmitigated chaos covering every surface. Empty take-out containers balanced impressively high on the coffee table, cola bottles scattered atop the frayed carpet, accompanied by filthy socks and torn newspaper and what looked disturbingly like rat droppings—

A figure emerged in the hall, drawing his attention. A familiar sight, though slightly older and wilder than the last time he'd set eyes upon him. The elder Weasley brother wore his hair long, tied-back, and had acquired a series of tribal tattoos, intricate patterns decorating his bare chest and arms. But his smile was the same, warm and welcoming.

"Tarzan emerges," Fred quipped.

"I hope we didn't disturb your beauty rest," his twin added.

"Do either of you have an off switch?"

"Yes. It's called tequila."

Charlie rolled his eyes, stepping over an upturned laundry basket and entering the main room. "Harry, good to see you."

Harry nodded, attempting to meet him halfway before kicking over a broken alarm clock, the bell rattling twice and dying abruptly. "It's been too long. Welcome home, Charlie."

The man pulled him into a quick embrace. "I could say the same to you. How was California?"

Harry fought back a cringe, attempting to school his expression as they parted ways, knowing what was to follow. The question that always followed—

"Holy shit. You get scratched out there?"

His heart jolted at the turn of phrase, plastering on a half-hearted grin and stepping back. "Afraid so. Glass on the mat."

Charlie tilted his head, studying the scar. "Glass? That looks like a—"

Harry felt the blood drain from his face, something in the man's assessing gaze causing his pulse to thrum erratically. But Charlie didn't finish his statement, meeting his eye instead. Harry couldn't read his expression, was terrified to know what he could possibly be thinking, but was saved from future suffering as Charlie cleared his throat. "Tough break," he stated simply.

Harry released a slow breath, tension rapidly uncoiling. And then the twins stepped forward, flanking them on either side, eyes churning with mischief.

"Well, with that heartfelt reunion out of the way can we please discuss your award-winning manipulation of Won-Won?" Fred asked.

Harry pinched the bridge of his nose as Charlie glanced between them.

"Seriously, Potter," George started. "We've sent him on some wild goose chases over the years but nothing quite compares to this."

The elder Weasley lifted a brow. "What are they talking about?"

"Harry here convinced our sweet baby brother that Nosferatu is prowling the city at night, snatching up fair young maidens where they lay, our sister included."

Harry closed his eyes, releasing a weary sigh. Charlie watched him carefully, smirking all the while. "I have a feeling they ad-libbed."

"Excessively."

"Please," Fred scoffed. "You can't improve on perfection."

"Seriously, Potter, we'd fall down in worship if the carpet wasn't full of tetanus."

Guilt rode Harry hard, the urge to defend his friend bubbling in his throat. But he quelled the urge, knowing the can of worms it would open. He didn't have time to convince the three of them right now.

Charlie seemed to sense his rising discomfort, turning to his brothers with a heatless glare. "Aren't you idiots supposed to be at work?"

Their smiles dropped in unison.

"Thanks for the reminder, Buzz Kill Betty."

"We apologize for the wet rag, Harry. The tattoos are obviously just for show."

Charlie gestured to the door. "We're missing you already."

George swept into a low bow, backing away slowly. "Bon Voyage, Captain. We'll finish this conversation later."

Fred followed suit, throwing in a mock-salute. "We simply must know how you worked your magic over on Ronniekins."

Harry breathed a heavy sigh as they disappeared into the hall, the door closing on their dual cackles. Charlie shook his head, looking equally wind-blown by the twin hurricane. "Sorry about that. They've been unbearable these last two weeks. Overcompensating for Gin, I should think."

"Oh yes. I can tell they're miserable."

Charlie's expression sobered. "They are. Trust me. They just have a different way of showing it."

Harry turned, glancing the wreckage surrounding them on all sides. "Well, they certainly don't channel their misery through cleaning."

"When they aren't working they're searching. They only come home to sleep every few days, hence the endless string of shitty puns. They haven't had time to write any new material."

Harry toed aside an empty bottle. "And here I thought they were losing their touch."

Charlie sidestepped debris to the couch, leaning over to fish a rumpled shirt from behind a pillow, turning it right side out and tugging it overhead, his tattoos seeming to animate with the movement. "So…" He pulled the cotton down, concealing the ink from view. "Vampires?"

