The Thrall

by A.Lovely.Villain

New York City, 1925. When the sun sets, darkness reigns over the city that never sleeps... and an ancient evil awakens. Penny Dreadful inspired AU

9. Lotus Rising

"Am I walking toward something I should be running away from?"

~ Shirley Jackson, The Haunting of Hill House

. . .

Hermione raised a trembling hand, pressing it flat to the wood. She held her breath, pushing the barrier wide, revealing a cluster of black and white tile to the pulsing overhead lights. She stepped forward, knees locked as the door clicked shut, sealing her in. Her lungs burned for oxygen, vision dimming as she inhaled at last, sharp and painful, senses overwhelmed by the lustrous fragrance hanging heavy on the air.

The Scent.

As powerful and all-consuming as the first time she encountered it, a roaring wave crashing against her from all sides, bending her spine with its intensity. She dug in her heels, grout indenting her bare feet as her eyes tracked to the row of sinks lining the wall. They gleamed brightly, silent and barren. No one stood before them, no witness to her breakdown, nobody to absorb the echo of her footfalls as she started forward, hands tense at her sides.

She padded softly to the central basin, stopping before the porcelain and gazing up, meeting her reflection in the mirror. Sunlight streamed through the window, casting half her face in ethereal glow and cloaking the other side in shadow, an invisible line drawn down her center.

Her eyes were sunken, dim, haunted as a mummified corpse. She leaned down and turned on the sink, filling her palms with cool liquid, splashing it against her face. But her skin suddenly felt numb. She studied the water in her hands, the beads of moisture forming along the porcelain, the steady stream pouring from the faucet.

And then, very slowly, the water turned pink, deepening to red. A crimson waterfall filling the bowl, rising higher higher higher, lapping at the rim, overspilling onto the floor.

Hermione staggered back, watching the red travel through the lines in the grout, outlining each tile, moving towards her feet. She darted forward, cringing at the wetness between her toes as she grabbed the handles, turning them with all her might. But they refused to budge, the blood flowing harder, faster, shaking the pipes and rattling the mirror.

She continued to tug and twist, red splashing her face and neck, her arms and clothes, staining every part of her. A scream welled in her throat, blocking her airway and making her dizzy with panic. She shook her head, shifting back as the pipes banged and rattled, nearly knocking the mirror loose. She glanced up, glimpsing her reflection a second time. And screamed.

A woman stood behind her.

Hermione spun, mouth parted wide, but saw nothing. Her heart skipped every other beat, muscles twitching as she faced the rattling mirror, seeing a woman standing just beyond her shoulder, beautiful and poised.

Her skin was the color of burnt umber, decorated in gold leaf, reflecting the sunlight brilliantly. Her dark hair was woven through with golden strands and jewels, their faceted edges casting prisms across the ceiling and walls, rippling like flowing water. Her eyes shone just as bright, magnetic in their power, large pupils ringed by a thin band of honey, the contrast eerie and mesmerizing. Her full lips were curved in a wry grin, as though she understood something far beyond Hermione's comprehension.

But what drew her focus rapt was what lay below the neck, the vision so striking Hermione couldn't look away. The stranger stood nearly nude, draped only in thin gold chains hanging across her breasts and thighs, along her hips and atop her shoulders, leaving little to the imagination yet evoking a myriad of images in Hermione's mind. Pictures from her history books, from exhibit displays and excavation photos. An ancient fashion Hermione recognized well. And as though the woman could sense the direction of her thoughts, she smiled, revealing white, gleaming fangs.

Hermione knew she should scream, run, struggle, but she stood transfixed and breathless. The woman raised a hand, bangles glittering on her arm and rings adorning each finger, the bauble on her thumb shaped like a feline, its golden tail curving down, wrapping her wrist. She gathered Hermione's hair and pushed it aside, revealing the column of her neck and holding her gaze as she leaned in, fangs drawing near, lips curved with pleasure. Hermione shivered, feeling warm breath ghost across her throat, the air around her turning charged, alive.

The tips of the lethal points dimpled her flesh, threatening to break the skin as red flooded the woman's eyes, their honey bands glowing bright, the sight ripping Hermione from her terror-stricken stupor at last.

She screamed shrilly, wrenching free of the stranger's hold and staggering forward, catching herself against the edge of the overflowing sink and spinning around, braced for attack—

But all that stood before her was a row of empty stalls.

Hermione gasped, pushing away, splashing through blood as she ran for the door, hitting the barrier with both hands and fumbling for the handle, palms slick with red. She lost her grip on the first attempt but clutched it tightly on her second, pulling the barrier wide—

But her path to freedom was blocked. The woman stood at the threshold, hands resting on either side of the frame, cutting off her escape.

Hermione lurched back, hitting the tiled wall with a thud, spine screaming in protest even as her throat clenched in panic. The woman tipped her head back and laughed, the melody deep, rich and inviting, long neck gleaming beneath the fluorescent lights. And then the rest of her followed suit until eventually, Hermione realized it wasn't a reflection she was seeing but a full-body emanation.

The light raced down her throat and chest, to her stomach and thighs, into her calves and ankles, across her arms and through her hair, until an aura of golden light encased her entire being, tipped in swaying tendrils like a burning sun. Hermione raised her arm, squinting against the brightness as she pressed flat to the wall, desperate to move through the solid barrier, to hide in the shadows and escape the fate that surely awaited her.

The laughter died down to a rolling echo, thunder in the distance. The woman stepped forward, releasing the frame and crossing the narrow divide, pressing into Hermione as she grabbed her wrist, pulling her arm aside so there was nothing between them. The light overtook Hermione's vision and infused her skin with scorching heat, wrapping around her until they stood encased within a dome of white, the bathroom falling away.

Hermione opened her mouth, desperate to cry, to scream, to beg, but was silenced by a finger to her lips, the woman's deep exhale chasing her swift inhale, soft breath cascading across her face, blowing back strands of her hair. The stranger held her gaze, earlier amusement long faded, kohl-lined eyes burning with intensity. She dragged her finger down Hermione's lips, tugging them gently before cupping her cheek, the cat ring singing against her flesh. She leaned in close, until Hermione nearly went cross-eyed maintaining her gaze.

"Sigat ri:ac wā'baw kūmat," the woman whispered, each word entering Hermione's parted mouth, traveling down her throat and falling like a stone to the pit of her stomach. She closed her eyes, body going lax as an arm slid around her waist, pulling her close.

"Mione."

Lips pressed against her own, sealing the ancient pact. Hermione inhaled sharply, taking in light and fire and jasmine and smoke.

"Hermione!"

She released her breath in a scream, the lips and hands and arms dropping away from her consciousness. The floor followed suit, sending her into endless free fall down a long, white tunnel, blood churning at the bottom.

"Wake up!"

She opened her eyes, seeing Harry's face directly before her own. She blinked rapidly, looking around, dazed and panting. He sat on the edge of her bed, holding both of her wrists captive, her fists balled tight, trembling.

"It's okay, you're okay," he assured, though he didn't appear certain of his own words.

Hermione twisted her arms, pulling free of his hold to draw a hand over her face, coming away with sweat. She cringed, staring at her glistening palm as Crookshanks wedged himself between their bodies, forcing Harry back, much to her friend's annoyance.

Hermione dropped her hand, meeting his worried gaze. "I'm sorry I woke you."

"You didn't, I was already awake." He eyed her closely. "Nightmare?"

She released her breath in a rush, recalling the woman's rich laughter, the red infusing her gaze, warm lips pressing against her own.

"I'm not sure."

Harry rubbed a hand along her arm, squeezing gently, her only warning as to what was to come. "You should rest."

Her eyes narrowed at once, his innocent tone doing nothing to fool her. "I'm not lying in bed all day."

His hand dropped away. "I never said that. I just think you should take it easy, maybe take the day off—"

"I have to work, Harry."

She tossed her covers aside to illustrate her point, swinging her legs over the bed and standing so quickly she got a headrush.

"Mione, this is crazy."

Blood surged through her ears, her throbbing heartbeat overlaying his voice, followed by a pleasant tingling sensation down her spine, through her legs and into her toes. She wiggled them, feet warm against the cold hardwood. But the sensation soon faded with his next words.

"You're sick. You could spread it to others."

She shook her head, starting for her closet, Crookshanks leaping from the bed and padding silently in her wake.

"This isn't the rhinovirus, Harry."

"The what?"

She sighed, seamlessly stepping over her cat as he weaved in front of her. "If it was airborne then the entire city would have it."

Harry stood. "Mione, please, what if something happens?"

She grabbed her robe off the back of the door, folding it over her arm before turning. "Then I'll come home."

Suddenly, without warning or cause, another headrush overtook her, so powerful she saw stars dance before her eyes, spindling light falling from the ceiling like confetti, obscuring his face. She closed her lids, swaying gently as a sudden euphoria filled her head like fluffy white cotton, making her weightless, soft, melted—

It was then she realized she'd tipped sideways, losing her balance. Harry rushed forward to catch her but she righted herself before he completed his journey, holding up her hands in a staying gesture.

"What's wrong?" He asked, eyes frantically raking across her front.

She shook her head, pressing a hand to her chest, feeling the rapid thrum of her heart. "Nothing."

She blinked slowly, thoughts mulish, the euphoria fading as quickly as it came, settling into a distant purr at the back of her skull. Or perhaps it was Crookshanks. She glanced down, meeting his gleaming gaze. His tail flicked from side to side, whiskers twitching as he watched her steadily.

"I feel…" She glanced up once more, vision sharper than moments before, Harry's eyes such a vibrant green she could practically see the jungle contained within. "Great."

He lifted a brow. "Great? You almost passed out."

She rolled her eyes, spinning on her heel, movements fluid and graceful. "You're as bad as Malfoy."

Harry reared back. "Low blow."

She smirked, pausing in the bathroom doorway and glancing over her shoulder. "I'm fine, Harry, and I need to start getting ready."

She could see the wheels turning behind his gaze, another argument rapidly taking shape. She braced for battle, feeling more alert and energetic than she had in years. But he relented, shoulders lowering, voice tinged with reluctance.

"I'll make some breakfast."

She smiled, grateful for the reprieve. "Thank you."

Hermione watched him head for the door and felt something inside her fall away. She dashed forward without conscious thought, grabbing his arm and halting his retreat. He spun quickly, eyes wide as she threw her arms around his middle, pressing her face into his chest.

"It'll be okay, Harry," she muttered into his shirt, eyes squeezed tight. "I promise, if anything changes, I'll come right back."

She heard him swallow, felt his heavy sigh, and then his arms wrapped around her back.

"I know. I trust you."

She nodded, pulling back slowly to meet his gaze before rising up, planting a quick kiss on his cheek. He blinked, startled by the gesture, only to chuckle softly, rubbing the spot her lips had touched.

"You just earned yourself pancakes," he said with a wink, backing towards the doorway.

"I'd like mine without beans, please."

"You don't know what you're missing."

He disappeared around the corner with a wide grin, footsteps fading a moment later. She entered the bathroom at last, Crookshanks slipping through the narrow gap as she closed the door, jovial giddiness rapidly dissipating, the sudden fluctuations in her mood deeply unsettling. She pressed her forehead against the wood, breathing deeply as Crookshanks rubbed against her ankles, sensing her distress.

She pivoted towards the sink and swallowed heavily, chancing an upward glance, muscles rigid with anticipation. The mirror was stained black around the edges but revealed no hovering figure at her back.

She stepped closer, studying her reflection, noticing her complexion appeared brighter than usual, unexpected in light of so much restless slumber. And her eyes seemed… different. Barely so, but the deviation was noticeable, flecks of gold in the irises lightening them half a shade. The sight reminded her of the woman from her dream, the intensity of her stare, its supernatural gleam.

She exhaled slowly, steam fogging the glass as the words came back to her in a rush, the smooth flow of the deep voice echoing through her mind again and again, the translation taking shape as easily as her next breath.

"Sigat ri:ac wā'baw kūmat."

"Daughter of the Sun," Hermione whispered aloud, holding her gaze in the mirror. "The time has come."

---

Theo groaned into the darkness, wondering what had happened to the lights, only for red to flood his vision, deepening with every throb of his pulse. Pain erupted along his side, sharp and insistent, a gentle reminder he wasn't dead. Yet.

A noise drew his focus, a soft shuffle, and it was then he realized his eyes were in fact closed. He opened them, instantly regretting the decision. Green glared down from the standing lamps on either side, blinding in intensity. He turned away from the onslaught, rolling onto his back and blinking up at a dark mass hovering above, watching with dumbfounded fascination as it floated sideways, out of his field of vision.

He rubbed his eyes, awareness slowly gaining momentum until he realized he was horizontal, lying atop a hard, unforgiving surface. And most pertinently, his head hurt like fuck.

The dark mass returned, a swaying shadow blocking out the light. He glanced around, cringing with the effort, spotting the bottom portion of a metal table and the busted wheels of a stool.

Why am I on the—

And then, all at once, the memories came flooding back in suffocating rush, pressing on his lungs and crushing him from the inside. He snapped upright, only to realize a moment too late he was situated just beside the metal slab. His skull collided off the edge with a bang, sending him sprawling back once more.

"Ah! Fuck!"

The dark mass shuffled closer.

Theo turned his head on instinct, staring at a pair of pale, varicose-ridden feet as he rubbed the rapidly swelling knot on his head. Silence encased the lab, eerie and absolute. And then the feet started forward, closing in. He nearly gagged with terror, pushing back, sliding awkwardly across the floor until a shelf halted his retreat.

He sat upright a second time, vision swimming as his gaze lifted, meeting a deathly pale face. She watched him with a curious expression, if corpses could look curious, stopping her approach with a few feet to spare. Oh, and she was still startling naked.

His mind reeled.

And then he gulped, senses returning at last.

"It's alright," he uttered hastily, mostly for his own assurance, grabbing the edge of the shelf and pushing to his feet.

She gasped at the movement, stepping back.

"I won't hurt you," he said, raising both palms and scrambling for some semblance of coherent thought. "My name is Theo, I…"

Jesus Christ, where to start?

Perhaps it was best to figure out where she left off.

"Do you—" Stick with the basics. "Do you know your name?"

Her clouded eyes tracked slowly across his face. Theo held his breath, waiting, but her blue lips remained sealed. He wondered how much the virus was capable of reanimating. She'd been dead for three days, perhaps the damage to her cognitive function was too extensive.

But then—

"W-Where…" Her voice was low, rusty from disuse, throat working convulsively as though she'd forgotten how to use the muscle. "Where… am…"

She released him from her penetrating gaze to glance around, confusion written across every line of her face. Theo nearly tipped sideways with shock. She could speak, intelligently no less. A fucking miracle.

Or perhaps the cruelest curse of all.

Then he processed her question and the full weight of his situation came crashing over his head.

"You're—"

A reanimated corpse.

He shook his head, trying again.

"You're—"

A reanimated corpse.

