Come on now, try and understand
The way I feel under your command
Take my hand, as the sun descends
They can't hurt you now
Because The Night, 10,000 Maniacs

The idea wasn't 'bloody idiotic' as Harry had said, nor was it 'fucking genius' as Tracey had said. It lay somewhere in between, and as the center of said idea, Hermione was fairly certain that the plan, while filled with merit, was one doused in a generous splash of spontaneity. But, they couldn't miss this opportunity, and she had to bite back her misgivings over the entire plan. She was going to a vampire's castle, on Draco Malfoy's arm, and everyone was just going to have to bloody square with it.

Or, so she'd told Harry.

It was only an intelligence gathering mission. Nothing more.

"Do you even own anything that would pass for a formal ball gown?" Theo asked her. She wasn't too pleased with the skeptical — and definitely judgemental — look in his eyes. "All you wear are jumpers and jeans, and frankly, I don't even know if your bosom can handle the gentle curve of evening wear."

Hermione's eyes narrowed and she placed her hands on her hips. Theo thumbed through her wardrobe, tutting and every once in a while tilting his head as if considering something, before quickly dismissing it with a huff.

"If you're going to be an arse, I don't think I want your help." She marched over to him and pushed him out of the way with her hip. "My clothes are just fine, thank you. I can't help it if I'm the conservative sort."

"Yes, well." Theo stood back and placed a hand to his chin as he looked her up and down. "I think we can work with—" his hand gestured towards her person, "this. Do you have a color preference, or do you only wear gray?"

She was going to strangle him with her bare hands. Hermione gritted her teeth. "I wear colors. I like green."

Theo's eyes, which had been filled with vague disdain, sparkled as his lips quirked. "Green? Of the emerald variety? My, my, my, love, never thought I'd see the day that a Gryffindor would be outfitted in a sophisticated Slytherin-toned gown, but—"

He pulled an old silk shirt from her wardrobe and tossed it onto her bed. He gave his wand a flick and swish, and suddenly the old shirt transformed into something much thicker, much longer, and far more elegant than she'd ever worn. Theo held it up to her body and stood back to survey his work. He flicked his wand again and the bust of the dress split down the middle, while silver stitching decorated the seams.

"Please tell me you own heels, otherwise I'm going to pitch myself out your bedroom window," he said as he thrust the dress into her hands. "Earrings, a necklace – something teardrop – and then perhaps we can think of what on earth to do with that rat's nest you call hair."

Hermione chased him from her room, kicking her foot at his arse the entire way out of the door. It wasn't until it shut behind him that she took a proper look at the dress. She wasn't even sure she owned a bra that would allow her to wear such a revealing garment, and to be quite frank, Hermione was fairly certain that whatever hormone-fueled fairy godmother-like tangent Theo had been on when he created the dress, it had the intention of making her feel as uncomfortable as possible as she twirled around in a coven of vampires.

But, Hermione wasn't an aristocrat; she preferred jeans to skirts and a messy bun to silky curls and old comfortable jumpers to low cut blouses. It took her all of five minutes alone with the dress and the heels and the jewelry to realize she was in way over her head. She swung her bedroom door open and found Theo leaning against the frame with a smarmy smirk on his face.

"Tell me you were wrong." His voice held a sing-song lilt to it as he pushed himself past the threshold of her room, and then spun on his heels to face her again.

Hermione sighed and crossed her arms over her chest. "Must we do this every time you're better at something than I am?"

"Indubitably." He nodded, not in one sharp, jerky motion, oh no. It was exaggerated and slow, and his eyes never left hers for a second. "Otherwise you'll forget that, while you're the Brightest Witch of the Age, there's another excessively brilliant wizard around to give you a run for your galleons, who also has the fashion sense of a young Coco Chanel."

She couldn't stop the laugh that left her, and her entire body relaxed. "How do you even know who Coco Chanel is? She's an old muggle."

"Wrong." Theo lifted her dress and walked it over to her. "Coco is a witch, and you need to strip so that I can see what I'm working with."


Eons had passed since Hermione had been locked in a small bedroom with Theo for company. It surprised everyone that she hadn't hexed him within an inch of his life, but no one more so than Harry who greeted Theo at the end of the hallway with a tight smile and cautious optimism.

"You look unscathed," he observed, fingers reaching for Theo's wrist and dragging him close. "You're like my own personal Hermione Whisperer."