Harry blinked, eyes flickering up. "It's a long story."

"I'd be interested to hear it." His blue gaze drifted to Harry's scar, lingering. Harry scrambled for what to say, and then his own gaze drifted to the open window, the dark sky overlaying the vibrant city.

The sun had set.

Hermione.

His body tensed. "Swing by Grimmauld and I'll tell it to you."

Charlie nodded, crossing his arms. "I'll do that."

Harry started to back away, fear mounting with each passing second. Time had gotten away from him. "It was great seeing you but I—"

"Have to go."

Harry nodded, turning for the door.

"Thank you, Harry."

He paused, hand halfway to the knob, glancing back in confusion.

"For helping us look for her," Charlie continued, eyes seeming brighter than moments before.

Harry's body pulsed, knees locking in place. "Nothing could stop me."

They held each other's gaze. Harry wet his lips, considering… and relented, gripping the knob tight. "Be careful out there. The City… it's changed."

Charlie tilted his head, appearing unphased by the warning. "Changed?"

Harry's jaw clenched tight as he searched for the words. "Darker. More dangerous." A brief pause. "Alive."

Charlie smiled, teeth aligned and gleaming. "Then it's no different from the jungle." A short laugh. "I think I can manage."

Harry wasn't so sure. He tried to muster a parting smile but was too drained to accomplish the task. So he settled for a meaningful nod as he opened the door. "Let's hope so."

Parvati pinned her bottom lip between her teeth, tilting her body and adjusting the angle of the next throw, pulse soaring with victory as the rock clipped the edge of the window frame with a bang.

A man passed along the opposite end of the alley, eyeing her with interest. She pinned him with her most lethal glare, raising a fist. "Keep walking, asshole."

He quickly glanced forward, pulling his collar high and lengthening his step. The window opened, drawing her focus upward. A pale face appeared on the second story, long hair cascading over the ledge like a fairytale princess.

"Luna!" She hissed, edging closer to the wall.

Her friend rubbed sleep from her eyes, blinking into the narrow alley. "Parvati?"

"Let me in!"

Luna nodded, pushing back and disappearing from sight. Parvati stepped before the door, bouncing on the balls of her feet as she tucked her hands into her pockets, only to still, overcome by the powerful sensation of eyes upon her. She glanced at the mouth of the alley, spotting the empty street ahead, and then into the darkness at the other end, seeing nothing but trash and stray cats.

The door opened, causing her to jolt, attention snapping forward. Luna eyed her carefully, pale brows creased. "Parvati? Are you alright?"

Parvati swallowed, struggling to keep her voice level. "I need your help."

"Of course." The blonde nodded without hesitation, stepping back. "Come in."

Parvati stepped over the threshold, casting a quick glance around the dark shop as her friend locked the door at their backs. A candle sat on the counter, casting the surrounding shelves in a flickering glow.

"Something's happened," Luna stated, eyeing her warily.

Parvati nodded tightly, lips pressing thin.

"What is it?"

"Please…" Parvati closed her eyes. "Don't make me say it."

Luna stepped forward, gently grasping her arms, prompting her lids to part, gaze lost, desperate. The blonde held her stare, irises lightening until they were barely visible against the whites of her eyes.

And then the flashes started.

Images racing through her mind like clips from a film reel, seemingly random at first, then quickly focusing around a common theme. Lavender. Snippets of their fight, that last fateful exchange, the memory evoking a sharp pain in her chest. Followed by scenes of the morning after, waking to find her roommate's bedroom empty. The panic and devastation of seeing the bed untouched. She closed her eyes once more, resolve crippled by the onslaught, nowhere to hide from the waking nightmare unfolding within her own mind.

Until finally Luna blinked, hands tightening on her arms as the connection severed. Parvati's thoughts settled, mind blissfully blank, the sudden emptiness more unsettling than the images themselves.

"Parvati, I'm so sorry."

She clenched her jaw, opening her eyes and pulling out of the woman's grasp. "I need you, Luna. I need you to help me find her."

"Parvati, I'll do everything I can, but you know my sight is limited."

"You can see a person's deepest darkest secrets. You can find the bastard who took her."

"I can read surface thoughts of those in close proximity." Luna's face crumpled, stricken by her own words. "I can't conjure visions out of thin air."

