It consumed him. The fire, the darkness. It was consuming every bit of him. Harry could swear he could feel every cell in his body on fire. He could hear Voldermort, laughing, muttering to others.
"Poor little Potter." He couldn't feel the anger in himself. They weren't connected. Panic started to take over.
Voices. They were voices down stairs. His uncle was talking to them. They sounded familiar.
"I don't like having my toys broken. They're not very fun..." What did Voldermort mean?
The voices downstairs were jumbled up, and he could only get little bits of what they were saying.
"What…hell…trouble sleeping…didn't…Dumbledore…?"
He gasped, feeling his body writhe involuntarily in an upward ark.
"Goodbye, Potter!"
His bedroom door opened. There was a bright pink head. "Oh my go-"
Everything went black.
Hermione sat straight up in bed, gasping for breath, and knew automatically what she needed to do. Sliding her legs over the side of the bed, she slipped on her sneakers and grabbed a sweatshirt. She slipped down the stairs silently and did the same with the door.
The phone wasn't very far away, perhaps to blocks. With a light jog, she made it in a few minutes, and shut the booth's door so the rain wouldn't enter. Brushing a curl out of her face, she inserted the coins and dialed the number she had written quickly on the back of her hand, praying it hadn't smudged too much. It rang a few times, and her stomach dropped, fearing she didn't have the correct number. Then, a frantic female voice picked up.
"Dursley residence."
"Is Harry Potter there?"
The voice let out a noise she couldn't quite identify. "They took him."
"Excuse me?" Her heartbeat picked up.
"They took him. He was sick. Bugging out. A few of them said they had to go get some girl…"
Hermione slammed the phone back on the receiver, sprinting back to the house as quickly as she could. She should have expected this…
The front door was wide open, and Hermione drew her wand. Ever so slowly, she entered and crouched. She'd done this, practiced, in secret, for this, and she wasn't going to die because of panic.
She slipped up the stairs and heard who ever it was in the bathroom. Her parent's room had a closet, and she now found her way into it. She just had to wait until the right moment . . . "I highly hope your not trying to take down dementors on your own, Miss Granger."
A hand was on her mouth and it suddenly hit her that it was Lupin. She nodded that she knew who it was, and they waited quietly.
"How many?"
He raised a finger to his lip, and shrugged. Rolling her eyes, she sat back on her heels. The pounding feeling in her chest had shrunk to a minimum, because she had realized her parents were out for dinner, and weren't getting in until three.
The clock that she could see said three forty-five.
Shit.
Her mother's screams met her ears and if it weren't for Lupin restraining her, she would have been at her mother's side in three seconds.
Her mother fell onto the bed; she must have had a silencing charm placed on her, and it made Hermione furious. Lupin's grip on her arm had stopped hurting, and everything had become tinged with red. How dare they do that to her mother! How dare they prevent her from crying out! Where was her father?
Lying on the floor on the other side of the bedroom, his cold eyes staring at her as he lay on the floor like a broken doll. Hermione's breath hitched and she could feel the first tear starting to roll down-
"Avaada Kedavra."
Her mother stopped squirming and Hermione opened her mouth to scream…
And scared the bejeezus out of everyone at 12 Grimmauld Place.
Harry's eyes opened slowly, adjusting to the light, and suddenly felt as though something wasn't right. Things were missing.
That unnamable link with Voldermort was gone, and it amazed him that he hadn't ever realized it was there in the first place. Secondly, he was in the wrong house.
Closer inspection told him he was at the Black residence, and that he was in the room he had stayed in last. Laughter below let him know there were people there. Familiar voices were downstairs.
"Hello, Harry. Glad to see you're waking up."
It took a moment for Harry to realize that it was Hermione. There was a subtle sadness to her demeanor, and her cheeks were puffy and red.
"Oh, God, Hermione…what happened?"
"Dementors."
His hand met hers on the bed, and he squeezed it. She attempted a smile.
"So how are you feeling, Harry?"