He closed his eyes. Fucking imbecile!

"Safe," he settled on at last, lids parting. The room was covered in equipment, heaping piles of useless shit that felt utterly cumbersome at the moment. He couldn't very well claim they were standing in a church. "This is my laboratory."

He paused, waiting for her reaction, but her eyes remained blank, face void of any discernible expression. And then a slight tremor raced through her frame, drawing his gaze with it. He tensed at her nudity, a detail easily overlooked in all the ensuing chaos. He searched the floor, spotting the sheet discarded in a twisted heap beside the table. He started towards it, causing her to shuffle back once more, eyes widening.

"It's okay," he murmured, raising his hands as he edged towards the fabric, making a concerted effort to keep his eyes above her chin.

He'd studied her body with textbook precision when she had been laid out on his slab, cataloging every injury, combing every bit of surface area for trauma. But she hadn't been a person then, merely a cadaver, a commodity. He wasn't certain she was a person now, or if what she was even had a name. But she was certainly something more than dead, which made staring upon her nudity a gross violation in his eyes.

He grabbed the sheet, holding it towards her. She made no move to take it, seemingly confused by the offering. He sighed, not wanting to scare her any further by approaching.

"Please, take this."

She continued to stare blankly.

"For warmth," he added, hoping she'd understand the meaning.

A beat. She shuffled forward at last, taking the corner of the fabric and tugging it out of his grasp, holding it before her face and studying the folds. Theo shook his head, taking a deep breath and stepping closer.

"Here, let me."

He took the sheet back, shaking it open and wrapping it around her shoulders, pulling the material closed across her front. He moved back as soon as the task was complete, eager to put as much distance between them as possible. But her haunted gaze flickered up, holding him captive in its terrible thrall. He had no goddamn idea how to proceed, if any of this was even real.

"Do—" His eyes drifted to her bruised neck. "Are you in pain?"

She tilted her head, brow creasing. "Pain?"

"Yes, does anything—" He exhaled through his nose, glancing around, desperate for any means of assistance. "Perhaps you should sit."

He reached for the nearest stool, dragging it closer and standing back. She remained frozen, a floating head emanating from the pale folds swaddling her narrow form. He hesitated, watching her sway in place before gathering enough courage to step forward and gently grasp her arm through the fabric, navigating her onto the seat.

"Can I…" He scratched the back of his neck, hovering awkwardly. "... get you anything?"

She gazed up. "Who are you?"

Her voice was so clear, so certain it sent him swaying back. He lost his train of thought, nearly forgetting his name in the process.

"I'm Theodore." He blinked, wondering why he felt compelled to deliver such a formal response, as though he was twelve years old and answering the teacher.

She continued to study her surroundings, eyes lingering on the microscope. "Where am I?"

"You're… in my lab." He eyed her carefully. "In New York," he added, wondering if she was looking for another response.

Her eyes continued to drift aimlessly. "Who are you?"

Theo deflated, whatever strange emotion that had taken root within him draining out through his feet. Short term memory. A sign of brain trauma.

Brain trauma? She's fucking dead.

He carded a hand through his hair, exhausted. "I'm Theo. And you're safe here."

"Safe?" Grey clouds swirled in her eyes, flat and lifeless.

"Safe," he whispered, feeling a mounting pressure at the base of his skull. "Everything will be alright."

I'm absolutely fucked.

---

Hermione opened the door, pulling her coat tight against the crisp November chill. The more her morning progressed the more energized she felt, alert and buzzing without the aid of caffeine. She trotted down the steps and across the cobblestone, eager to get to the Met, to get her hands on the remaining text. But first, she had to visit Theo. The jar sat heavy in her bag, bundled thick, the soft mass hitting her thigh with every step.

She pushed open the gate, batting aside clinging ivy and stepping through, the hinges groaning loudly. She released a huff of exertion, closing it at her back and spinning for the sidewalk— only to gasp, nearly colliding with a hovering figure.

"Mr. Slughorn!" She pressed a hand to her chest and backed into the gate, twisting vines pulling strands of her hair loose from the less-than-pristine chignon she'd painstakingly created.

The elderly man laughed heartily, holding up both hands. "Sorry, my dear! Didn't mean to give you a fright! And please, I insist you call me Horace."

Hermione smiled, pulling away from the curving bars and adjusting her bag over front. "Horace. Good morning. It's lovely to see you."

"You as well! I was so ecstatic about your arrival, so soon after Harry's marvelous homecoming no less. Are you helping him get settled?"

She nodded, eagerly accepting the offered excuse. "Yes. The home sat empty for so long it takes ever pair of hands to bring it to rights."

"I can only imagine." His smile pulled so taut she was certain the skin would tear. "And your father is staying with you?"

Hermione traced the seam of her bag, absently twisting at the strap. "Yes, he is."

His expression flickered. She braced for the question she knew would come next.

"And how is Richard these days?"

She'd been expecting it, yet she still had to fight back a grimace. "He…" How does one summarize complete and total devastation? "We take it one day at a time."

His grin faded, visage turning shadowed and somber. "So tragic, such a brilliant man. All that knowledge lost, like burning down the Library of Alexandria all over again."

Her chest tightened. Time to wrap this cheerful reunion in a ribbon and send it down the chute. She cleared her throat. "It was good to see you, Mr. Slughorn—"

"Horace."

She forced a polite smile, desperate for an out and willing to punch him in the throat to get it.

"Horace. I hate to dash but I'm running late for work—"

"Still at the Met?"

She blinked, bag weighing twice as heavy on her shoulder for some reason. "Yes."

His smile returned, as did his astute gaze, scanning her face with disturbing precision. "Just as brilliant as your father. Your mother would be so very proud of you."

Her pulse fluttered. It's too early for this.

"That is very kind to say. Thank you, Mr—"

His eyes flared wide, lips parting.

"Horace," she corrected quickly, slipping past his form and edging along the sidewalk. "Have a wonderful day."

"You as well, my dear!"

Thank you, God. She turned, taking two steps towards blissful freedom.

"One more thing, Ms. Granger."

Hermione stiffened, as disturbed by the formal title as his sudden change in tone. His voice was deeper, slower, foreign yet familiar. She turned with great reluctance, shoulders tightening.

His face appeared blank, eyes clouded and matte as he reached into his vest, slowly extracting a white envelope. Hermione blinked, staring at the item with a gnawing sense of dread. The missive was sealed, the cover blank, glaringly so.

"It won't bite," he said with a cruel smirk that looked terrible misplaced on his perpetually cheerful face.

She held her breath and reached out with a trembling hand, taking the edge of the envelope between two fingers, terrified it would, in fact, take a chunk out of her. He held onto his end, holding her gaze as a disturbing game of tug-of-war ensued.

"Well played, luv." His teeth gleamed bright, and for just a moment she saw a set of lethal fangs sparkling in the morning sun. She blinked and they were gone. "But you can't hide in your fortress forever… your delicate condition won't allow it." He released the envelope to her boneless grip. "It's time we talk."

She swayed in place, certain her heart would burst from her chest at any moment.

A car drove by, brakes screeching loudly as it stopped at the intersection. Slughorn blinked, stumbling in place.

"Oh my…" He pressed a hand to his temple, glancing around before gazing at Hermione with flushed cheeks. "How strange."

She swallowed thickly, the envelope vibrating in her hand. "Are you alright, Horace?"

"Oh… yes, dear. Just a dizzy spell." He smiled weakly, stepping off the curb. "I think I've overtaxed myself this morning. Nothing a good cup of tea won't fix. I'm afraid I'll have to bid you ado."

She watched him cross the street, perplexed at the bizarre role reversal. She'd never seen the man so eager to depart a conversation in all her life.

"Farewell, dear," he called over his shoulder, practically sprinting for his house.

"Farewell," she whispered, mind blank with the force of her shock.

She gazed down at the ominous envelope in her grasp, wondering what new horror the evil bastard had in store for her now.

---

Bella tilted her head, the blunt edge of her hair grazing the tops of her bare shoulders as she adjusted the anemone in its vase, purple petals littering the table and floor.

"Waverly," she stated simply, slowly rotating the crystal, searching for any sparsity in her design. "How very fascinating. I wonder what secret is hiding away in Greenwich. Did you sense anything of note?"

Rodolphus leaned back in his seat, arms crossed over his chest. "No."

"Still sore that Braxy manhandled you?" She smirked, arching a dark brow. "Or are you upset that you enjoyed it?"

He rolled his eyes, glancing away. "I'm not upset."

"Hm." She grabbed another fresh cut bloom off the stack. "Do you know why they call him the General?"

He began rolling up his sleeves, revealing a pair of muscular forearms. "I've heard rumors."

She smiled, carefully sliding the stem into the neck of the vase. "Rumors are a powerful magic. Or perhaps curse is apter a description. A dark stain seeping into the very soul of a man." She stepped back from the table, studying her creation. "We must find out who resides at 125 Waverly."

"I already did."

She blinked, turning to face him with another stem in hand. "You did your homework?" She grinned proudly. "Well then, aren't you the teacher's pet."

"Do I get a reward?" His voice lowered, eyes narrowing upon her hips.

"It depends on what you tell me."

He sighed, attention snapping up. "The residence is owned by Richard Granger. His wife was removed from the deed upon her death, at which time his daughter was added."

She idly traced the edge of a satin petal. "And what do we know about Richard?"

"He was a Harvard professor, transferred to Columbia and retired with tenor."

She tore it free from the bloom, rolling it between her fingertips. "A clever man. I adore clever men." Dye seeped from the petal like blood, staining her skin. "What else did you learn, my clever Knight?"

Rodolphus smirked, leaning forward to rest his arms on his knees. "He's dying."

"Aren't they all?"

"He has Alzheimer's."

Her dark gaze flickered up, wilted petal dropping to her feet. "Is that so?" She leaned against the table, tapping the bloom against the side of her thigh. "How very interesting… but perhaps not as interesting as his daughter. Tell me about her."

Rodolphus stood from his chair, shoulders drawing wide. "Her name is Hermione."

Hermione. So uncommon. A marvelous start.

She eyed him intently. "And?"

His smile radiated with eager anticipation. "She's an Egyptologist… for the Met."

Bella inhaled slowly, deeply, relishing the burn within her lungs. "Is that right?" Red seeped into her eyes, wrapping her dark irises in a crimson band.

His grin deepened. "It is."

"My, my. What a splendid coincidence." She stepped forward, closing the distance between them. "You did marvelous, my dear." His pupils expanded, unwavering in their focus as she traced the edge of his lips with the anemone. "But now I think it's time to call upon my favorite Daywalker."

His eyes flashed. "You don't need him. I'll follow the girl, bring her to you—"

"I appreciate the enthusiasm, darling, but some tasks are better executed in daylight hours. We can't be clandestine all of the time… it dulls the effect when we're actually being naughty."

His jaw tensed, body rigid as stone.

"Besides," she continued, stepping away with a glimmer in her eye. "You have the most important task of all. Our little ones will be ready to fly the nest any day now. You must look after them like a good father."

"Give them to Rab."

"Rabastan is too… Rabastan. I only trust the task to you."

His sigh was music to her ears.

"As you wish."

She laughed, stopping behind the table and discarding the wilted flower into the bin. "A parent's work is never done." She studied the oversized bouquet before her, adjusting stems and leaves as she went. "I can hear one of our pride and joy in the hallway as we speak."

Rodolphus shook his head, crossing his arms once more. "She never sits still. Or listens."

Bella laughed throatily, undeterred in her task. "That's why I wanted her." She reached for the next flower in the pile. "Bring them both in."

---

Ginny bit her lip, ear pressed flat to the wood, eyes narrowed in concentration. But all she heard was a faint murmur from the other side, too muted to make out.

"If you can't hear someone approach from behind you stand no chance of hearing through a reinforced door."

She jolted hard, whirling around, cheeks flushed. "I thought super hearing was one of the perks."

"There are no perks," he stated, staring down at her like she was an idiot. "You'll learn that soon enough."

She tossed her head with a scoff, crossing her arms. "Don't you get bored of all this self-loathing drivel?"

"I've no time for self-loathing, I'm too busy wrangling you lot." He directed his scowl at the door. "Which is supposed to be my brother's job." He ground his teeth, raising his voice. "Hear that? One of your dogs is loose."

Her hands fell, curling into claws at her sides. "I'm free to come and go as I please, Bella told me so herself."

The corner of his mouth turned up with mocking derision. "Oh, aren't you special."

Heat rose in her neck, expelling like a steam whistle through her ears. She stomped a foot, gearing up for an epic screaming match when the door at their side parted wide.

Rodolphus filled the entire frame, glancing between them with a raised brow. "Ginevra."

She settled on her heels, rolling her shoulders back and lifting her chin, hoping to emulate something along the lines of mature. But her pose seemed to amuse more than impress him. His eyes darted to his brother next.

"Rabastan. I was looking for you earlier." He tilted his head, leaning into the frame. "Any idea how the phonograph ended up in seven pieces?"

Rabastan raised a brow. "That's strange. I counted eight."

"He had a tantrum," Ginny supplied happily.

He snarled down at her. "Someone needs to teach this one her place."

"And that someone is not you," Rodolphus stated calmly.

Rabastan rolled his eyes, stepping back. "I'm off duty. Don't bother me until sunset."

"Nice try." Rodolphus stood away from the frame, pushing the door wide. "You've been summoned."

Rabastan seemed to hesitate. Ginny held her breath, wondering what he'd do, whether he had the nerve to defy his Maker as he defied everything else. But after another moment of tense debate, he squared his shoulders and marched forward, forcefully knocking against his brother as he entered the room.

Rodolphus took the slight in stride, smirking down at her as she shifted awkwardly. "You too, little one."

She grinned from ear to ear, bouncing onto the balls of her feet and leaping over the threshold. He chuckled lowly, shaking his head and closing the door at their backs.

Ginny skid to a stop at the center of the room, doing a full twirl as she took in the magnificent sight. She'd explored every unlocked room the mansion had to offer, but this one had always been off-limits. She could see why. Her mother would have never let her destructive daughter into such a fragile space, every square inch an accident waiting to happen. The walls were lined with shelves from floor to tall ceiling, overrun with glittering antiques and baubles. The marble floor gleamed bright, as did the oversized vases scattered intermittently throughout, each bursting with an ornate bouquet, glass reflecting the crystal chandelier above.

Breath caught in her lungs, choking her with awe. And then her eyes were drawn to movement along the far wall. Her Mistress stood behind an ivory table, magnetic in her pull, calling to the very blood in Ginny's veins. Ginny took a step towards her, unaware of her movements, the trance broken only when Rabastan spoke, hands folded behind his back from where he stood a few yards away, looking supremely put out.

"I'll buy a new phonograph."

Bella laughed, clipping the end of a stem with razor-tipped shears. "Yes, you will. But first, you'll pay another visit to the docks."