Parvati's fists tightened at her sides, spine lengthening. "Then we'll scour the city until we find someone who knows something."

"They'd have to already be thinking about Lavender for me to take notice. And you know the energy it takes to read even one mind. I'd never be able to manage hundreds, thousands… it would take months."

"Luna—" Her voice broke. She rocked in place, inhaling sharply and trying again. "Please. You're all I have."

Luna stepped closer, hands raising as though to reach out. "I'll do everything I can, Parvati. I promise."

Parvati's vision blurred, tears welling beyond her control. She wiped them away at once. There wasn't time for such outbursts. Crying did nothing.

"I'm scared, Luna. Something's wrong. I know it."

"Lavender is strong—"

"She isn't strong!" She yelled, fire kindling to life in her chest, erupting in black smoke. "She's soft and gentle and kind. Too kind, too trusting. That's why she has me. That's why we have each other. She needs me and I can't find her. I can't help her—"

"Parvati, breathe."

She shook her head frantically, grabbing handfuls of her dark hair and pulling at the root. "I don't know what to do. Tell me what to do, Luna."

Luna grabbed her wrists, tugging her hands away. "I saw a man. From earlier today. You were arguing with him in the street."

Parvati blinked, reeling with the statement. "Weasley?" She opened and closed her mouth, tamping the humorless laugh before it got away from her. "He's harmless. And useless. Says he's helping me search."

The blonde nodded, still holding her arms. "Good." And then she began pulling her towards the back of the shop. "Come upstairs. You'll spend the night here, we'll figure out what to do next."

Parvati swallowed past the constriction in her throat, putting up no resistance as she shuffled after her friend, every step a painful feat. "Thank you."

Luna smiled gently, grabbing the candle off the counter and stepping through the beaded curtain, leading the path to the stairs. To answers. To hope.

The golden doors parted with a soft chime. Tom stepped free of the elevator and started down the hall with measured steps, unbuttoning the front of his shirt as he went, the fabric stiff with dried blood. The door at the far end opened before he reached it, Abraxas standing sentinel on the other side, stature frozen but for the arch of a pale brow.

"Interesting night?"

Tom moved past him, tugging the hem out of his waistband. "Not especially." He shrugged free of the soiled garment and tossed it carelessly aside, the shirt landing over the back of a velvet armchair. His General stepped forward, picking it up.

"You didn't find your Egyptologist then."

"I was sidetracked."

Abraxas' pupils expanded as he brought the fabric closer, focusing upon the massive blood stain, swallowing thickly.

Tom started for the hallway, not bothering to glance back. "Go. Eat."

His General stood at attention, dropping the fabric to his side and shaking his head, starting to speak.

"That's an order," Tom concluded, rounding the corner. "You're no use to me distracted."

The blonde nodded swiftly, following him into the hall. "Yes, Sir."

Tom paused in the doorway of his bedroom. "Don't return until sunrise."

Abraxas seemed to consider the statement before nodding once again, realization dawning in his pale gaze. "I'll unplug the phone."

Tom reached for the doors on either side. "Going to wish me luck?"

Abraxas tipped his head, smirking faintly. "You joke, but with this one, you might actually need it."

Tom resisted the urge to roll his eyes, closing the doors without a parting word, though he couldn't help but mutter to himself, "I don't doubt it."

Harry raced across the rotting steps so quickly he lost his footing, clipping his shoulder against the splintered post as he reached the porch. He was an idiot for staying out so long, for not managing his time better. If anything happened—

He tore inside, darting across the entry and taking the grand staircase two steps at a time, panting like a racehorse as he emerged on the landing. He turned right, charging headlong into the hall and wrenching open the first door in his path.

The room was dark, illuminated by moonlight. But the Professor was safely in bed, still and pale as a corpse. Harry's heart skipped, he started to move inside and then saw the faint rise and fall of the man's chest beneath the sheets. He swallowed heavily, pulling back and closing the door with more care.

He moved to Hermione's room next, opening her door gently, anxiety ebbing. Sure enough, she was safely tucked away inside, long hair draped over the pillow, hand softly curled beside her face. The covers were bunched at the bottom of the mattress, as though she'd kicked them off in her slumber, or perhaps fallen asleep before pulling them up. He suspected the latter, seeing as her nightstand lamp was still on.

