"How do I know you'll keep your word?" asked Coraline.
"I swear it," said the other mother. "I swear it on my own mother's grave."
"Does she have a grave?" asked Coraline.
"Oh yes," said the other mother. "I put her in there myself. And when I found her trying to crawl out, I put her back."
~ Neil Gaiman, Coraline
. . .
Ginny gazed into the darkness, vision hazed by sleep. She rubbed her eyes, rolling onto her back and peering at the ceiling.
A beat. Then two.
She stretched, bracing her hands flat to the headboard and arching high off the mattress, muscles pulled taut. She settled with a satisfying exhale, kicking the covers away and swinging her legs over the edge of the four-poster bed, rising swiftly. Silk danced across her knees as she crossed the oriental rug to the black-out curtains on the wall. She pulled the heavy fabric aside, only to sigh with disappointment, pressing a palm to the metal blind.
Damn.
Then she heard it. A muffled sob.
Her eyes snapped to the side, focused on the damask wallpaper. The crying continued, decidedly delicate and acutely miserable. Ginny drew away from the window, striding for the door— only to glance down, gazing at her nightdress.
"Shit."
She changed direction, throwing open the gilded doors of her walk-in closet and stepping into the center aisle. She began rummaging through velvet-lined hangers, pushing aside silk and lace and satin until her fingers collided with a familiar sensation.
Ginny tugged the robe free, holding it aloft with a covetous grin. Red dragons chased each other across black silk, roaring flames expertly stitched into the gleaming fabric. She slid her arms into the bell-sleeves, tying the sash as she crossed the room and opened her door, glancing either way down the empty hall before stepping out and crossing to the bedroom beside her own. The door was shut. She pressed a hand to the carved wood, reaching for the brass handle with the other.
Locked.
Ginny sighed, shaking her head and stepping away.
A floorboard creaked downstairs.
She scowled, setting her jaw and marching for the staircase, silk robe trailing like a billowing cape, crimson dragons breathing flames with every step. She took the stairs in a blinding rush, emerging inside the marble entry, barely sparing her surroundings a glance before passing beneath a Venetian archway and navigating the lavishly decorated hallways with single-minded determination, sidestepping statues and sculptures, decorative vases and ornate cabinets, rounding the corner into the parlor and grinding to a halt.
She stood beneath the doorway, eyes latching to the gleaming grand piano, the room's magnificent centerpiece, before tracking movement against the wall. She straightened, scowling at his broad back and flippant disregard as he thumbed through a selection of records, puffing steadily at the end of a cigar. Bittersweet smoke drifted through the air in wispy tendrils, burning her nostrils and throat. She fumed in silence, arms crossed tightly as she watched him peruse the extensive music collection.
His shoulders stiffened at long last, movements stilling. "What?" He snapped, still facing away.
"What did you do?"
His jaw tensed, hand tightening on the cigar. "You'll have to be more specific than that."
"Why is she crying?"
A bitter laugh. "How should I know? Probably saw her own shadow."
Ginny inhaled sharply, taking in smoke as he made his selection, sliding the record from its case and setting it atop the phonograph. He lowered the needle. The room filled with crackling static, a beat of silence, and then smooth saxophone emanated from the speaker horn, offset by deep bass. He tipped his head back, shoulders lowering in twin slopes as blue-tinged smoke billowed past his lips, dissipating in an opaque cloud.
"I can't stand the depressing shit she insists on playing all hours of the day," he said, rolling the cigar between tattooed fingers. "I'm stuck babysitting you lot, I won't be forced to listen to the soundtrack of my own misery."
The tempo quickened, drums and trumpet layering the melody. Ginny shook her head. "You're an asshole."
He stiffened, head snapping round. Red flooded his dark blue gaze, irises turning violet. "Bide your tongue, girl, before I rip it from your mouth."
She rolled her eyes. "I grew up with six older brothers, you'll have to do a lot better than that."
He turned to face her fully, muscles coiled, ready to spring. "You won't be locked away forever, Red." Smoke danced around his head in a sinister halo. "The moment you step foot outside these walls, I'm going to make good on every last one of my promises."
Ginny smirked, tilting her head in contemplation. "The voice isn't half bad, but you should really keep practicing your faces in the mirror. Right now you just look constipated." She winked, taking a step for the hallway. "Don't worry, you'll get there."
She turned on his seething grimace.
"Two more days, then you're mine!" He shouted after her.
Her laughter echoed down the hall. "Not in your life!" Her smile stretched from end to end as she heard the table upturn, music cutting off abruptly.
But her amusement disintegrated as she resumed her path upstairs, passing a maid heading down, arms brimming with fresh linens. Ginny pushed away from the railing, lifting her hands.
"Here, let me help you—"
"No, Mistress!" The girl reared back, eyes wide over the stack in her arms. "It is my duty to serve, please do not sully yourself with such tasks."
Ginny shook her head. "You don't have to worry about me, Winnie. I'm not like the others." She placed a hand on the girl's shoulder. "Please, don't wait on me hand and foot."
The maid cast her gaze to the floor, flinching away from Ginny's touch. "As you wish, Mistress."
Ginny sighed, hands dropping as she shifted aside, allowing the girl room to pass. "Two more days," she muttered to herself, starting up the steps once more.
She eyed the massive portrait overseeing the landing before turning down the corridor, passing a procession of closed doors. There was faint shuffling from within, occupants woken by the commotion downstairs.
Asshat.
She started to enter her bedroom, desperate for a few more hours of sleep when a soft whimper halted her tracks. She rocked in the doorway, glancing to the bedroom next door. And closed her eyes.
Crap.
Ginny stepped back into the hall, crossing the runner until she stood before the closed barrier, testing the handle once more, still unable to gain entry. She inhaled slowly, steeling herself, and knocked gently.
"It's me."
The crying stopped at once, the interior falling deathly silent. She counted backward from ten in her mind, making it to five before a quiet shuffle sounded. The lock clicked, the barrier opened a narrow sliver.
Ginny smiled, gripping the edge of the door and pushing it wide enough to slip through, shutting it quietly at her back.
Color drained from the sky, turning it a lifeless grey, announcing the storm on the horizon. Hermione double-checked the address in her hand, peering up at the modest brownstone in confusion. Surely Anthony had written down the wrong information, for this couldn't possibly be where the heir to the Malfoy fortune had chosen to settle after vacating his sprawling ancestral home.
She peered either way down the street, putting off the inevitable for another few seconds before starting up the steps. She read the slip of paper twice more before shaking her head and ringing the bell, holding her breath and rocking back on her heels, tension mounting. She braced for a stranger to greet her on the other side, readying an apology on her tongue, when a shrill bark drew her focus to the sidewalk.
An elderly woman passed, pausing as her white Yorkie charged the steps Hermione stood upon, yapping like a feral beast, spittle flying as it pulled against its leash with all its might. The owner shook her head in distress, eyeing Hermione warily as she leaned down and picked up the wild creature, pinning its thrashing form to her coat as she strode quickly past.
Hermione swallowed thickly, unable to break the canine's possessed gaze until the door in front of her parted wide. She spun forward with a gasp, greeted by a familiar silver gaze.
Draco tilted his head, eyes sweeping her over from bottom to top. "I didn't think I put that much brandy in my coffee."
She blinked, quickly scrambling for a response. "Good morning… or afternoon, I suppose."
"Holy shit." He lifted a pale brow. "Hermione Granger. At my door. On a Sunday." He leaned into the doorframe. "This is weird."
She fought the urge to fidget beneath his gaze. "I think you should cut back on the morning brandy."
"Spouting a lecture before crossing the threshold." The corner of his mouth turned up. "It really is you."
"I don't intend to keep you," she stated, quelling the urge to roll her eyes. "I merely came to ask for a small favor."
His smirk deepened. "This should be good." He stepped back, opening the door wide. "Let's hear it then."
She took a grounding breath and glanced over her shoulder, seeing no sign of the dog or its owner, and crossed inside, allowing him room to close the door as she glanced around the room and its furnishings. Tasteful, yet modest. He shook his head as he passed, heading for the couch just beside the foyer, leaning into the backing.
"Just say it." His tone was sharpened by annoyance. "Before you have an aneurysm."
She blinked, turning to face him. "Pardon?"
"You obviously have an opinion about my home. Do share."
Her thoughts churned, earlier dismay giving way to confusion. "I have no opinion."