Harry sat back on the bed, a slight bit of annoyance with Hermione showing on his face. "Alright, I guess. Voldermort . . . he doesn't . . ."
"Have any more ties with you, Harry, I promise. You've been monitored by some-" she looked down at the bedspread for a moment before continuing. "People, and they've assure us there are no possible chances of him . . . Tell you what, you should get changed, if Mrs. Weasley is correct, the Headmaster is coming up to see you in a few minutes."
Her hand slipped out of his and she closed the door softly behind her.
He mulled over what he had just learned. Was he really free from those horrible mental ties with the Dark Lord? Apparently the answer was yes, and that particular thought gave Harry a thrill. Pulling on clothes quickly, and trying to flatten as much of his unruly hair as possible, he threw himself back on the bed in an easy manner and waited for the headmaster to enter.
And he did. In a quiet fashion, as if he thought Harry was awake. There was a strange look on his face; one of mixed pride and anxiety, and Harry's stomach did a flip at the thought of whatever awaited him.
"Let me guess, since Voldermort is finished with me, I'm not important anymore and you're gonna take me back to my uncle's."
The old man shook his head. "No, Harry. I assure you that won't ever be the case, as long as I am not mute and have limbs."
Harry had a look of chagrin as he sat Indian style on the bed. "I apologize. I'm just . . . really confused right now. Lot of things on my mind."
"Quite understandable, Harry, but I think matters downstairs in the parlor would be to your liking."
"What's going on?"
"Harry on behalf of the Order of the Phoenix, I humbly ask for you attend tonight's meeting of the Order."
Harry's eyes widened, and he processed what he said. "Really?"
"On account of all you have done this past summer you are allowed. Your friends, unfortunately, are not allowed because they haven't been trained in Occlumency." The headmaster took of and polished his glasses with restraint. "I, on the other hand, think that nearly sixteen is far too young to be even doing anything related to the Order, but alas . . . I am but a member."
"Thank you sir."
The parlor's entire mood was different, and it seemed colder and less comfortable. Everyone in the room seemed a little more serious, except for Snape, who looked right at home. Harry nervously took a seat between Dumbledore and Tonks, who gave him a small smile.
"All present?" asked Lupin, and everyone murmured a 'yes'. Skimming over muggle paper in his hand, he cleared his throat. "As you all are aware, we have documented Voldermort's latest public appearance."
Harry's look of confusion must have been apparent, because Tonks turned to him and patted his hand. "We'd asked you while you were bedridden and delirious. Don't remember?"
He shook his head.
Tonks had a strange look on her face. "That explains a lot."
"Moving on." Snape crossed his arms.
Lupin nodded. "The realization of a magic war is spreading, and we have been asked by the king of the Dracul clan to have a peace treaty at his palace in Russia." At this he turned towards Harry. "He asks that you join him. Bringing you is a sign of trust beyond words, and, therefore, the Order has decided you should come along, but you must not tell any of your friends."
Harry couldn't help but grin. Him? Russia? Ron and Hermione would have been amazingly jealous if he was only allowed to tell them.
"Potter." Snape's harsh voice brought him back to reality, and upon glancing at him, he realized there seemed to be a look of extreme displeasure on his face, which made Harry feel even better than before. "Do you realize what the Dracul clan is?"
"No, sir."
"Of course you don't, since you barely even pay attention in any of your classes as it is, I wouldn't expect you to actually look at any advanced books. The Dracul clan is a dynasty; they are immortals and they are very private. Going there is extremely dangerous."
"Why sir?"
"They are vampires, Mr. Potter!"
"Vampires?" They were things in movies that Dudley watched.
"Yes. Vampires. They live off of the blood of mortals. They promise, as long as we do not do anything to instigate them, that we are protected. His majesty is selecting a member of the royal family to assist us as we speak. We are leaving in the morning. I suggest you use the library on the second floor to educate yourself before we leave."
And with that the meeting was over.
Halfway through reaching for a book on vampires, Hermione walked in with a pile of books. Surprised, Harry snatched back his hand and turned towards her.