He stepped inside, only to stagger back as a figure darted out from beneath the bed, eyes glowing with hell flame. The feline hissed, slashing out with a striped paw, claws fully extended. Harry scowled.

"Move, you little shit."

The furry bastard growled. Harry's gaze narrowed.

"Don't try me."

Its back arched high, ears flattening, taking on a feral stance that caused Harry to shift into boxing pose. He paused, shaking his head at his own stupidity.

"We're on the same side. I'm trying to protect her, too."

The feline seemed to consider the statement, wrinkled face frozen in grimace as it backed away slowly, leaping onto the edge of the mattress with silent agility and pacing beside Hermione, walking a tight circle before curling against her stomach, eyes narrowed above its bottlebrush tail.

Harry blinked.

Did I just reason with a cat?

He scrubbed a hand over his face, too fatigued to deal with any new insanity. Instead, he made his way to the side of her bed, hesitating before reaching down and smoothing an errant curl away from her face. She sighed, turning into the pillow. He watched her sleep for a moment longer before stepping to the foot of the bed and grabbing the covers, pulling them over her legs. The cat lifted its head, watching him closely, daring him to try anything else. Harry smirked, raising his hands in supplication and backing away.

"I'm leaving. Keep watch for me."

Its amber gaze narrowed, outraged by his audacity to give it a command. Harry laughed softly, stopping to turn out her light and exiting the room on tiptoes, closing the door as though it was made of crystal. And then he slumped against the wall, desperate to put off the inevitable. But there was nothing for it. He couldn't sleep in the hall and he refused to crash on the couch downstairs. He needed to be close to Hermione and her father, needed to protect them, as he'd promised.

So with a heavy heart and heavier step, he trudged to his own bedroom at the very end of the corridor. He'd chosen it for its large size, needing all the floor space he could get… despite the fact it sat directly across from the room he'd vowed to never step foot inside ever again.

He dismissed the treacherous thought as quickly as it came, opening the door to his temporary bedroom and switching on the light, illuminating the minefield scattered across the hardwood. He navigated along the perimeter of the baseboards, stepping over loose pages and newspapers as he went. At the center of the mess was a large map of the City, marked to high hell, detailing where they'd been and where they had left to search. Bits of broken tile and stones from the rock garden denoted crime scenes. He still needed to buy a proper notebook.

He tilted his head as he spotted the newspapers stacked neatly along the wall, leaning over to thumb through the pile, realizing they were organized in order of date.

Hermione.

He smiled. She must have discovered his makeshift office and taken it upon herself to tidy. Good, he needed all the help he could get. But right now what he needed most of all was sleep.

Harry hopped over the corner of the map and collapsed atop the squeaking mattress with a groan, only to roll over with a grimace, something hard prodding against his ribs. He fished for the mystery item in the rumpled comforter, chest tightening as his hand emerged with a book, still open to the last page he'd been reading the night before.

Mythical Beasts of the Ancient World, Illustrated Guide

Crap. He glanced to the wall, as though hoping to see Hermione through it, wondering if she'd discovered the tome during her exploration. He shook his head, answering his own question in the next beat. She'd never have left it open and buried beneath the blanket. Books were sacred to her, no matter their subject matter. He scooted higher, leaning against the headboard and gazing at the text before him, quickly skimming the passage.

Vampyre

The modern legend of the blood-drinking creature most of us know today originates largely from Eastern European folklore of the late 17th and 18th centuries. However, tales of the undead rising from the grave to consume the blood and flesh of the living have been found in nearly every culture around the world since the dawn of storytelling.

The Mesopotamians warned their kin of blood-drinking demons wearing the faces of the deceased. The Persians painted such creatures on excavated pottery shards while the Babylonians recorded the myth of Lilitu on papyrus, eventually giving rise to the Hebrew demon Lilith and the Babylonian goddess Lamashtu, both said to sustain on the blood of infants.

The Ancient Greeks created several precursors to the modern vampire, the most notable being the striges who took the form of crows to hunt their living prey. This myth evolved by the time it reached Rome, giving rise to the Strigoï, a breed of vampire that could turn into strix, a nocturnal bird that fed on the flesh and blood of humans.