He laughed shortly. "You have an opinion on everything."
Hermione scowled, lips parting to unleash a heated rebuttal—
Remember why you're here.
She bit her tongue, inhaling slowly and reforming her statement. "I was simply taking in my surroundings. But since you asked, I think your home is lovely."
"Lovely."
"Yes, lovely… in a masculine sense."
He rolled his eyes. "Christ."
"I'm just surprised," she added hastily. "I was expecting—"
"The Manor?"
She blinked, falling silent as his gaze narrowed.
"Perhaps you don't know me as well as you think, Granger."
She shook her head, thoughts scrambling for purchase as desperately as the mice in Theo's lab.
Well, this is off to a smashing start.
"I don't…I didn't—"
"Christ, relax." His mask of derision fell away. "I'm fucking with you. I know this is a far cry from what people expect when they see my utter perfection."
Relief stole through her chest, pulling a heavy sigh from her lungs. "Your grip on reality is as firm as ever."
He crossed his arms, tilting his head and regarding her carefully. "So, what do you want?"
Tension fused her spine anew. She folded her hands over front, forcing her posture to remain at ease. "I'd like Daphne's number. Her private line, if she has one."
Despite her casual repose, he reacted just as she'd anticipated, amusement fading and eyes turning guarded.
"Why?" He snapped, voice dripping with mistrust.
Hermione inhaled slowly. She'd been preparing her speech since leaving the laboratory, confident in her reasoning, careful in her persuasion, but now that it came time to deliver the words aloud they slipped through her fingers like sand.
"She seemed quite distressed the last time we spoke," she hedged carefully, testing the water.
Draco scowled, pushing her head beneath the surface with both hands. "Of course she's distressed, her sister is missing, likely dead."
The statement was a searing lance through the heart, a painful reminder of her own worst fears. But Hermione knew his callousness was born of anger and fear and refused to let it distract her from the main objective.
"I simply thought I might offer her some comfort, however small. We're in similar positions, after all."
His metal gaze raked her face, pointed features twisting into a signature sneer. "Jesus you're an abysmal liar." He shook his head, holding her gaze without reprieve. "Alright, one more time: tell me why you really want her number and I might actually consider giving it to you."
Hermione's hands fell apart, balling tight at her sides. "Her father hired a team of private investigators. I want to know what they've unearthed, if anything." A beat. She swayed with the force of her heartbeat. "They may have information on Ginny."
His jaw tensed. "They haven't found a damn thing."
"They've turned up nothing on Astoria. But they don't know Ginny is missing, the police never linked her case to others. They may be sitting on vital information without realizing it."
"So you mean to detract from Tori's investigation?"
She bristled. "Of course not. I only want access to the information they've already procured."
He lifted his chin, standing away from the couch and widening his stance. "Daphne's suffered enough."
Hermione searched his gaze, leaning forward beseechingly. "So have the Weasleys and every other family that's been affected by this. Nothing will heal their pain except finding their loved ones or receiving closure." She wet her lips, hope revived by the subtle softening of his features. "I don't have access or connections to any of the other families. Only Daphne, and only through you. Talking to me won't make Astoria's situation any worse. But there's a chance it could make it better. For Ginny as well." She stepped forward. "Please, Draco."
He held her gaze over the mile-long expanse of hardwood, a storm raging in his eyes. She counted her heartbeats, quelling the tremor in her limbs, already concocting a Plan B when he refused her desperate plea and threw her back onto the street—
"Wait here." His terse voice shattered through her dread like a sledgehammer. "I'll be right back."
She blinked, knees locking in place. "Thank you."
Hermione's breath hitched as he stepped past, shoulder nearly brushing her own. She shifted away, startled by the sudden tempo in her ears.
A pulse. Strong, steady… and decidedly not her own.
Draco turned for the hall without a parting glance. She closed her eyes, tipping her head back and willing her senses to settle, for his heartbeat to fade from her mind. He rounded the corner, disappearing from sight, but she could still hear the unrelenting thrum of his arteries like a thumping bass drum.
Hermione knew then and there with undeniable certainty her time was limited… and silently vowed to make every last moment of it count.
Parvati pushed open the door to her building with both hands, sending it crashing into the opposite wall with a bang.
"This is ridiculous!" She seethed, charging headlong into the narrow lobby. "The sun isn't even down!"
"That's the entire fucking point," Ron ground back, trailing several feet back.
"Don't get lip with me!" She snapped, fishing the keys from her pocket. "I let you drag me here, didn't I?"
"Bitching the entire way."
"Because you're an idiot."
He shook his head, following down the hall. "You've made your opinion on the matter perfectly clear. Feel free to stop talking any time."
She stopped before her door, eyeing him over her shoulder with a speculative expression. "You really believe your own horse drizzle, don't you? You weren't just trying to scare me."
He clenched his jaw, glancing away as he leaned into the wall beside her.
"You think there are vampires in New York City," she concluded, sliding the key into the lock but making no motion to open it.
"I know there are," he murmured, still refusing to meet her gaze.
She raised a brow. "I don't know whether to feel pity or amusement."
"Feel anything you'd like, just do it inside your apartment with the doors and windows locked."
"Seriously, Weasley." She crossed her arms, slumping against her door. "How many blows to the head does one have to take to believe in children's tales?"
"You heard Harry."
"As far as I'm concerned you're both delusional. So is your little scientist friend, assuming he even exists. There's no telling how deep your fantasy runs." She tilted her head, examining him from an angle as though it would reveal some clue to the budding mystery. "Then again, this could all be a juvenile prank gone too far. I wouldn't put it past you to—"
"Then why did you spend the afternoon searching with me?" His demanded, gaze snapping to her at last, bright with rage.
"Because," she stated calmly, unaffected by his ire. "Deluded or not, Lavender is still missing." She chewed on the rest, spitting it free with obvious reluctance. "And I know you want to find her."
Ron blinked, studying her in the awkward silence that followed before glancing away and standing from the wall. "I'll see you tomorrow after your shift ends."
She nodded, pushing back from her door and grasping the key. "Don't be late, or I leave without you."
"I'll be here."
He dragged a hand through his hair, turning to leave. The metal bolt clicked as she turned it, hand hovering at the knob.
"Weasley."
He stopped, glancing back.
"For what it's worth…" she idly traced a seam in the wood. "I know there are things in this world that can't be explained. Anomalies science and reason can't touch."
He raised a brow.
Parvati met his gaze. "But vampires…" she smirked. "That's just stupid."
Ron laughed shortly, scratching the back of his neck. "Still better than werewolves."
She rolled her eyes with a wry grin, shouldering open her door. "Piss off."
His gaze lingered upon her a moment more before he did just that, backing away another few steps and turning on his heel, a reluctant grin spreading as he headed back into the waning evening light.
Harry adjusted the strap over his shoulder, muscles sore and feet aching as he rounded the corner onto E 14th Street. He'd spent the day dutifully scouring every corner shop and eatery within East Village, pinning her flyer every place he could before running out of sheets an hour prior. He'd taken to showing owners and patrons her graduation photo instead, slowly making his way Northbound. He planned to make more copies first thing in the morning, enough to tackle East Side and Little Italy without pause.
But as he breached Stuyvesant he realized just how late it was. The blocks began to glow with street lamps, shop windows illuminated with gas lights, restaurants preparing for the evening rush. Harry gazed up, eyeing the empty grey sky, a great void in the cosmos. The clouds had blocked out the sun hours ago, making it impossible to discern the passing of time. He stopped at the intersection, peering through a haze of car exhaust to catch a glimpse of a clock mounted on the bank wall.
Shit.
Once again, the day had gotten away from him. There was no time to grab a bite or sit and rest. He had to start heading to Gramercy know if he had any hope of beating sunset. He could only hope Ron and Parvati found more success in their pursuit.
The crosswalk light flickered, signaling pedestrian traffic forward. Harry moved with the crowd, debating the quickest mode of travel. He didn't mind traversing by foot, exhausted as he was, but doubted he'd be able to make it through rush hour before darkness bathed the city. He briefly considered taking a cab but dismissed the notion with a curt shake of the head. No, he needed to conserve his money for other resources, tools that related directly to finding Gin.
Which unfortunately left only one option…
Harry sighed, coming to a stop before the staircase leading down down down to a pit of darkness.
The Subway.
