There is so much a man can tell you,
so much he can say;
You remain:
my power,
my pleasure,
my pain.
Kiss From a Rose, Seal

Perpetua was a waif of a woman; thin and as shapeless as a pencil, with large green eyes and a pale, lightly wrinkled face. Hints of her former beauty still showed despite her age; probably due to potions that kept her black hair shiny, tonics that kept her cells rejuvenated, or pastes that left her appearing youthful even without makeup.

Cormac sat in Perpetua's reception room at her Sheffield home. It was more modern than he would have expected for a witch of her age, though somehow it suited her just fine. She strode into the room carrying a tray of tea, wrapped in powder-blue robes, with a thin house elf trailing along at her feet.

"Do keep up, Ermengarde," she sighed with a straight-lined grimace. "We haven't got all the time in the world." Perpetua set the tray down on the table in front of Cormac, her eyes sparkling at him. "Though, I do suppose we have more than some."

"Yes, mistress," Ermengarde squeaked as she began fluffing the pillow on Perpetua's chair.

Cormac had never witnessed a better dressed house elf; she was swathed in her own set of robes, a matching color to her owner, with an elaborate hat perched atop her head that would have made the muggle's royal family proud. Eemengarde stood to attention by her mistress's side, snapping her fingers and using her magic to pour the tea into the tiny porcelain cups. One cup floated in front of Cormac's face, and he grasped it gently.

"A lump of sugar, please," Cormac asked the house elf, to which he received a dark grimace in return.

"Mistress isn't keeping—" Ermengarde glanced to Perpetua and sighed as her mistress raised one dark, pointed brow. "Mistress doesn't keep sugar in her home."

Cormac tried to keep a straight face, but found the earthy taste of his tea too powerful for his liking. He set the cup down on a coaster on a table to his right and looked at the elf with a winning grin.

"No matter!" He clapped his hands onto his knees and faced Perpetua's amused face. "I'm here because—"

"Really?" Perpetua's lips pursed. She pinned him with a strict look and sipped her tea slowly. "It's been so long since you've visited, dumpling. Have I taught you nothing in the art of socializing? One doesn't simply demand the direction of the conversation. One leads it there naturally, as if waltzing."

Cormac looked properly chastised with his lips pinched and eyes downcast. It lasted all of three seconds and then he flashed dear old Perpetua with a brilliant, charming grin.

It took them forever to happen upon his reason for visiting. First they had to talk about Perpetua's newest line of potions — a collection of brews to induce various emotional responses, a firewhisky-goggles brew that turned its imbiber absolutely gorgeous for an hour, and a potion she touted as a life replenisher, able to revive even those closest to death.

They all sounded terrible as far as Cormac was concerned, but the segue was perfect and so he leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees. He aimed for casual, though his brown eyes sparkled excitedly despite his efforts.

"Speaking of near death," he said, resting his chin in his palm, "there's a bit of a vampire problem near Nottinghamshire — a muggle, no less!"

"Blasted creatures," Perpetua scoffed as she swirled her golden spoon around her tea cup. "All the same, nothing but trouble."

"Oh, yes. I agree, Pet." Cormac glanced to his tea, desperate for a sip but not so desperate he'd drink the rubbish Perpetua had on offer. "The particular vampire causing a stir happens to be about as old as—" he coughed as she pinned him with a sharp glare, "What I mean is that I believe she was born around the same time as you. Obviously not as beautiful, of course."

Perpetua's tea cup clinked against its saucer and she snapped her fingers in the air. Ermengarde began to clear the tea cups and tray as Perpetua turned her body to face Cormac fully.

"There is one. A prissy little thing." Perpetua pulled a face of distaste. "Shouldn't be much trouble. The last I heard of Desdemona, she was shacked up with a rather quirky fellow in the Scottish highlands."

"Which fellow?"

"He has a funny name— horrible. Wrong sort of man if you ask me. He doesn't have your charm, my love." Perpetua ran a finger down the side of Cormac's cheek. "Though, he did have a certain allure about him for that girl in particular. She was positively enraptured with him."

"This vampire — Desdemona — she's causing quite an uproar with the Ministry and the new Order. Creating new vampires and holding court as if she's royalty."