"What are you up to? Never thought I'd see you in here."
"Just perusing."
She placed the books on the table and walked over to Harry. "Vampires? Any reason?"
"Nope."
"Alright. Well, I'll be back here in a while, things to do." She wasn't 'alright' with it though, and he knew it.
"Hermione, wait . . ."
She was already gone.
The cease of the familiar pull in Harry's stomach signified the end of their journey. The clothes that were, a few moments ago, too tight and warm in the cozy and warm Black residence were now too thin and weren't keeping the wind out.
Upon opening his eyes, Harry found himself in the middle of the woods.
"Professor, is this the right-" once he turned, he saw why. His eyes widened at the sight of the towering castle, glittering in the moonlight of the frigid night.
"I should say so, Mr. Potter."
They hurried towards the building, where two figures stood waiting with a torch, silhouetted against the gray of the large front steps. Coming closer, they appeared to be two young men, dark haired, and lean faced, almost to the point of emaciation. The shadows of the torch made their thin cheeks look even more so.
"I take it your journey was good?" The taller of the two, with almost white-gray eyes, had a thick accent that made it hard to understand him.
"We speak English not so good, as you see, so we make arrangements with her highness, the princess. She waits in study. She speak good English. She talk and explain for council."
Dumbledore nodded, and they followed. Lupin, who stood with Harry, grabbed him by the shoulder quickly and whispered quickly in his ear. "No sign of emotion, Harry, as much as possible. They are creatures who have no true facial expressions, and are doing anything of the sort may provoke a Turned."
A Turned, as Harry had learned from the thick book in the library, was a vampire who had started out as a mortal and had drank the blood of a vampire, be them Turned or Born. As of recently, Half-Bloods had started to appear, children of vampires and mortals. Genetic mutations had caused mortals with extreme allergies to sunlight, garlic, and silver, Vampires without healing abilities, and, in some rare cases, mortals with extreme amounts of strength, healing abilities, and other 'gifts'.
"I hear good, Mr. Lupin. Whispering does not do helping." Said the shorter vampire.
The long, dark hallways were similar to that of Hogwarts, and it caused Harry to feel more at ease. Nevertheless, he still was tense, on guard, and had his wand out, just like the others of the party.
Snape's long, imposing strides seemed to intimidate the vampires a little, and they scuttled out of the way when they arrived at the princess' study.
The warm, bright room was a stark contrast to the rest of the palace. A crackling fire roared, and it glittered off of the gold edges for the hundreds of books that lay about the room. Surprised, Harry recognized several books of required reading for Hogwarts open and left around in a lazy fashion.
"Hello, everyone."
Harry spun around, and stood wide-eyed at the young woman in front of him. The thick pink chenille robe and the bunny slippers were a strange sight. Even more, was the face that accompanied the body...
Hermione Granger.
"Is this some idea of a joke?" Snape asked.
Hermione, who Harry thought would have paled and started to cry, stood up straight and erect. "Actually, no, it is not a joke. As strange as it may seem, it is not a joke. I am the child of the king of the Dracul clan. In fact, I think you may know my mother, who is a Turned. Her name is Isabella."
"I don't suppose you are being received by council in such a manner, are you, Miss. Granger- or should I say, your Highness?"
"It is Hermione, in private. All of you. Now if you'd please wait here, I will be out shortly." And with that she left.
"Why didn't you tell me?" cried Harry and Snape in unison, although one was surprised and the latter angered. Dumbledore held up two hands.
"To answer your question, Harry, it is because Miss Granger requested it, and you, Professor, it is because I knew you would not have come, otherwise, and her Majesty specifically wished for your presence."
"And the rest of us?" Tonks asked.
"Because Hermione requested the knowledge be kept quiet."
Harry's head reeled with a million questions. How could Hermione do such a thing? And what about the Grangers? Were they a cover? It suddenly struck Harry that he seemed to barely know her at all.