Theo stood taller than him, a fact that he'd never allow Harry to live down in any situation in which height was an advantage. Reaching for the tallest shelf in the cupboard, changing light bulbs in the highest fixtures, the way his hands could wrap around Harry's shoulders when they enjoyed their favorite positions in bed. But it was moments like this when Harry enjoyed the difference in height. As they stood wrapped in each other, Harry could press his lips to Theo's neck, enjoy the way his heart beat in his throat against Harry's ear, and relish in the pressure of Theo's chin against the top of his head.

"She thinks she's scary," Theo chuckled, sending vibrations through Harry as he tugged him even closer against his lithe body. "The trick is to treat her like any predator; show no fear and don't back down."

"Isn't that how we ended up together?" he murmured against Theo's neck with a smirk on his lips. "You didn't back down. Did you treat me like a predator?"

Theo's hand slid up Harry's spine and into his hair where it curled around the roots and gently encouraged his head to tilt back so their eyes met. "In no way were you the predator in our little fairytale, Boy Wonder."

Whatever Harry had been about to say — and there was a lot flashing through his mind, none of which lacked a filthy undertone — was cut off as Hermione's bedroom door shut loudly. Her heels clicked against the hardwood floors as she made her way down the hallway to where Harry and Theo stood embracing each other.

Harry's jaw dropped as his gaze found Hermione's emerald-clad body, which was snugly fit inside a dress that made even him blush. There was thin fabric on the shoulders, but no fabric down the middle of her chest, as it rounded the swells of her breasts and reached just above her navel. The dress was floor length and fit close, showcasing her curves and edges, all the way down to the strappy, silver heels on her feet that peeked through the slit running to her mid thigh. And, if the provocative dress wasn't enough to stun him into absolute silence, the state of her hair certainly was.

It reminded him of the Yule Ball, the way the frizz was tamed. But Theo had left the dark curls and voluminous ringlets to frame her chin. It looked natural, the way he'd pinned the back of it up and off of her neck so that the shiny, thin necklace that hung delicately against her skin forced his eyes to take in the slope of her shoulders and dip of her clavicle.

When Harry glanced up to Theo and saw the deep, dimpled smirk embedded in his cheek, he knew the exact reason that he'd spent any time at all giving Hermione the makeover of a lifetime.

Draco was going to lose his ruddy mind when he saw her.

The magical moment was ruined when Hermione's heel caught on the floor and she was propelled forward with flailing arms, trying desperately to find purchase somewhere. It was Harry's reflexes that caught her — his seeker skills still very much useful after all these years — and he huffed a laugh as she grumbled and extricated herself from his arms.

"This is ridiculous. I feel ridiculous."

"You look gorgeous." Harry pushed a chunk of her curls away from her cheek and smiled down at her as she righted her dress. Theo smacked his hand away. "Oi!"

"Don't ruin my masterpiece, Potter."


Everything about it was uncomfortable. That she wasn't fully covered and, actually, had more flesh on display than if she'd been wearing a swimming costume. The way pins tugged at the roots of her hair. The heavy necklace that laid against her sternum. The makeup that wasn't as 'breathable' as Theo had promised. And the earrings, Merlin, it felt as if she'd gradually sink down to the floor from the weight of them if she wasn't careful.

Surely this wasn't beauty. It was uncomfortable and miserable and —

Cloudy gray eyes caught hers from across the room, and she lost all the breath from her lungs. His incisors poked into his bottom lip and she expected to see blood, but instead his tongue swept along the tips and his hands fisted by his sides.

She could relate to his obvious discomfort with the situation, even if his eyes did find hers and pinned her to the spot as if he had all the confidence in the world.

Draco stood in a dapper suit, silky black and embroidered with the same silver stitching that lined the hem of her dress. His emerald tie was in a perfect windsor knot at his throat. She watched it bob under the force of his swallow, and the tick of her heart soared to a manic beat.

Perhaps the worst thing was that she wasn't worried about being human in the middle of a vampire coven, but that she was going to be in such close proximity to Draco the entire night and she wasn't certain that she could ignore the thrum of desire that was sweeping through her.

