~
Yes, yes, yes, Hermione thought vaguely. Relief.
There was heat, wonderful overpowering heat, pressing her mouth and body.
Relief? Yes, just to clutch his body close to hers and feel the explicit pleasure. Sexual suppression was liberating itself.
Tongues pushing hard against each other in their mouths, they were writhing still, on the rooftop. Yes, yes, I need this, Hermione decided. It was all that mattered in the world right then, the softness of his lips, the hot sweetness of the inside of his mouth, and the masochistic blisters she was getting on her tongue from stroking the edges of his teeth. Her body was heating up, and her hands were clawing all over his back in a ravenous desire for touch.
Their faces still profile to profile in the city lamplight, Draco Malfoy pulled away the long kiss.
His gray eyes were once again holding her frozen in their surreal connection. Hermione felt her lungs struggling for breath.
Now his fangs were piercing his own bottom lip: red droplets of blood seeping forth from the pink skin. And he stayed there, just waiting, his sharp teeth letting himself bleed.
This had an insane effect on Hermione. She was going mad with the driving desire to grab and kiss him on his bleeding lip. She wanted to taste it, she wanted to press herself against his hard body, wanted to suck on that self-inflicted cut, wanted him, wanted him, wanted him…
She pulled his head closer towards hers, and felt his fine strands of hair soft on her palms, the skin on his neck cool and smooth. His hands found their way into her robes and under the shirt she wore underneath, brushing close to her breasts.
Hermione's body flushed with heat.
And then, Malfoy deftly avoided her kiss, and instead moved to neck. Tantalizing trails of wet kisses went down her neckline. He pulled her collar down to her bare shoulder, and Hermione could smell the seductive scent of blood as he laid fierce hiccies all over her neck. Hermione found her body aching, and the heat burning between her legs as they closed, almost automatically, around his hips, straddling him.
She could hear his breath speed up maddeningly.
Ahh! – she gasped.
A raw, sharp sensation of pain shot at the base of her neck. Malfoy bit into exposed skin. Slowly and sensually he was drawing out her blood.
Ahh-ohmygod-ahh –
Yes, yes, yes, and she was getting light-headed, intoxicated, giddy, giddy, giddy! Her whole body was screaming and she was squirming uncontrollably under this delicious, wet kiss.
Oh, this was what she needed, before anything else could be considered, this was what she needed. Who cared if love had truth if it just felt right, warm and so very gratifying, just to cling to his body? All that mattered was the beautiful, dizzying, wonderful, wonderful, giddy feeling! Who cared if she could end up hurt, who cared if he was anything wrong, a vampire, a Death Eater, an unfathomable stranger? Who cared? WHO CARED?
She was aching underneath, beneath her electrically tingling skin, but at the moment, she couldn't think of a better feeling in the world.
~
It was like she was breaking down.
Or at least, to Draco, she was unfolding into more basic parts.
Every time he had her in his arms she was vulnerable. She was holding on to him as if she was afraid she would fall if she didn't. When she was fighting, she was a good dueler, but who knew what a breakable shell she had? Her outer protective armor was more delicate than it appeared.
Mesmerizing.
Draco couldn't resist it: he bit down on his own lip to make it bleed. And then watched, amused as she squirmed and squealed lustfully in his arms.
Her temperature was rising.
His hand found their way into her robes.
He felt her sticky skin, heard her whimper.
Her body was hot, hot, hot, and was sending jolts of indescribable pleasure racing his system like nothing before.
He was sucking at her skin and kissing her hard all over her neck, leaving lines of his own blood on her bare skin. She was straddling him hard around the hips, making him shudder with arousal.
Skin on skin.
Draco was touching her in any possibility he could, tasting the ridges of her shoulders, the contours of creamy skin, the rustling of her hair.