Hermione re-entered, flanked by two young female vampires. Her skirt was large, clearly held up with a wire form underneath, and she obviously was in pain, but barely showed it. "To the council, then?"
The room seemed to go upward forever. Rows upon rows of pale, dark haired, well-dressed men and women stared at Harry and the Order, and the silence was enough to choke someone.
Hermione walked in front of them to a tall man, and curtseyed. She took the woman to his right's hand and kissed it. Instantaneously Harry saw the resemblance. Hermione gestured them over, and muttered something to the tall, pale man in a language Harry couldn't understand. He nodded, and muttered something back.
"His Majesty welcomes you to his palace, and hopes that your stay here is pleasant."
Dumbledore nodded. "Thank you, but I would much like to talk to him, though."
Hermione opened her mouth, but her father put up a hand. "Thank you, my daughter," he said in perfect English, "but I believe he knows I speak English. Hermione, if you'd so kind as to translate what I say to the Council."
She curtseyed. "Of course."
The meeting seemed to go on for hours, and half of it Harry couldn't understand. It was basically already set, he supposed when they got there. The Order and the vampires were to become allies in the battle against the Dark Lord. It was an agreement that left all members of the Order and their family as protected mortals unable to be attached at any time whatsoever. Vampires were to be left to their own device, and perhaps, the Order could assist in their experiments in potions to allow them to see the sunlight again.
Hermione stood proud and tall, talking to the Council members, answering their questions. There was a sense of something regal about her, Harry didn't know if it was the way she held herself, or something else, but Harry's heart seemed to quicken every time she would glance his way, a small smile flickering across her lips.
And then it was over.
Harry stood when Tonks elbowed him, or else he'd probably continue to stare at Hermione, or rather the spot she used to be. She was now standing with her father, talking in hushed tones, Hermione's face a crimson color.
Hermione glided over to Harry, and without making eye contact, she said: "My father wishes to speak to you, Harry."
The greenhouse was vast, and the starlight twinkled through the beveled ceiling glass. Tall, exotic plants towered over them as the two men walked through it. Inhaling, Harry could smell at least a dozen fragrances.
"I take it you are Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived." On further inspection, Harry saw how young he looked. Wrinkles of age had seemed to forget him, and leave, in place this man, who's light eyes seemed to tell a tale of their own.
"That I am, Your Majesty."
"You know death, then?"
"Yes, Your Majesty, Lord Voldermort killed my parents when I was very little, and I have watched others die."
"But not by your own hands?"
"Never, Your Majesty."
The king sighed. "Then at least you can begin to understand why I couldn't let her be here until recently."
Harry frowned, then, with effort, attempted to wipe his face of emotion. "I-I'm not quite sure I understand, your Majesty."
"In my time, I was known as Vlad Tsepesh, or Vlad the Impaler, Mr. Potter. I was harsh and cold, and I continued that way until I met Hermione's mother. She was a young, intelligent witch." He turned towards Harry, reverie clear on his face. "She changed me, Mr. Potter. And I loved her. Clearly, she loved me, as Hermione is the result of that love. Isabella then did what I never asked her to do, she asked me to Turn her. And here we are."
"Did Hermione ever know that she was your daughter?"
"Never. Hermione was, upon my and Isabella's agreement, taken during infancy to England, and through several contacts we were able to follow our daughters growth. Her . . . what do you call the mortals she lived with?"
"Muggles, Your Majesty."
"Yes, well the Muggles were never supposed to die. A Turned was told he would be given a potion that would allow him to see his precious daylight again, and he told them where she was. We had Mr. Lupin give her some extra defense lessons. We did not tell her until halfway through last school year. She picked up the language immediately, and the Granger family had brought her up very well. We brought her here when they were murdered."
By now, they had reached large French doors that lead to gardens outside, and the vampire seemed to melt. Sighing, he raked a hand through his hair. "I would not let my daughter live in this world. Politics, affairs, scandals… It wasn't right. We must kill a life to eat. Kill. Death is not only apart of our daily life, but our nourishment. It's not the way to live." He turned towards Harry. "I know you would never want that for her."