He stiffened, eyes flickering to Ginny, then to his brother, the latter standing sentinel at the door. "Perhaps we should discuss this in private."

"We are in private," Bella stated simply, carefully inserting the flower into the vase. "Ginevra is one of us." She glanced up, meeting Ginny's eager eye at last. "Aren't you, my love?"

Ginny nodded without hesitation, chest tightening under the woman's undivided focus. "Yes, my Queen."

Rabastan rolled his eyes. "She's not even through with her fucking transition."

"Language, pet." Bella turned her attention back to the vase before her, bursting with color and fragrance. "And your concern is mere semantics. She survived the initial phase, another feeding and she'll be right as rain." She glanced up, winking at her young charge. Ginny preened.

Rabstan watched the exchange with a tightening scowl. "In that case why not invite her to the next Council meeting?"

"Do I detect a note of bitterness?" Bella asked sweetly, voice edged in poison.

He glanced away, shoulders lowering as he dragged a hand through his hair, sleeve riding high to reveal a tattoo along his forearm, a symbol Ginny didn't recognize.

"Not at all."

Bella eyed him a moment longer, eyes glimmering. "Good. As I was saying, I want you to pay another visit to the shipyard. Tonight."

His jaw ticked. "Are you certain that—" A shadow passed across her features. He quickly rephrased. "Perhaps it's too soon after our last mission. Riddle may suspect you."

"He always suspects me. Family squabbles aside, it is my intention to draw his focus. A distracted man is a manageable man, Tommy included, no matter how much he likes to pretend he's a God."

He clasped his hands behind his back once more, standing like a soldier. The pose reminded Ginny of Bill, the way he held himself after returning home from boot camp, always alert, even at the dinner table. The memory was a dagger through the heart, piercing to her core.

"I'll see to it," Rabastan replied, voice flat and eyes void of the heat she'd grown so accustomed to seeing.

"I know that you will," Bella said. "I also know you'll bring back dinner for your adoring nieces and nephews, doting uncle that you are."

He grimaced. "Surely Rodolphus can—"

"Your brother will be overseeing the last of the transitions. This is a task for my Black Knight."

He exhaled through his nose, chin lifting. "Lucky me."

She smirked. "Bring back enough for everyone, I've no time for a mutiny."

"And how do you propose I execute such a task, my Queen? Only so many bodies fit inside the trunk."

Ginny blanched, swaying in place as she glanced sharply at his profile.

Bella tisked, cutting the head off a red rose. "Such a comedian. You'll visit Mungo's, silly boy. One of our Daywalkers is expecting you."

He seethed in tense silence, frame radiating a powerful energy that made Ginny's skin crawl. Bella's eyes flickered up.

"Problem?"

The muscles in his jaw clenched tight. "No."

She grinned, ruby lips gleaming in the sparkling lights. "Excellent." And then her dark gaze drifted, sinister pleasure deepening. "Take Ginevra with you."

Ginny's eyes widened, as did his, though their expressions couldn't have been more different.

"She's not ready—"

"I'm ready!"

Bella laughed as Rabastan's knuckles cracked at his sides. "It's decided then. You'll have the help you're obviously so desperate for while furthering her training." She held his incensed gaze in challenge. "I trust you'll return her home, safe and sound."

His chest heaved, pissed beyond words.

"Splendid," Bella chimed, holding Ginny immobile in her sights once more. "Welcome to the family, darling."

---

Harry rose from the floor, raking his gaze over the revised map, lingering on the sections they had yet to cover. He stepped over the morning's paper, pausing before the dresser and collecting his wallet, checking his remaining cash. Enough for at least a hundred more copies. Good.

He tucked the square of leather into his back pocket, edging around his workstation and slipping into the hall. He started to close the door only to glance up, staring at the ominous barrier across the corridor, sealed for many long years.

But this morning it stood ajar.

Harry shut his door with a deafening click, pulse thrumming. He glanced down the hall, confused, terrified, and then a faint shuffle sounded from within the master bedroom, drawing his gaze forward.

He took a slow step, raising his hand, hesitating. A floorboard creaked from within. Harry pushed the door open the rest of the way, breathless and braced for whatever madness dwell inside. But all that met his eye was sunlight and dust, the combination overlaying every surface in view. He stared at the open curtains. They'd been drawn.

Hadn't they?

Mione would never step foot inside this room. It must have been Richard… how did he get the key?

Harry shook his head, fist tightening as he swayed before the threshold.

Eight footsteps. Eight footsteps to the window, maximum. Close the curtains, board up the door and be done with it.

If only setting the room on fire was an option.

He closed his eyes, taking a slow breath before heading inside, maneuvering halfway across the rug until his hip collided with the edge of a decorative table, forcing his lids open.

It's alright. Just don't look up.

It's not real if you don't look up.

His eyes burned with the force of staring directly ahead. He strode to the window, catching himself against the frame. The glass was fogged by dust and age, distorting the images on the other side like a funhouse mirror. He reached for the curtain, grabbing a handful of the burgundy fabric.

"Sirius!"

Harry reared back, chest spasming, cringing as the memory cut a fatal path throw his chest, sharp as a bullet, carving out muscle and tendon and bone before launching free in a river of blood, images blossoming to life well beyond his control.

"What are you—"

"Get out of here!" His godfather shouted, spinning to face the doorway.

"Put it down!"

"Stay back, Harry!"

"Sirius, please—"

"I'm so sorry, kid." Sirius raised a staying hand, backing towards the window. "You were never meant to be a part of this."

Harry shook his head, stepping slowly inside the bedroom, eyes fastened to the gleaming pistol in his Godfather's right hand. "You don't have to be sorry, just put the gun down—"

"This is the only way to stop it, the only way it can end."

"Sirius." Harry's entire body trembled as he edged further inside, movements slow and strenuous. "Look at me. I can help you—"

"No one can help me." Sirius shook his head, eyes gleaming manically. "No one." He set his jaw, wiry beard so long it touched his jutting collarbones. "I don't want you to see this, you need to leave—"

"I'm not going anywhere!" Harry screamed, charging forward at last, taking his chance.

Sirius met him halfway, catching him across the middle with shocking speed and strength, his emaciated frame hard as stone. Harry choked on his breath, struggled for the gun, heels dragging across the carpet as he was forced back. His shoulder clipped the frame as he was launched from the room with such force he collided with the opposite wall, falling in a gasping heap. Sirius growled like a feral animal, slamming the door and rattling the pictures strung along the hall.

Harry collected his bearings, launching to his feet and grabbing the locked handle, pulling with all his strength.

"No!" He beat his fists against the wood. "Sirius! Open the goddamn door!" He heard shuffling from within, the sound of the drapes being pulled. "Please don't do this! Don't leave me!" He began to sob, broken whines emitting as pounded the wood relentlessly, arms throbbing with the impact, flesh swollen and bruised. "Don't leave!" He sank to his knees, forehead falling against the door like a dead weight, tears clouding his vision. "Please don't go!"

"I love you, Harry." The voice was distant, yet startling clear, filling his head completely.

"Sirius!"

"You'll be safe now."

The gunshot ripped apart the walls, shook the floors and cracked the foundation, radiating through every bone in Harry's body. He screamed, clawing at the bottom of the door before curling in on himself, sobbing into the hardwood.

Harry dry heaved as the memory released him from its leathery clutches, stumbling to the bed in a miserable daze. He caught himself against the side of the mattress, blinking slowly, a distance rumble at the base of his skull gaining momentum—

A hand grasped his shoulder.

Harry gasped, spinning quickly with a raised fist, face glistening with sweat and tears.

Richard stood before him, eyes bright and clear, unnervingly so. "It's not your fault," he said, voice level and smooth.

Harry drew back, searching the man's face as he held his gaze, expression unreadable yet somehow familiar, causing the rumble to deepen, vibrating through Harry's chest, between each rib. Richard tilted his head, a shadow passing across his visage, encasing his entire being for the space of a heartbeat. And then the moment passed. Richard blinked, eyes clouding over as his shoulders sloped down, fingers limp at his sides. He glanced around briefly, then turned for the window, shuffling to the fogged pane.

Harry shook his head, leaning over to cover his face with both hands, talking himself out of a full-blown panic attack. He counted his breaths, struggling to remember the exercises he'd learned on the floor of the therapist's office after his parents' deaths. But try as he might, he couldn't keep his eyes from drifting up up up, fastening to the ceiling at long last.

Harry gazed upon the rust-colored splatter, still visible through countless scrubbings, as though the blood had seeped into the very pores of the house. The longer he stared the more hazed his surrounding became, until nothing in the universe existed but that patch of ceiling, painted with his Godfather's remains.

---

Hermione entered the Met with a heavy step, weighed down by the jar in her bag and the unopened letter in her pocket. She'd decided to bring the former to Theo during her lunch hour, her priorities rapidly shifting in light of this morning's frightening encounter. She needed to get her hands on the final translation, needed to search for one last clue as to what the hell was happening, why Riddle was so eager to possess the artifact… and her along with it.

She started across the tile with single-minded determination, steering for the bathroom, deciding it the safest spot to read the letter in privacy. Lord only knew what it contained, and she wasn't keen to find out with an audience in her midst.

She made it half-way across the lobby when she felt it.

An electrical current across her skin, starting at her neck and rippling down her spine, causing the fine hairs along her arms and nape stand on end, followed by a faint buzzing before her ears popped, the world turning muffled, underwater.

"Oh, here she is now. Ms. Granger!"

Hermione stopped, rocking in place before forcing her body to turn. Penelope sat behind her desk, shoulders level and hands folded in a pristinely professional repose, though her eyes gleamed bright, cheeks flushed as she gazed upon the man facing her, tall and broad and dark.

His long hair was swept back, each silken strand perfectly aligned. Hermione felt her own body shift as she stared upon the long line of his back through the trenchcoat, sensing someone of means and power in her midst. Penelope continued to stare upon him as she addressed Hermione.

"This gentleman has a question about the upcoming exhibit."

He pushed away from the desk, turning at last. Hermione felt her pulse quicken as her worst fears were confirmed. His face matched the rest of him, devastatingly handsome. She was getting quite tired of devastatingly handsome men, each proving far more troublesome than they were worth.

His eyes were bathed in a deep golden hue, almost unnaturally so, teeth straight and white as he directed the full intensity of his smile upon her while his unnerving gaze traced the lines of her body with blatant male appreciation. She fought the urge to squirm, unsettled by his examination, the casualness of it, as though she were part of a collection hanging on the museum wall.

"Ms. Granger, a pleasure to make your acquaintance," he finally uttered, voice a rumbling purr as he met her gaze. "I see I've caught you on your way in. I hope I'm not keeping you from an appointment."

"Not at all." She fought to keep her heels rooted in place as he started forward. Penelope tilted her head, staring at his backside. "How can I help you?"

His smile deepened, revealing the faint hint of a dimple on his left cheek. "Blaise Zabini."

He extended his hand politely. Hermione tensed, staring upon the offering, flashing back to the doorway of her home. Riddle stood before her, adorned in his dark tailored suit, tall and beautiful and deadly, hand outstretched in polite greeting as his eyes penetrated her to the core.

She inhaled slowly, pulling free of the haunting reverie to accept the stranger's offering, shaking quickly before releasing his warm palm, fingers curling at her side.

"Mr. Zabini. You had a question for me?"

His smile dazzled as he reached into his coat, extracting something small and white. A business card. He held it out. "I own a company specializing in art photography."

She accepted the card, happily studying the front in lieu of staring into his golden eyes. The paper was crisp and textured, creamy to the touch, cool ivory with elegant black script. Simple and stylish, yet clearly expensive. Just like its owner.

"We partner closely with a number of private publications," he continued, drawing her gaze once more. "Including acclaimed historian journals."

His eyes flickered to her lips and back. Her heart skipped. She made a concerted effort not to retreat. His forward mannerisms seemed commonplace, which was perhaps more unsettling than the acts themselves.

"I would love the opportunity to photograph the Exhibit on behalf of the Met. I've worked with Museums in the past, they've used my images within their own marketing campaigns."

She lowered her hand, his card pressing the center of her palm, rigid corners cutting into her flesh. "That's very impressive, Mr. Zabini."

He smirked. "Please, call me Blaise."

Hermione blinked.

"Please, call me Tom."

Her shoulders drew wide. "Mr. Zabini is fine."

He chuckled, seemingly delighted by her less than amicable demeanor. "As you wish, Ms. Granger."

His voice lowered an octave as he said her name. She finally took a much-needed step back, feeling a strain on her muscles as she did, as though wading through an invisible current. Likely another symptom rearing its ugly head. All the more reason to end this exchange here and now.

"I'll be sure to extend your information to Mr. Malfoy. He's in charge of the event."

His smile flickered at her polite dismissal. "Apologies. Penelope told me you were the Head Egyptologist."

"I am. Though as the Museum's only Egyptologist the Head portion of my title is a bit redundant."

His laughter was deep and rich, soothing and frightening, for it lured her half a step closer beyond her notice.

"Even so," she continued, not missing a beat. "I am merely responsible for the artifacts themselves, Malfoy oversees all events and vendor selection."

"There is nothing mere about your job, Ms. Granger. Preserving history is a sacred duty one undertakes for the good of all mankind."

Hermione opened and closed her mouth, earlier unease starting to unravel beyond her control. "That… sounds like something my father would have said."

He grinned. "Then it must be true."

"My father spent the majority of his life buried in myth and legend. He considered truth subjective as history itself."

His gaze seemed to lighten, the intensity manifesting into a physical touch she felt along her spine, soft fingertips tracing the notches in her vertebrae.

She inhaled sharply, stepping back once more. "Thank you for your interest in our upcoming Exhibit. I'll provide your card to Malfoy, he'll be in touch if he has an interest in your services."

He nodded, handsome featured tinged with amusement, as though she'd delivered a quip. "I appreciate it greatly. I do hope to receive a call." And then he tucked his hands into his coat. "Have a wonderful day, Ms. Granger."

She swallowed heavily. Thank Christ. "The same to you, Mr. Zabini."

He backed away slowly, eyes lingering upon her before chuckling softly to himself and turning, casually passing the front desk with a polite nod at Penelope. The young woman waved farewell, perhaps a bit too eagerly, dropping her pen in the process. She blushed profusely, scrambling for the utensil as it rolled across the desk and into her lap.

Hermione shook her head.

What the hell is happening?

She glanced around, dazed by her surroundings, the entire morning really, desperately trying to recalibrate.

What was I doing?

Her bag seemed to hum at her side, answering her inquiry even as her pocket warmed.

The letter.

Start with the letter.

She turned once more, striding for her original destination, the bathroom. It wasn't the same one she'd had the awful encounter in but the interior looked identical, stirring dread in her gut as she gazed at the sinks, waiting for the faucets to turn themselves on and start spurting blood like demonic fountains.