He stared into the pool of shadow with a heavy heart, eyes unblinking, losing focus until he sensed movement within the darkness, a swarm of bats, the undulating muscles of beasts, clawing and scrambling, jaws snapping and fangs flashing—
Faces materialized from the dark mist, smoke dissipating, giving rise to reality. Harry blinked, staggering back and running a hand over his face as the underground patrons ascended, emerging from the station. He stood aside, out of their way, waiting for the crowd to pass.
It just had to be the fucking subway.
The first station was erected when Harry was only a boy, the Metro's rapid success and popularity giving rise to a handful of others within a matter of years. When he left for California there had been eight in total scattered across the island, but in his brief absence that number had grown even more. There were even rumors of upcoming bridge rails connecting the outside boroughs. An ingenious invention, even if he detested it so.
The crowd thinned at last. Harry breathed a heavy sigh, fishing coins from his pocket as he started down the steps. Static danced across his skin as he passed beneath the brick archway, shadows swallowing him whole. He emerged into a pool of light, lanterns mounted to the walls, illuminating the path to the turnstiles. He fell into the haphazard line, feeding his money into the slot and pushing through the gate, shoulders drawing in as people surged through without regard for personal space.
He remembered hopping the same turnstiles as a teenager, usually with one or more of the Weasleys in tow, laughing wildly as attendants blew their whistles and chased them onto the platform, losing the wily teens in the surging crowd. He clung to the memory a few moments longer, desperate to calm his rising pulse as he progressed through the next archway, following the crowd to the platform, the hum of lights and incessant conversation making his skull rattle.
The thrill of the underground had long worn off since his youth. Now Harry could barely keep one foot in front of the other, a sense of dread mounting with every jostle, every push. Regret pressed heavy against his bones, his shoulders and lungs. The station was too cramped, too isolated, too far down in the earth. A giant cage made of brick and steel—
Calm the fuck down.
He wiped the sweat from his forehead and forced his eyes ahead, arriving on the platform at last. He took shelter at the back, near a wall of advertisements while the crowd steadily gathered along the edge of the tracks. An attendant walked between patrons, red coat glaring like a beacon as he held his lantern aloft, calling out the wait time. The next train would arrive any minute.
Harry tugged his coat tighter, pulling his collar high, recounting the utter failure of his day as a means of distraction. The City was never ending, an undulating Leviathan with countless hidden chambers. And they hadn't even taken their search outside Manhattan. She could be anywhere. If she was even alive.
Don't think it. What's the point to any of this if you give up now?
He tipped his head back, eyes closing, desperate to drown out the murmur of the crowd.
She's dead.
Harry went rigid, eyes flaring wide and head snapping forward. His hand began to tremble. He clenched it tight, gripping the wrist and shoving it inside his pocket.
Breathe. Just breathe.
He closed his eyes once more, this time welcoming the endless call of the underground, the echoing rattle of steel beams, the droning chatter of floating heads, the electrical hum of cables.
His pulse slowed.
Ginny.
He forced his mind back to her. Back to sense and reason. The search. The start.
We need to rebuild her final days. Figure out every place she went, every person she talked to.
His eyes peeled open, gleaming brightly in the darkness.
"Everyone she talked to…" he whispered, picturing her black diary in his hand.
He was transported back to the tiny closet, metal hangers digging into his arms and chest as he flipped through the worn, yellowed pages. He envisioned her final entry, the detailed account of her office run-in. They needed to track down the mystery woman, question her, find out what she knew, if she was somehow linked.
Harry blinked, recalling the brochures.
She wanted out of here.
He harbored no doubt Ginny was desperate to escape. But was she running towards something she wanted... or away from something she feared?
The ground shook, abruptly scattering his thoughts. A high pitched whistle echoed off the stone, overhead lights flickering as the train drew near. Dust fell from the beams overlaying the tracks, air pressure shifting as a swelling light appeared at the far end of the tunnel. The crowd surged. Harry stepped away from the wall, eager to board, to get this waking nightmare over with.
And then he felt it.
Eyes. Watching him.
He turned his head, gazing to his right on instinct. His heart seized, overhead lights flickering rapidly, creating a strobe effect. But between the pulses a pair of orange glowing eyes watched him steadily from the other end of the platform, face cast in darkness, features muddled by shadow and the shifting crowd.
The train roared into the station like a thundering beast, engine deafening, carrying a surge of heat and electricity. The lights blazed bright and the inhuman eyes disappeared, their owner swallowed by the sea of strangers.
The train slowed, doors hissing open. Harry's senses erupted into chaos as people pushed and pulled, eager to board, others eager to disembark. He was jostled back and forth, feet frozen in place, eyes locked onto the last place his Watcher stood. Shock rendered him numb, doubt poisoned his mind, reality bled away somewhere in the middle.
"Sir, are you boarding?"
Harry jolted, glancing down. The attendant stood a head shorter, gazing up with a raised brow. He moved the lantern beside Harry's face, nearly blinding him.
"Sir?"
Harry opened and closed his mouth, glancing around. The platform was nearly empty. No one was looking at him.
"Boarding," Harry muttered, stepping forward and entering the last car in the row. He squeezed between bodies, cringing at the cramped quarters as he grabbed an overhead rail, teeth clenching painfully as the doors hissed shut.
Trapped. Like an animal.
The attendant blew his whistle on the platform, signaling the driver. The engine roared to life, gears rumbling beneath his feet, radiating through his body. He squeezed the bar tighter yet, body rocking in place as the train started forward, steadily gaining speed. The platform disappeared in a blur as they shot through the tunnel, the windows displaying utter blackness but for an intermittent lantern strung to the wall. The overhead lights of the car dimmed, casting the swarm of faces in shadow.
Harry eyed his fellow passengers carefully, catching a few gazes as he went. But the majority appeared harried, exhausted after a long day of work, hands gripping purses and briefcases and grocery bags. Their eyes didn't linger upon him. No one paid him any notice.
Except for one.
A young woman, smirking as he met her keen stare. But the look she bestowed him with didn't glow orange or radiate with sinister energy. No, she signaled him in quite a different way, winking and giggling softly. He disregarded her as the lights flickered, the car rocking as it followed a curved path. He continued to search the crowd, realizing a moment later he was the most suspicious looking person on board.
Great.
He closed his eyes, rubbing his brow his with his free hand.
It was a trick of the light. If you search for a monster in every shadow you're bound to find one.
He released his breath in a rush.
It's daylight. They can't be out yet.
Harry swallowed heavily, resting his forehead against his bicep, finding both comfort and terror in that simple fact.
For if he wasn't being stalked by Vampires, he was losing his mind.
And if he wasn't losing his mind…
They had finally found him.
Hermione tipped her head back as she passed through the ominous Mansion gates, glimpsing the dark grey sky above.
… the same color as Riddle's eyes.
She stiffened, head snapping forward as she pushed the rod iron closed at her back, quickening her step across the cobblestone path. She'd forgotten to check the radiosonde report this morning. Reading the newspaper suddenly felt like a distant memory, a luxury from another lifetime.
The wind chased her up the steps, lifting the loose strands of her hair as she crossed the porch and unlocked the front door. She entered with a sigh of relief, eager to be inside the mansion for the first time in her life.
"Hello?" She called out, removing her scarf and peering around the empty entryway. The grandfather clock answered with a deafening chime, jarring her as she shrugged free of her coat. "Harry?"
"Still gone!" A familiar voice rang from a distance. "We're in— err… whatever room has the big bay window and fancy ass curtains!"
Hermione grinned, folding her coat over the banister and starting for the parlor. She pulled the pins from her hair as she rounded the corner, shaking curls loose with her finger. "Susan, thank you so much for coming over. I can't tell you how much I appreciate it."
The nurse stood from the silk-upholstered couch, setting a steaming mug onto the coffee table. "No problem, doll. Always happy to help, especially if it means getting to see inside Gramercy at long last."
Hermione crossed the rug, focus darting to her father, seated at the bay window and staring into the street. "Number Twelve is a bit of an outlier compared to the rest of the neighborhood."
"I like it. The house has character."
Hermione laughed softly. "That's one word for it." She glanced back to the young woman. "Did you have any trouble today?"
"Not at all."
"Really? I was afraid he'd wander, new surroundings can be a bit jarring for him."
"Actually, it seems the house is stirring up his memory. He showed me where to find a box of matches to light the kettle."