Harry nodded, and then realized what he had just meant. "What? No! I mean, your Majesty, I'm not …"
"Whatever you do, Mr. Potter, I know it is with your whole heart and a wise head on your shoulders. I have heard of what you have done from my daughter. She thinks very highly of you, and from the way you gaze upon her, the feelings are mutual. Go with my blessing."
Harry stood for a moment, and then bowed. "Thank you, Your Majesty."
The knock on the door stirred Harry from his thoughts. Sitting up on his thickly embroidered bed, he called out. "Who's there?"
"A bloody bouncing ferret." Harry leaped up and threw open the door. Hermione, in jeans and a tee shirt, came in and closed it behind her quickly. Leaning against the door, Hermione gave Harry a look-over. "Obviously he didn't make you his dinner. Verbally or literally."
"I take it that's a good thing?" Harry plopped down on his bed.
"Very good."
"He was in a good mood today, then?"
She nodded, and followed. "Very good."
"And how's your stomach wound?"
Hermione looked down, and started to trace the pattern in the comforter.
"Not very good, huh?"
She shook her head.
The all-too-familiar feeling of guilt took over in Harry's stomach. "But if you're a vampire, you just automatically heal, correct?"
"I haven't Turned yet. The family doctor says it can be any time now. It's like vampire puberty." She blushed. "Do you think you could help me with the gauze? I need to change it and I uh…"
Hermione. At a loss for words. Was it a sign of the apocalypse? Harry nodded.
"Let me go get my kit."
Harry, instead, followed her. Hermione said nothing, but held the door for him anyway.
Her room was gold, crystal, and jewels. It was everything money could buy and then some. The purple coverlet shined with the embroidered Dracul clan crest on it, in shiny, blood red thread.
Hermione entered her bathroom and came out momentarily, holding a plastic organizer. Opening it, she took out gauze and tape, and started to rummage around for something else.
"I've had to do it myself, since any of the normal residents in this house usually get a single whiff and are all blood-lust …-y."
"Is that even a word?"
Hermione glared up at him, a perfect impression of McGonagall. "No." Sighing, she threw her hair over her shoulders and held up the things in her hands. "First, we have to take off the dressing and tape already on, and then we use a little alcohol to clean the wound, and then we put more gauze on and tape."
"Alight. Sounds easy."
"You should probably stand. I'll lay."
How such a statement could make them blush, they never knew, but it did. Taking a deep breath, Hermione lay back and lifted her shirt slightly. There lay a piece of white cotton with medical tape on it.
Harry knew what is was like to take off a band-aid, and knowing that Hermione probably knew, too gave her an anxious look. "Want me to hold your hand while I take it off?"
"I'm not an infant Harry."
He shrugged. "Alright."
His fingers brushed feather-light against her skin at first, and then, with his nail, he started to peel off the tape. Hermione hissed and grabbed his hand instinctively. Harry continued, constantly looking up at Hermione's face to make sure it didn't hurt too much. After it was off, he took off the gauze and placed it on the bedside table. Not exactly sterile, but it would do. He placed the new gauze on and put fresh tape on. He stopped to admire his work, but ended up noticing the milky-pale color of Hermione's skin, and how pretty it was. He wanted to touch it again…
"Thanks, Harry." She pulled down her shirt and sat up. "Just to let you know, a tailor is going to be coming to your room tomorrow. They need to fit you for clothing for the ball."
"Ball? What ball?"
"It's a large ball that will be held in celebration of the peace treaty." She bit her lip. "I guess I never said it in English, and neither did my father. Damn."
"What's the language you were speaking anyway?" It didn't sound like anything Harry had ever heard before.
"Its stem is Arabic; it's the language of the Dracul clan…bit hard to understand, but once you get it down…"
"Could you teach me?"
She shook her head. "It's not like French or Latin or Runes, only Dracul-how can I explain it…"
"Like Parsletongue?" Harry offered, and automatically Hermione smiled.
