Drink, to all that we have lost
Mistakes we have made
Everything will change
But, love remains the same
Love Remains the Same, Gavin Rossdale
There were certain comforts that Harry liked to enjoy after a life of near-death experiences, experiences that seemed to still be following him around as if they were an old friend. Well, maybe not so much like an old friend, especially when they took the form of the stubbornly persistent paparazzi that just wanted a slice of whatever he was willing to give — or not, and therein lies the difference.
Or whatever Hermione had told him one night when they'd been five glasses deep in Beeblebrox Brew.
All he knew was that he liked comfort and structure and plans, far more now than he ever had before, because he hadn't really known them until after Voldemort. And, with routine and carefully laid strategies, came easier breathing and stronger dueling and less lectures from older wizards who claimed to know what they were doing but decidedly did not.
Or whatever Theo had told him when they'd been otherwise occupied after a great shag.
The point, Harry decided as he gripped a crimson envelope in his hand, was that any time the Ministry was involved in anything, there was no structure and no plan and it usually ended with Harry being hurt in some way. Sometimes physically — Dolores. Sometimes mentally — Scrimgeour. Sometimes, all of the above — Undesirable No. 1 . The envelope, which was curled in his fist, struggled against his hold. He didn't let it go, even though he may have been suffering from papercuts and, at the very least, second degree burns.
"You know you have to open it," Hermione told him rather unhelpfully as she sipped her warm tea and stared at the howler. "It'll explode if you don't."
"Let it fucking explode then!" He crunched it harder in his hand and glared at the offending paper.
Who the fuck did Kinglsey even think he was, to demand his presence at the Wizengamot for trial? Hadn't he gone through enough already? Theo's hand on his shoulder applied a soothing amount of pressure, his thumb digging into tense muscles. He ran his hand down Harry's straining forearm, which encouraged him to loosen his grip.
"Give it here, love," he whispered in Harry's ear, and despite how adamantly opposed he was to allowing the howler to have it easy, Harry abided his boyfriend's request and let him steal the letter from his hand. "If you hadn't offended Minister Shacklebolt by vehemently opposing a visit to the Ministry, then perhaps he wouldn't send you howlers about it."
"He's supposed to be my friend ," Harry complained through his molars, eager to steal the paper back and rip it to shreds. "He should tell the Wizengamot that they're being absolute tossers and to go back to the hellhole they've crawled out of."
"That would be the worst political move he could make." Hermione eyed the howler in Theo's hand and crossed her ankles. "He has to look as if he's trying, and if you're refusing to follow along, it's only going to make everything harder."
"So I have to comply with this fucked up summons, even if I don't agree with it, because I know that the Supreme Mugwump has already decided to slaughter every vampire on the planet, and that this is nothing but show?" Rage licked at every fiber of his being and he swiped at the howler, but Theo held it high over his head like a gigantic git.
"Yes." Theo lifted his hands over his head and ripped open the howler. "That's precisely what you're meant to do if you want to affect any real change in the world, Boy Wonder."
HARRY J POTTER, YOU ARE HEREBY SUMMONED FOR THE FOURTH TIME TO APPEAR BEFORE THE WIZENGAMOT BY OFFICIAL ORDER OF THE MINISTER FOR MAGIC. FAILURE TO APPEAR WILL NOT BE TOLERATED AND WILL RESULT IN THE SUSPENSION OF YOUR MAGIC FOR A PERIOD NO LONGER THAN SIX MONTH—
A fireball collided with the howler and burst into flames. As it detailed the date and time for the Wizengamot session, Kingsley's voice choked on it's ashes. Harry stared at the space where the howler had been, jaw hanging open and arms trembling at his sides. It wasn't his wand that had knocked it from the air, however. Theo's arm was raised and his wand outstretched.
"Bugger that," he said with a quiet sort of rage as he wrapped his free arm around Harry's shoulders. "Time to find a new minister, I expect."
"He's only doing his duty," Hermione argued, though her eyes were on the tea inside of her cup in an apparent effort to avoid catching Theo's fiery gaze. "We're the only chance he has to fight the damn thing, and Harry's done nothing but argue like a petulant child the entire time. Of course he's going to threaten you, Harry. But he won't take away your magic. That's mental."
"I'd like to see him try," Harry grumbled, pulling out his wand and clearing away the howler's remains. He grabbed a cup of black coffee, knocked it back as if it were whisky, and tilted his neck from side to side, enjoying the way the bones popped and relieved his tension. "The Order will be here any time now. Let's move into the War Room."