Hermione blinked, resting her hands atop the back of the sofa. "He did?"
"I know, strange how it works sometimes, isn't it?" Susan grinned, crossing for the doorway. "The mind is a mystery."
Hermione swallowed lightly, eyes drifting to her father once more. "Yes. It is."
Susan paused beside her. "Well I'd better be off, need to swing by the market before heading home."
"Now? But the sun's—" Hermione stopped short, unsure how to frame her concern without sounding certifiable. Susan lifted a brow, waiting patiently. "Hidden," Hermione continued, scrambling for words. "Behind storm clouds. The rain will start anytime."
The nurse deflated. "Crap." She glanced to the window, eyeing the encroaching darkness. "In that case, I suppose I can put off my errands until tomorrow."
Hermione stood tall with relief, following Susan to the entry. "There's something I want you to have," she said, heading for her bag hanging from the banister.
Susan's gaze widened as Hermione pulled a silver flask from inside.
"Mione, you devil!" she laughed. "Are you smuggling hooch?"
Hermione couldn't contain her own peel of laughter. "Not quite." She held out the container. "It's botanicals, for your bath."
Susan tilted her head. "Oh." She accepted the offering with a puzzled grin. "Thank you."
"It's unscented," Hermione added, idly playing with the hem of her blouse. "But don't let that fool you, the mixture is great for your skin. A few drops should do."
Really? You have no idea what you're talking about. For all you know holy water is completely useless.
Still, she felt better sending the young woman off with something. She had no idea how to make ropes of garlic and a crucifix seem commonplace.
Susan took the gift in stride. "I'll use some tonight. Thanks, Mione."
"Of course."
Hermione followed her towards the door, only to pause in confusion as the nurse pressed her hand to a seemingly innocuous portion of the wall. There was a loud click and then the panel swung free, revealing a dark cubby filled with hangers and a single coat. Susan reached inside, extracting the garment.
Hermione gaped in silence for several moments before finding her voice. "I had no idea the wall could do that."
The woman nodded, shrugging on the coat. "I know, it startled me, too. I wouldn't be surprised if this place had an underground cave system." She tugged her hair from beneath the collar. "Have you spent much time here?"
"I only visited once, as a child." Hermione folded her arms across her middle. "It terrified me."
"I can see why." Susan shut the panel halfway, stepping back. "I can't imagine growing up in a place like this."
Hermione thought of Sirius, heart twisting between her ribs.
"Well, it's a good thing your dad showed me how it opened," Susan added, halting her thoughts. "Crooks was locked inside, probably would've been trapped for days if we hadn't found him."
Hermione opened and closed her mouth, pulse skipping. "Papa showed you how to open the panel?"
Susan nodded. "Like I said, funny how the mind works. His memories are really bubbling. Waverly getting overrun by termites may have been a blessing in disguise."
Termites? Right. The flimsy excuse she'd concocted over the phone to explain their sudden departure from her childhood home.
"The universe works in mysterious ways," Hermione uttered, mind still reeling.
"You can say that again." Susan stepped to the door, pulling it wide. "Alright, doll, I'll see you tomorrow."
"Have a great night," Hermione's brow creased as she watched the woman progress across the porch. "And be careful on the steps."
"Will do." Susan waved her farewell, gazing forward as she emerged on the cobblestone.
Thunder rumbled overhead, distant but unsettling. Hermione looked to the sky, darker than when she arrived. The sun was almost set, and Harry still wasn't home.
She closed the door as the nurse slipped through the gate, pressing both hands to the wood and swallowing heavily. A cool draft swept across her ankles, blowing towards the wall. Hermione slowly turned to face the hidden panel, staring into the pulsing darkness and wondering how her frustratingly clever cat came to be trapped inside… and how her dementia-stricken father had known how to open it.
After all, Richard Granger had never stepped foot inside Number Twelve Grimmauld before yesterday afternoon.
Abraxas inhaled deeply, scenting the oncoming rain and feeling the electrical build-up in the air, charged particles dancing in the street lights. He flicked open his silver pocket watch, checking the time and meeting his own pale gaze in the reflection of the glass. He flicked it shut in the next beat, eyes fastened to the quaint dwelling situated across the street, windows darkened, curtains drawn, no sound of life or movement rattling within. He may lack Tom's ability to sense the girl's powers on the atmosphere but he would certainly be able to hear her heartbeat if she were behind those walls.
He tucked the watch into his vest, wondering once more about the woman who bested his Maker with no more than a flick of the wrist. There was no doubt about it. Hermione Granger was turning. Now the question was: into what?
Abraxas stiffened as the wind changed direction, carrying an all too familiar scent along with it. He ground his teeth, swiftly diverting his attention from the home and starting down the sidewalk, weaving between pedestrian traffic as he progressed along Waverly.
The unwelcome presence at his back continued to follow, making no effort to conceal his pursuit. Abraxas turned into the nearest alley, shaking his head with resigned annoyance as he straightened his bespoke jacket, waiting patiently.
Humans continued to mill past the mouth, oblivious to the supernatural entities in their midst. A handful of seconds passed until footsteps drew near, followed by a long shadow cast over the worn bricks.
"Good evening, General," the man greeted as he stepped between the buildings, stopping just past the entrance.
Abraxas lifted his chin. "Rodolphus."
Lestrange smiled, fangs extended. "It's been too long, old friend."
"Old, yes. Friend, quite debatable."
Rodolphus pressed a hand to his chest. "You wound me."
"Yet I see no blood." Abraxas raked the tall figure with his gaze, seeing no obvious signs of weapons. "Friends do not follow each other through the dark of night like rats scurrying after a scrap of food."
Rodolphus dropped his hand, gaze narrowing. "Fascinating choice of word." He stepped deeper into the alley, tucking his hands into his pockets. "I see only one rat in my midst."
"Speak plainly," Abraxas said evenly, offering no reaction. "I have no patience for your dramatic flourish."
"You betrayed your own kind."
"If that were so my head would no longer be attached to my body. The Council does not take kindly to traitors." Abraxas' eyes flashed, turning molten. "You'll do well to remember that the next time your Master sends you on a fruitless errand to betray her superiors."
Rodolphus edged closer. "You consider yourself superior to our Queen?"
Abraxas cringed at the moniker as Lestrange grinned, undoubtedly pleased to elicit a reaction at long last.
"Or have you and Riddle finally merged into one being?"
"I'm quite capable of independent thought, Rodolphus. You might give it a try sometime."
Lestrange released a snarl, surging forward with fangs and claws extended. Abraxas caught him by the throat, slamming him into the wall on pure instinct, forearm bracing his chest and pinning him with ease.
"Your infant Queen may bear the blood of an ancient but you do not," Abraxas hissed, leaning in. "Do not forget it is I who outranks you, both in title and ability." His fangs lengthened, gleaming in the muted streetlight. "Pick your battles wisely, Lestrange, or you shall know exactly what it means to be labeled a traitor."
He pushed back, releasing his prisoner and adjusting his cufflinks.
Rodolphus sank to the ground, the wind knocked from his lungs. "I thought you were a Pacifist now," he wheezed, rubbing his chest.
Abraxas considered the statement, lifting a pale brow. "I am many things. Whatever is necessary to protect this city from its own bloodlust."
"Protect the city…" Lestrange leaned his head against the brick. "But not our kind."
"Our kind only need protection from each other." Abraxas turned, walking calmly towards the mouth of the alley. "Good night, Rodolphus." He withdrew his pocket watch once more. "Send Bellatrix my best."
He flicked it open, turning onto the street and gracefully entering the flow of traffic. A drop of rain hit the glass surface, exploding like blood splatter.
Parvati opened her door, peering either way down the narrow hall as though expecting Weasley to rear his flaming head and shove her back inside. Alas, no figure dropped from the ceiling or burst from the tiles. She stepped out, closing her door with a determined glare.
Parvati didn't believe a single word of that buffoon's lunatic rambling. Not a word.
Really, she didn't.
And yet… she hesitated before locking her door, opting to hold her key between her fingers like a blade instead of tucking it into her bag.
Fucking Weasley.
It wasn't the tale that rattled her. Her own father had spun truly terrifying yarns in her youth, a master story-teller, always eager to impress and horrify his daughters in equal measure. No, it was Weasley's utter conviction when delivering the warning that got to her, the intensity of his gaze as he begged her to lock her door and bolt her windows as soon as the sun sank beneath the horizon.
