A/N: Takes place after the Half Blood Prince, minus the Harry and Ginny romance.
Inspired after reading Forever Knight, an older HP Fic. No plot elements are borrowed except for the obvious one.
The locket is a fake. It was all Harry could think. Over and over in his head, every time he shut his eyes and let his mind wander. Dumbledore died for nothing. For less than nothing as far as Harry was concerned. He had died at the hands of a sniveling, greasy, ill tempered potions professor too cowardly to stay and face what he had done. He had died trying to teach the platinum blonde "death eater to be" that there was always a choice, that he would have protection at hogwarts.
It had always seemed to Harry that there was no limit to the knowledge Dumbledore had. Of all the times he could have shown Harry that his wisdom was, in fact, finite, he sure had picked an awful one. What he wanted to know more than anything was why he had placed so much faith in Snape, the potions master who was clearly rotten no matter how one looked at it. The locket is a fake. Harry felt his consciousness slip away as he drifted into sleep.
The world may have seemed like a waking nightmare for Harry, but sleep offered little reprieve. Lately it was more often than not that he would find himself leaving his perspective only to view the world through the eyes of the most dangerous wizard alive, Lord Voldemort.
He was walking up a cobblestone path, the tile cool against his bare feet which seemed to drift along the road. His gaze wandered, the sunlight illuminating the path, and through the slits of his eyes he saw his destination. At the end of the cobbled road there was a castle. Great turrets rose from each corner and a large drawbridge graced the front.
The bridge's use became apparent as he drew closer to the castle and saw what seemed to be an endlessly deep chasm separating him from the gates. As he approached the drawbridge gave a great shudder, before beginning to slowly lower itself over the chasm. A twisted smile etched its way across the Dark Lord's face. He was pleased.
He crossed the bridge as the gates to the castle opened, the heavy wooden doors swinging open apparently of their own volition. As he entered he found himself on a balcony overlooking a grand main hall. Two long tables stretched out from either side and continued to the wall at the other end of the castle.
A blast of noise reached the Dark Lord as he descended the stairs to enter the hall. The tables were filled with dozens of people, all eating and drinking and being boisterous. As Voldemort passed between the tables some of them glanced at him while others paid him no heed, but the joyful atmosphere didn't die down in the slightest.
He approached the other end of the castle where three people sat at a smaller table that linked the two large ones. In the middle sat what was clearly the lord of the castle, dressed in extravagant robes and exuding superiority. Presumably those next to him were his closest confidants, as each seemed alert and protective. The Lord rose from his chair and extended his arms warmly.
"My Lord, we're so pleased that you're here, it's wonderful you were able to join us tonight." His voice was deep and warm, it carried throughout the hall and was met with the quieting of the many conversations. All present turned their eyes to the head of the tables.
"Count Huskil," Voldemort's voice was a much softer, much higher pitched hiss, but it managed to reach every corner of the hall regardless, "I see you have not allowed urgent business to interfere with your enjoyment of these…festivities."
Huskil offered a sly smile before responding, "Business that seems urgent to mortals like you seems less pressing when you've been alive for 200 years. Why, there are some in this court that have had the same urgent business to attend to for the past 50!" At this he gave a hearty laugh that was quickly picked up by the rest of the room, until both tables were filled with smiling, laughing people.
Voldemort allowed himself a smile of his own, contorted though it was, before raising his wand. The smile on Huskil's face was quickly wiped off, and he opened his mouth to speak. Before he was given the chance, a flash of emerald green shot forth from Voldemort's wand following his hiss of "avada kedavra."
The hall fell silent and the mirth was sucked from the room. The two positioned on either side of Huskil pushed their seats aside and rose to their feet, baring their teeth at Voldemort. His wand drifted from one to the other, as if deciding which life it should claim first.
"Good vampires of the castle Valhier, please, calm yourselves," Voldemort spoke, addressing the many murderous looking individuals that sat at both tables. "You have nothing to fear from me, your lord had simply lost his grasp on the importance of what we wanted to achieve."