"Oh, tosh." Perpetua rested her hands against the rich brown armrest and settled back into her seat. "When we last met, she was determined to learn magic. Ha! As if our inherent ability to alter the fabric of the world could be taught to such a dull woman. I heard she approached Albus once for admittance to Hogwarts. Cuthbert Binns informed me that he had never witnessed such a display — shrieking and cursing through the halls on her way out."

"She wanted to learn magic?" Cormac filed that information away for later. "Being an immortal vampire wasn't enough for her?"

"Immortality has gone to the dogs." Perpetua merely lifted her chin, as if her statement was the answer he was looking for, before moving on. "When are you going to produce an heir, dumpling? Those genes won't reproduce themselves, you know. It's been so long since I've had a babe in my home."

All the air whooshed out of his lungs. He choked and pressed his fist to his mouth as he coughed around his surprise at her question.

"No, no. No children for me yet." He forced a smile. "Pet, it's important that I have all the facts to take back to the Order. What else can you tell me about this vampire?"

Perpetua waved a hand between them. "We've moved on from this topic. Desdemona won't be a problem for a strapping young lad such as you. She couldn't discern her arse from her elbow."

He beamed under the praise, and knew well enough not to push it.


The residual effects of The Lure still coursed through Hermione's veins. At least that's what she told herself over and over again. All of the books she'd consulted gave very specific details regarding the longevity of the — for lack of a better word in Hermione's view — curse ; it would only last longer if she imbibed more of Draco's blood, or if she remained in close proximity to him. Neither of those things had been the case, but she refused to acknowledge that the thrumming curiosity about the softness of his lips and the warm, velvety touch of his tongue, were anything other than a magical bond.

Hermione spent extra time in the shower desperately trying to alleviate the problem. She remained under the stream until the water ran cold. Even then, she persisted until she was spent and panting, shivering as her skin broke out in goosebumps.

The only thing her time in the shower eased was her incessant need to climax. Otherwise, thoughts of Draco still haunted her; how he had held her close at the masquerade, the way his breath ghosted along her skin, the intensity of his eyes, how his canines popped over his lip just for her.

Bollocks, she already wanted another bout of alone time in the shower. But Cormac was due to return at any time and she knew her body was too sensitive to have another go. Hermione squeezed her eyes shut as she reached for a fluffy, crimson towel and dried herself off. She ignored the thoughts of Draco's hands caressing her instead of the towel, tried not to think that it could be his lips kissing her neck instead of her wet ringlets of hair against her skin.

Somehow, Hermione was orgasmed-out and still unsatisfied as she twisted the towel around her head and dragged another to cover her naked body. The walk to her bedroom was a cold one as her feet padded along the wooden floors. She could hear Harry and Theo speaking downstairs, laughing with one another as they waited for her to join them. She grimaced; guilt raced through her as she wished she could ignore their happiness in order to deal with her own loneliness.

Hermione sat at the small dressing table in her room with one leg crossed over the other and stared at her reflection in the mirror. Her skin was more radiant than ever; the complexion perfectly blemish free. Her lips were red and plump, as if they'd been kissed recently. Her eyes were bright, the golden flecks within the brown glittered back at her. These were the effects of Draco's blood — none of this was the real Hermione Granger. It was all illusions and vampire magic. She sighed and pulled the towel from her hair, tossing it to the side and promising herself she'd get it to the laundry basket later.

"I didn't have you pegged for living like a slob."

Shock forced her spine to straighten. Hermione quickly turned her chin and found Draco standing in her door frame, one shoulder leaning casually against it, with his arms crossed over his chest. His lips twitched with a restrained smile, and even from her short distance away Hermione could see the glinting black of his pupils overtaking the striking grey that stared back at her.

She swallowed hard, feeling a knot in her throat. "What are you doing here?"

In her room. While she was covered in only a towel. Hermione was hyper aware of the skin exposed to him; of drops of water rolling down her upper back.

"You're being summoned by Scarhead. McLaggen returned from whatever it is he's been doing." His eyes dipped from hers, following the trail of droplets on her skin. She didn't miss the sharp teeth that popped over his bottom lip. "You're needed in the War Room."