Draco held out his elbow to her in a gesture for her to take his arm despite the fact that she was still across the room from him. He made no move to get any closer to her. Hermione was frozen to the spot, carefully laying out plans to avoid falling into the trap of becoming charmed by him. She'd failed in that once before, so long ago, and she didn't think her heart could ever recover if she did it again. The plan to survive the night: no eye contact, definitely no looking at his lips, only touching when absolutely necessary, Hogwarts appropriate dances only, and do not get swept up in his flirtatious banter.

She kept her eyes glued to a space just over his shoulder, and nervously fidgeted with the fabric at her hip. Slight pressure on her back prompted her feet to move. Harry whispered her name, an urgent encouragement for her to walk to Draco. One foot at a time, slowly in front of the other. Small breaths in and out. Her heart thudded wildly and her legs were like jelly.

A slick smile lifted one corner of his lips as she wrapped her hand into his elbow. It had taken her five seconds for her plan to go to shit.

"Granger." His dark eyes flicked over the top of her head, and his chin dipped slightly before he finally brought his gaze back to her. "Do I have to warn you not to do anything spectacularly Gryffindor tonight?"

The insult jolted her out of the stupor she'd been in, and she narrowed her eyes at him while stepping to his side. "No point in asking you not to do something spectacularly Slytherin ," she grumbled as he took a slight step forward, "a runespoor never changes its stripes."

Draco turned toward her and clasped his hand around her other elbow, drawing her to him. Potter Cottage disappeared with a sharp crack, and the world around her popped with color before it went eerily black. They suddenly appeared on a quiet path in the middle of a dense forest, the echo of their apparation giving scare to the creatures that dwelt in the trees around them.

"Before we forget," Draco turned to her and withdrew something from his coat pocket. A silver mask decorated with snakeskin and emerald gems stared back at her. His lips quirked. "Masquerades generally require masks."

"It's beautiful," she whispered as she plucked it from his hand and held it up to her face. It covered her eyes only and sat perfectly against her cheeks. "Theo's idea?"

As he covered half of his own face with a simple silver mask, he shook his head. "An old heirloom from the manor. Mother loves a carnival."

Her fingertips traced the edge of her mask, over the slope of the cheek and the hard gemstones. "Your mother has good taste."

"Never tell her that," he said and snorted as he held his elbow out to her once more. "She'll be insufferable for the rest of time."

Draco's head turned to the side and his eyes peered into the distance behind them. Instinctively, she followed his gaze. Behind them was the outline of a small village, and in front of them was a gothic castle that looked as though it should be condemned. The exterior had ivy crawling over it, so much so that Hermione could barely see the stone surface of it underneath all the green. The peaky spires stood out in the night sky and as they moved closer to the castle, she noticed a gargoyle perched on the roof near the gutters. As they drew nearer, Hermione swore that the eyes followed them up the path to the gate.

It wasn't until they reached the gate, where two guards stood with stoic expressions and their hands resting against shiny objects held at their hips, that Hermione realized she was still holding onto Draco's arm. She let it go on their final steps, and the guards moved to block the gate.

"Invitation." The burly man demanded with a notch between his furry brows. He held his hand out at them expectantly.

Draco reached into his coat and withdrew paper with calligraphy scrawled across it. He placed it into the guard's hand and waited as he surveyed the paper with the utmost scrutiny. The guard glanced to his counterpart, gave a stiff nod, and they both moved from the path. The gate before them swung open, and Draco guided her through it with his hand on the small of her back.

"Don't look back," he murmured, picking up the pace of his steps and ignoring the fact that, in her heels, Hermione was struggling to keep up with his quick strides. "I knocked that one out before I brought Potter's cousin to you."

Despite the fact that she was at risk of falling over her own feet, Hermione's steps hastened all the way to the tall, black double doors of the castle, doors that opened as if they sensed their approach. Whatever it was she'd been expecting to see inside didn't come close to the reality. The dilapidated appearance of the castle on the outside was powerfully deceiving; Hermione was certain it was in order to keep anyone from finding out about the beauty that the castle held inside.

A grand entrance hall greeted them, along with a butler. He bowed as they passed him by. The high ceilings, elaborate paintings encased in thick golden frames and rich mahogany furniture dotted about the room, gave Hermione the feeling that the vampire who owned this place was most definitely wealthy. No wonder Malfoy seemed to feel at home, he was not bothering to take in any of the grandeur at all and, instead, was ushering her along a plush red carpeted path to a vast ballroom.