He turned to address the man standing to the right of Huskil's now crumpled body. "You are Melroy, yes?" Voldemort posed the question and the tense, defensive looking vampire nodded stiffly. You will be taking over as Count of this court, I trust the responsibility will be manageable for you." A look of greed flashed across Melroy's face, and he stepped over the body of his fallen leader to sit in the center chair. He looked up to the other of Huskil's closest followers and gestured for her to sit beside him. She hesitated.
"Listen Valencia, He's gone now, and he wasn't doing us much good alive. It's time we took control, started spilling some blood again." Melroy's voice was gruff but commanding, Voldemort believed he had made the right decision in appointing him. At this the woman, Valencia, sat down and allowed a smirk to spread across her face. "Right! All of you, back to the festivities!" at Melroy's command the table's erupted in conversation, the joy of the room returning as quickly as it had left.
"Now, Melroy," Voldemort said, "we have a prophecy to discuss."
Harry awoke in a cold sweat. There was little he could make out in the dark room around him. He reached over to the bedside table and fumbled around until he felt his glasses, which he quickly put on. He pressed two fingers to his neck and felt that his pulse was still drumming from what he'd seen.
He looked around, remembering where he was, and was given a sense of great relief. He was safe, lying on a mattress on the floor of Ron's room at the Burrow. He had arrived the day previous, bidding number four Privet Drive a long overdue farwell. He had worried that something would go wrong with the convoy he had escorting him, which consisted of all the people closest to him, but it seemed their bait had worked and the death eaters were not tipped off to the time Harry was being moved.
He realized he wouldn't be able to fall back asleep, and was quite certain he wouldn't want to if he could, and so Harry rose from the floor and moved towards the door. He made sure to be quiet, but when he looked back and saw Ron snoring heavily he knew that even if a marching band were performing a concert in the very room, nothing would wake his friend up.
Harry stepped softly down the stairs until he reached the first floor, moving towards the kitchen. He thought he'd make some tea. Before he could he spotted a light coming from the living room and went to see who was still up. He wandered into the room to find Hermione curled up on the sofa under a blanket, a look of calm concentration on her face as she read a book. The light was coming from a tall lamp in the corner behind her.
She didn't notice Harry's presence immediately, and he took the opportunity to observe her for a moment. Harry had always thought that reading like this did Hermione a lot of good. She never looked more at ease than when she was in her own world, lost in the pages of a book. Her eyes flicked up and settled on Harry, who was leaning on the wall just at the edge of the room.
"Hey Harry," she said softly. She blinked a few times quickly, her eyes dry from prolonged focus on the pages of her book. "Trouble sleeping?" He shrugged before moving into the room, heading towards the chair opposite her sofa. She sat up so her knees were pressed against her chest and patted the spot beside her, resting her cheek on her knee. He moved instead to sit where she had indicated, and relaxed into the sofa, feeling the warmth still present from the legs she had just moved.
Once he had sat down she extended her legs again, letting them rest in his lap. She threw the blanket over herself once again and adjusted it so that it warmed him as well. Hermione turned her attention back to her book and Harry inhaled deeply, leaning his head back and giving himself a moment to rest. He was comfortable.
After a moment Harry knew, unfortunately, that he would have to break the silence.
"I had a nightmare," he said, turning his head to look at her. Hermione's eyes narrowed.
"A nightmare?" she asked, "or a-"
"a vision," Harry finished. She put her book down and turned her full attention to Harry.
"Harry," she started, "you know you're not supposed to let him in. Dumbledore told you it was dangerous."
"Well I can't always help it, can I?" He said back, frustrated. It's not like he asked to have his mind linked to the most evil wizard alive. "Anyway, do you want to hear what I saw or not?" She nodded and reached out, rubbing his arm assuringly.
"For starters, how much do you know about vampires?" At this Hermione raised an eyebrow.
"Vampires? Quite a bit actually. When I first suspected Professor Lupin of being a Werewolf I researched other creatures of the night. I thought it was smart to be thorough." Harry rolled his eyes at this because it was just so Hermione. Leave it to her to go the extra step in every possible situation.
"What is it you're smiling at?" she asked, an inquisitive look on her face.
"Just you," He replied. She shook her head, clearly not understanding.