But the disturbing gleam in his eye made no difference. Parvati refused to sequester herself inside all night. Not when Lavender was still out there. Every minute was precious. She wouldn't waste a single moment on something as useless as fear. For Parvati only feared one thing in this life… Losing someone else she loved.
She turned on her heel, storming down the hall in a fit of righteous fury, ready to challenge anyone stupid enough to get in her way. She pulled her coat tight and pushed the door wide, emerging on the stoop, only to rock back on her heels, gazing at the black sky, dense clouds illuminated by white threads of lightning. The thunder was quick to follow, shaking the ground beneath her feet.
Shit.
But there was nothing for it. Short of being struck dead by lightning nothing would keep her indoors tonight.
Not even vampires.
She rolled her eyes at the notion. So fucking stupid—
"Hi."
Parvati screamed, leaping a foot in the air before whipping around, key raised, ready to strike for the jugular.
"Holy hell!" The woman shouted, holding her hands aloft, cigarette burning steadily between her fingers.
Parvati gasped, sinking back against the wall. "Shit, Luce! You scared the piss outta me!"
"I can see that," Lucy smirked, bringing the cigarette to her lips. "You heading in or out?"
Parvati stood from the wall, trying to settle her frayed nerves. "Out."
"Hm." The woman took a long drag. "Off to see the boyfriend."
Parvati blinked. "Boyfriend?"
Her neighbor released a curling stream of smoke. "The Ginger lad you've been running around with."
Parvati's jaw fell wide, nearly gagging. "He isn't— we aren't—" she shivered with revulsion. "I can't even process the horror."
"Horror? He's a looker, nice body as well." Lucy's gaze narrowed, keen and curious. "What, is it a crime scene in his pants or something? I once dated a guy with half a—"
"Please, I've just eaten."
"So you're not humping like rabbits?"
Parvati pressed a hand to her middle. "I beg you— stop."
The woman laughed, emitting smoke with each syllable. "In that case, send him my way next time. I like the young ones, easier to teach new tricks."
Lightning split the sky, bathing them with white light.
"Storm's nearly here, you better get going."
Parvati nodded, starting down the steps. "See you later, Luce."
"Night, kid." Lucy started inside, reaching for the handle. "Oh, Parv!"
Parvati stopped, turning.
"What's up with Blondie?" Her neighbor asked, flicking ashes over the railing. "Haven't seen her in a couple days."
Parvati blinked, vision swimming. "Lavender…" She wet her lip, steadying herself with a hand against the wall. "She'll be back. Soon."
Lucy raised a brow. "Whatever you say." She winked, opening the door and disappearing inside. Parvati watched the barrier swing shut, heart leaping with the heavy click.
Another round of thunder rattled the earth as she turned to face the dark street, starting forward with renewed determination.
Harry raced across the crooked steps, thunder chasing lightning above, filling the air with static and making his hair stand on end. He was shocked to beat the rain, throwing the door wide with latent adrenaline, still on edge from his disturbing Subway encounter.
He barely crossed the threshold when a soft body collided with his own, arms weaving around his neck and wild hair filling his vision. He wrapped an arm around her middle, holding her off the ground as she clung tight.
"I was so worried!" Hermione cried.
"Sorry I'm late." He kicked the door shut at his back. "The train got delayed, an electrical issue with one of the tracks—"
"You're home safe, that's all that matters."
His heart swelled.
Home.
He grasped her waist and helped lower her to the ground.
"Did you find anything?" She asked, eyes bright and eager.
The warmth in his chest cooled at once, ice careening down his spine and through his limbs. He shook his head.
She deflated, nodding solemnly before grasping his shoulder. "You will."
He looked away, unable to face the disappointment in her eyes, no matter her words of reassurance. He stepped back from her touch, raking a hand through his hair and glancing around the entry, eyes lingering on the glossy wood of the side table, the gleaming front of the grandfather clock. His hand dropped.
"Did you clean?"
Hermione blinked. "Oh." She shifted awkwardly, lacing her fingers together. "A bit. I was too anxious to sit still."
He smirked. "Thanks."
"It's nothing."
Something in her tone gave him pause. He tilted his head, eyeing her closely. "So, how was your day?"
She bit her lip, wringing her hands together. Harry stiffened, braced for the next train wreck of his life.
"I reached out to Daphne but haven't heard back," Hermione said quickly. "I'm going to try again tomorrow."
Daphne?
Harry blinked, racking his mind for the source of the familiar name. He straightened, realization dawning with the next lightning strike. The window glowed brightly with the burst, illuminating half their figures in blinding light.
"Greengrass?" He asked.
Hermione nodded.
"I haven't heard that name in a long time."
"Her younger sister is missing," she said.
His heart stuttered.
"Astoria is Ginny's age," she continued. "From the few details I was able to garner the circumstances of her disappearance are similar. Daphne's father hired a team of private investigators, I'm hoping she'll be willing to put us in touch with them."
Private investigators, homeless junkies, clever squirrels, Harry would happily accept any help they could get.
"That's brilliant, Mione."
Her answering smile was tinged in sadness. "According to Draco, they've had about as much success as us. Still, I'd like to compare notes."
Harry blinked, shoulders tensing. "Draco is helping us now?"
She rolled her eyes. "Relax. You won't have to interact with him."
He shook his head, attempting to smooth his hair back— to little avail, the strands eagerly absorbing every bit of electricity hovering in the air. "If it helps us find Gin, I'll deal with the smug prick."
Her smile never wavered, but it didn't reach her eyes.
"What is it?" He asked, leaning forward on instinct.
She took a half-step back, primly folding her hands and squaring her shoulders, expression frightfully blank. "I visited Theo today." A tense beat. "I told him everything."
Harry's hands clenched, bruised knuckles cracking. "I thought we—"
"I'm infected."
He fell silent, pulse fluttering so quickly it hardly seemed to beat.
"I'm changing, Harry. Bit by bit. Hour by hour. Minute by minute." She swallowed miserably, swaying in place. "Even now, I can feel it happening inside me. Trapped in the pit of my stomach, at the base of my skull, prying beneath my ribs. Dark tendrils reaching, spreading, strangling everything I am and replacing it with something monstrous—"
"Hermione—"
"If something happens to me I want you to take guardianship of my father."
He reeled back.
"Not to take care of," she said, stepping forward. "I'd never saddle you with such a tremendous burden. You can put him in assisted living, Susan will help you. I've set some money aside—"
"Stop!" He grabbed her arms, shaking her in the wake of his rising panic. "You aren't dying."
"No." Her eyes gleamed with unshed tears. "What's happening to me is much worse."
He searched her gaze, fingertips pressing her flesh until he felt his heartbeat throbbing in each. "You're becoming one of them," he whispered.
She looked away, a tear overspilling her bottom lashes. She wiped it away, voice carefully measured. "Theo isn't sure. My blood samples... they look different from the others. I need to bring him the jar, so he can start searching for a cure."
He nodded quickly. "I'll bring it to him tonight—"
"No," she gazed up, eyes unsettlingly calm. "The rain is about to start."
"I don't care."
"It's not safe to take the artifact out at night." She placed her hands flat to his chest. "The infected can sense it. At least Riddle could."
Harry's vision flashed red at the bastard's name. He blinked quickly, gripping her tighter, his only tether to reality.
"I'll bring it to Theo in the morning," she stated, breaking his dark trance.
"I can—"
"I want you to stay focused on Ginny."
"Mione—"
"Please, Harry." Her voice cut through like a serrated blade. "There's nothing you can do for me. I didn't even want to tell you, I knew how you'd react. But I don't know how long I have left and I want you to be prepared. I want to know you'll continue searching for her, regardless of what happens to me."
His vision swam, her face losing focus beneath him. "Please stop talking like that," he whispered, voice strangled. "I'm not losing you. I'm not losing anyone else." He shook his head, a tear slipping from the corner of his eye. "But especially not you."
She reached up, wiping the wetness from his cheek with her thumb. "I'm going to do everything I can to fight it, Harry. I promise."
"Theo will find a cure," he vowed. "I'll give him whatever he needs. He'll find it."
Her hands twisted in his shirt. "I'm so sorry, Harry. I never meant to upset you. But I don't want there to be any secrets between us."
His spine turned to stone, blood draining from his head in a rush.