Dreaming…
But it was the next thing he did that Draco had no control over whatsoever. Almost in natural coordination, he felt his teeth break into a soft spot in her neck
And then all of a sudden he was sucking on the delicious, sweet, salty liquid that was seeping slowly from the nick in her neck. It was dizzying and perfect. If he went on, she would keep whimpering softly in his arms, and they would both keep whirling on in this drunken state.
Draco was high on it, couldn't get enough of it. He just wanted to take off more of her clothes and revel in her body. Taste all her fluids, explore every delicious part.
Hermione, his tiny, goddess-like siren, the fragile, moaning sex kitten in her exposed semi-conscious state, pulled his lips to hers.
And then they were kissing passionately on the mouth.
Her body arched underneath him. Heat pounded his arousal.
Draco found himself falling deeper as she held to his lips with her full, sweet kisses. His tongue slid into her mouth, and he shivered as she once again ran her teeth over his fangs. It was all so infatuating and enticing, yet fresh…and exciting…as if they were stupid young experimenting preteens.
But what was it tugging on the back of his mind?
Stop! Stop!
Wait, goddammit…what the hell was he doing?
The cut. The cut on his lip. What would happen if she managed to take in any of his vampire blood –
He tore away from her in an instant.
To make her a vampire by accident was…the most unthinkably stupid thing possible. And he wasn't that stupid.
He shouldn't have let it go so far.
Now she was waking up, if waking up was what you'd call it. Open robe collar flapping in the wind, the blood that was Draco's staining her lips and neck, and the blood that was hers still trickling a bit down her chest.
Hermione stared at him, sitting precariously on the roof under the golden lamplight, looking dazed and bewildered.
It took a few moments before they could cool down and speak.
Next to where they had been lying were their two wands, which had been left from their duel – the initial incident that caused their meeting (yet had been forgotten in the process). Hermione picked them up and put them into her pocket.
"What would have happened if we didn't stop?" she whispered.
Draco didn't answer her question – not yet at least.
~
"You've got it?"
Harry nodded. He unclasped the chained metal dog tag from around his neck and de-Transfigured it back into the large black book, the one with intricate designs carved exquisitely over the cover.
McGonagall, Dumbledore, Moody, Sirius, Remus, Ron and Seamus all peered at it.
"Well, this is it." Harry said simply.
The object looked dull, not illuminating any sort of strange light as it was before.
Dumbledore crouched over, his bright, alert eyes gleaming behind his half-moon glasses as he stared closely at the magical object. "Were there any problems?"
"There was some sort of hex on it," Harry replied. "But it wasn't hard to resist eventually. It was some sort of Shocking Hex. But I put a Neutralization Spell on it and it was okay…"
Sirius, his harsh features set in a stony-jawed scowl, stood with his arms crossed over his chest. Then he walked over and put a protective hand on his godson's shoulder.
Remus, Ron and Professor McGonagall each shot Harry equally sympathetic looks.
Moody looked as formidable as always.
Seamus stood quiet and subdued, as was his nature since The Accident.
Harry waited for Dumbledore's assessment.
"Well," spoke the older wizard. "I suppose we'll carry on with the plan as before. Harry, we will all try to assist you as best as possible. But, with your abilities to read and comprehend Parseltongue…the interpretation will be up to you."
"But Albus –" McGonagall began, pale-faced.
"There is no better way."
The whole room of Aurors was silent.
Harry braced himself for another load to be dumped on his shoulders.
And he nodded.
~
He held her around her waist protectively, like any caring male figure to his female counterpart. Hermione heard him speak several incantations, before both of them were surrounded by waves of silky green and yellow light – a Binding Charm, meant to hold their bodies together for other self-enhancing spells such as Apparition. Then, he Apparated, and they were both transported away from the rooftop on which they had just spent the last half hour (or had it been even longer?) in a desperately sweltering bodily inducement.
They were now in front of the Champs-Elysée Floo Station.
It was an ordinary place where wizards flowing in and out twenty-four hours a day made a place where they could sit and talk normally, perhaps even over a mug of coffee.