It was quite fun being part of a team again. Luna hadn't been close to friends since before she'd gone off on her world tour with the Scamanders, and really, that had been Dumbledore's Army. There really hadn't been much use for the old gang after Lord Voldemort had fallen. Not until Harry Potter decided to reorganize The Order of the Phoenix.
She liked sitting in the War Room and developing extended Protean Charms and full body shields. Hermione was an amazing resource, as she seemed to have the entirety of Charms memorized, and could recite Goshawk's laws from memory. Luna liked Charms enough, but she always felt more at home with the more delicate arts of Divination and Defense. It stood to reason that, if one could see the future and defend themselves from it, well… when she had given her dissertation on the subject to the Wizengamot, they seemed pleased enough with her reasoning. It was a shame she'd decided against pursuing work as an Unspeakable, though. It wouldn't be much fun to make discoveries and not be allowed to waffle on about it with friends.
So, instead, she'd turned up on the doorstep of Potter Cottage when Harry had fired up their Order galleons, fresh from the hull of a ship returned from Iceland. She wore a scarf and knitted hat, mittens and fuzzy socks, and had little Naboo on her shoulder wearing miniature earmuffs to keep his ears from getting cold.
She sat in the War Room next to Charles, whom she'd decided was the most clear headed of the bunch. It was a joy to watch the wrackspurts try to enter his mind, but fall away as if there were a force field around him. At one point, she thought that Harry attracted them naturally… until she watched them sink into every member of the Order, all except for Charles.
Something told her that he was special, and so she'd made sure he knew that she was available to be part of his life.
"Charles," she greeted him now, with an easy smile, pulling her mittens off her hands. "How are the kelpies doing on their new ranch?"
He beamed at her, a dashing grin that overtook his whole face, and leaned into her, his shoulder bumping against hers. "The one you've named Minnie was actually a Mickey," he told her with a laugh.
She shook her head. "He's definitely still a Minnie; don't change the name."
Quiet settled in around them, and Luna pulled her sparkling eyes from Charles to Harry as he stood from his seat and addressed the room. The wrackspurts clouded his eyes; she wondered how he could see anything at all.
Lovegood was a raving lunatic, and no one would ever convince Blaise otherwise. It didn't mean she wasn't delightful, of course — he'd had the pleasure of enjoying her lunacy once in the privacy of his yacht, and if Daphne wasn't in the picture… Blaise dragged his gaze from Luna and his eyes landed on Daphne who lifted a brow in his direction. He shrugged, she smirked and then rested her head on his shoulder as Potter continued droning on.
"Hermione has taken days to recover from a single bite from one of Desdemona's vampires," Harry said, his gaze sweeping around the room. His fist pressed into the table as if he were grounding himself. "We've confirmed last night that, of the dozen vampires she was attempting to make, she succeeded in adding ten to her ranks. It brings her running total to—"
"Eighteen," Blaise said, saluting Harry as the latter's finger pointed in his direction with gratitude. Or at least that's what Blaise decided Potter meant by it. "And Sanguini has been in London every night. Knockturn. Weasley and I tried to follow him, but the bloke is like an unplottable building."
"It's like he has an invisibility cloak," George clarified, as if that made Blaise's explanation any clearer.
But Potter nodded his head and his eyes cut to Granger. "How many uses does a standard invisibility cloak have?"
"A dozen," Pansy answered, and Blaise smirked at the indignant scowl on the little Gryffindor Princess's face. "We make them at the boutique. If there's no advanced charms, and it's not that monstrosity that you have. But, it hardly matters; they're commercial now. Sanguini probably has hundreds. If your plan is to follow him around until it fades, that's a stupid plan."
Potter's face crumpled, and Blaise enjoyed seeing Pansy take pride in being the cause of it. "Right. Malfoy." He swung his gaze to Draco. "How's it going with you getting closer to Sanguini?"
Blaise hid a chuckle behind his hand as Draco's infamous scowl deepened. His lips barely moved as he frowned at Potter. "I've been rather tied up with things here, Scarhead."
"Is anyone going to give me any good news at all?" Harry demanded of the room.
Blaise raised his hand, a beaming smile on his face. "Mother passed her seat on the Wizengamot to me this morning." Salazar's tits, how he loathed to ascend to his place there. "I am now officially House Zabini's vote on the vampire legislation bill."
Daphne planted a kiss on his cheek, and Blaise grinned as the room broke into a cacophony of chatter as the Order members discussed what that might mean for them.
Hermione crossed her arms over her chest and leaned back in her chair. She was exhausted, but trying to push through the meeting. Any moment and the Pepper-Up Potion she'd taken would kick in and then she wouldn't feel as if her head was going to drop and thud against the table at any second.