"I can hardly go down there like this." Hermione assumed that would prompt him to leave, but instead he stayed where he was. She turned back to her mirror. For a moment, she had forgotten that he didn't have a reflection and she had expected to see him staring back at her, but her doorway was empty. Still, she knew he was there by the way her skin prickled at the back of her neck. "How long have you been standing there?"

He moved then, pushing himself from the door frame and into her room where she could see him. In her private space. A place that she'd fantasized about him being in, in a not too dissimilar situation. Only, in her fantasies, Draco's clothes were discarded and she was lying on her bed. Now, though, he stood beside her and she stole a deep breath in an attempt to calm her nerves.

"Long enough to see you struggle to know how beautiful you are," he said, his voice holding an air of certainty about it that went straight to her still sensitive core. His fingers slid against her bare shoulder and she had to suppress a shudder. "My blood should be out of your system, and yet I can still hear the thundering of your heart."

Hermione stood and backed away from his touch with her hand clasped on the edge of her towel. "Maybe you gave me too much of it, then, and it's still there—" Draco moved towards her, his sharp teeth on display. "There hasn't been enough research into the length of time a vampire's blood affects a mortal's cognitive function. It could be—"

Draco stood so close. She lifted her chin to look into his eyes and found his irises being swallowed up by black pupils. He raised a hand and placed his palm against her throat, his thumb nudging her jaw to the side. Her neck was on display and her pulse jumped at the contact.

"The longest recorded Lure was in nineteen seventy-five after an unfortunate edging incident involving a muggle. Nearly exsanguinated and then pumped full of vampire blood." Draco's lips twitched as he maneuvered his body ever closer. His head tilted down, eyes level with hers and she nearly choked on her breath. "Lasted two days. This — what you're feeling — is desire , not the Lure."

Even with his cold hand against her skin, Hermione's temperature rose. Blood pooled in her cheeks and she felt the blotchy, red stains crawling up her neck. She swallowed hard and watched Draco's lips rise higher as he realized how affected she'd been by his words.

Draco's eyes dipped to her lips, and Merlin save her — she wasn't going to stop him. It'd been so long, she'd missed him so much, and with the adrenaline of recent events still coursing through her veins, Hermione couldn't find the strength to push him away.

There was a literal inch between their lips before the moment came crashing down thanks to an abrupt knock on her open door. Hermione jumped away from Draco and nearly lost her towel in the process. She spun on her heel to find Theo's tall frame just outside her bedroom door. He wore a grin that would rival the Cheshire Cat's.

"Sorry to interrupt," he said as he lifted his eyebrows in an innocent waggle. "Truly. I've been sent to fetch you both for Potter."

"Fuck Potter." Draco growled the words with so much force that Hermione startled.

"Oh, I do." Theo grinned and tossed a sly wink at Hermione, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. It wasn't; Hermione rolled her eyes. "Quite regularly, as it happens. It's one of the reasons I'm such a happy chappy most days. You two should try—"

"Get. Out." Hermione stormed to her door and glared at Theo. "Both of you, get out of my room."

When they were both over the threshold of her door, Hermione slammed it shut and leaned against it until she caught her breath.

No Lure meant that her feelings for Draco hadn't gone anywhere. She wasn't sure she was ready to face such a revelation.


"And she didn't tell you who this vampire was?" Harry's arms were crossed over his chest and he had a skeptical arch to his brow as he stared across the table at Cormac. "You didn't think to ask?"

Cormac, who was staring at his hazy reflection in the window of The War Room, sighed and ran a hand through his floppy hair. "I told you, Harry. Perpetua cut me off when she got bored. She's not interested in the affairs of the Ministry."

"We're not the Ministry, though," Hermione pointed out, even though she knew her argument was probably futile. Cormac shrugged in response and ran a finger along his jawline. "So you learned absolutely nothing. We still have no more information about Desdemona."

"That's not entirely accurate."

Hermione cut her gaze to Theo, whose hands were clasped together on top of the table. She raised an eyebrow and pinched her lips, ignoring the proximity of the vampire to her right. He hadn't sat so near to her during an Order meeting before, and now she could barely breathe due to his relentless presence.