Which is so ironic, Hermione thought.
How could he have become so calm all of a sudden? The red flush and quickened pulse had not yet stopped for her. But Malfoy was now cool and expressionless as ever, the red scab on his lip only adding to his quietly dangerous demeanor.
What had happened?
It was just that all of a sudden his fangs had dug into the skin in her neck, and completely entranced, she had been almost devoid of the power to stop it. She had almost been far too out of it to register any loss of orientation. Until when she kissed him. That was when he snapped out of it.
It had all stopped there.
For a second after, she had forgotten everything, where and why she was there.
Hermione was confused and shaken. She was shivering all over under her thin robes, now that her body remembered to be cold. She had to force her feet to walk straight and maintain her dignity.
"W-why are we here?" she asked him. Her voice came out wobbly, and her teeth chattered.
Malfoy. What were his intentions, anyways?
One minute, they were arguing, then flying off the Eiffel Tower, then dueling, then having the world's most addictive snog, and then…
Malfoy turned and stared at her, unable not to be sarcastic. "Don't you want to go somewhere where it's warm and safe?"
Hermione's jaw dropped.
"What – why?"
He looked annoyed. "If we're going to talk, don't you want to do it someplace where it'll be more comfortable for you?"
"Talk? Really – but I – can I even trust you?"
There was a silence.
But perhaps it was inevitable that she was going to have to risk it.
Soon they found themselves in a wizard-operated inn near the Floo Station; they were quite lucky that it was open so late, too. Hermione found herself and Malfoy now in a small, elegant wooden parlor. The walls were framed with classic oak panels and velvety, wine-colored wallpaper and curtains (enhanced with the Insulation Charm). They sat on the soft cushioned benches that matched.
Floating golden candlesticks brought mellow lighting, and two violins, a viola and a cello were set in a corner.
The room was heated comfortably by a small fireplace; the ambiance was calming and Malfoy had ordered a bottle of some expensive-looking sort of wine. Apparently, he still had his family's taste for extravagant spending. Hermione, at first had supposed it was all for her; suspecting that he probably didn't drink normal beverages, except that there were two goblets on the table. Being far too exhausted, though, she had no urge to binge-drink herself sick.
The invisible string quartet floated into midair and began playing, and the bottle of wine began pouring itself into the two goblets.
Malfoy sat across from her. His porcelain cheekbones, gray eyes, translucent blond hair, and expertly loose black robes, and visibly long teeth were perfectly fitting to their surroundings. He was very still, and his crude smirk was replaced by a look of tranquil sophistication. He seemed fitting in the fancy room; Hermione herself had never been entertained by a musician-less string quartet before.
He probably lives like this every day.
Still, Hermione found herself staring blatantly.
The strong, dry taste of the alcohol Hermione found warming. She sipped it and began to forgive what had happened, felt a bit more relaxed, trusting.
"So, you didn't answer my question," she blurted. "What would've happened if we had kept going?
"I would've given it to you." He answered quietly. "The Dark Gift. By accident."
"Oh."
There was a pause.
"So how did it happen? How did you become what you are? A vampire? I mean, I don't know the story…" Hermione's voice spilled over with curiosity.
"Why don't you tell me something about you instead?" He smiled artfully. "I think it'd be more fair that way…you can tell me why you're here in Paris…and I'll tell you something about me."
Hermione swallowed some more of the drink and rocked back and forth in her seat.
"I'm not supposed to. Any Auror working for the Ministry is sworn to secrecy." She said, shrugging.
"And you know I could have killed you back there, you valiantly pure Auror." Draco whispered sharply, leaning over the table to hiss in her ear.
Hermione looked scared for almost an instant.
"Do you have to kill…you know, to live?"
"Yes," he whispered. Draco brought his lips very close to hers, until she started to look uneasy. "Just like you need to eat and sleep. I crave it just like you would oxygen if your lungs were under water…"
He traced down her neck with one fingertip and felt a slight nervous tremor under her skin.
