Harry heard a sound from down the hallway -- the water being turned on in the bathtub. He started to move towards it, but Charlie was faster. The vampire moved like lightning, his long red ponytail flying up behind him. He was snarling as he tore open the door at the end of the hallway, and Harry thought with curious detachment that he was glad that he could repair the place with magic, since otherwise he had little hope of seeing his deposit again.
Harry heard a shriek from the bathroom, followed by the sounds of a brief combat. Before he or Ron could react, it was over, and Charlie was returning from the bathroom, a rueful look on his face. "Tracy says that she didn't see Hermione. She'll be out in a minute. Sorry about the door, Harry."
"That's alright," Harry responded, trying to be nonchalant. He was trying to gauge Ron's reaction - he could scarcely not notice that Charlie's robe was now torn, rent as if by claws, or that the flesh beneath was healing before his eyes.
Ron had, in fact noticed the changes. His eyes were wide. Harry saw his hand edging towards his wand. He looked between Charlie and Harry. "Is there something that one of you would like to tell me?"
Charlie was staring at the floor, not meeting his brother's eyes. "It's kind of hard to explain, Ron."
"Would this have anything to do with the three bodies worth of ash we found in an alleyway near here?" Ron was channeling his anger at being left in the dark into his professional persona. Harry preferred him when he was acting all emotional, it was much easier to duck a question during those times.
Charlie hedged, "It might."
Tracy contradicted him, entering the room, with a towel wrapped around her hair and another around most of the rest of her. "It does," she said, flatly. She met Ron's eyes, unapologetically staring him down, almost challenging him. "You must be Charlie's brother Ron."
"Yeah, that's me," Ron answered, his voice sounding slightly slurred. His body seemed unusually erect, as if he was being held up by strings.
"What are you doing to him?" Harry questioned her.
"Just making sure we don't have a problem," she answered.
"We don't," Harry said sharply, "but we will if you do anything to my friend."
She shook her head, and Ron blinked, suddenly looking more awake. "Sorry, I'm just on edge."
"What happened?" Harry asked.
"One of Carnifex's goons came to the door. He said he had a message for Charlie, and he wanted to give it to him in person. He seemed very surprised to see me, and even more surprised when I gave him a little message of my own."
"Where is he?"
"Trust me, you don't want to know the answer to that question. His clothes are in the trash bag over there, they're not in any shape to do anyone any good."
"What do you mean, I don't want to know?"
Ron held out his hand. "Just leave it, Harry. You really don't want to know. There's only one good way to get rid of a corpse in a flat in the city."
"You mean incinerating him?" Harry asked.
"No."
"Transfiguring him into a squirrel?"
"Just leave it. Among the best ways of getting rid of a corpse is to use your plumbing."
Harry suddenly looked green. "You were right, I didn't want to know."
"So, what was the message?" Ron asked.
"I'm not sure," Tracy admitted. "I'm afraid I kind of tore his throat out before we got to that part."
"Kind of?" Harry responded.
"You don't want to know," she said flatly.
"Fair enough," Harry answered. He had learned his lesson.
"Then what's that?" Charlie asked, pointing towards the floor near Harry's couch. Harry crouched down. He could see a black glossy envelope with a red embossed crescent moon on it, sealed with red wax in the shape of another moon.
"I'm guessing it's for you," Harry said, ironically. "Incidentally, what is it with you folks and black?"
"It's tradition," Charlie answered.
"Since when have you been into tradition?" Harry parried in response.
"How about if I said that blood doesn't stain most black clothes."
"That actually makes sense. Are you going to read it?"
Charlie shrugged, "I suppose I might as well." He tore it open. "You know, it's a real waste, the way these people operate. Nice paper, candle wax, just to deliver a one-sentence note that could have come from a mob show. You'd think they could have come up with some poetry, at least."
"What does it say?" Harry asked.
Charlie held it up. In truly beautiful, if hard to read, gothic calligraphy, it said, "We have your woman."
"Well, that shows what they know," Tracy spoke up. "I'm right here."
Harry and Ron didn't look relieved by this, and Charlie spoke the truth that they were both thinking. "Hermione."
Tracy turned pale. "If they have your friend, it won't take them too long to figure out that she isn't me. When that happens, she'll be..." she trailed off.
"What?" Ron asked.
Harry looked back at him, speaking before either of the vampires. "I don't think we want to know."