In India, tales of the vetalas are recorded in ancient Sanskrit, blood-drinking ghouls inhabiting the bodies of corpses. In Jewish tradition, the Hebrew word "Alukah" is synonymous with vampire—

A loud creak broke Harry's focus. He glanced up, dropping the book to his lap. His door stood ajar, a thin sliver of moonlight from the hall window illuminated the closed door on the opposite side of the corridor. He swallowed thickly, staring upon the forbidden barrier for so long the rest of his surrounding turned to smoke. Harry blinked, rubbing his eyes and glancing down. The house was old, settling. Or perhaps it was haunted by vengeful spirits. What did it matter, anymore?

He sighed, picking up the book, only to freeze with shock. The pages had turned when he'd dropped it. He read the title of the new passage, palms sweating as he gripped the cover with white fingertips, the binding threatening to rip down the center. His entire body shook with his rattling heartbeat, gaze fastened upon the text printed beneath the gruesome illustration, vision dimming at the edges—

Another creak, louder than the first. Harry snapped the book shut, face flush with heat, feeling as though he'd been caught red-handed. He shoved the tome back under the covers, eyeing the empty doorway with hesitant eyes.

"Mione?"

A soft thump followed. His pulse echoed as he swung his legs over the side of the bed, carefully sidestepping the map and making his way to the door. He wiped his palms on his trouser legs, fighting the tremor in his limbs as he opened the barrier wide and stood rigid in the frame, glancing down the shadowed stretch of hallway.

Empty.

But the window at his side stood open, the sheer curtain swaying in the wind. He gripped the knob until it rattled. Had it been open when he arrived home? He shook his head. Obviously, it had been.

Hermione opened it for a breeze.

He reached for the pane, beginning to slide it down, only for his gaze to fasten to the bright moon overhead. Nearly full. His heartbeat slowed, airway constricting as he tore his attention away, eyes drifting to the street below.

Terror seized him by the throat, choking his lungs completely. Adrenaline flooded his system in a nauseating rush, tipping him sideways.

For a shadowed figure stood in the middle of the road, facing the mansion, head tipped back.

Staring right at him.

Harry's mouth ran dry, legs solidifying to stone. Unable to move, unable to run. No escape.

A breath ghosted across his neck.

He gasped, breaking from his frozen state and spinning on his heel, fists poised at the ready—

Only to reel back as he took in the sight before him. Mr. Granger stood still as a mannequin, eyes unnaturally bright, face illuminated by moonlight, the rest of his body bathed in darkness. Harry dropped his fists, swaying with relief.

"Professor, you scared—"

"You must tell him."

Harry stilled. "What?"

"He needs to know, James."

His heart skipped a painful beat, lips parting but speech failing him.

"It's not right to keep him in the dark," Mr. Granger pressed on, voice taking on a critical edge. "He needs to know. He needs to prepare before it's too late."

Harry released a slow breath, blood rushing through his ears. "Tell him what?"

Mr. Granger blinked, settling back on his heels as his eyes dimmed. Harry surged forward. "Profess—" He stopped short, changing tactics. "Richard, what should I tell him?"

But the man's gaze was vacant, expression lax. Harry carded both hands through his hair, mind reeling. The locked door at their side seemed to pulsate like a heartbeat. Alive. Beckoning.

Fuck he hated this house.

He looked to Hermione's closed door at the other end of the hall, wondering if he should wake her. No. She needed her rest. He brought her here to protect her, to offer the help she desperately needed. He could handle this.

"It's alright, Mr. Granger. Let's get you back to bed." He reached forward, taking the man's arm. And then all at once, he remembered—

His spine turned to steel as he glanced over his shoulder, braced for war. The curtain continued to dance in the breeze, but beyond the foggy pane, the street stood empty.

Harry wet his lips, shoulders easing.

It was always empty.

His jaw clenched tight as he faced forward, gently leading Hermione's father down the hallway, away from the window, into the shadows.

Hermione sighed into her pillow, consciousness overtaking her all at once, senses firing to life as though she'd never been asleep at all. She turned her head, blinking into darkness, trying to make sense of the strange shapes in the shadows. Furniture, but not hers…

The memories settled upon her mind like a winter blanket, suffocating and heavy. A noise in the hall drew her attention away, displacing her disappointment with worry. She blinked, sitting upright and rubbing her bare arms, skin chilled. "Harry?"