"Hermione is going to enter Desdemona's coven again," Harry said to the room. Everyone's eyes shifted to her. "Dudley informed us of Desdemona's intent to sacrifice someone in a bonding experience for her coven. Hermione's going with Draco in order to stop the ceremony and try to bring down Des."
"Because it worked so well sending Hermione in the last time." Much to Hermione's surprise, it was Neville who spoke on her behalf. She offered him a half smile, and he bobbed his head at her with a grin. "Shouldn't we, I don't know, storm the castle or something? If we all went in with our wands ready, her coven wouldn't stand a chance."
A round of agreement flitted through the room. Harry sighed, his fingers pressed into his temples. "Yes, we could take down her entire coven, or we could spare the new vampires and rehabilitate them."
"Should we vote?" George asked, eyes sparkling with mischief. It was Pansy who tempered his amusement with a bubblegum-pink tipped finger to her lips. "Only trying to diffuse the tension," he said to Harry by way of explanation.
"Right." Harry was the worst at hiding his emotions; always had been. It was almost funny to watch him actively try not to roll his eyes at George as he continued on in an even tone, his hand wrapping around Theo's wrist. "The point of all of this, is to receive updates from all of you, but also to warn you that we may need backup in Nottinghamshire in two days' time. Make yourselves available. And Charlie — Kingsley's ordered me to the Wizengamot, so I'll need your escort and a pair of eyes on my back."
Charlie nodded and scratched his beard. "No problem. He, er… might have come to my office and threatened to curse you to oblivion."
"Why is the government always against me?"
"Because you just don't know when to do what you're told," Draco said as if everyone in the room were thinking it?/ and Harry just didn't have the brain to work it out.
Hermione glanced to Draco, who wore a smirk. He looked to her, as if he sensed her eyes upon him. His smirk faded, but the amusement in his eyes grew darker.
After another hour of talking through the strategy — which mostly involved Hermione and Draco discussing exactly how they planned to enter the castle in Nottinghamshire — The Order disbursed. Harry and Theo entertained those who chose to stay, talking through various worst case scenarios and discussing the non-vampire issues that were cropping up around the country. The biggest concern seemed to be that Cormac had gone missing after heading to Sheffield to meet with an old friend of Desdemona's.
It wasn't unlike him to wander off and reappear when he felt like it though, so Harry decided not to expend their resources in searching for him.
Later, Hermione found herself sitting on the smallest sofa in the living room, nursing a small glass of Beeblebrox Brew with Draco by her side. A programme was on the telly, but she couldn't concentrate on it properly when Draco was in such close proximity.
"We haven't really been able to discuss what happened the last time we were in Nottingham," Draco said, pulling her from her trance-like stare at the television screen. "I think we should discuss it."
"Must we?" she asked, lips tugging down. He lifted a brow and she deflated. "Fine. Go ahead, then, if you must."
It wasn't that she didn't think they needed to talk about what had transpired between them. No, it was that, after days sleeping in the infirmary with his blood coursing through her veins, she felt very raw where Draco Malfoy was concerned. And she wasn't in the right mindset to dissect those things just yet. But, as he was insufferable and relentless, Hermione thought it best to get it out of the way before he pestered her to death.
"Do you know what it means to have my blood in your veins?" he asked as he pulled his ankle over his knee and wrapped his other hand around the back of the sofa.
Of course she did. She'd researched ages ago. The old texts she'd been able to dig up in the Potter Library were filled with information about vampires, their bites, and their blood. She knew that, as the blood worked its way through her body, it would cure her ailments — open wounds, bruising and the like, though some research suggested that the blood of a vampire could also cure headaches, the common cold, and insomnia. It certainly explained why she'd slept so well since; she hadn't even needed to take her potions from the mind healer.
"It means I wasn't going to die from that vampire bite," she said finally, fully encasing her hands around the bottle of brew and peeling the label back with her thumbnail. Hermione shrugged and let her eyes drift to the quiet telly.
"That's not all, and you know it — if you haven't done hours of research, I'll eat Potter." Her eyes snapped to his and found they were teasing, as his lips lifted at the corners. "Come on, Granger. You weren't a Ravenclaw, but we all know how swotty you are."
"What do you want me to say?" She turned to him then, pulling her leg onto the sofa and shoved her foot under her thigh. "It's not as if I expected to imbibe vampire blood."