"Exactly!"
Harry flopped on to the bed, and stared at the ceiling. He could feel Hermione's eyes on him, but it really didn't bother him. He closed his eyes and sighed.
"J-just because you'll be different, once you … you know…it's not going to change our friendship. I mean, sure, you'll probably not be able to go to Quidditch games because of the whole sun thing, but you won't miss that, I bet."
Hermione rolled over on her stomach, her shoulders inches from his. "I'm going to try to live as normal a life as possible, Harry. It just depends on how lucky I get when I Turn. And if I can't make games, I'll make night practices."
"So…this…ball…I'm going to have to know how to dance, aren't I?" He propped his hands underneath his head and looked over at Hermione. Her loose curls fell lazily over her shoulders, and she was giving Harry a knowing look.
"Yeah, you are. I'll show you, tomorrow, if you'd like. My first party was…not so great. Nearly tripped over my bloody feet."
The two friends sat in silence for a while and Harry inspected the ceiling with immense concentration. He couldn't bring himself to look over at his side, where Hermione lay oh-so-close.
It seemed like an eternity, while they lay there, both content from each other's presence and the roaring fire a few feet away from them. Harry had the sudden wish to stay exactly where they were for the rest of time, to lay next to one of his best friend's forever, to be able to look over at her, her cinnamon eyes and dark brown curls.
Normal people do not think like this, Harry, he chided himself. Normal people do not wish to lie next to their friends. Normal people could not close their eyes and see their friend as if they were right in front of them, instead of their house while they are at their uncles' homes.
"You were different in front of them, today." He blurted. Hermione looked over at him.
"How so?"
Harry sat up, now wishing he hadn't said it. "I guess-I guess you were so regal, so filled with importance. Does all of this mean that much to you?"
Hermione bit her lip for a second. "I…don't know, to tell you the truth. I feel important, like I have a purpose. I've never come close to feeling like that before." She gazed at the fire for a minute, and then turned to Harry, crossing her legs Indian style. "I suppose it's like this: You love Quidditch, right?"
Harry grinned. "Goes without saying, I should think."
She rolled her eyes. "It does. Anyway. You love Quidditch. Because you go to school, you can play Quidditch. However, it doesn't mean that you adore school, does it?"
"Far from it."
"It's the same thing. I love-helping people, Harry. I want to help others, and if being a member of a royal family of bloodthirsty, undead, damned creatures is my way of helping someone, so be it."
Harry laughed. "I think we can find other ways for you to help people, don't you?"
"Arg, Harry Potter!" Hermione smacked him in the face with a bolster pillow. Harry grabbed it and started to hit her in the face, causing an eruption of giggles from Hermione. Kneeling, he started to playfully hit her with it even more. Suddenly stopping her laughter, Hermione stared at Harry for a moment, and Harry couldn't help but drop the pillow.
Those eyes.
Hermione lay below him, curls in every direction, cheeks flushed with happiness, and all he could do was stare at those gorgeous eyes.
"You should get to bed Harry." Harry sat back on his heals, nodded, and rolled off, but not before seeing a hand go to her stomach.
Hermione got off the bed and fixed her shirt, and cleared her throat. "Do you want to get up during the day, or wait for nightfall?"
"What are you going to do?"
Hermione shrugged. "Sleep, unless you'd like to learn how to dance, since we basically have the floors with windows to ourselves, it should be pretty easy to find and empty place, if you'd like to do that."
Harry nodded. "Sounds great. Wake me up whenever you get up, okay?"
Hermione smiled, and nodded.
Lying on the bed, eyes closed, all Harry could think about was Hermione. That strange, butterfly-like feeling in his stomach he had always had around Cho was now even worse, and he felt like he was on the roller coaster at the traveling circus when it had visited his primary school. But instead of sheer excitement, he could taste a slight fear, of that same excitement, and something else.
And all he could wonder was if his father felt like this towards his mother.