A floorboard creaked outside her door, orange light emitting from the gap beneath. Her brow furrowed, gaze snapping to the window, trying to gauge the time. The sky was black. So black she couldn't see a single star. She kicked her covers back and planted her feet to the ground, starting to rise, only to tip sideways into the bed, light-headed. The light under the door was broken by footsteps, someone standing just outside the barrier.

"Papa?"

Hermione pushed away from the bed, charging forward despite her vertigo, only to halt abruptly, startled by the cool air on her legs. She glanced down.

And gaped.

What in the world...

She pressed a hand to her middle, smoothing it along the beaded bodice of the silk gown, eyes skimming the glistening fabric to the floor, bare toes peeking out from beneath the onyx folds. She swallowed heavily, placing her other hand at her throat. The neckline plunged low, dangerously low, exposing far more than she'd ever willingly display. The dress was also sleeveless, leaving her upper half mostly bare.

What's happening? Where did this even come from? And how the hell did I get it on?

She placed her hands at either side of her head, pressing against her skull.

I'm losing my mind.

Her breath escaped in a rush.

I have it.

Tears began to well. She wiped them away frantically, racing for the door, clutching the knob with both hands, mortified by her appearance but needing to see Harry immediately. He'd help her. He'd make it all better, somehow, he always made it better—

She wrenched the door wide, his name pressing heavy on her tongue, but when she gazed upon the hallway she found it empty except for the flickering glow of firelight. She glanced in either direction, the source of the light emitting from downstairs, casting long shadows along the walls and ceiling.

She wasted no time rushing to her father's door, jerking the knob, only to find it locked. Dread seized her in its vice. "Papa!" She cried out, slapping her palms to the wood, beating frantically. "Harry, help me!"

"Hermione?"

She gasped at the sound of her friend's voice. Distant, echoing, like he was at the bottom of a well. She spun on her heel. "Harry!"

"Hermione!"

Downstairs.

She raced for the landing, nearly tripping in her haste, the silk train chasing at her heels like a pool of ink. The skirt was slit along the side, stopping at her thigh, exposing her legs to the frigid mansion air as she stumbled down the steps, clutching the railing with both hands, eyes wide, pulse frantic.

The entry hall was lit by firelight as well, the orange glow emanating from the vaulted archway of the study. She sprinted across the uneven floorboards, gathering the skirt in both hands to prevent a nasty spill as she charged headlong through the doorway, relief saturating her every pore.

"Harry! Something is—"

Hermione staggered to a halt, feet skidding atop the scarred wood. The massive fireplace was in full blaze, flames lapping high, snapping, sizzling with hunger. A tall figure stood at the center of the hearth, facing the inferno, hands bracing the carved mantle, body adorned in pure pitch.

A figure she recognized well.

Her complexion paled, knees locking in terror. He continued to watch the fire dance before the brick, shadows flickering across the walls, casting macabre shapes as the crackling log echoed off the high ceiling. And then he spoke, voice low, unsettling in its utter calm. "Who's Harry?"

She swallowed, fists balling tight, heels set in stone.

"A brother?" He continued, tilting his head in contemplation, dark hair gleaming in the light. "No," he replied to his own inquiry. "A lover perhaps?" His voice deepened, vibrating through the floor and into her soles, up her calves, causing her knees to tremble and her thighs to clench. She flushed, startled and confused by her body's reaction.

"Hm." He pushing away from the mantle, the sharp line of his jaw coming into view. "I think not." He turned to face her at last, eyes seemingly lit from within, burning brighter than the flames at his back. "A friend."

Her pulse thrummed, heat washing over her skin, a feverish burn she couldn't escape. He smirked, the very tips of his fangs visible, white, lethal. "Yes. That's more like it."

She rocked back with the intensity of his gaze, certain she would faint at any moment. "How did you find me?"

He slid his hands into his pockets, posture supremely eased yet perfectly refined. "I can find anything I want in this city."

She clutched the silk folds draped along her thighs. "Why am I wearing this?"

His smirk gave way to a breathtaking grin. "I wanted to see you in silk."

And then he started forward.

She wanted to run, to scream, but her panic was so great she came out the other side, an eerie sense of calm taking root within her mind. "Where is Harry?" She asked, amazed at the steady cadence of her voice.

His long legs made quick work of the divide. "Harry isn't my concern." He stopped just before her, broad shoulders blocking out the firelight, chest filling her vision. "You are." And then he reached up, gripping her chin and tilting her head back, holding her gaze captive.