"It's alright," she whispered, holding his terrified gaze in her thrall. "I don't expect you to give up your secrets to me. But I needed to tell you mine." She wet her lips, leaning into him. "I don't want to be alone in this."
"You aren't alone." He wrapped his arms around her, holding her close, her hands still pinned between them, framing his rapid heartbeat. "I'm with you, no matter what happens, I'm with you, Mione."
She choked back a sob, trying to disguise it as a laugh.
"We'll find a cure," Harry whispered against her temple, smoothing a hand over her hair. "We'll find Gin." He rested his chin atop her head as she trembled in his arms. Lightning struck, illuminating the monstrous storm clouds and half of his lethal visage, as well as a pair of gleaming, golden eyes. "And I'll kill anyone who gets in our way."
Abraxas turned the corner, emerging deep in the heart of Downtown. Steam billowed from the metal grates as rain drizzled from the black sky. The crowd had thinned, residents preparing for the oncoming monsoon. Fewer mortals roaming the streets meant fewer bodies to deal with come morning, a small boon in the midst of so much chaos. Still, he owed a duty to this City, to Tom, so Abraxas took care to complete his nightly rounds on his way back to the Penthouse, no shortcuts.
Not even to deter the Stalker at his back.
He'd sensed the dark presence since Broadway, the lurking figure following dutifully as Abraxas led the way through the gridlock streets, tracking his steady ascent North towards the Park. The incessant shadow stayed downwind and kept enough distance that Abraxas couldn't isolate their heartbeat or footsteps. The temptation to glance over his shoulder was strong, but he resisted the urge, knowing a silent warning would do little to deter such brazen stupidity. The mysterious figure undoubtedly knew who Abraxas was and who he worked for and still, they chose to pursue.
He briefly considered Rodolphus had crawled out from the alley Abraxas had left him in and resumed his fruitless chase. But neither Lestrange male could possibly be so reckless and have survived this long. Still, their feckless Queen may have sent another of her pawns sniffing after Tom and his progeny.
Truly, there was only one way to be certain. He needed to set a fox trap.
Abraxas swiftly changed course, weaving through a cluster of pedestrians hauling instrument cases and entered the first alley he came across. These hidden networks were the veins of the City, an endless maze within a maze that flowed like his own life's blood.
So he was shocked to realize he'd never set foot within this particular off-shoot, at least not in many years, none of the restaurants or shops familiar at first glance. The majority were closed, accordion gates blocking darkened storefronts. Except for the venue at the end of the row, its glittering window covered in beaded curtains, a thin sliver of flickering candlelight visible between the folds.
"Get out here, con artist! Show your face or I'll drag you out by your hair!"
Abraxas wasn't phased by the booming male voice, distant as it was. No doubt a gambling debt about to be settled with fists and hollow threats, if the illustrious opening line was any indication. The area was well-known for underground gambling dens, after all. He'd plucked many a meal from their smoke-addled halls.
Abraxas continued forward, dismissing the voice and mapping out his next move, a little chase to take his relentless fox on.
"Hello, Mr. Everett."
He froze in place, turning his head in the direction of the melodic voice.
"I didn't expect to see you in my establishment again."
Abraxas lifted his chin, eyes darting along the abandoned alley, lingering on the corner shop at the end.
"No? Aren't you a fucking psychic? Don't hide behind your curtain, little bitch!"
He crossed to the mouth of the alley, stopping before the crumbling storefront. A small sign hung above the door, blood red with light lettering. A simple declaration, if there ever was one.
PSYCHIC
"Where's your accomplice? Scamming someone else out of their hard earned cash?"
Abraxas took a steadying breath, heels locked in place. He made no move towards the door, nor did he consider turning away, not until he heard it once more.
"Well? Speak!"
Ironic, Abraxas was thinking the very same thing. He closed his eyes, waiting...
"I'm sorry that your wife left you, Mr. Everett. But you shall find no relief or redemption at my door."
His fists curled at his sides.
"We'll see about that."
The man's final words were followed by heavy steps and a mighty crash.
Abraxas stepped forward at last, movements fluid, automatic as he opened the door and stepped inside. The overhead bell chimed softly, causing the man at the center of the shop to whip around, an overturned table at his feet. Abraxas lifted his chin, inhaling a heady combination of sandalwood and amber as he bestowed the red-faced stranger with a pleasant smile.
And then movement pulled his gaze to the far wall. A beaded curtain swayed. Behind which a feminine silhouette dwelled, a glimpse of pale hair and skin visible through the glittering strands. His chest tightened, muscles coiling with anticipation. The base reaction disturbed him greatly. He forced his hands into his pockets and his attention to the seething man.
"Good evening," he offered cordially.
The human scowled. "Leave."
"Without my psychic reading?" Abraxas raised a pale brow. "I think not."
The man blinked, seeming to debate how to proceed. "Trust me, the whores who work here are scam artists, nothing more."
"And your word is to be trusted?"
The stranger straightened, examining Abraxas more closely. "If you're committed to throwing your money away then so be it. But you should know— the sign on the door isn't code for a pleasure den, either. Neither trollop offers any services beyond vicious lies."
"Yet you refer to them as trollops and whores," Abraxas smirked. "And still it seems you're a returning customer."
The man clenched his teeth, a vein throbbing at his temple. "I came to demand my money back!"
"You received your prior reading free of charge," the woman stated, voice smooth and even.
Abraxas glanced to the curtain, taking a step forward beyond his control. He blinked, steadying himself as she continued.
"Now I shall ask you once more to depart this place and never return."
Her heartbeat was calm, scent laced with cedar leaves and citrus and not a trace of fear. Abraxas tore his gaze from the silhouette, focusing on the obstacle lingering between them.
"The lady has asked quite nicely. I suggest you head her request."
The man scoffed, visage twisted in outrage. "This is none of your business, partner. It's between me and the woman."
"Not anymore." Abraxas smiled, teeth gleaming. "She just ended her association with you."
The man balled his fists, stepping over the broken table and crossing closer. "Back off, asshole, or get ready to square up in the alley."
Abraxas felt his grin widen of its own accord. "Oh, I'm ready." He stood aside, gesturing to the door. "Please, after you."
The man halted mid-step, eyes widening. He opened and closed his gaping maw before speaking, voice thinner than before. "You're mad."
Abraxas chuckled, shoulders shaking with the motion. "Not even close. But don't worry, when I get mad, you'll know."
The stranger stiffened, then glanced to the beaded curtain, brow darkening. "This is a shakedown." He looked to Abraxas, studying him anew. "You're working with her."
Abraxas tilted his head. "And you're an abnormally paranoid man. I wonder why that is." His eyes flickered to the swaying curtain, the corner of his lips turning up. "Any ideas, luv?"
Her form remained unmoving as a statue. "He's embezzling from his employer. It has made him highly distrustful of others."
The man paled, staggering back as he faced her. "How…" his shock rapidly gave rise to rage. "How are you doing this? Who's feeding you information?" He stepped towards her. Abraxas' vision sharpened. "Is my wife paying you? Is the bitch prepping for a hefty divorce settlement?" He charged the curtain. "Tell me!"
Abraxas acted without permission from his brain, surging forward with inhuman speed and grabbing the back of the man's coat, throwing him headlong into the nearest shelf. But the fool still had enough good sense left within to throw out his arms, stopping the head-on collision and sparing his nose from a spectacular crunch. Candles fell on their sides, rolling to the floor at their feet as Abraxas pinned a hand to the back of the squirming idiot's neck and grabbed his flailing wrist with the other, twisting an arm behind his back and earning a shocked gasp of pain.
"Your dealings with the girl are over," he informed the human calmly. "Now, would you still like to square up in the alley?"
The man gulped, struggling to gain momentum with his free arm. "Get your hands off me! I'll have you arrested for assault!"
Abraxas grinned. "I'll take that as a resounding no." He released him, stepping back. "I suggest you find other sources of entertainment this evening… partner."
The man scrambled away, nearly tripping over a candle as he darted to the door, eyes glistening with humiliation and hatred.
"This isn't over," he stated, voice too high to be taken seriously… if Abraxas had felt so inclined. He tugged at his collar, neck a blistering red, and sent the young woman one last simmering glare. "Not until I find out who's paying you, bitch."
He pulled the door wide and charged into the dark alley, disappearing from sight before the barrier closed behind him.