"Okay, so what happened in this nightmare?" she asked. Harry told her what he had seen, the hall of vampires and the killing of Huskil, and everything that was said. By the time he finished, Hermione had a deeply troubled look on her face.
"You okay?" Harry asked. Hey eyes met his and her look turned sympathetic.
"I should be asking you that. It's awful that you have to have these visions Harry, that you have to see these things."
"So, what do you think?" He was very curious to see what Hermione would make of what had transpired.
"Well, it's bad enough that V- that Voldemort is recruiting vampires." Hermione stated, "they're really dangerous creatures Harry."
"Yeah, I figured as much," Harry said back.
"But the part that's really troubling me is the bit about the prophecy," Hermione said, her brow furrowing. "What prophecy was he talking about? The one between you and him, or another one all together."
"Good Question," Harry said, yawning.
"You look exhausted Harry, get some sleep and we can talk about this later." Harry would have protested if a fresh wave of yawning hadn't just come over him. Hermione grabbed her book and sat up, pulling Harry so that his head was in her lap. She went back to reading and Harry watched her for a moment. Soon his eyes got heavy and he allowed himself to drift, feeling her free hand idly playing with his hair.
When Harry finally woke up it was to the sound of pots and pans clanging around and conversation coming from the kitchen. Judging from the number of voices, Harry was one of the last to be waking up. Hermione's lap had been replaced with a throw pillow and, in Harry's opinion, it was significantly less comfortable.
He sat up, straightening his glasses which had been knocked askew in his sleep. He got up and passed through the kitchen to say hi to whoever was awake. Mrs. Weasley was preparing breakfast, having over a dozen eggs crack and scramble themselves before they poured themselves into a hot pan. Toast was piled high on a plate and Mr. Weasley kept reaching for a piece, stopped each time by his wife batting his hand away.
"Harry dear!" Mrs. Weasley said, smiling warmly at him, "why don't you head upstairs and clean yourself up, breakfast will be ready by the time you are."
And so Harry climbed the stairs all the way up to the fifth floor, passing Fred and George on their way down, and found Ron very much where he had left him, snoring away in his bed. Harry went to shower and brush his teeth, and when he emerged to see Ron still asleep, he decided to wake him up.
"Ron," he said, shaking his shoulder, "Ron get up. Breakfast is ready." At the promise of food Ron perked up, lifting himself to a sitting position in his bed.
"Down in a minute," Ron said groggily. Harry grinned at his friend's predictability and made his way back downstairs. He went to the dining table to find that Fred, George, Ginny, and Mr. Weasley had already started.
"Harry!" Mr. Weasley exclaimed, enthusiastically. "Just the man I was hoping to see. Fred and I were just arguing, and I hope you can sort it out for us. What exactly is the use for a magnet?"
Harry scratched the back of his neck. "Oh, er…has Hermione been down to eat yet?" He was very fond of Mr. Weasley, but it could become quite tiring constantly explaining the use of muggle items. Mr. Weasley never seemed to mind when Harry neglected to answer, it seemed he enjoyed speculating just as much as actually knowing.
"Still in bed I think," said Mrs. Weasley, poking her head into the kitchen. "Would you be a dear and let her know food is ready?" Harry nodded and headed back for the stairs once again. He went up one floor and knocked on the door of Ginny's room. When no answer came he opened the door, only to find Hermione sound asleep, her book face down but still in her hand.
She looked peaceful to Harry. It was rare to see her without a look of concentration or deep thinking, but asleep she was at complete peace. I doubt I look that peaceful when I sleep, Harry thought, remembering his less than pleasant awakening the night before. He tapped Hermione lightly on the shoulder and said her name, though he used a much softer voice than he had to wake Ron up. She stirred slightly, and reached out lazily, grabbing the hand that was tapping her shoulder and holding it between her own hand and the pillow.
Harry let her lie there for a while, sitting beside her on the bed, but eventually he knew they had to go eat.
"Hermione," he said, pulling his hand away from hers, making her brow crease as she grumbled in protest. "Breakfast is ready, come on. Even Ron will be down before us." At this she sat up, rubbing her eyes.