"You know what it feels like, don't you?" he breathed. "You know what it feels like to want it."
All Draco wanted to do at that moment was to lean down and kiss her on the lips. But instead, he pulled away, and let her fall back in her chair. It would easy just to entrance her with all powers being a vampire allowed him…but it wasn't supposed to work that way.
He let the spell fade.
Hermione regained her courage. "Besides…what would Harry and Ron say if they knew I was here, telling you about their whereabouts?"
She laughed dryly.
"Then again…if it weren't for Ron, and that night he was with Lavender, I probably wouldn't be here."
Draco's eyebrow suddenly arched.
Weasley? With Lavender Brown?
"Her? The entire Hogwarts year was under the impression that Weasley was with you."
"No, no. Never mind." She said quickly.
But Draco was interested. Was there something more scandalous going on between the Light Aurors than just magical intelligence? Although the thought of that old witch McGonagall switching lovers with Dumbledore and Potter might be hilariously amusing.
Then again, Ronald Weasley, cheat on Hermione Granger with that blond Gryffindor airhead?
"Is that why you're alone here?"
Hermione shrugged, a lock of hair falling from behind her ear. "Harry, Ron, I guess they need to work all they can since that time in the Louvre…"
She gulped down the rest of her drink and the charmed bottle poured her some more. At the same time, the string quartet started a waltz.
"And anyways, I'm the type to be doing what I'm doing. It was only fair that I volunteered. It's not like Harry and Ron gave a damn. I don't know if you've noticed, but sometimes they can really be…"
"A pair of blockheads?" Draco finished for her.
"Yeah, that's exactly it!" she exclaimed. And she tossed her hair back giggled melodiously.
"Like this one time they insisted I go on a ride with them on this new Bluebottle broom that could sit up to four people. I was terrified, you know? I begged them not to take me because they like to fly all crazily. But they insisted. A bunch of Gryffindors were outside that day on the grounds…"
Hermione paused to take another reckless gulp of the wine. "And then they started doing loops and dives all over the lake. I kept screaming, but they just didn't stop. They didn't know I was being serious, until finally, I really couldn't hold on and I fell into the water.
"Everyone in the entire Gryffindor house was laughing. Harry and Ron apologized and all, but they just didn't realize that I had been serious when I said I wanted them to stop."
Draco was a little surprised at her unexpected release of emotions.
She laughed harshly again. "They were always doing crazy things. Like in our second year, when we made a Polyjuice Potion and they transformed into Crabbe and Goyle and snuck into the Slytherin common room to question you about the Heir of Slytherin. Do you remember that?"
"They did that?" Draco asked. He couldn't help laughing. "The Wonder Twins? Make Polyjuice in their second year? Although they were probably good actors," he added. "I don't remember notice anything funny."
Hermione smiled genuinely this time. "Well, I tried to go as Millicent Bulstrode, but having taken the wrong hair samples, I got turned into some cat monster and was stuck in the hospital wing alone for the longest time. I guess they couldn't have done anything about it, but still…"
Draco watched, enraptured, as Hermione stood up with her goblet of red wine and continued with her charged monologue.
"And what about when Ron asked Fleur Delacour to the Yule Ball? He knew he had no chance with her! Boys are all like that, they leave you for whatever girl's the prettiest, and then they come and expect you just to take them right back! What right did he have to be jealous of Viktor Krum?
"Of course I didn't like Viktor! But he didn't understand that! He expects me to understand when he runs off flirting with some other girl, but I can't go a place with another guy without him getting alarmed! He never stops to think about what I'm feeling! He just – he just doesn't –"
Draco stood up and put his hand on her cheek. "Damn it all. You don't need them."
At this point Hermione collapsed trembling into his arms, her body tense with all the weight of her mental stress. And Draco could only hold her as she buried her face into his chest and hugged him.