"I don't have the jar," she whispered, a powerful tremor racing along her limbs at his icy touch.

His eyes flickered between hers, the black of his pupils spreading, consuming the grey. "I don't want the jar."

Her heartbeat fluttered in her throat, against the back of her tongue. "What do you want?"

His smile turned sharp, knowing. He leaned in, just slightly, just enough to set off every alarm bell in her head. "I want you to tell me a story."

Hermione blinked. A story?

He read the question in her bemused gaze. "Tell me how you came to possess the relic."

She pressed her tongue to the roof of her mouth, vision swimming as a fresh wave of panic washed overhead.

"Harry?" He prompted, able to discern the source of her unease. "I see." His thumb stroked her chin, tracing along the edge of her bottom lip. "Now tell me what you did with it."

She exhaled swiftly.

"Did you open it, Hermione?"

She swayed precariously. Her knees felt like rubber. She needed to distance herself from his all-consuming presence, needed to clear her senses of him… but the moment Hermione tore her gaze away she blinked in utter confusion. The room around them appeared hazy, muddled, a mirage in the desert. As soon as her eyes fastened to a particular item it solidified. The moment she glanced away it melted into her peripheral.

Almost like…

"A dream," she whispered, wetting her lips. "This isn't real…" She took a step back, out of his gravitational pull, vision rapidly clearing now that she'd spoken the words aloud. "I'm still asleep."

The ground trembled beneath her feet, portraits rattling on the walls as a massive crack appeared in the plaster, debris spilling down. She glanced up, heart seizing as she caught the unmistakable flash of anger in his eyes, the hard set of his jaw just before he surged forward, capturing her with both arms, a steel band at her lower back holding her against his frame, his other hand gripping her throat, the pad of his thumb pressing her bottom lip.

"Look at me."

The command radiated through every bone in her body, absorbed by her ribs and strangling her heart.

She didn't want to obey, she really didn't. And yet she desperately wanted to, more than anything. The tug of war within her mind was her own personal hell, as was the heat pooling at her center, the gnawing hunger in her gut, twisting her stomach into knots. Every nerve ending fired to life at once, overwhelming, terrifying. Something feral burrowing beneath her skin, taking her over from within.

"Did you come into contact with the ashes?" He demanded, voice guttural.

She released her breath in a rush, hot breath hissing against his thumb. "It was an accident." She pressed her hands against his chest, nails clawing the dark fabric, pushing with all her strength to no avail. "I breathed some of it in."

His eyes flashed, hands gripping her tighter, painfully. "The night of the power outage."

Hermione nodded weakly, faint, unable to take a full breath against his iron hold. His thumb released her lip, tugging it down before resting at her chin.

"Do you know what I am?" He asked.

She licked her lips. "A vampire."

His eyes tracked the movement, lingering at her mouth. "And do you know what you are?"

Her mind reeled with the question. "I don't understand."

"Yes. You do." His fingertips pressed deep into her hip. She could feel the bruises forming, blood throbbing, pooling beneath his touch. "You're changing, Hermione. You can feel it happening even now, can't you?"

Tears blurred her vision. He leaned in, head dipping low. "And the only person who can help you is me," he whispered, their lips separated by only a ghosting breath.

Her fists curled against his chest. "I don't trust you."

"I know. But all that matters is whether you believe me."

She blinked quickly, tears overspilling her lashes. "I'll die before becoming one of you."

His smile bore perverse cruelty as he lifted a hand to her cheek, gently clearing the dampness. "I won't let you die. You're much too valuable." He cupped the side of her face, palm cold as death. "I'll merely stand aside and watch you kill the innocent."

She wrenched back, as shocked by his words as the fact he released her without a fight. He watched her stagger back until she hit the archway.

"It's not a threat. I'm simply letting you know what's to come, luv. If you want to protect those around you, you'll come to me."

She pressed flat to the wall, nails raking the floral pattern until it started to curl. "I'll never come to you."

"You will," he spoke with such certainty she felt the ground shift beneath her. "The only question is how many lives you'll take before calling out to me."