But she seemed to have the room all to herself, the plumbing blissfully benign. She seized the blessed privacy and pushed open the center stall door, slipping inside and clicking the flimsy lock into place, relief washing overhead like cool water. She took her first full breath since watching Slughorn run away from her like a prisoner escaping the executioner's block.

She began to reach into her pocket, only to realize she still held Zabini's card in hand. She blinked, lifting her palm to reexamine the front.

Zabini Photography and Portraiture

She turned it over, reading the address and phone number, absently tracing the bottom edges of her teeth with her tongue. Her gums ached. She shook her head, tucking the card into the front compartment of her satchel and reaching into her pocket at last. The moment her fingers made contact with the smooth paper her entire body tensed, relief tortuously short-lived.

She extracted the missive in slow motion, holding it in both hands before her narrowed gaze. As long as she didn't read it it couldn't hurt her…

But she needed to read it. Just like she needed to open the godforsaken jar in her office. The urge was overwhelming and she couldn't deny its silent temptation any longer. With a sharp inhale she turned the envelope over and worked her nails under the seam, attempting to open the flap daintily and managing to shred it to high hell. The scraps fell to her feet as she pulled the letter free, a single sheet folded neatly in thirds.

She released her breath, opening it.

And blinked.

Hermione wasn't certain what she'd been expecting to find… but this certainly wasn't it.

Two words, floating at the center of the page in perfect handwriting.

She read them a dozen times over until the letters began to rearrange themselves, the blinding backdrop hazing her vision white. She closed her eyes, crumpling the letter in hand and falling heavily against the stall door.

Well, it seemed her day wasn't about to take a turn for the better. Which was just as well.

Hermione opened her eyes, reaching for the handle and squaring her shoulders.

It was time to finish this game of cat and mouse once and for all.

---

The machinery groaned loudly, gears shifting and grinding, rumbling the floor and shaking the rafters, overhead lights trembling as the motors hissed and whined. A puff of black smoke emitted from the end of an exhaust pipe, blasting Parvati square in the face. She doubled over, coughing into her hand, eyes tearing.

She recovered after a few moments, rising to her full height and glaring at the monstrosity before her.

"Fucking useless piece of—"

The rest of the words were lost to a deafening squeal, the equipment whining loudly as it tried to sputter along. She shook her head, leaning down and switching it off, wiping the sweat from her forehead as she rose.

The bandana tying back her hair back did little to help, her jumpsuit uniform and canvas gloves sweltering. There wasn't nearly enough ventilation on the floor, steam and smoke clouding her vision at every turn as she stumbled her way to the assembly line, looking for her wrench when she heard a heavy cough from the other end.

Parvati stepped back, wiping sweat from her eyes for the second time in as many minutes, searching out the familiar source. She spotted the woman at last, silhouette hunched over and masked in steam.

"Shit," Parvati mumbled, watching her stumble back and collide with the railing. Parvati swallowed heavily, darting forward.

"Alicia!" She called, then doubled her pace as she watched her grip the handrail and sink to her knees, coughing uncontrollably all the while.

Parvati reached her at last, dropping to her side and grasping her jerking shoulder. Alicia tried to wave her off, gasping between each word. "I'm…" a wheezing breath "Fine…" Tears streamed from her eyes, voice thin.

Parvati shook her head. "No, you aren't."

"Parv—"

"Come on."

Parvati weaved her arm around her friend's waist, hauling them both up with a groan. She began directing a path to the stairs, Alicia listing heavily against her side, coughing and sputtering. Parvati gripped the handrail tight, carefully steadying their descent to the main floor. They were halfway down when Alicia was overcome by a new onslaught, elbowing Parvati aside in order to sit on the step, doubling over in a wheezing fit.

Parvati dropped beside her, eyes hard-set. "Which pocket?"

Alicia gestured weakly to her left side. Parvati removed her glove and reached across the woman's lap, sticking her hand into her uniform and fishing for the cylinder. Alicia nearly bucked her off, coughing so hard she shook the entire flimsy staircase. Parvati found the item at last, pulling it free and shaking it hard, tugging Alicia's hands from her mouth as she shoved the inhaler between her lips, pushing down on the depressor.

Alicia grabbed the inhaler with trembling hands, sucking in air greedily as she pushed it a second time herself. Parvati swallowed, tasting chemicals on the back of her throat and rubbing small circles into her friend's back. A few moments passed, machinery screaming all around them, voices shouting over the fray, until finally, Alicia sagged back, breathing paced and strained, face glistening with tears and sweat.

"I'm okay, Parvati." She folded her arms across her middle, inhaler clenched tightly in her gloved fist. "I already took my break, if Yaxley catches me off my station he'll can me."

"Then you'll sue the bastard for nearly killing you, along with poisoning the rest of us."

Alicia smiled miserably, eyes heavy with exhaustion. "Yeah, that'll go over like a lead balloon. No one wins those cases, Parv. Besides, where the hell am I gonna get money for a decent lawyer?" She coughed into her elbow, swallowing thickly. "I can barely afford my meds."

Parvati scowled, outraged by the injustice, but before she could utter a response another voice boomed down from above, grating and incensed.

"What is this, social hour? Y'all hosting a knitting circle on the stairs?"

Alicia grimaced, standing quickly. Parvati practically foamed at the mouth.

"Blow it out yours, Loretta! You hear me bitching about the fifteen smoking breaks you take an hour?"

Their team lead glared daggers, hands perched on her hips. "Get back to your station, smartass."

A billowing cloud of toxic gas emitted from below, traveling through the grate in the stairs like steam from a gutter. Alicia began to cough anew, something catching in her throat. She reached into her pocket and extracted a handkerchief, spitting up grey and pink phlegm.

The older woman cringed. "Christ, Spinnet! I think you coughed up a lung."

"She wouldn't be the first," Parvati snapped. "You'll have to shut down the entire factory if she collapses. That means an investigation. How do you think Yaxley will like that?"

Lorretta's eyes narrowed, flickering between them. "Five minutes. Get her some water, then get your skinny asses back to your goddamn stations. We all have a job to do. If you're too weak to perform, get the fuck out."

Without further ado, the woman stepped back onto the catwalk and marched off, onto the next station, eager to bark orders at someone else.

Parvati watched her disappear around the corner, grinding her teeth. "Bitch."

Alicia folded the fabric, shoving it back into her pocket and taking a shaky breath. "Thanks, Parv, but I got it from here."

Parvati directed her narrowed gaze onto her friend. "The last time you said that I found you nearly passed out in the parts room."

"I didn't have my meds that day."

"Your meds can't compete with all the shit you're breathing in. It's a miracle we don't all have emphysema."

Parvati took her arm once more, helping her down the remaining steps and through another cloud of steam, dense and suffocating. They emerged a few hurried steps later, passing stations and workers in a blur before finally reaching the hallway at back, pushing open the metal door at the end and emerging in the tiny break room.

An industrial fan blew down stale heat from the ceiling, a blissful reprieve from the stagnate inferno of the factory floor. A cooler stood in the corner, the water room temperature and old-tasting, but at the present moment, it was a shimmering oasis in the desert.

Alicia stumbled to a chair and sat heavily, leaning against the small plastic table as Parvati pulled a paper cup from the dispenser, turning the dial.

"This job is killing you, Ali."

"We all gotta die sometime," the woman replied, closing her eyes and tipping her head back, allowing the fan to blow strands of hair from her sweat-slicked forehead. "Meanwhile, there's rent to pay."

Parvati crossed to her side, holding out the cup. "I thought Angie was getting you a job at her office?"

"They're on a hiring freeze, same as everyone else." Alicia accepted the offering with a grateful nod, taking a heavy gulp before continuing. "Besides, her job is just as dangerous."

Parvati arched a brow, pulling out the adjacent chair and sitting. "Answering phones at a dental office is more dangerous than operating unlicensed machinery?"

"She got attacked."

Parvati stiffened, knee hitting the table leg as she turned. "What? When?"

"The other night, just a few blocks from the office."

"Oh my god. Did…"

Alicia shook her head, taking another sip. "She's okay. For the most part. Perverts tried to rape her but she got away in time. Still, they roughed her up, busted her lip and blackened her eye."

Perverts tried to rape her…

Parvati leaned in, shoulder blades drawing tight. "How many men?" Alicia blinked, opening her mouth, but Parvati continued before she could respond. "What street? Did they try taking her to another location or—"

"I don't know anything more. Ang was pretty vague on the details, I think she's repressed most of it. Couldn't even remember how she got away." Alicia traced the rim of the cup with a fingertip. "But now she refuses to walk home alone, especially at night. She's thinking of quitting if they won't change her hours. Christ, she'll probably end up here with us."

Parvati fell back, running a hand over her face. "There's no getting ahead, is there? We're just picking our poison." She closed her eyes, folding her arms over the table and burying her head.

Alicia watched her curiously. "What's wrong?"

A long beat. Parvati debated what to say, hesitant to open the wound in the break room of all places. But after another moment she relented, sitting up. The more people she told the better, who knew where the breakthrough lead would come from.

"Lavender is missing."

Alicia nearly dropped the cup. "Missing? Like missing missing?"

"Like missing missing."

She leaned closer, placing a hand on Parvati's arm. "When? Have you gone to the police?"

"She went out Friday night and never returned." Parvati met her concerned gaze. "And the police in this City are a joke. If you don't have a bribe to pay them they won't even bother taking your statement." She folded her arms, glancing away. "Besides, with Lav's job… there's no way they'd open an investigation." She stared pointedly ahead. "So I've been looking for her myself."

"You've found nothing?"

Parvati shook her head.

Alicia withdrew her hand. "Where did she go Friday night?"

"Met with a new client. The bastard probably—" Parvati closed her eyes once more, unable to utter the words aloud. "But I have no idea who he is. She didn't tell me anything."

Because she thought I was ashamed of her.

"Where does she normally meet new clients? Could he have been a referral?"

Parvati sighed, another dismissal ready on her tongue, when a memory emerged from the murky depths of her mind, causing her eyes to snap wide.

"Holy shit," she whispered.

"What?"

Parvati rounded on her table companion, nearly toppling from her chair. "You're fucking brilliant, Ali!"

Alicia laughed, and then coughed. "Don't know about that, but I'll take it."

Parvati's gaze turned sharp as she reached across the table and grabbed the empty cup, rising swiftly from her chair and crossing to the cooler.

"I'm going to find Lavender," she stated evenly, filling the cup. "And then I'm going to find us all better jobs." She stepped beside Alicia, holding out the water and smiling sweetly. "No matter whose balls I have to cut off."

---

Harry knocked on the door with the side of his fist, releasing a slow breath. He was beyond exhausted in the wake of his unexpected stroll down memory lane that morning, leaving Grimmauld as soon as Susan arrived, practically sprinting to the gate, desperate to escape the haunted interior. He wasn't certain he had the strength to return.

He tucked his hands into his pockets, a frigid chill sweeping past, dead leaves scraping across the porch. He glanced around the neighborhood, relieved to see no eyes upon him, the atmosphere of Flushing night and day to Gramercy.

The door opened, drawing his attention forward. Ron yawned into his fist, looking much the trainwreck Harry felt like. His friend eyed him from top to bottom before stepping back, opening the door wide and gesturing him forward. Harry crossed the threshold, staring at Ron's hair, half the locks plastered to the side of his head, the rest sprouting in every direction.

"Late night?"

Ron yawned anew, pushing the door shut. "Got in after one, I went back out after dropping off Patil." He passed Harry, starting down the hall. "You?"

I was up all night, pacing outside Hermione's room, terrified she'd die in her sleep or wake up with an unstoppable craving for blood.

Harry scratched the side of his head. "Long night as well."

Ron nodded, leading the way to the kitchen.

"Anyone else home?" Harry asked, following a few paces behind.

"Dad started his shift an hour ago, Mom's at Church."

Harry lifted a brow, removing his jacket. "The holy water's there for anyone to take, right?"

Ron shot him a quizzical look as he rounded the corner into the kitchen. "What?"

"Nevermind."

Eternal damnation was the least of his worries right now.

He followed his friend into the brightly lit space, making a beeline for the cupboard as Ron collapsed into a chair.

"I take it you guys didn't find anything?" Harry asked, pulling a mug from the shelf.

Ron tipped his head back, stretching his arms overhead and yawning into the sunlight, his wild hair giving him the appearance of a lion mid-roar. "No," he replied at last, slumping back, arms dropping like dead weights. "We're going to try again tonight after Parvati gets off work."

Harry smirked, reaching for the percolator. "Parvati, is it?"

"Trust me," Ron replied with a pointed glare. "There's plenty of other names I'd love to call her."

Harry watched a steady stream of caffeine fill the ceramic, steam rising in curling tendrils. "I don't doubt it."

He set the percolator back onto the base and brought to the mug to his lips, taking an eager sip, liquid scorching and sublime. He turned to the table, leaning against the counter and holding the mug between his hands. "You sticking to Hell's Kitchen?"

Ron nodded, carding both hands through his hair. "Got about half left."

"I'm on my way to make more copies," Harry stated evenly, taking another deep sip. "I'll drop some off this evening."

Ron nodded again, rubbing the back of his neck. Harry watched him in silence, counting down the seconds. He made it to nine before his friend glanced up, obviously sensing the eyes upon him.

"Christ. You've got The Look," Ron stated.

Harry lifted a brow, squeezing the base of the mug.

Ron crossed his arms, eyes narrowing. "Like you're thinking of something you know will piss me off but you're gonna say it anyway."

Harry couldn't contain his smirk as he set his cup aside, bracing the counter at his back. "I'm pretty sure that's just my face at this point."

Ron's annoyance grew ten-fold as he beckoned with his hand. Harry wet his lips, choosing his words carefully.

"I want to take another look at her diary."

A beat. Ron dropped his hand to the table, features crumpled in bemusement. Sunlight shimmered across the table, his arms and face, realization dawning in his eyes.

"You're still on about that woman."

"It's the only lead we haven't tapped."

"The word lead is a bit of a stretch."

"How are you so certain?" Harry's brows knitted together. "You're willing to tear the city apart looking for any trace of Gin but you're completely unwilling to consider—"

"My gut tells me it's a dead-end, alright?" Ron cringed, eyes squeezing shut as she pressed a hand to his temple.

Harry stepped forward. "You okay?"

Ron nodded, swallowing heavily. "Running on fumes, nothing another cup of coffee won't fix." He huffed wearily, slowly opening his eyes. "Do what you want, Harry, but I'm not wasting my time on it."

Harry studied him a moment longer. "Alright." He moved away from the counter, towards the doorway. "You mind if I take it with me?"

Ron blinked, looking a bit dazed. "Take what?"

"The diary."

His friend rose from the chair, trudging towards the percolator. "Have at it."

Harry watched him pull the pot from its base before backing into the hall, turning on his heel. Too much was happening. Nothing made sense. But his instincts had yet to fail him, so he held on tight with both hands, letting them lead him down the narrow corridor to Ginny's closed door.

He gripped the handle.

I'm coming, Gin.