~
It had been a fairly long night. The candles, even though they were magical, were burning lower.
Hermione snuggled safely in Draco's lap. Somehow she had managed to rage out every single emotion that had been going on inside her, even without ever knowing they were there before. And it felt good to tell someone else who could accept and understand the raw passion that she felt.
It felt very good.
"I need to go," he whispered into her ear.
"Do you have to?" she asked, shifting a bit. But she immediately let go and sat up.
"Yes."
Hermione watched his illuminated figure as he got up to leave. He opened the window to climb out and into the night.
"Wait –" she called after him.
He turned back.
"Can you come back tomorrow night? You can come find me. My assignment for the Ministry is…to research a Dark Magic resource. I'm staying at the Library of Madeleine."
She thought she saw him smirk before flying out the window.
~
Harry was alone in the magical laboratory with the book.
It was a room equipped with all the top quality features one would need for experimental magic. Anti-reflective walls, Dark Magic-level indicators, acid-proof, transparent self-stirring cauldrons…the works.
He knew about all the equipment, naturally. But who could be happy dealing with a magical object that could somehow make an evil wizard immortal?
"Neutralis Totalus," he ordered, pointing his wand.
Looking closely, the carvings on the cover – it seemed to be polished ebony set with onyx – there were two thin, gleaming fanged snakes twisting around a stylized caduceus, and the border was of a strange leaf and vine. Runes covered every other empty square space.
Snakes. Parseltongue. Harry braced himself.
"Show me your secrets," he commanded, and an eerie hiss came from his lips.
The book opened itself to the first page, but there was nothing on the page.
"Aparecium!" he commanded. But nothing showed up. He added a few drops of a dilution formula to reveal magical ink. But of course, it wasn't an ordinary book and the drops disappeared into the pages.
Harry cursed under his breath.
And then, all of sudden, he was pulled into the pages.
Harry fell onto a spotlighted, stony surface, like the bottom of a dried-up well. The ground was hard, but he was quite sure that it was just an illusion.
He stood up to observe his empty surroundings. He poised his wand, just in case.
It was a dungeon-like room. The smell of dank water was prominent, but somehow it seemed lived-in. Cautiously, he took a step forward.
Then – ahead of him, something was there!
It was a desk.
It was a professional magical workspace, not an ordinary Muggle's table. Its many floating shelves held bottles of herbs and pickled oddities, and a special pewter surface was there for potion-brewing. Stacks of parchment lay in a pile.
And there was a gray-haired wizard at the table.
He was crouching as in great concentration, on his work.
Harry approached him slowly.
"Sir?"
The old wizard looked up. "Tom?"
"Tom?" Harry repeated, stunned. He thinks I'm Voldemort!
"You've come back!" cried the man hoarsely. He dropped his quill as he stood up. "I never thought we would meet again, Tom. I need to explain to you – I've been worried about you, and I've been trying to find you – "
"Stop, sir! Listen, I'm not Riddle."
" – and I –"
The man felt silent. His intuitive dark eyes shimmered, and he peered into Harry's.
"No. You're not." He decided.
And he straightened up to his full height. He was very old, matching probably Dumbledore. But he was cleanly shaven, of medium build, handsome and dignified. He had long gray hair pulled back behind his ears. In a green velvet-trimmed dress robe, he looked very tall and formidable, which made Harry cautious.
"Who are you?" whispered the old man. "Do you speak the tongue of snakes?"
Harry flinched as he switched to Parseltongue.
"I – I – I do speak it."
"Are you Tom's son?" asked the man.
"No!" Harry cried. "I'm not. Look, this is not real time. We're not real right now. We're in your future, in Isiam Torch's book."
The man was quiet in his thought again.
Very slowly, he spoke. "I see. Then, it must be indeed, many years later. It has happened then. I am dead. This is a memory."
Harry swallowed.