Hermione shook her head, pushing away from the wall and tearing around the archway, emerging in the foyer, gasping as the stairs melted away before her eyes. She changed course, charging in the opposite direction, to the main door. It flew open of its own accord, answering her cry of silent terror. She dashed across the sunken porch and stumbled down the steps to the cobblestone, gathering her skirts as fog caressed her ankles, rolling across the dead lawn in billowing waves. She reached the gate, grabbing the curving iron with both hands and pulling the heavy door wide, ivy scraping at her arms, tangling in her hair. She slipped through the narrow opening, across the sidewalk and into the street, staggering to a halt at last.

The road was dark, the homes colorless, a scene from a black and white film. The street lights flickered in the cul-de-sac. Hermione backed away slowly, jolting as the bulb burst, glass and sparks raining to the asphalt. She spun promptly, sprinting for the intersection at the other end. The lamps flickered and burst one by one, darkness swelling, chasing at her heels. She choked back a scream, willing her mind to wake, to deliver her from this nightmare. At last she reached the adjoining road, slowing, debating which direction to turn next—

But was spared from having to choose, the rolling fog rising up up up, overtaking her vision. She sucked in a sharp breath, coughing a lungful of bitter smoke as she spun in frantic circles, losing all sense of direction. Hermione saw nothing beyond the white cloud surrounding her… yet sensed a presence drawing near, followed by the click of footfalls against the pavement, slow and methodical. She pressed a hand to her mouth, shuffling back, ankle hitting the curb as she attempted to navigate blind, desperately trying to gauge the direction of the footsteps.

And then all fell silent, eerily so. She held her breath, unable to hear anything beyond the rapid thrum of her own heart, the powerful surge of her blood. She rose onto tiptoes, edging backward, eyes wide, searching the dense fog—

Only to hit a firm barrier, screaming outright as she tried to scramble away. But arms appeared from the mist, ensnaring her middle and drawing her back. The rest of his figure took shape, the fog clearing a path at his silent bidding. He pressed her against his front, heartbeat centered between her shoulder blades, calm, steady. An arm snaked across her middle, a large hand gripping her hip while the other wrapped around her neck, fingertips pressing her fluttering pulse.

He lowered his head beside her own, lips grazing the shell of her ear. "Come with me willingly, Hermione, and your loved ones can live in peace." She shivered, warm breath cascading over her bare shoulder. "Or watch them die one by one, starting with Harry." He squeezed her throat in warning, each word a dark promise. "And then I take you anyway."

She swallowed desperately, feeling the movement along his fingers, gritting her teeth. "You're lying." She tipped her head back, meeting his gaze. "You don't know even know where I am."

His smile was mesmerizing, sending her pulse into overdrive as he pressed his lips to her hair, breathing in her scent. His eyes turned hooded, mouth dropping lower, hovering just above the skin, so close she felt electricity mark its path. He tilted her head aside, exposing the junction at her neck and shoulder, lips parting to reveal glittering fangs. Their sharp tips grazed her skin, dimpling the flesh. She sucked in a sharp breath, waiting for the lethal strike. But it was his words that struck the killing blow.

"I do now."

The declaration confused her, the amusement in his voice more startling than the teeth lingering at her artery. She blinked rapidly, eyes flickering up as the fog began to rapidly fall, settling atop the dead earth like a blanket. A metal pole came into view. A street sign proudly displayed at its peak.

GRIMMAULD

He released her neck, whispering softly in her ear. "See you soon, Hermione."

The arm at her waist disappeared, as did the firm pressure at her back. She barely had time to process his absence before the street parted wide, swallowing her whole, sending her into a pitch black freefall…

Hermione awoke with a gasp, thrashing atop the mattress as her eyes flew wide. Sheets tangled around her legs, restricting her movements, the comforter piled on the floor. She gazed around frantically, taking in her surroundings, settling with a heavy sigh. Crookshanks keened at her side, eyes slit, unappreciative of the violent wake-up call. She wet her lips, mouth startling dry as she scratched his head in apology. Her arms felt leaden, head stuffed with cotton, every movement a feat. The sunlight was blinding, invading the room in heavy strips from the gaps in the shutters. She turned her face away, closing her eyes...

And remembered the dream, every stunning detail.

Crookshanks edged closer, kneading her thigh and purring loudly, claws prickling the thin sheet. She drew a hand over her face, sweat beaded along her temples and upper lip. Hermione licked it away, tasting salt on her tongue and uttering the only coherent thought she had left.

"Shit."