It was unlike anything Hermione had ever seen. Even the Ministry galas held after the fall of Voldemort didn't compare. It wasn't hard to spot the vampires; they moved so gracefully through the crowd and stayed close to the humans that accompanied them, possessively close. She noticed Draco had also moved closer to her, and when she glanced at him, she found his eyes had darkened and were staring around the room as if someone was going to try and fight him.

"Relax," she told him quietly, resting a hand on his arm. When his eyes dropped to hers, a breath hitched in her chest. His eyes were almost black; gone was the stormy gray she was used to. "Draco, are you alright?"

"Fine." The word was growled through clenched teeth, as he maneuvered them through the room toward a woman in a sleek, black dress and white mask. He grabbed a drink from the tray she carried and handed it to Hermione. "Drink for me, please. And don't go wandering off."

She tipped the flute back and sipped once. The drink tasted of melon and was fizzy like champagne. "What's going on with you? You need to loosen your grip on my waist."

His fingers unfurled from her hip, but he didn't put any space between them. "Something about this is wrong. Too many vampires, not enough human blood to go around."

"Why don't we dance? Get a feel of the landscape and maybe get eyes on Desdemona." Hermione tugged on his hand, to urge him toward the dance floor where at least a dozen couples were spinning to the lively rhythm of a string quartet. "You need to calm down. You're drawing attention to us."

It was true. As they made their way toward the musical ensemble, eyes turned to watch them. It wasn't until Hermione saw a familiar face that her shoulders relaxed. Dudley, wearing a charcoal suit and matching mask, rushed over to them with Tracey on his arm.

"Hullo." She noticed Dudley's cheeks were filled with color, and for vampires that typically meant that they'd recently fed. Next to him, Tracey waved.

"Dudley, Tracey," Hermione lifted her chin, putting a small smile on her face. "You look well. Things are okay?"

"Yeah, yeah," Dudley replied. "Shouldn't stay and chat too long, ya know. Have to keep up appearances 'n all that."

If Hermione was worried that she was baring too much skin, seeing Tracey had put that fear to rest. She wore a short, bright pink dress, black stockings and tall, shiny black heels. The dress clung to every part of her; from the halter over her breasts down to the skirt that barely covered the curve of her bum. But what shocked Hermione more than anything, was that the hair that Tracey always wore down around her shoulders was pulled back, revealing two fresh fang marks on her neck.

If Tracey didn't want to draw attention to herself, she wasn't doing a very good job.

"Just a quick second, love," Tracey said, running a placating palm down the side of Dudley's arm. He was absolute putty; Hermione could practically see the cartoon heart-eyes exploding from his sockets. "Everything alright, Granger?"

"You let him… do that?" Hermione couldn't stop staring at the fang marks. So many questions, both biology and ethics, raced through her mind. But then, she had wondered why so many of the so-called 'familiars' here had those same marks. Suddenly, she realized that she might be in way over her head.

"Such a spoilsport." Tracey offered her a rare smile, and ran a manicured finger down the side of Dudley's face. "You're missing out on one hell of a good time if you don't allow him to take a nibble."

"A nibble?" Hermione's hand moved to her throat, and she swallowed around glass. "No, I don't think that's something I care to do." Her eyes swiveled to Draco and she frowned. "I don't want you to do that to me, do you understand?"

Draco's voice, so close to her ear, broke her escalating panic. "This isn't that kind of party," he whispered. The words were all she needed to draw her eyes away from Tracey's bite marks to Draco's eyes, before glancing at his lips, where she knew his fangs were hiding. "And I won't ever bite you without your permission."

"Why would I ever give you permission to bite me?" Hermione asked breathlessly, trying to summon her courage in order to look into his eyes again. "We aren't intimate with one another. Not anymore."

Every ounce of pain she'd felt over the last year flooded into her eyes, threatening to ruin her makeup and spill onto her cheeks.

"Have to go," Dudley said, breaking through the tension with his keen tone. "Des is out — she'll make her rounds, checking on the familiars to make sure they all fit with the coven. Suggest whatever you do, you do it before midnight."

"Midnight?" Hermione asked, forcing a gulp down her throat.

"That's when she's ordering the coven to turn their familiars." Dudley looked to Tracey with nothing but sheer devotion in his eyes. "We'll be heading to Tracey's flat after we see Des. If you're smart, you'll meet us there soon."

"Thanks." Draco nodded once, and his fingers dug into her side once again. "Granger, we have work to do before things turn bloody. Let's get started."