"You looked like Tom," said the man. "I thought he would come back, after I sent him away. But I am only a memory…who are you?"
"My name is Harry Potter. Who are you?"
"Isiam Torch. Prize of Magus first class for Innovative Magical Research."
~
Hermione slept all day and found herself waiting outside dumbly the next night as soon as it was dark. Draco – she supposed she didn't really need to call him by 'Malfoy' anymore – came to meet her.
For some reason, she trusted Draco. Maybe it was because she just needed to trust someone, anyone familiar. Anyone that was familiar – hostile as he may have been in the past – was better than anyone unfamiliar.
"Is this where you stay?" Draco asked, after she led him by the hand to the Library.
He was staring around the grand room, at the polished wood bookshelves and imposing gold-edged décor. "The Library of Madeleine? This famous collection of the most books in the world?"
"Yes," she answered hesitantly, not knowing if he was meaning to mock her about being a library-dwelling bookworm.
"Interesting that old Dumbledore found a way to let you stay here," said Draco. "You must apply as an exceptional intellect with exceptional purposes."
"Come on, I'll show you what I have," she said.
They sat down, and she took out the diary.
"I've been trying to translate the final entry since forever, and I can't find anything. I've tried every single dictionary in the place, but I just can't seem to find the right one."
Draco opened the book to the page and scanned it effortlessly, his eyes glittering so radically that Hermione thought she could read the letters reflected in his irises.
"Have you tried rearranging these runes? Or diluting some of the ink? Maybe if you fold this – " he made a few creases in the page – "and the shapes will come together to look something closer to a stylized version of old Celtic – "
Hermione gasped and stared at what he had figured out.
"Rearrange a few runes here – "
"That looks like something I've seen, hold on!"
Hermione grabbed a dictionary and flipped to her desired chapter.
"Oh my god. It's almost identical to this – " Hermione ogled at the arrangement of strange shapes that now appeared after Draco had strategically folded the diary paper. Why didn't I think of it? It's not an uncommon technique…
The text was now so simply manifest that Hermione wondered why she hadn't been able to get it before.
"You can start translating it now." Draco said simply.
She nodded, stunned.
Only a few short hours later, the recipe for an Immortality Potion was right on her desk.
It was a very complicated potion, not unexpectedly. It had over forty ingredients and just as many highly-demanding procedures involved – requiring boiling under the three-quarters moon, perfectly uniform sliced roots that had to be sautéed in Bubotuber pus beforehand, exactly ninety-four Ashwinder egg yolks added one per stir of the substance once it saturated, etc.
But quite possibly the only obstacle that couldn't be conquered from techniques taught in Senior Accelerated Potions class was the most part was getting the two key ingredient – a type of element metal that, as far as the document told, was found only in the forests of Torch's hometown – and blood from a freshly killed human life.
"To kill a person," Draco assessed. "Life for life."
"Well, for the other ingredients, if we go to Le Chemin de Traverse, I'm sure we can get most of these in the next week," Hermione estimated. "But to go all the way to Torchsensend…"
"Aren't your friends all parked out there on broomsticks on high security or something?" Draco asked incredulously.
"Ron and them have been long left Torchensend for other things," Hermione said dryly.
Draco gave her a strange look.
Oh shit, why didn't I say Harry or Dumbledore instead of Ron?
"Is that why you haven't been concentrating? Have you been thinking about your precious Weasley while working?"
Hermione's face burned.
But Draco gave her a devilish, fanged grin and let it go.
He got up and Hermione watched him as he got up onto a ladder and climb up a bookshelf. He returned with an object in his arms.
"Here," he said. "This should help you."
And he turned to leave.
"Wait –"
But the last of his black cape had flew swiftly out the magical door.
Hermione stared at the object he brought. It was a stone basin –
An brand new Pensieve.
The perfect tool for sorting thoughts.
Hermione grabbed her wand.