And turned it swiftly.

I'm coming.

---

Hermione entered the Archive Room on stiff legs, still reeling from the letter and it's two haunting words. But she compartmentalized her anxiety, putting his message aside to deal with the next crisis.

She walked down the center aisle, stopping at the corner table, eyeing the wrapped texts with a determined eye. She pulled out the chair, hanging her bag over the back and tucking a loose curl behind her ear, perching gingerly on the edge and reaching for her cotton gloves.

"Sigat ri:ac wā'baw kūmat."

Her jaw tensed. "We'll see about that."

She grabbed the package carefully, unwinding the twill binds and opening the top flap, reaching in and gently extracting the stack. She lifted the completed sheets aside, supporting them from the center as she set them to her left.

The remaining papyrus laid before her. She bit her lip, nervous anticipation swelling beneath her ribs as she slid it close. The jar hummed at her back, concealed as it was, vibrating through the seat and into her thighs. She clenched them tight, leaning forward and gazing upon the hieroglyphics, starting from the top.

Woman wearing a diadem and holding flowers, three sheepskins tied together, falcon head God holding an ankh, man with a hand to his mouth...

The Queen was born of the sun God Ra and spoke with his mighty voice.

Forearm holding a bowl, moon, droplets, dagger...

As such, the people offered blood sacrifice on the full moon in worship.

Seated man wearing a uraeus, dying man, hastening man...

The Pharaoh didn't survive the transition.

Papyrus roll emitting three lines, child wearing a red crown, spread forearms, sun rising over the moon...

But the young Prince lived and underwent sacred spells to protect him from the sunrise.

Man with arms tied behind his back, eye of Horus, diewe, Goddess with cat head and sun disk, scimitar...

This frightened and upset their enemies, who believed the Queen was a demon, as dangerous and vengeful as Sekhmet herself.

Arm with shield and battle-ax, sun rising over pyramid, backbone with ribs and spinal cord, arms embracing club, falling man...

They stormed the Sacred Temple and slaughtered her priests, laying a trap for the Queen.

Ligature, interlocking circles, man striking with both hands, knife, head, man threatening with stick, flayed torso...

They bound her in silver chains to contain her powers, cut off her head and removed her organs.

Crossed diagonal sticks, vessel, mound, lying mummy...

They destroyed each piece, filling the jars with sand for burial.

Bowed man, liquid issuing from lips, man crouching behind wall, heart ideogram...

But her most loyal subject survived the bloodshed and smuggled away the heart…

Forearm with bread cone, Lotus rising over tomb...

In the hopes Sekhmet would be reincarnated again.

Hermione gazed upon the sacred lotus for several moments, the rest of the symbols falling away. She released a sharp breath, unaware she'd been holding it.

A virus I can get behind, but reincarnation? There's no scientific basis.

She could practically hear Theo ranting in her mind.

Compartmentalize.

She blinked twice, examining the papyrus again.

Spoke with his mighty voice...

Her eyes tracked lower.

Sacred spells to protect him from the sunrise...

Every vein in her body throbbed.

Bound in silver chains.

Hermione shook her head in frustration, leaning back. The pieces were all right there, just within reach, screaming at her, desperate to be put together. She closed her eyes, pressing hands to either side of her head, picturing the hieroglyphs in her mind, struggling to see the big picture.

A throat gently cleared.

She opened her eyes, turning. And screamed, nearly toppling sideways to the floor.

Draco raised a pale brow, leaning casually against the shelf as he watched her cling to the table for dear life.

"Christ, Granger, I've been standing here for the last three minutes."

She glared, sitting straight once more. "Try announcing yourself next time."

"I did. Twice. Then I decided it would be far more entertaining to wait patiently and scare the shit out of you."

"In that case, you executed the task marvelously." She reached for the stack of texts, lifting them slowly. "I take it you've recovered from yesterday's interaction then?"

He stepped away from the shelf. "That really happened? I was starting to think I hallucinated the entire thing." He tilted his head, watching her merge the piles, carefully straightening the edges. "Did you call her yet?"

Hermione nodded. "Yes, and received no response. I'm going to try again this evening."

She watched him cross towards her table from the corner of her eye.

"If she still doesn't answer let me know, I'll pay her a visit." He stopped at the edge. "I've been meaning to anyway."

Hermione blinked, glancing up. "Really?"

He rolled his eyes. "Don't make this into a thing."

She smiled despite her best efforts to remain stoic. "My lips are sealed."

"If only I could be so lucky." His eyes flickered to the texts laid before her. "How are the translations coming along?"

Her heart skipped. The Lotus burned bright in her memory, pulsing in time to her heart. She glanced down, resuming her task. "I'm nearly finished."

"And what does nearly mean?"

"It means almost." Her nose twitched. "Why the sudden curiosity?"

"It's my job to make sure you're on schedule."

She leaned back, folding her arms and glancing up sharply. "Your father sent you."

He bristled. "My father doesn't send me anywhere, Granger. I've got a vested interest in the success of the exhibit."

"Funny, those were his exact words to me yesterday morning."

"Great minds think alike. I'm my father's son, not his carbon copy, contrary to popular belief." He lifted his chin, staring down his pointed nose at her. "McLaggen is back in town."

She pursed her lips. "So I've heard."

"He offered his services."

"Of course he did."

Draco smirked, hands sliding into his trouser pockets. "Dare I discern by your tone you're not interested in his assistance?"

"You discern correctly." She leaned forward, grabbing the parcel and carefully sliding the texts inside.

"No one can do this job better than you, Granger."

The unexpected declaration scattered her thoughts.

"No one disputes that," he continued. "Not even my father. But everyone needs help sometimes." She glanced up. His gaze was steady, knowing. "It doesn't make you second to Cormac. It makes you human."

The words echoed in her head, but it was the last one she heard the loudest.

Human.

"The final translations need to be in by the end of the week so we can send them to the printer," he stated, pulling her from the edge of the abyss.

She swallowed tightly, sealing the top flap. "You'll have them." Her hands flattened over the bundle. "I'll pull Anthony if I need help."

"See that you do."

He stepped away from the table, starting for the door. She watched him leave, and as he crossed before her the air shifted, turning hot and arid as the desert. He moved past an empty chair and a figure appeared, seated calmly, watching Hermione with a sinister grin.

The woman from her dream.

Hermione gasped, hurtling back and toppling from her chair.

"Oof!" She hit the ground with a crash, legs kicking the air as her knees hooked over the seat.

Draco spun in place, expression unchanging in light of her predicament.

"Granger?"

She blinked rapidly, struggling to rise.

The woman was gone.

"I thought… I thought I saw…"

He sighed dramatically, moving to her side and bracing the back of the chair with one hand, reaching down and grabbing her arm with the other, hauling her up with surprising strength.

"Alright, enough of this. What the hell is going on? Are you having a mental breakdown or something?"

Or something...

Hermione swayed in place, eyes fasting to his neck, the steady thrum of his artery. She closed her eyes, swallowing heavily.

"I have to go."

"To an asylum?"

Her eyes snapped open, narrowing. But his face bore no trace of amusement.

"No? Alright, we'll head to Mungo's instead—"

"No!"

She pulled free of his grasp.

"Let me guess," he bit out, "it's just low blood sugar."

Hermione reached for her bag, fumbling with the strap. The jar, the lotus, the blood, it was too much, she needed to get out of here.

"Granger, you need to see a Doctor—"

"I can't go to the hospital, Draco. I just need to go home." She pushed the chair into place, trying to maneuver around him. "I have medicine there."

He scanned her face, unmoved. "As I said, you're an abysmal liar."

She groaned, her morning zap of energy long gone in the wake of so many bizarre encounters. She tried to shoulder past him again, only to succumb to sudden vertigo, gripping the edge of the desk to steady herself.

For goodness sake...

Draco clearly shared in the sentiment. "You can barely stand upright!"

"You're being dramatic." She transferred her grip to the chair, inching her way to the door.

He watched her snail-like progress, shaking his head like she was the most pitiful thing he'd ever had the misfortune of stumbling across. "I'm never dramatic. Do you really want to pass out on the Subway?"

"I'll take a cab."

"Passing out in the back of a cab is just as bad. Half the drivers are unregistered. Rapists and murders, the lot of them."

She inhaled slowly, trying to gather her bearings. "Never dramatic."

"I'll drive you."

"Are you registered?"

"Fucking hilarious." He pulled the chair from her grasp and grabbed her wrist, tucking her hand into the crook of his arm and leading her forward, expression pinched in acute annoyance all the while. "Do your very best not to die on the way over. I just got new upholstery."

She pressed a hand to her stomach as they entered the hallway, nausea seizing her in its grip, as though his words alone called forth the new symptom.

"Drive fast," she whispered, feeling the color drain from her face.

Draco glanced at her sharply. "Please, keep your lunch inside your stomach until we get to Greenwich—"

"Gramercy."

He blinked, grabbing the railing as they reached the steps. "Gramercy?" They started up. "Grimmauld?"

She nodded, listing into his side beyond her control.

"I thought it was boarded up," he continued, voice fading in and out of her awareness.

"It was. Harry's home." She felt his arm stiffen under her hand.

"Potter's in New York?"

She rubbed her throbbing temple, pressure rapidly swelling behind her eyes. "That's what home implies."

She awaited the next barb but was met with tense silence instead. She glanced up, squinting against the overhead lights, studying his regal profile.

"Draco?"

He shook his head, looking more agitated than when they left the Archive Room.

"Come on." He began to pull her along more quickly, the sharp line of his jaw ticking. "The sooner we get there the sooner I can dump you off on that idiot."

She released her head to clutch her stomach once more, nails digging into the stiff fabric of her blouse. "Such a gentleman."

---

Tom awoke with a disgruntled sigh, aggravated by the entire affair. It had been many decades since he'd had what might be considered a good night's sleep. What he settled for in the dark of his Penthouse suite every few days was a weak substitution for rest. But he was loathe to abandon his sheets all the same.

He scrubbed a hand over his face, muscles waking one by one as he rose gracefully, grabbing his robe off the back of the chair and pulling it on, chest bare. He'd deal with clothing later, once his curdling mood settled into something more manageable. He opened the double doors and carded a hand through his hair, cutting a quick path for the dining room.

Abraxas was seated at the end of the table, dressed in a three-piece suit and reading the newspaper, alert and rested.

Fucker.

Tom crossed to the chair on the opposite end, spotting the cup of coffee situated before the blonde and shaking his head. His General insisted on brewing a pot every morning, never taking a sip. One of many quirks Tom had grown accustomed to at some point, paying little mind except when in the mood to ostracize.

Abraxas lowered the paper, peering up. "Good morning."

Tom took his seat at the head of the table, reaching for the folded newspaper awaiting him.

"How was your night?" Tom asked by way of greeting, for their morning's were never good, only monotonous, trapped indoors as they were. He read the Monday headline as Abraxas turned back to his article, hands tensing on the page.

"Rodolphus followed me."

For fuck's sake.

Tom's shoulder blades tightened. "Did you speak to him?"

"Briefly."

"Meddlesome bitch," Tom muttered, turning the page.

Abraxas spoke from behind his paper. "She suspects something amiss."

"I'm shocked it took her this long. Did he see the home?"

A long beat. "I don't know," Abraxas admitted at last. "It's possible."

Tom arched a dark brow and studied him closely, reading his guarded expression as easily as the words printed before him. "What else?"

Abraxas looked away for half an instant. Tom tilted his head, intrigued.

"I…" The blonde cleared his throat, straightening. "I was followed by something else."

Tom set the paper down, resting his elbows on the gleaming wood and steepling his fingers before his lips. "Something?"

Abraxas held his gaze. "Someone." He lifted his chin, as though he had any hopes of throwing his Maker off the scent. "It was difficult to discern."

"You were unable to track them?"

Tom watched the war play out in his General's eyes, thoroughly entertained by his discomfort.

"I became tied up in another matter."

Abraxas wasn't usually this evasive. Tom allowed the man to have his secrets, as long as they didn't interfere with his own success.

"I don't have time for this bullshite," Tom said pointedly, eyes lightening in warning. "If it happens again, follow through. Take care of it."

Abraxas nodded. "Yes, Sir."

Tom released him from the make-shift interrogation, leaning back and reaching for his paper.

"What happened at Grimmauld?" The blonde asked after a weighted beat, mirroring his movements.

Tom scowled at the reminder, opening the page with such force it ripped cleanly down the center.

Abraxas nodded to himself. "That's a good sign."

"She's behind a bloody forcefield," Tom replied evenly, throwing the scrap aside. "Either she's employed ancient witchcraft or she keeps very interesting company."

Abraxas tilted his head, pulse quickening. "Is she marked?"

"No." Tom began to scan the business section. "I'd have sensed it when I touched her." His gaze flickered to the next page, halting at the headline.

Fudge Considers Curfew?

His eyes narrowed. Bloody imbeciles.

"It was a productive evening all the same." He skimmed the article beneath a grainy black and white photo of the hog mascot masquerading as their Mayor. "I brought the incessant neighbor under my thumb. And I had enough time left over to pay a quick visit to our friend at the PD."

Abraxas raised a pale brow. "Is he still alive?"

Tom glared at the weather report. "I resent that question."

He leaned back, kicking the barrier with all his strength, expecting it to split down the center. Instead, the door flew off the hinges, flying into the dimly lit room and crashing into the opposite wall.

"I'm more than capable of having a calm and intelligent conversation."

He strode inside with an unhurried gait, watching the human scramble from his chair while uttering a string of unintelligible pleas. Tom leaned down, grabbing the edge of the desk and flipping it sideways, cracking the plaster on impact. The human stumbled over his own feet, too terrified to run, to scream. Tom seized him by the necktie, ripping him forward.

"I do have self-control, Abraxas."

He threw the man into another wall, framed certificates and plaques falling to the hardwood, glass shattering at their feet. The human clawed at Tom's wrist, desperately fighting the steel grip on his tie, cutting off his airway, face purple as a plum. Tom wondered if he could make the human's head explode just by strangling him. He was curious enough to give it a go.

"We had a reasonable discussion regarding our prior arrangement."

Tom pulled the idiot forward only to slam him back again, impressed as his hollow skull cracked the drywall, eyes bloodshot and dazed. He dragged the tie higher, pulling the fat fuck onto his tip-toes as he sputtered desperately. And then Tom leaned in close, eyes gleaming, voice perfectly calm.

"You work for me, you worthless fucking pissant. Forget that pertinent detail again and I'll hand your punishment down to your wife and child. Do I make myself clear?"

"Y-Yes! I'm sorry, Riddle! They got an anonymous tip, I tried to stop them—"

"I'm not interested in your pathetic excuses. Only results. The next shipment that gets seized will cost you dearly, much more than it costs me."

The human swallowed convulsively, head tipped back as he fought to keep his airway open, struggling for each wheezing breath. Tom was suddenly overcome with the pungent scent of ammonia. He glanced down, cringing at the sight of the man pissing himself, yellow liquid pooling around Tom's Italian Oxfords.