And then it was just them.
Abraxas inhaled slowly, her scent stronger in the wake of the man's departure. He counted her rhythmic heartbeats, taking care to keep his movements slow and measured as he turned to face her at last.
The beads danced in the candlelight, casting glimmering shapes onto the walls, yet her form remained bathed in shadow, hidden from clear view.
"What fortuitous timing you have," she said at last. He could feel her eyes upon him. "Thank you for your assistance. I am indebted to your kindness."
He searched for her gaze in the darkness, catching only flashes between the sway of beads. "Kindness shouldn't be paid back. Only forward."
Her pulse changed, quickening for a beat before leveling.
"Even so," Abraxas continued, easing his hands back into his trouser pockets. "It is I who am indebted to you. I entered your shop to cure myself of boredom. The endeavor was a smashing success."
She laughed, the sound as melodic as her voice. "I'm happy to have provided you with such a service." Her posture shifted, just a fraction, just enough to cast a thin sliver of candlelight across her shoulder.
He wet his lips, forcing his feet to remain rooted. "May I see your face?" He asked, hardly aware of his words.
Her heart fluttered, echoing in his ears until it overlaid his own.
"If you'd like," she replied softly, hands appearing between the dangling strands, separating the threads as she stepped through.
Abraxas barely registered her appearance, unable to look away from her eyes, overwhelmed by a fresh onslaught of her scent. He swallowed thickly, gums throbbing in time to his heartbeat. "What is your name?"
She tilted her head, eyes sparkling like crystal clear water. "Aysel."
He smirked, tossing the name off the walls of his mind until it struck recognition. "Turkish for moonlight," he murmured.
She blinked, expression caught between surprise and dismay.
"Beautiful." He spoke clearly, lips spreading into a full grin. "I imagine your true name is just as so."
Her hands opened and closed at her sides. "Aysel is the name I offer patrons. For my own protection."
"A wise practice," he conceded, allowing the matter to drop for the time being. He drew his shoulders wide, glancing to the door and back. "Was tonight's encounter a common one?"
"Are you referring to yourself or Mr. Everett?"
He laughed. "The latter."
"Common? No. Rare? Hardly so." Candlelight danced across her face. "Not everyone enjoys having their fortune told."
"And yet they come to a psychic?"
"Naturally. Who better to blame their misfortune on?"
He glanced around the shop, gaze lingering on a crystal ball on the back counter, white smoke swirling beneath iridescent glass.
"Do you work alone?" He asked.
"On occasion."
His eyes snapped forward. "This neighborhood is filled with less than scrupulous characters."
"As well as good samaritans, it would seem."
He smiled at her quip, recognizing the moment for what it was. The end. Their polite banter had run its natural course. The threat to her safety had passed. Lingering in her presence any longer would be a blatant admission he wasn't ready to face.
Leave. Now.
His feet didn't budge.
"Perhaps I'll become your newest client," he said with a wry grin.
She matched it with one of her own, the effect breathtaking. "You don't believe in psychics."
He laughed, studying her face. "Did you just read my mind?"
Her heart stuttered once more, smile flickering. "I read your eyes."
His own amusement faded, focus drawn tight at the intensity of her voice. Her gaze was a siren call, drawing him closer. Every footstep sealed her fate, but she didn't retreat, didn't flinch or balk. She merely lifted her chin, words erecting a powerful shield.
"You have somewhere else to be."
He halted, realizing he'd crossed half the shop in a trance. He ran his tongue along his gums, feeling the tips of his fangs. "I do."
She held his eye without blinking. "But you have no desire to be there."
He raked his gaze along her front, taking in all of her for the first time. "My skepticism is rapidly waning."
Her answering smile was soft, secretive. "Then perhaps next time you'll sit for a proper reading."
The air turned electric, particles snapping in the air, dancing like fire between them.
The shop door swung wide, the bell ringing loudly, jarring them both.
"Holy shit!" The new entrant shouted as she stepped inside. "Got here just in the nick of time! You'll never guess what crazy bullshit—" the young woman gazed up, catching sight of Abraxas. "Oh." Her dark eyes drifted to the psychic. "Sorry, I…. can come back—"
"That isn't necessary," Abraxas offered, folding his hands behind his back and facing the blonde as well. "I was just taking my leave." He tipped his head. "Good night, Daughter of the Moon."
She smiled. "Good night…"
"Abraxas."
She swallowed lightly. "Abraxas."
His entire body throbbed.
Time to leave.
He turned on his heal, passing the brunette on his way to the exit. "Good evening," he offered, bowing his head once more.
She smirked, dipping into a low and atrocious curtsy. "Evenin', Sir."
Abraxas laughed at her jest, grabbing the handle and opening the door, only to pause in the frame and glance back, needing to look upon her one more time. "Is he really embezzling from his employer?"
She tilted her head, pale hair cascading over her shoulder in a gleaming river. "For the last two years."
He smirked, buttoning the front of his coat. "I look forward to my reading." And then he turned away, entering the rain and smoke-filled alley with her glittering smile still emblazoned on his mind.
Tom progressed along the middle of the road with an unhurried gait, strolling between pools of yellow streetlamp. The sky above was black, void of stars and moonlight, dense clouds smothering the earth.
But he could see the street sign ahead just fine.
Grimmauld.
He hadn't set foot in this neighborhood in a very long time. So much had changed. So much would change yet. Change, eternal as time itself. He folded his hands behind his back, turning onto the adjoining street, guided by her scent alone. He could no longer sense her aura, a curious anomaly, but one that was soon made evident.
He never saw the outside of the residence in the dreamscape. Her mind had concocted fragments of the interior, snippets of the street beyond. But he knew exactly which home his Egyptologist had taken to hiding within, even without the lure of her scent.
He stopped before the curving iron gates, peering through twisting ivy at the sprawling gothic revival towering on the other side. The haunting architecture stood out like a dark beacon on this quaint residential street. The home's outward appearance was a stunning sight, but far from its most compelling characteristic. Rather, it was the sinister energy radiating from the very foundation of the property, encasing the dwelling like a magnetic field. The shield was undoubtedly blocking her supernatural aura, overpowering it with its own.
He wondered if she chose this particular refuge for that very reason, knowing the power it contained. Or perhaps it was merely a coincidence. Either way… Ms. Granger was fast becoming the most fascinating mortal he'd encountered since being one himself.
Tom stepped closer to the gates. They sang with energy, the metal vibration humming through the tightly packed earth, into muscle and bone, radiating through his skull in silent warning. Lightning split the sky. He set his jaw as thunder rumbled above, a wild beast unleashed from its cosmic prison, roaring from the heavens.
"Hello, there."
Tom turned slowly, so consumed by the supernatural energy he paid little mind to the elderly man's approach.
"Can I help you?" The human asked, street light reflecting off his bald head and round spectacles.
Tom regarded the newcomer carefully, recognizing the curiosity on his aged face, scenting the apprehension in his sweat. A nosy neighbor. Tom's favorite.
"I couldn't help but admire the architecture," he offered with a disarming smile.
The man laughed jovially, posture easing as he rested his hands atop his round stomach. "Oh yes, the estate is quite breathtaking. That is if you have an appreciation for the macabre."
Tom licked his lips, glancing back to the ominous gates. "You might consider me an expert on such things."
"Are you an acquaintance of Mr. Potter?"
Mr. Potter.
Tom's smile deepened. "Not yet." He turned. "I'm a friend of the renowned Ms. Granger."
The reaction was instantaneous, as though Tom had spoken the magic words aloud, opening the floodgates of neighborly bullshit.
"Ah, Hermione!" The man rocked back on his heels. "How delightful to see her again!" He adjusted his glasses, tipping his head to maintain Tom's steely gaze. "So strange, the home sat empty for so long, so void of light, and now it's positively brimming with life. A much-needed change."
"Have you lived here long, Mr..."
"Please, call me Horace," he beamed. "And I've been here nearly four decades, my boy. Longer than half of these streets have been around."
Tom inhaled deeply. Splendid. "You've known Mr. Potter and Ms. Granger a long time then."
"Since they were born." He laughed anew, as though delivering a punchline. "Oh, the stories I could tell!"
Wind shook the trees, rattling the leaves. The rain started. Just a few drops, but heavy enough to indicate a torrential downpour in their midst.