~
"I have no recollection of the end," Torch said, closing his wrinkled eyelids. "I am only essence preserved at the time of my discovery of immortality – when I wrote the book."
"Would you help me, then?" Harry asked quietly.
"My sole purpose is to divulge the information I have sealed here." He replied. "But tell me – it is not a wizard with ordinary abilities or simple ambitions who seeks to know my works and can enter the Chamber of Secrets. What do you want?"
"We are trying to learn about your ideas on Immortality." Harry said carefully. "A dark wizard wants to use them for evil purposes. And we're trying to counter him."
Torch nodded, taking Harry's words into consideration.
"I will tell you as briefly, as I can, Harry Potter. When I was researching most extensively for a potion that could extend human life – I came across a type of elixir – a very small quantity of an element I had never seen before in my life. I processed it very carefully and found that it matched the product that my friend Nicholas Flamel had discovered years earlier."
"The Philosopher's Stone?"
"Precisely," he said with a smile. "Created gold and produced a substance that allowed one's life to be extended – not really immortalized – but extended. The sample I had was probably the only known other Philosopher's Stone other than Nicholas's. We kept it a secret.
"But once the drinker stopped drinking this substance, they would die, which is not true immortality. I wanted to do something more – create something better.
"Being as ambitious as I was, I started melding it with ideas influenced by the Dark Arts. I used all the Black Magic I knew of and even slaughtered unicorns and tortured innocent people for experiments involving blood.
"And then I came once again to an age-old idea."
Harry breathed in with anticipation.
"Vampires."
"Vampires?"
"Yes." Torch said seriously. "Vampires were a creation by an unknown dark wizard some centuries and centuries ago. They were thought to be legend and superstition – a mystery of magical biology - until I found otherwise. Only the most trace information is found in the rarest text. But I pieced tiny clue and clue together. They were a creation.
"It was originally a Dark potion that when drunk, permanently enhanced a human to become this deathless creature. They were no longer humans, but a species of terrible night-lurking monster, more powerful than humans and capable of repopulating themselves.
"They were technically immortal, feeding off living blood. They would not die of the ailments of mortals. They were a mutation of magical powers, their natural abilities far exceeding any witch or wizard with a wand.
"It was one of the most complicated concoctions ever discovered. A concoction using the most valuable, rare procedures and elements – and a concoction that was forgotten until I re-invented it."
"You – you made vampires?"
"Not with humans. Only a cat and a dog, my only test subjects before I realized how dangerous it was. I killed the two animals, and poured all my research into these books. I planned to seek and destroy vampires.
"But of course, I don't have memories of what happened to my future self."
Harry was in shock.
"But, vampires can be destroyed, right?"
"Yes," Torch answered in great self-satisfaction. "That is the good part. They are only active during the night and can be killed by sunlight or fire. And destroyed is what they should be."
~
Hermione poured out her mind. All her insecurities and problems carried on from school – to the Accident – to her experiences with Draco.
A huge weight was lifted from her shoulders. Several of the most vivid images were played for her from a third-person point of view - of herself with Ron and Harry, of the Death Eaters, Aurors, and Hit Wizards die in the lobby of the war-torn Louvre – and of course, with Draco.
The more she analyzed her mediocre relationship with Ron, the more stupid and aggravated she felt. Damn him, really! She didn't want to think about him.
Reliving the Accident helped her calm down – even accept it.
But the most vivid in her mind, was probably of Draco Malfoy – of his pale skin and platinum hair, of his unsmiling pink lips, of his black pupils that accented a look of pure enigmatic cunning. And his sharp disturbingly sharp fangs.
In every way, he was a demonic angel.
Hermione curled up on the futon (that was now arranged in her workspace).
So much had been solved today.
She felt an enormous feeling of gratitude and tenderness that she had never thought possible towards him.
Draco Malfoy.
She went to sleep, in her mind planted a perfect image of his face.
~
A/N: Sorry for the wait! Hope it was worth it.