Draco's hand moved from the back of the sofa down to his lap. He inched it towards her slowly. Her heart rate increased the closer it got, and the look on his face was positively wolfish. "I want you to tell me what you feel . We both know that there's something more. I can certainly feel it." His hand moved to his chest and he patted the space over his heart. "Right there, Granger. You feel it?"
She moved her hand instinctively to her heart and laid her palm flat. It beat as normal, perhaps quicker, but there was nothing — oh . Hermione swallowed as his eyes darkened. They were nearly black in color and void of the quicksilver shine they'd had only moments before. And then she felt it, clear as day. Sharp, delectable in the way it thrummed through her entire body and soared through her veins. Warm and alluring in a way she couldn't remember her body feeling before.
"That," he whispered, trying once again to reach out to her, and Hermione didn't stop him. His hand wrapped around hers and he stroked her knuckles with a light sweep. "You can feel me ."
"Well, that's problematic," she muttered, biting the inside of her cheek even as she sipped on her drink. Her eyes never left his; she found that it felt emotionally painful to consider pulling her gaze from his. In fact, she could stay there on the sofa and stare into his eyes until the end of time and it would feel like time well spent. "What is this?"
"Vampires call it The Lure." He yanked her forward and liquid jumped from her glass. She swallowed hard and dropped her eyes to his lips. "Older vampires can influence the emotions of their prey and make them more susceptible to accepting a bite, but newer vampires, like me, must give blood to our prey in order for them to feel this… charm."
"That's terrible," Hermione said quietly as she watched his canines snap forth. "How do I know that I'm acting of my own accord?"
"You can't be sure until my blood is out of your system." The tingles shooting from where his hand was stroking hers sent chills through her body. She could smell, feel, and hear every single breath between them crashing over her. "It works both ways, Granger." The more that heat pooled in her belly, the darker his eyes became.
"You should leave," she hissed, pulling her hand from his and scooting herself back against the arm of the sofa. "We can't… I won't … It would be different if you'd tried, but you left and you broke it off, not me."
"Kills me every fucking day." Draco closed his eyes and then stretched his neck until a satisfying crack filled the room around them. "I'm not suggesting we shag through The Lure. But you had to be aware of what was happening between us, before you did something we'd both regret."
As if she couldn't control herself against his charms! Hermione snorted derisively and clutched her drink tightly. She'd been doing okay, in fact, hadn't felt any differently towards him until he'd gotten closer to her and was touching her and forcing her to focus on The Lure.
But, what did that all mean? Her nostrils flared as the implications swept over her. She'd dreamt about him, about the night she all but begged him to take her to bed. She'd met his eyes in the War Room and felt the coil of something both wicked and wonderful in her core. Maybe she wasn't going to shag him on the sofa in the middle of HQ, but her body had been responding to him even before she'd had a drop of his blood on her tongue.
She was absolutely, positively buggered.
Draco stood from the sofa, a swift and graceful movement that rendered her speechless. "I have to check in with Sanguini before going back to Desdemona's castle. The vampire blood should have circulated out of your system by the time I get back. Unless you want a shag now and see what all the fuss is about, that is?"
Hermione glared at him and pinched her lips. "No, thank you."
"Liar," he said under his breath, chuckling darkly. She glanced at the fireplace, five feet away across the room, and then back to Draco skeptically. He held his hand out to her, a cheeky smile on his face. "Walk me to the floo?"
She stood up, refusing to take his hand, and walked to the fireplace, keeping one step ahead of him. He didn't try to stop her, merely snorted and followed along. He grabbed the small, silver canister that housed their floo powder and tucked it under his arm before taking a step closer to Hermione. With his free hand, he reached up to her temple and tucked a hair behind her ear. She shivered as his fingers trailed down the side of her neck and lingered over her pulse point. She pressed her thighs together while trying desperately to maintain her composure.
"I made the wrong decision before," he admitted, his voice barely a whisper between them.
Draco leaned closer to her. She knew she should run away from him, but she was rooted to the spot. Every piece of her screamed for her to drag him to her bedroom and do wicked things to his body. Instead, she struggled against her instincts and glanced down to their feet.
"You did?"
His index finger lifted her chin, and only when her gaze met his did he utter a soft, "Mmhm."
As he came closer, she moved her hand towards his chest and laid her palm over the point where his beating heart should have been. Instead, she was met with stillness, and she swallowed under the weight of realizing that, after years of believing Malfoy to be a heartless bastard, finally — and perhaps, ironically — now he was.
His lips ghosted along her cheek, barely the weight of a feather.
And then he was gone, leaving in his wake a roaring green fire and the erratic pulse of his blood in her veins.