Theo continued, pressing himself back into his chair and directing his words to Draco. "Quirky fellow? Those were Perpetua's words. Sound like someone you know, Draco?"

Hermione swung her face to the side, so quickly that she felt a pop in her neck, and watched as Draco chewed on Theo's words silently. His head tilted to the side, eyes tightening, as he and Theo stared at one another.

"Sanguini and… her? " Draco snorted, and then let a genuine huff of laughter escape him. His fingers splayed over the table and he stared down at them, apparently deep in thought. "Has to be. He's been reckless since word of her coven reached him. Sanguini went years — decades — without creating any progeny and then…"

Hermione's heart broke for Draco as his voice tapered off. He hadn't asked to become a vampire, hadn't asked for Sanguini to change him into one of these creatures, whose rights were being stripped away by the Ministry and who were facing possible execution simply for existing. He hadn't asked for it, and to make matters worse, it sounded as if Desdemona's sudden arrival in the UK had spurred Sanguini to create progeny like Draco.

Without thinking, Hermione reached over and took Draco's hand in hers. She couldn't look at him without blushing and so she kept her eyes on Theo, whose face lit up in another devilish grin. Her tension melted away, however, when Draco's fingers tightened around her hand?.

"Right." Harry rubbed his temples and sighed. "So, Desdemona wanted to learn magic and she slept with Sanguini. Sounds as if we need to bring Sanguini in for questioning."

"Horrible idea," Draco said. "Sanguini isn't going to give an audience to you simply because you're The Boy Who Lived — he would have lived, too."

"Wait, wait, wait." Cormac turned from his reflection in the window — honestly, Hermione had almost forgotten he was there in the first place — and eyed Draco warily. "Vampires can't be killed using Avada Kedavra?"

Draco's fingers twitched against hers as he turned to address Cormac."The lore is straightforward. Decapitate, exsanguinate, sunlight exposure— unless you're magical and cast a shield charm. Avada Kedavra stops the heart." His lips raised, though Hermione noticed the way his eyes tightened and jaw ticked. "Vampires don't have a beating heart."

Cormac's body jerked as he huffed. "Creepy, that's what it is."

Draco snarled under his breath and Hermione kicked him under the table. He turned to her with a raised, pale brow, and she bit her lip to suppress a smile at the petulant curve of his lips.

She mouthed slowly: "Behave."

He barely inclined his chin and turned toward Cormac again. "You should come with me to speak to Sanguini."

"Pardon?" Cormac's face drained of all color and he fell softly against the back of his chair. Even his hair seemed to lose a little bit of its bounce. "I don't think—"

"Perfect!" Harry clapped his hands together and stood from the table. "Cormac can interrogate Sanguini and bring the memories here for review. Theo will work on the reformed Sacred Twenty-Eight vote on the Vampire Bill. Hermione and I will refine the plan for the bloodletting ceremony in Nottinghamshire."

"But—"

"We'll meet back here at nightfall, just before Draco and Hermione are set to leave?" Harry glanced around the room, ignoring Cormac's protests. Without another word, he walked from the room with Theo on his heels.

"Is he mad?" Cormac asked as he stood from his chair and stared at the empty space Harry had occupied before fleeing. "Sending me — with my jawline — into a coven of vampires? Does he have any idea how sweet the McLaggen blood is?"

Draco stood and tugged Hermione to her feet along with him. He glanced at Cormac, and then his eyes fell to her face. He smiled, a wolfish thing that showed off the pointed tips of his canine teeth, and leaned down to her ear.

"I've smelt better," he whispered, before dragging his lips along her cheekbone.

Her entire body sang, from the depths of her soul to the tips of her toes. If she simply moved her lips to the side, just a tiny breadth of space, their lips would touch and—

Draco moved out of her space with frustrating, vampirish finesse and grabbed onto Cormac's arm. He let his gaze linger on her for a moment and she swore he could read every one of her inappropriate thoughts. He smirked and then with a quiet crack , they were gone.

Harry could wait. Hermione was in need of another shower.