Bloody fantastic.

Tom released him, stepping away from the mess with a look of disgust. The human collapsed like a ton of bricks, gasping frantically and pulling at his tie with trembling hands. Tom shook his foot, drops of urine splashing the wall and the human's flushed face.

"Always a pleasure, Thicknesse."

Tom turned the page, glancing over the Arts & Entertainment section, looking for any mention of the Met. "On an unrelated note, I need a new pair of Ferragamo's."

Abraxas' heavy sigh echoed down the table, rustling the edges of Tom's paper. "You can't keep killing Commissioners."

"You say that as if I've killed more than two."

The blonde pinched the bridge of his nose. Tom ignored the gesture, reading about an upcoming Opera. "They were as idiotic as they were corrupt. It's my job to rid the City of vermin, elected officials included."

La traviata by Verdi. Beautiful, classic, but too romantic for his taste. He had no doubt Abraxas already bought a ticket.

"And Thicknesse is quickly proving as useless as his ill-fated predecessors. Our business dealings aside, he's got his thumb up his arse regarding these kidnappings. Once more it seems I'll have to deal with the problem myself."

Abraxas began to fold his paper. "Would you like for me to start vetting detectives?"

Tom tilted his head, considering. "The younger generation is still malleable. Perhaps there's hope for decent leadership yet."

"I'll begin tonight."

"No." Tom read an announcement for a new ballet company. "I need you to pay a visit to Mungo's. Four liters should do it. I want the cabin stocked."

Abraxas stiffened, paper held aloft. "The cabin?"

Tom turned the page, eyes alighting on the full-page ad staring out at him. "It won't be safe for her here, not with Bella breathing down my bloody neck."

"She's ahead of schedule."

Tom stared at the black and white image of a sarcophagus surrounded by random Egyptian trinkets, though the pottery appeared Persian in design. He smirked, imagining Hermione's reaction when she caught the mistake.

"Yes." He stared into the eyes of the death mask, certain it was staring back. "I expect her transition to begin tonight."

---

Draco craned his neck, taking in the full extravagance of the monstrous structure before them. "Christ. How is this place even still standing? It's fucking lopsided."

He pushed the gate open as her skull split down the center, the migraine she started to feel on 5th Avenue now in full swing.

"Thank you for the ride, Malfoy, I'll be fine—"

"So you keep saying. And yet each time it leaves me more convinced you're actually dying."

She tried to scowl but couldn't seem to control the muscles in her face. "I'm not dying."

"Good." He took her arm once more, leading her across the cobblestone. "Finding your replacement will be a bitch and I'm not getting stuck with fucking McLaggen."

She rolled her eyes, instantly regretting the choice. Light exploded behind her lids, feet clumsy as they started up the rotting stairs.

"These steps are a travesty, the porch can't possibly be up to code."

"I'll be sure to pass your concerns onto Harry." She pressed a hand to either side of her head as they stepped inside the home.

"See that you do, along with my dry cleaning bill. I'll need to have this suit freshly pressed after hauling your half-conscious body through the museum and across town."

She sighed, pressing the heels of her palms against her lids as he closed the door. Soft footsteps sounded nearby.

"Hermione?"

She dropped her hands, turning for the archway. Susan rounded the corner, emerging from the shadows with a smile.

"You're back early."

Draco stepped towards the center of the room, eyeing the cobweb-strewn rafters. "We've come for her imaginary medicine."

Hermione ignored him, focusing upon the nurse and attempting to smile. But her face still wasn't having it. Her stomach joined in the rebellion, turning violently. She gasped, clutching her middle and swaying precariously.

Susan and Draco sprang for her in the same instant, each catching an arm to help steady her.

"Hermione, what's wrong?" Susan asked, face tense.

Something crashed in the other room. The young woman turned towards the noise. "Shit!"

"I'm alright, go."

Susan glanced at her, conflict clear across her face.

"It's okay, stay with Papa," Hermoine assured, fighting to keep her rising agony out of her voice, organs shifting under the skin. "It's just a flu bug. I'm going to have a lie-down."

Susan eyed her an excruciating moment more before nodding hesitantly, releasing her arm. "I'll be right down the hall if you need me."

Hermione watched her walk away slowly, too goddamn slowly, holding it together until the woman rounded the corner, disappearing from sight. Then she gasped, doubling over, tears leaking from the corners of her eyes.

Draco raised a brow, watching her slowly die without a care in the world. Insufferable bastard.

"We've graduated to a flu bug now?"

She gritted her teeth, too far gone to respond. The sharp pain eased with the next breath, just enough for her to straighten, smoothing her hands over her blouse, certain she looked like a train crash victim.

Crookshanks came skidding around the corner, slowing his approach at the last minute as though just happening to notice his owner's presence. His back arched high, rubbing along her ankles with a deep purr. And then, more shocking than the existence of vampires and reincarnated Goddesses, her cat rubbed along Draco's leg, purring anew.

But Malfoy didn't seem to grasp the full magnitude of the moment, scowling down at her feline instead. "Wonderful, now I definitely need to have the suit laundered—"

She gasped, clutching his shoulder and squeezing the muscle tight as another painful contraction began within her gut.

I'm dying.

She bit the side of her hand to stifle a cry.

I'm dying I'm dying I'm dying—

"Don't you dare vomit on my shoes, Granger."

She wanted to kill him. If she'd been holding a blunt object or standing in close proximity to one she would happily bludgeon him beyond all recognition. She glanced around the foyer just in case there was a hatchet lying nearby.

The pain passed. She sagged into his side, hardly aware of his arm around her waist, holding her upright.

"I just… need to lie down."

He eyed her carefully, seeming to grasp the severity at long last. "Where's your room?"

"Upstairs," she said weakly, the thought of making the long journey bringing a fresh wave of tears to her eyes.

I'll lie down here. This is just as good as—

She shrieked as her legs were swept out from under her. Draco knelt low, tipping her into his arms and rising. She clutched his neck, shocked and mortified, but mostly grateful.

"Fucking hell, what a piece of work you are," he seethed, adjusting her weight as he started forward. "Which room?"

Crookshanks meowed loudly, darting up the steps in a flash.

"Follow the cat," she said, dropping her forehead to his shoulder as another round of cramping began.

He shook his head, beginning the climb. "Only you."

---

Harry paced steadily down the sidewalk, diary in hand, flipping through pages as he went. He turned to the last entry, reading it for the fifth time, carefully sidestepping a flower box lining the curb.

I met the most fascinating person today. She owns a speakeasy in Long Island City and is getting ready to open another in Manhattan. A female business owner… and her outfit! She's absolutely incredible. Best part— she offered me a job! Said I was way too vibrant to be stuck in an office all day. She thinks I could go far working under her. Fuck I wanted to take her up on the offer, but my mom and dad would lose their shit if I went to work in a nightclub. Especially after all the strings dad pulled to get me this job. Apparently, I still have a "reputation" from the stupid graduation prank. No one in this goddamn town has a sense of humor, it's not like they couldn't put the fire out—

Harry blinked, noticing a new detail for the first time. He traced his fingertip along the center binding, feeling the jagged edge of torn paper.

A page was missing.

His shoulders tensed.

Removed.

He stumbled over an uneven rise in the pavement, catching himself against a street lamp and glancing up, realizing he was already halfway across Grimmauld. He tilted his head, glimpsing a Rolls-Royce parked outside the rod iron gates of the mansion, dark paneling gleaming and pristine.

His brow creased, step quickening as he searched the street for its owner, only to spot a black Cadillac parked at the other end, back window cracked and engine running. He stopped at the gates, glancing between both vehicles before movement caught his eye across the street. His spine stiffened as he met Slughorn's watchful gaze. The man stood at his front window, staring out.

Harry raised a dark brow and then his hand, waving awkwardly. Slughorn gazed at him for another few seconds before stepping back, dropping the curtain and disappearing from sight without returning the greeting.

Harry dropped his arm.

Right.

He turned, opening the gate and charging through.

This day can't get any more fucked.

He galloped up the buckled steps, crossing the porch and reaching for the knob, only to watch as the door opened itself, parting slowly and creaking loudly.

Harry remained at the threshold, rubbing his eyes with his thumb and forefinger.

And I spoke too soon.

He stepped inside, the diary clutched tightly as he searched the entry for headless apparitions. But the sight to greet him was made of flesh and blood.

"Susan?" He asked, watching the nurse dart into the room.

"Thank god you're back!"

His heart lurched. "What's wrong? Is Richard—"

"It's Hermione."

He froze, blood draining from his face as his worst fears were confirmed. "What happened?"

"She's upstairs—"

He was sprinting for the steps before she uttered another word, taking the stairs two at a time, skidding across the landing and tearing around the corner into the hall. Her bedroom door stood ajar, a strip of orange light cutting across the runner and wood paneling.

He pushed the door wide, panting hard, eyes wild. "Mione?"

He spotted Crookshanks first, seated at the center of her bed flicking his bushy tail, eyes hooded, supremely unconcerned by Harry's abrupt arrival.

And then his gaze darted to the figure standing before the windows. The man had one hand in his pocket while the other braced the frame, pale eyes fixed upon him, narrowing to slits.

Harry blinked, stumbling back. "Malfoy?"

The blonde lifted his chin, turning to face him fully. "Potter."

Harry shook his head, thoughts scrambled. "Where's—"

Muffled retching met his ears, drawing his attention to the closed bathroom door, a thin strip of light emanating from the gap beneath. Harry started forward, hands tensed.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you," Malfoy supplied, tone bored.

Harry paused halfway to his destination.

"She's been throwing up for the last hour," the blonde continued. "Blood splatter would be less disgusting."

Harry heard the toilet flush, followed by running water from the sink.

"She refuses to tell me what's wrong with her." Malfoy's eyes narrowed once more, scanning Harry with slow precision. "So I'm guessing you won't tell me either."

Harry inhaled slowly, holding the man's keen gaze. And then the bathroom door opened.

"Harry!"

He spun around, body pulsing at the sight of her. She was pale as a sheet, glistening with a film of sweat, hair half fallen from its pins and blouse rumpled and untucked.

"It's worse," he said, feeling compelled to state the obvious.

She slumped into the bathroom frame.

"What's worse?" Malfoy asked, glancing between them.

"It's nothing," she insisted, even as she relied on the wall to stay upright. Her cat leaped from the bed, circling her feet with its tail standing straight on end.

Harry shook his head, stepping towards the hall. "I'm getting Nott."

She pushed off the doorway, eyes wide. "No!"

"Not what?" The idiot asked, pale brow raised.

Harry turned to him, eyes intense. "Stay with her until I get back."

"I don't need Theo—"

"Theo?" Malfoy cut her off, rocking back. "Holy hell, are you talking about Theodore Nott?"

Harry ignored him. "Have you had any other symptoms?"

She somehow paled even more, practically translucent before him.

"Exactly," Harry said gravely. "We need him." He held her gaze. "Before it's too late."

"Will someone tell me what the fuck is going on?"

Harry faced the other man once more. "Don't let her out of your sight."

"Harry," Hermione reached forward, grabbing his arm. "It's not safe for Draco to be alone with me. I could hurt him."

Malfoy blinked down at her. "Wait, what?"

"Better him than Susan," Harry said.

Malfoy scowled. "I beg to differ."

"It's not safe for her either. Please, send her home and lock my father in his room, I don't want to put either of them in danger."

"I'm touched, Granger," Malfoy drawled.

Harry nodded, reaching out and gripping both her shoulders. "I'll try to make it back before sunset." He pressed her skin with his thumbs. She felt cool to the touch. "Stay with me," he whispered.

She closed her eyes, nodding shortly. He leaned down, kissing her forehead and drawing back, turning for the door.

"Stay with her, Malfoy!"

The blonde tilted his head, shouting after his retreating figure. "Shouldn't I sign a death and dismemberment waiver first?"

Harry rounded the corner with as much speed and determination as he entered with. As he reached the steps he heard her run back into the bathroom, slamming the door. He flew down the stairs with a vengeance. Time was running out.

And he wasn't going to lose her.

---

Theo dragged a hand through his hair, strands standing on end as he turned on his heal, resuming his rapid pace around the lab table. The… woman? Corpse? —he shook his head, overwhelmed— sat on the edge of the stool, silent and watchful. She'd wrapped the sheet around her body like a toga, paired with her pale complexion and sunken eyes she looked like Achlys, goddess of death, the grey mist that filled the eyes as the last breath left the body, the eternal night before Chaos.

You're rambling like an idiot.

He turned again, starting his fiftieth lap. She tilted her head, following his path with her clouded gaze. He couldn't bear to meet her eye for more than a few seconds at a time. All had been silent for several hours, so when she spoke it echoed off the walls of his mind with such force he nearly tipped sideways, overcome.

"Who are you?"

He groaned, rubbing his brow. She'd asked him the same question countless times. He'd taken to ignoring it, she only retained the information for a few minutes at a time. Conversing with her was a wasted endeavor. He glanced around. The mice had settled at long last, the cage bent but still intact. The footless bastard had infected her—

It's my fault he got loose in the first place.

Theo tipped his head back, glaring at the overhead lights and rubbing his nape.

All of this is my fault. I infected Abigail. She turned the others. And now this...

At least the woman didn't appear to react with the same unstoppable bloodlust as her four-legged counterparts. A small blessing.

"Theodore."

He stopped dead, colliding with a rolling cart as he spun. She hadn't moved from her perch, clouded eyes fixed to him with eerie intensity. He swallowed heavily, hands opening and closing at his sides.

"Theo," he replied slowly, wondering if he imagined the soft utterance. "You remembered."

She blinked, as though cataloging the information somewhere in the grey matter of her brain. "Who am I?"

He took a steadying breath. She hadn't asked that one before. Of all the plans he'd been concocting in his mind, he hadn't run through this troublesome scenario.

"You're…"

A mangled body I purchased illegally from a shady street peddler.

"My cousin."

Theo blinked.

What?

He tensed at his own stupidity, eager to backtrack, but it was too late. She blinked again, accepting the statement as truth.

"Cousin," she whispered, rolling a fold of fabric between her fingers.

He swallowed thickly. "Do you know that word?"

She tilted her head the other way, never breaking his gaze. "Family."

He rocked back, gripping the edge of the cart. He hadn't heard that word in a very long time, wasn't sure he understood the meaning anymore. But she seemed to grasp the concept, her comprehension accelerating as quickly as her vocabulary.

"Yes. Family," he uttered.

"Why can't I remember?"

His eyes swept over her form, pale arms grotesquely decorated with the imprint of teeth. "You were in an accident."

She blinked, then glanced down, unwinding the sheet from her body and parting it wide, inspecting her front without hesitation or shame.

"Was I?"

Theo turned away swiftly, raising a hand in her direction, a blush staining his cheeks beyond his control. "You need clothes," he muttered, considering his options. "You'll have to wear mine until I can go shopping."