"Dear me!" The old man gazed at the sky, raindrops bouncing off his lenses and smooth head. "Here I stand rambling like an old fool in the rain." He removed his glasses, drying them with the corner of his vest. "I've kept you from your evening long enough, do tell Harry and Hermione I said hello."
Tom tilted his head, smile stretching from end to end as a new plan rapidly converged in his mind. "I certainly will."
The man shoved the glasses onto his face, squirming as the drops came faster, heavier. "It was a pleasure to meet you, Mr…"
"Riddle." Tom offered his hand. "Tom Riddle."
Horace accepted the offering with a terse smile, eager to escape the storm. But as he tried to pull away Tom's grip tightened, eyes gleaming bright. The man blinked, expression falling lax.
Tom released his hand, taking hold of his mind instead. "And I think I should like to hear those stories now."
Lightning tore across the sky, illuminating his cunning smile, framed by gleaming fangs.
Thunder shook the walls, rain pounded the metal roof in a deafening onslaught, each drop a hammer strike. But Theo paid the raging storm little mind, fully absorbed in his task. Hunched over the desk, eyes narrowed behind magnifying spectacles as he examined the selection of slides lined up before him. Granger's blood, slightly modified in each sample. He needed more. More trials, more time, more blood, more more more—
He sighed, shaking his head as he fed a plate beneath the microscope. The mice continued to riot in their cage, feasting on a pile of ground chuck. They'd been reluctant at first, obviously preferring living meat to the butcher's block, but he couldn't risk another skeleton reanimating itself. The cage simply couldn't withstand a fifth undead occupant.
Another round of thunder began. The lights flickered. Theo tensed, glancing up with a scowl. Cheap goddamn wiring.
He pushed away from the desk, pulling off his magnifiers as he cut a determined path across the laboratory. The breaker box was hidden behind a rolling shelf and he quickly realized the only way to move the obstruction was to first reposition the metal slab containing the body.
Theo sighed, nearly colliding with a rolling cart as the lights continued their dizzying strobe effect. He gripped the edge of the table, kicking up the brake and rolling the slab to the center of the floor before stepping to the shelf, doing the same. Finally, he opened the breaker panel, reaching for the first switch—
The lights cut out entirely. Blackness swallowed the room.
Theo braced a palm against the wall, unable to see his hand before his face, heart pounding louder than the rain. The mice continued to rage, rattling the bars, screaming like feral cats.
Fabric rustled.
Theo spun, nearly tripping over his own feet in his haste, eyes narrowed upon the dark abyss. The back-up generator surged, thumping powerfully as it burst to life, red light flooding the ceiling and bleeding down to the laboratory floor in faint beams, bathing the tables and equipment in blood and shadow. He glanced around manically, heart trapped in his throat, breath strangled. Yet nothing looked amiss.
He took a steadying breath, listing against the wall and tracing the shadows with his eyes before turning for the box. But it too was cloaked in darkness, switches invisible against the black backdrop.
"Shit!" He hissed, rubber groaning between his fist as he pushed away, navigating carefully to a shelf against the adjoining wall. Still, he managed to collide with a stool, bruising his shin and cursing splendidly, hopping on one foot and rubbing the injured limb as he reached his destination, fumbling for the lantern.
As he searched out the switch on the base he heard a noise on the laboratory floor, too faint to make out yet echoing all around him. He clicked the lantern on, biting back a shout of terror as he spun, raising the light overhead, a bubble of flickering flame encasing him.
Still, he saw nothing.
Theo gulped, throat bobbing high as he dragged a gloved hand over his face and stumbled for the breaker box. Tools rattled as he collided with the edge of the shelf, losing his footing and catching himself against the metal slab, its occupant rocking with the impact. He scrambled back, darting around the pale feet, eyes catching the ominous blood spot on the sheet as he returned to the box. He held the lantern tight, fist trembling as he flipped the main lever, only for a sea of sparks to shoot out.
"Fuck!"
He reared back, body vibrating with adrenaline.
Something scraped the cement behind him.
Theo spun, eyes wide, the red light pulsing in time to his frantic heartbeat. The lab looked foreign to his gaze, unrecognizable in the crimson light, distorted by long, rippling shadows that transformed his former sanctuary into the bowels of hell. He turned to the breakers, flipping switches at random, hands trembling uncontrollably, only to stiffen with unbridled terror as fabric rustled anew. He felt a presence at his back, the air pressure changing as it drew near, closer closer closer—
Theo flipped the final switch. The lights surged back on, blinding in intensity. He released a panicked howl, turning on his heel and colliding with the wall, crossing his arms like a shield as he braced for attack.
But there was nothing there.
The mice continued to scream in their cage, agitated by the light show. Theo pushed off from the wall and bolted for the stairs, dropping the lantern as he went. The glass shattered, littering the floor as he bounded the steps two at a time, clutching the railing so tightly he was certain he'd tear it from the wall. He tripped halfway up, catching himself with his palms before eating it with his face.
He jumped to his feet, leaping the final step to the catwalk. He slid open the lock and tore open the door, panting like a madman, only to pause at the threshold, halted by a sheet of rain so dense he couldn't see the mouth of the alley. Theo steadied himself against the frame, inhaling deeply, holding it in his lungs as he fought to slow his racing pulse and mind.
Calm down, you fucking loon! There's nothing here.
He turned slowly, bracing the railing with both hands and peering down at the laboratory floor. The cage continued to rattle with such force it hung on the edge of the table. He watched in silent horror as it tipped, hitting the cement with a crash. Theo gasped, waiting for mutilated mice to dart in every direction, trailing blood and intestines in their wake. But the bars held, at least for the moment.
He darted back down the steps without hesitation. With no understanding of how the virus spread he couldn't risk the creatures escaping, they could infect the entire city within a matter of days.
He jumped the bottom step, racing for the cage— only to trip, feet tangling in a soft mass on the ground. He hit the ground like a sack of grain, grunting with the bone-jarring impact and rolling to his side, shoulder throbbing at the socket. He groaned, trying to collect his bearings, starting with freeing his legs. Theo blinked in confusion, glancing down at the material wrapping his ankles.
A sheet.
He kicked it away, grabbing a corner of the fabric and pulling it close, studying the blood stain. His gulp echoed in his ears as his gaze drifted higher, eyeing the underside of the metal slab situated just beside his prone form. He sat up, gripping one of the table legs for support as he pushed slowly to his feet, body swaying in time to his thrumming pulse.
The table sat empty.
Theo clutched the sheet with a trembling fist, unable to look away, to blink or breathe—
A shuffle sounded.
He spun, facing the standing shelf at the far wall, lungs burning as a pair of yellow eyes gazed out from between the bins, watching steadily.
Theo rocked back, too horrified to scream but still sane enough to run. He dropped the sheet and staggered sideways, aiming for the stairs, only to kick the edge of the fallen cage, its inhabitants going rabid once more. Theo yelped, jolting a foot into the air, senses overwhelmed.
And then he heard it. A quiet gasp.
He settled in place, glancing back to the shelf and the inhuman gaze it revealed. The eyes continued to watch him with unwavering intensity, yet this time Theo was able to recognize the terror housed within. He wet his lips, muscles strained to the point of hypertension.
"H-Hello?" He uttered, voice distorted by fear.
The eyes blinked, offering no other response.
And against all higher reasoning, Theo stepped forward.
The figure scrambled back, knocking a beaker loose, glass shattering on the cement. Theo raised his hands, stopping. "It's alright!" He swallowed convulsively, mouth filled with sand. "Don't be frightened."
He kept his feet firmly rooted, hearing only his stuttered breath and the distant rattle of the cage.
Until, at long last, the figure edged out from behind the shelf. Theo lowered his hands, unable to support their weight in the midst of the newest onslaught.
She appeared no different than she had on the slab. Naked and bloodless, skin pale as the sheet that once covered it. Her hair was dry and brittle, eyes yellowed, sunken and bruised, laced with broken capillaries. Her neck black and blue, torso and limbs littered with broken skin, assorted teeth marks, knees dirty and scuffed. Theo blinked, gaze lingering upon her feet, the mottled flesh of her left ankle, a line of congealed blood dripping from the wound to the ground below.
She swayed as thunder crashed overhead, shaking the warehouse and rattling every bone in Theo's body. He inhaled slowly, vision blurred as he lifted his gaze, meeting her haunted stare once more.
"Well then," he stated simply.
And then promptly passed out.