He started across the lab, heading for the barren cot in the corner and the crate situated beneath.

Clothes won't make her look like less of a corpse. You drained her of every ounce of blood. If you'd performed an autopsy she'd be filled with fucking newspaper.

He dragged the crate out, opening the lid and rummaging through the contents, gathering a few garments in his arm and turning—

Only to shout, startled to find her standing just before him, crossing the floor without a sound. He staggered back, tripping over the trunk and falling onto the cot, its rushed hinges creaking. She stood unnaturally still.

She doesn't breathe.

"You live here?" She asked, unperturbed by his reaction.

"Um…" He pushed up slowly, eyeing her warily. "Yes."

She glanced at the cot he currently sprawled across, then the trunk. He felt himself flush anew, scrambling to his feet, feeling the need to explain.

"My apartment was on the other side of town and…"

She turned away, distracted by the items on the nearby shelf. He sighed, shaking his head and gathering the clothes, holding them out.

"Here."

She spun swiftly, hair dancing across her shoulders. "Do I live here, too?"

Theo stiffened. "No. You… don't live here. That's why none of your things are here." An awkward beat. She accepted the pile of clothes with a small smile. He cleared his throat, shifting back. "But I'll fetch them for you. That is—"

She continued to watch him, patient and silent as one of his mice. Before they turned into ravenous pains in the ass.

"It's safest for you to remain here," he finished. "Until your memory is recovered."

She stood so still she appeared dead.

She is dead.

And then she blinked, disrupting the eerie illusion.

"Who am I?"

Theo deflated at once.

So much for that.

He wet his lips, disappointment heavy in his voice. "You're my cousin," he stated simply, preparing for her to ask his name once more.

Instead, she shook her head, laughing softly. The sound was so lively it was disturbing. Not because it emanated from a standing corpse, rather because Theo was so unused to hearing the sound, least of within these four barren walls.

"I mean, what's my name?"

Theo stood taller. Thrilled to see her mind wasn't breaking down. It was strengthening. And yet...

"Your name?" He repeated, trying to buy himself more time to think. Fuck. His mind went startling blank. She continued to watch him patiently, the silence stretching, yawning endlessly with no escape in sight.

His lips parted of their own accord, the words slipping free without rhyme or reason.

"Your name… is Anastasia." He held her clouded gaze. "Anastasia Nott."

She grinned. "Anastasia." And tilted her head once more, studying his face as though reading something printed across the front. "I think I remember that."

His heart skipped a painful beat.

And then a rapid pounding at the door broke the dark spell, drawing both their focus to the catwalk. At first he was relieved, grateful for the distraction. Until he realized what the distraction meant. Panic set in.

"Stay put." He started for the staircase, fists clenched tight. "I'll get rid of them."

"Why?"

Theo halted, rocking in place and glancing back. She adjusted her sheet, holding his clothes under her arm.

"Why get rid of them?" She clarified.

His gaze drifted to her throat, painted every shade of violet and blue, then back to her opaque eyes.

"So you can get dressed in privacy, and rest."

She smiled. "Thank you, Theo."

He felt a sharp twinge in his chest, incessant and painful, but nodded all the same, turning for the stairs once more. The pounding resumed, hard and heavy, so intense he feared the metal gate would break. He took the steps in a blinding rush, glancing down at the warehouse floor. She had moved behind a shelf to change, out of sight from the door.

He released a slow breath, turning to the barrier with a scowl and opening it a sliver, evening light bleeding through, overtaking his vision and illuminated the silhouette of a broad figure on the other side of the accordion gate.

"Nott, thank god you're here!"

Theo's eyes adjusted, the figure coming into clear view. "Potter, now isn't—"

"We need you. Now." A weighted pause. "It's Hermione."

Theo stiffened, fingers curling around the handle. "She's gotten worse," he surmised.

Potter nodded, expression grave. "I think she…" He looked away, drawing a hand over his face. "I think it's happening."

Theo sighed, glancing back into the lab. A feminine shadow cast across the wall as she dressed before the standing light.

"Nott!"

Theo jolted, spinning forward.

"Come on, we need to hurry!"

Theo pinched the bridge of his nose, mind racing. "Let me grab my medical bag. Stay here."

He slammed the door on Potter's dumbfounded expression, muffling whatever idiotic outburst surely followed.

"Anastasia!" He called, racing down the steps.

She walked out from behind the shelf, wearing black trousers and a linen shirt, not yet buttoned. The center of her torso was revealed, the bite marks along her stomach on full display. He wondered how he would explain the wounds to her when she inevitably asked.

Perhaps she'll be more curious about why she lacks a pulse.

He took a deep breath.

Focus on one crisis at a time.

She stepped closer, face open, unguarded. "Yes?"

"I need to run an errand. I don't know how long I'll be gone, but I promise to return as soon as I can. In the meantime, it's very important you stay here. You mustn't leave the laboratory under any circumstance, do you understand?"

She nodded, asking no questions. He glanced around, eyes lingering on a bubbling beaker on one of the tables, then to Granger's blood samples scattered across the desk, the goddamn mice...

"Also… don't touch anything."

She blinked.

"For your safety," he added.

She nodded again and then pressed a hand to her bare stomach. "Will you bring back food?"

Theo tracked the movement, feeling his pulse quicken.

"Please?" She asked softly.

His eyes lingered upon her hand. "You're hungry," he stated gravely, dread rising.

She nodded a third time, biting her lip.

Don't panic. She hasn't shown any signs of hostility. Quite the opposite.

"Of course." He cleared his throat and met her eyes. "What sort of food do you like?"

She smirked, the wry expression taking him by surprise. "I've no idea. I was hoping you would know."

He released his breath in a rush.

Potter resumed his crazed banging. Bastard.

"Right. I'll bring back supper for us both."

Theo dashed for his case beneath the desk, opening the drawer and throwing a few items inside, including the holy water and crucifix because it just seemed like that kind of day, and snapped the top shut. He turned to face her, squeezing the leather handle.

"Remember—"

"Stay here," she said with a soft smile. "And don't touch anything."

He blinked, shoulders easing, and smiled in return. The banging grew louder until Theo was certain the maniac's fist would come punching through the wall.

"I'll be back." He turned away, starting for the stairs.

She stepped forward, waving shortly. "Goodbye, Cousin."

His smile dropped like a stone, knuckles turning white against the railing. "Goodbye."

He stumbled the rest of the way to the top, losing his balance and catching himself with a low curse. She laughed softly. He shook his head, straightening on the landing and throwing open the door.

"Jesus Fucking Christ!" Potter exploded without preamble. "Were you taking a shit? This is a fucking emergency!"

Theo scowled, unlocking the gate and pushing it aside. He shut the door at his back and then stared at it, wondering if he should lock her in. She'd given her word she'd stay put...

She's a talking corpse you met a few hours ago. Lock the fucking door.

He withdrew the keys from his pocket, locking the door and the gate from the outside before turning swiftly, meeting Potter's enraged stare and gesturing into the alley.

"Lead the way, Gallahad."

---

Ron glanced at his watch, its backing scratched and strap frayed, groaning at the time.

Fantastic, at this rate they'd have no time to search.

The door across the hall opened to reveal a woman dressed in a pale yellow uniform, a waitress— or maybe a maid, purse and keys in hand. He recognized her from before, when she'd stormed the hall pantsless, shouting at him and Patil to shut the hell up. She gazed up, seeing him at last, smirking as she closed her door.

"Hey there, gingerbread man."

He blinked. "Hello."

She leaned against her door, crossing her arms. "Waiting up for Patil?"

He tucked his hands into his pockets, glancing down the hall. "Yeah, she should be home any minute."

Unless she stood me up. Why the hell do I even bother putting up with it?

She tilted her head, seeming to read the disquiet in his eyes. "You never know with her. That girl follows the beat of her own drum."

"So I've noticed."

She laughed, then gave him a meaningful once over, eyes lingering in places that left him blushing to the tips of his ears. He gazed down the hall once more, rocking back on his heels.

Where the fuck are you, Patil?

The neighbor's laughter deepened, clearly delighted by his unease as she edged forward. "I've seen you around here before now."

He nodded, stepping back. "I'm a friend of Lavender."

She arched a manicured brow, holding his gaze as she invaded his personal space. "Friend?"

He cleared his throat, pressing flat to the wall as she closed in. "Yeah."

She stopped just before him, floral perfume heavy on the air, undercut by the menthol and moonshine on her breath.

"If you're ever in the market for a new friend, you come pay me a visit." She pressed a hand to his chest, tracing his pectoral muscle through his shirt. "I won't even charge you for it."

He gulped audibly, wondering if the wall was thin enough to burrow through. And then a figure rounded the corner, halting in its tracks.

"Back off, Lucy."

He instantly deflated, happy to hear her hostile voice for the first time in his life. He could practically see the halo hovering around her frazzled braid as she marched down the hall, adorning a grease-stained uniform and sweat-soaked bandana like angel wings.

The neighbor dropped her hand, stepping back with a lascivious grin. "Parv, welcome home. I was just keeping your friend company while he waited."

"I bet you were. Leave him be."

The woman laughed anew, walking back to her door. "Whatever you say, kids." She lifted her keys, turning over the lock. "Whatever you say." She started down the hall, casting a wink over her shoulder as she met Ron's relieved eye. "The offer's still open."

She blew him a kiss, laughing harder as he blushed anew, glancing away. Parvati shook her head, waiting until the woman rounded the corner before turning the full force of her ire upon him.

"Really?"

He blinked, meeting her incensed glare. "What?"

"Lav's been gone for all of three days and you're already banging the neighbor?"

His jaw fell wide, shock and outrage choking him of coherency. "No! I didn't— she was the one who— I tried—"

Parvati held his mortified gaze a moment longer before bursting into laughter, loud and boisterous, doubling over with the force.

Ron shook his head, seething. "Very funny." He dragged a hand over his face, falling back into the wall, shocked it wasn't stained through with his sweaty imprint. "Fuck."

She smirked, reaching for her keys. "That's what it looked like, surprised she didn't mount you in the hall."

He cringed, desperate to change the subject. "You're late."

"No, you're early." She unlocked her door, shouldering it open.

He glared, following her inside. "The sun's almost down, we'll have barely an hour to—"

"We aren't going to play this game again."

She threw her bag onto the couch as he closed her door, turning to face him with feet braced and arms crossed.

"We're going out tonight," she announced.

He set his jaw. "Patil—"

"I know a way to find her. It could lead to information on your sister as well."

He fell silent, pulse thrumming. She smirked, knowing she'd sufficiently hooked him.

"But it'll only work at night," she added, bracing for his reaction.

They held each other's gaze across the threadbare rug for several seconds. Until he stepped forward at last, nodding with resolve.

"Fuck it. I'm game."

Her smirk turned wicked with delight.

---

Hermione fell back from the toilet, gasping for breath and reaching for the roll of tissue, ripping off a few squares and wiping her mouth. She balled the paper and flushed it with a cringe, grabbing the edge of the sink and pulling to her feet.

Her knees felt weak, joints swollen and achy, skin crawling with ants. She swayed in place, steadying herself before the mirror, daring to look up.

Ugh.

She tried to smooth her hair, pinching her cheeks to revive the color. It was such a jarring contrast to the vibrant face staring back at her that very morning.

A knock sounded on the door.

She sighed, turning on the tap. "Come in at your own peril."

The door opened, Malfoy appearing in the mirror's reflection, utterly pristine. She wanted to punch him. Right in the pointed nose. He arched a pale brow, leaning into the frame with a smug grin.

"I've finally figured it out."

She grabbed her toothbrush off the vanity. "This should be good."

"Swooning at work—"

"I didn't swoon."

"Hurling your guts like the Trevi Fountain," he continued, undaunted.

She rolled her eyes, squeezing toothpaste onto the bristles.

"Potter's sudden return, his insistence on bringing an unlicensed doctor to the house."

She began to brush, cringing all the while, the brush too large for her mouth and the baking soda triggering her gag reflex.

"Your insistence on locking your father away, far from the surely devastating news that would befall him otherwise."

She spat into the sink, blocking the motion with her hand. She might look like death warmed over but she wouldn't forgo etiquette.

He folded his arms, teeth gleaming in the vanity lights. "You're up the duff."

She gagged at last, choking mint foam into the sink. "Up the—"

"There's no point in denying it, Granger. So tell me, who's the unfortunate bastard?"

She turned off the sink, wiping her mouth with a washcloth. "I refuse to dignify such idiocy with a response."

"Says every guilty person ever." And then his eyes widened, excitement palpable. "Wait. Is it someone I know?"

She rolled her eyes, pushing past him to enter the bedroom.

"Come now, don't be stingy with details," he turned, tracking her movements with sheer delight, "You've dragged me in this far, I'm practically an honorary member of the Nerds and Rejects Club."

She began searching for her hairbrush as Crookshanks weaved between her feet, mewling loudly, vying for attention after being locked out of the bathroom for so long.

"The truth will out," he said, no doubt meaning the words in jest, but they held a profoundly different meaning to her at that moment. She glanced to the window, eyeing the pink and violet sky, the sun slowly setting.

"Be careful what you wish for, Malfoy."

She found the brush wedged deep between her dresser and the wall. She suspected Crookshanks was the guilty party, always batting her bottles and ties off the countertops. She reached up, tugging the pins from her hair and shaking the matted curls free with a vengeance.

"All the pieces fit," Malfoy continued, tucking his hands into his pockets as he paced casually towards her. "Including Potter's warning regarding my mortal peril. Pregnant women are notoriously violent."

She tore the brush through her hair, ripping through knots, relishing the pull on her scalp. At least this pain she had control over.

"Is that so. And how many pregnant women have you known?"

"Personally? None. I value the arrangement of my face just the way it is."

She tossed the brush onto her bed and began plaiting the frazzled mess over her shoulder. "Then I suggest you keep your ridiculous assumptions to yourself."

His expression sobered as he leaned against the bedpost, watching her vent her frustrations on her hair.

"Seriously, Granger. Why isn't the idiot here? Does he refuse to marry you?"

Jesus, Mary, and Joseph.

She began searching for a hairband, praying for a meteor to strike her dead.

"Give me his name," Malfoy demanded, using the voice he donned when arguing with investors. "I'll pay the bastard a visit myself. He can't expect to have his kicks and just walk away, leaving you in ruins."

She blinked, turning to face him. "You'd do that for me?"

His face remained placid and cold as a frozen lake. "My lawyers will take him to the cleaners. He'll take responsibility one way or another."

She smirked, arms lowering to her sides. "That's… very considerate. But wholly unnecessary. There is no father because there is no pregnancy."

He studied her carefully. "Then what's wrong? A stomach virus doesn't span three days."

Hermione swallowed lightly, debating how to explain. She opened her mouth, unsure what madness was to follow when a commotion sounded downstairs. The front door opened, then slammed, footsteps racing across the entry, echoing up the staircase like a stampede. Harry's hard and hurried step was easy to discern, she guessed who the second, lighter pair belonged to.

Crookshanks leaped to the center of her bed, watching the door with gleaming eyes. Her best friend emerged through the frame first, crossing straight towards her and gripping her arms.

"Are you—"

"Okay," she assured, placing a hand to his chest. "I actually feel much better."

Theo entered a moment later, his arrival marked by Crookshank's feral growl. Harry glanced over his shoulder, startled at the sound.

"Why didn't he hiss at Malfoy?"

Draco smirked, strolling to the edge of the bed and stroking the orange feline down his back. Crookshanks arched into the touch, purring loudly and swaying in place like a drunk.

"We bonded over the sound of Granger destroying the plumbing."

Hermione shook her head, burying her face in her hands. "Christ."

"Besides," Draco continued, scratching the cat under his chin, showing off for his audience. "I likely was a cat in my past life. Animals can sense their own." He glanced up wryly, meeting Harry's perplexed gaze. "I imagine the orangutans react similarly when you visit the zoo."

Harry scowled, releasing her to face the blonde head-on, a barrage of insults percolating on the tip of his tongue.

"I hate to interrupt such intellectual banter," Theo spoke loudly from the doorway. "But I was told this was a medical emergency."

Hermione pushed Harry aside, crossing to the center of the room. "Emergency is a bit of an overstatement."

"She puked up an organ."

"Thank you, Malfoy."

Theo's nose twitched in obvious annoyance. "Perhaps you can set the record straight, Granger. After the comedy duo leaves the room."

Harry shook his head, gearing up to argue, but Theo silenced him with a sharp glare. "I need to examine the patient in privacy. It's standard practice."

"Just to clarify," Draco spoke up from the bed, still petting his new best friend. "You no longer operate a practice, do you Nott?"

Theo lifted his chin, shoulders drawing wide as shutters fell across his face. "That is correct, Malfoy."

"My father said your medical license was stripped away after you were caught—"

"Your father also says the homeless should be rounded up and herded off the island like cattle. I wouldn't put much stock in any of his claims."

Draco surged forward, expression lethal. "Who the hell do you—"

"Enough!" Harry shouted, thunderous voice shaking the pictures on the walls. "There isn't time for this! Malfoy, into the hall. Nott," he met the Doctor's gaze. "Help her."

Draco rolled his eyes, side-stepping Theo with a pointed look as though the man was a stain on the ground. He made it to the doorway in silence before glancing back, meeting her eyes.

"If it's a terminal illness, remember the bright side." He smiled cheekily. "At least you're not pregnant."

She shook her head as Harry pushed him into the hall.

"Hands off, Potter. You owe me dry cleaning you know—"

His voice cut off as Theo slammed the door behind the pair, enclosing them in blessed quiet. He sighed heavily, turning to face her with a strange expression, half annoyance and half intrigue.

"Alright, Granger, what the hell is going on?"

She brushed the loose strands from her face, forcing her spine straight, hoping it would strengthen her claim. "Nothing serious. Just some nausea. But it's passed."

He stepped closer, examining her with a clinical eye. "Along with all your bodily fluid. You're severely dehydrated, I may need to put you on an I.V.—"

"No needles." She pressed a hand to her stomach. "I just got off the floor."

He released a weary sigh, striding for the dresser. "Sit," he commanded, gesturing to the bed.

She perched on the edge of the footboard, watching as he set his case on the counter, opening the top.

"Nausea," he stated, reaching inside. "Anything else?"

She bit her lip, tucking her hands under her legs as he approached with a stethoscope in hand.

"I'll take that as a yes," he deadpanned.

She glanced away, lifting an arm as Crookshanks nudged her elbow with his head, pressing against her side.

"I…" she trailed off, unsure how to frame the newest horrors.

Theo inserted the earpieces, face expectant. "You…?"

She closed her eyes, pulling Crookshanks fully into her lap and raking her nails through his fur.

"I can smell blood." She opened her eyes, meeting Nott's perfectly blank expression. "From across a building," she continued, wetting her lips as Crookshanks purred loudly. "And I can hear heartbeats."

Theo's eyes narrowed as though peering down his microscope at her. "I see. Anything else?"

She shook her head.

"And dare I ask what constitutes a serious symptom to you?" He asked.

She held his gaze. "Killing someone."

"Hm. Good to know." He lifted the end of the stethoscope. "Take a deep breath."

She did as instructed, stiffening at the bite of cold metal against her skin as he pressed the flat end between the dip in her blouse. Sitting still and silent was a feat, but she managed to accomplish both impossible tasks as he listened to the rapid thrum of her heart. He stepped back a few moments later, wrapping the rubber tubing around his neck.

"So, blood cravings—"

"Scenting," she corrected at once. "Blood scenting."

"You had no wish to ingest it?"

As if on cue, her stomach growled. Loudly. Crookshanks and Theo both glanced at her middle. She flushed hot, setting the feline aside and wrapping her arms over front.

Theo arched a dark brow, taking the development in stride. "Indeed." He crossed back to his case, speaking low, as though to himself. "You can hear your prey's heartbeat—"

"Prey?" She asked, sitting straighter, pulse galloping wildly.

"Hm?" He glanced over his shoulder. "Oh. Well, your body is expelling its prior contents in preparation for a new nutrient source, and when added to your prior symptoms of supernatural strength and… glowing, was it?"

She closed her eyes, falling back on the mattress, arms spread and braid curling around her head like a rope. "I'm screwed."

He turned to his case. "You're in the throes of a transition, yes."

Crookshanks padded higher, laying next to her shoulder and licking his paw.

"Have you sprouted fangs?" Theo asked, crossing back to the bed with an unhurried gait.

The question shocked her enough to bolt her upright, much to her cat's dismay. She pressed her fingertips to her canines, feeling along the edges. Her gums were sore. Or maybe she was just imagining it. How many of her symptoms were psychosomatic?

"No," she whispered, relieved for a solid beat before gazing at him in horror. "Will my teeth fall out?"

"Probably."

She deflated. Leave it to Nott to sugar coat it.

"How will I close my mouth?" She asked, remembering the oversized wax fangs she and Ginny sported one Halloween as children.

"They seem to retract. Then again, Abigail never grew fangs." He tilted his head, lost to some deep thought. "Nor did Anastasia… at least not yet."

"I'm thrilled to have lab rats as my predecessors."

He blinked, snapping out of the reverie. "I'm creating cultures with your blood, but I still need access to the ashes to work towards anything substantial."

The jar.

She sighed, rubbing her temples. "Of course. I'd nearly forgotten." She tipped her chin at the chair. "It's in my bag, I meant to bring it by earlier."

He followed her direction, opening the top flap and reaching inside, carefully extracting the wrapped bundle with both hands.

"I'd like to separate the ashes from the jar," she said, watching him set the package on the desk. "It's been through enough trauma, and I'd like to eventually bring it back to the Museum."

"The vessel is of no use to me, only its contents."

Her stomach growled again, twisting painfully. She cringed, flinching at the deep ache.

He turned. "Nausea?"

She shook her head, flames erupting in the pit of her gut, drawing her muscles tight, like an allergic reaction that chased through each limb.

Theo drew his shoulders back. "Hunger," he corrected.

Her eyes snapped up, tears pooling in their corners. She wiped them quickly, hands trembling as her gaze flickered to her open bag and back again.

"No," she affirmed, forcing her spine to unbend.

He didn't look convinced.

"Granger—"

"I'm just tired." She stapled on a smile, hoping it didn't make her look more insane than she already felt. "I'd like to sleep if that's alright."

"You need fluids."

"I'll try to keep some water down." Her hands folded atop her lap to keep them from clawing at her skin. "I just… need some time. To process everything."

He studied her in tense silence, eyes never straying from her face, as though the answer he sought was written clearly across her forehead.

"I'll return later, after sundown," he stated at last.

Sundown.

She shivered, then tried to cover the reaction by standing and straightening her blouse, sneaking a glance at the sky. Smoky indigo.

Theo shifted. She spun to face him, watching as he moved to the bedside table to retrieve her empty glass from the night before. She blinked in confusion, tracking his movements to the bathroom until he disappeared behind the wall, turning on the sink. Her shoulders lowered as he stepped free a moment later, full glass in hand, offering it without a word.

"Thank you," she whispered, accepting it with both hands, chest warming at the simple gesture.

He nodded, silently turning towards the desk.

"For everything you've done for me," she added, staring at the rippling surface of the water. "And everything you tried doing for my father."

He stiffened, glancing back. "Granger—" She knew he sensed the direction of her thoughts as he turned slowly, expression grave. "Hermione. Even if you… change… there is still the possibility of a cure."

She nodded, tracing the base of the glass with her thumb. "Of course." She chanced an upward glance, hoping he couldn't see the truth in her eyes. "I'll see you later tonight."

He fell perfectly still, eerily so. She wondered what he was thinking, if he knew...

And then he stepped back, glancing away and reaching for his bag. "I'll retrieve the ashes when I come back, after you've had the chance to separate them."

There was a shuffle in the hall, followed by muted bickering. She bit her lip, staring at the gap under the door, watching feet pace back and forth.

"Theo."

He glanced over his shoulder.

"Please tell Harry I need to rest… alone."

He pinned her with a sardonic look. "Wild horses couldn't keep him away."

"He'll listen to you."

"He hasn't yet."

She smiled softly. "He'll listen to the doctor's orders."

Theo sighed heavily, discerning her meaning, nodding once before starting for the door, pausing at the barrier.

"Sleep well, Granger."

He departed without a backward glance, shutting the door swiftly, though she still caught a glimpse of worried green eyes in the hall. She heard Theo murmur something, followed by Harry's booming outrage.

"What?"

A hushed response followed.

"No, I need to—"

"Honestly, Potter, you're not her fucking handmaid!" Malfoy snapped.

She sighed, leaning against the post with the glass in hand, waiting for Harry to storm inside anyway. Crookshanks perched at her side, watching the light play beneath the door. Someone gripped the knob from the outside, the brass rattling. She held her breath.

And then, silence.

The knob was released. A faint buzzing filled her ears as footsteps moved past the door, and then down the hall. The others followed suit, the procession heading towards the stairs.

Hermione exhaled sharply, tears overspilling her eyes anew. She rushed to the bathroom, setting the glass on the edge of the sink before bracing the porcelain, trying to catch her breath. Hunger gnawed away at her insides, eating straight through her center like acid. She turned on the sink, splashing cool water against her face. Nothing helped.

The entire time Theo had stood before her she'd heard his heartbeat pounding away, strong and steady. She couldn't bear to be in the same room with him, terrified of what she'd do.

Her father's bedroom was just next door, Harry's was just down the hall…

God help me.

She turned off the tap with wet fingers, chancing an upward glance. Her complexion hadn't improved. If anything, she looked closer to death than before. But her irises had lightened half a shade, littered with more gold, bloodshot around the edges.

She lifted a hand, watching it tremble spastically.

It's time.

She pushed away from the sink and exited the bathroom, stumbling to her bag, reaching into the side panel and extracting the bent, folded sheet of paper. She held her breath, spreading it flat on the desk, reading the two words once more, fearing they'd somehow changed since this morning. Alas, the message remained as fixed as her fate.

She crumpled the paper in her hand and drew back, spinning a tight circle before dashing to the window, adrenaline giving her a useful burst of energy. It took some elbow grease to slide the rusted lock free, but the pane parted easily enough, autumn air whistling in, blowing through her hair and cooling her heated skin.

She pushed the glass as far as it would go before leaning over the edge, glancing in either direction, formulating a fly-by-the-seat-of-her-pants plan that would either result in immediate death or instant regret. Still, it was better than sitting in her room, waiting to turn into a monster. Waiting to hurt someone she loved.

Crookshanks leaped onto the ottoman beside her, meowing loudly, obviously sensing the direction of her stupidity and voicing his thoughts on the matter.

"Shh!" She hissed, leaning down and picking him up. "It's alright," she whispered into his fur, pressing her lips to his scruff. "I have to do this, Crooks. If I stay here I'm going to do something horrible."

His fur absorbed her quiet sob. He twisted in her grasp, meeting her gaze head-on.

"I have to go. Just for a little while." She pressed her forehead into his. "I'll come back." She swallowed thickly, a tremor running the length of her body as another deep cramp twisted inside her. "If I'm able to."

He purred loudly, as though in warning. She pressed a kiss to his smushed face and set him down, striding to the dresser as he chased at her heels. She tore open the top drawer, searching searching searching, and extracted a narrow book of matches wedged behind a bundle of candlesticks. She slid the cover open, selecting a single stick and closing the drawer, starting for the bathroom.

She loosened her fist, smoothing open the creased letter and striking the match against the surface, sulfur dioxide burning her nose as the flame sizzled to life, bathing her face in its flickering orange glow.

She held her breath, holding the missive aloft and bringing the match to the bottom corner, igniting the sheet. It wilted before her eyes, charring brown, then black, circling in on itself and flaking to the bottom on the white basin. She dropped the letter in the sink, turning on her heel and entering the bedroom as the fire steadily ate the remainder of the page.

She went straight to the window, time was against her and there was no point in delaying the inevitable. She braced either side of the frame, sitting gingerly on the ledge as Crookshanks keened anxiously below. She carefully swung her leg over the side, steadying herself as she felt along the top of the trellis with her foot.

A strange energy pulsed over her, dark but invigorating, the tightening in her stomach loosening long enough to let her find a proper foothold. She took a stuttered breath and clung to the bottom of the frame with both hands, carefully swinging her other leg over.

Time seemed to slow. Hermione swept her gaze over the room, unsure what she was looking for, what she expected to find. Alas, nothing awaited her, nothing beckoned or offered its assistance. Her eyes fastened to Crookshanks as he pawed the wall, eyes wide and frantic. She smiled sadly, imparting a silent farewell before glancing down at the side of the house, gripping the criss-cross slats of the trellis in a death grip, waiting for the wood to break apart. But the structure held, groaning softly as she began her downward trek to the moonlit grass.

And as Hermione stole away into the dark night, a shadow passed across the floor in her bedroom, drawing Crookshanks' glittering gaze. The feline chased the dark pool across the rug and into the bathroom, over the tightly packed tile and onto the lip of the sink.

The letter continued to burn, the process slowed by the damp clinging to the bottom of the porcelain. Crookshanks' amber eyes gleamed, tail flickering back and forth as the shadow slid across the edge of the basin and along the side of the full water glass, tipping it precariously.

The glass rocked back and forth before spilling into the sink, extinguishing the flame with a hiss. Smoke curled in lapping tendrils, rising up up up, reflected in the mirror and the feline's watchful gaze. The bulbs above the vanity flickered as wet ink bled down what remained of the page, its two simple words stretching grotesquely until they were all but unreadable.

Ambrose. Sundown.