"Sorry," she said, "I didn't get to sleep until late last night. I would have gone to bed earlier but I didn't want to wake you…" at this she blushed, likely recalling just where he had fallen asleep the night before. "Besides, you needed the sleep more than I did."
Harry didn't argue the point. He would hardly call the sleep he was getting at Privet Drive rejuvenating, and now it seemed he couldn't even sleep at the Burrow without visions of death finding him.
"Right," Harry said, standing, "let's head down then."
The next few days were relatively uneventful, something Harry would not be caught complaining about. There was much excited talk about the upcoming wedding between Bill and Fleur, but Harry found his mind wandering. As happy as he was for the two, he couldn't help himself from thinking of prophecies and horcruxes and all of his worries and anxieties about what he had to do in the coming year.
He had thought about leaving, about starting his search, but he didn't have the foggiest idea of where to start. Because he was paying so little attention to the upcoming wedding, it was a great surprise to him when the eve before was suddenly upon them.
The excited energy that had been permeating the house for the last few days was suddenly threatening to burst, as Molly Weasley ran frantically around the house, making sure everything was perfect. She prepared what food she could to minimize the amount she would have to make the next day, but even still it was clear she had a monumental task ahead of her. Tonks had arrived earlier that day to help her, double checking the house was clean despite the meticulous job Mrs. Weasley had been doing of making sure it was spotless.
All of this was quite amusing when one considered the entire event was supposed to be held outside. Mr. Weasley, along with the help of Professor Lupin and his twin sons, had hoisted up a grand and beautiful wedding tent.
Harry, Ron, and Hermionie were all sitting in Ron's room, trying not to get in anyone's way.
"Mum's gone mental. I'm telling you, I've seen her clean the same lamp about a dozen times in the last two days. I mean… It's a lamp! How dirty can it get? It's not like the things playing around outside." Ron whinged, but it was clear he found the whole thing quite amusing.
"I think it's nice," said Hermione, "she wants Bill and Fleur to have a perfect wedding. Some people care about that sort of thing." At this she gave Ron a pointed look.
Ron scoffed. "Mum wants the people coming to have a perfect time. I still think she'd rather Bill marry me than Fleur. It'd be generous to say the two can stand each other, they certainly don't like each other."
It was true, while Molly Weasley and Fleur had moved past their vehement distaste for each other, Harry had to agree that they were less than friendly. When the two got in a room together the rest of the occupants seemed to mysteriously vanish, except for Ginny when she wanted to cause a bit of mischief.
"Come on then, we should see if there's anything we can do to help out," Hermione said, standing up and heading down the stairs.
It was the morning of the wedding and commotion was abundant. Close friends arrived early to help Molly with the final preparations, but for all the work everyone else was doing, she was doing twice that and more. She was practically a red haired blur shooting from one end of the house to the other.
Harry was gazing out of the window of Ron's room when he spotted Hermionie wandering across the grass towards the wedding tent. He decided to go see what she was up to. He drifted through the house, saying hi to whoever he passed and making sure not to get in Mrs. Weasley's way as she shot past him. He stepped outside and across the lawn, enjoying the feeling of the sun washing over his face. When he poked his head through the entrance to the tent he saw Hermione, completely absorbed as she took in the decorations. He cleared his throat and she looked around, a serene smile on her face.
"Isn't it lovely Harry?" She said, her voice laced with awe.
"It is nice," Harry had to admit, but he thought the space was greatly enhanced by the reverent look Hermione was giving it.
"Do you think you'll ever get married, Harry?" She looked over as she asked the question.
"I've never really thought about it," Harry replied honestly.
There was a sad kind of look on Hermione's face. "Come on," she said, grabbing his arm in both her hands and pulling him towards the Burrow. "Let's go get ready, everyone is going to start arriving soon."
Harry had gotten dressed in an all black suit and was waiting for Ron to finish getting ready.
"Right," Ron said, emerging from his room in a dark blue suit with a white shirt underneath. "Let's get in there."
By the time they made it to the lawn the wedding was in full swing, with loud music filling the tent. dozens of people Harry didn't recognize were occupying the chairs, standing around, and swinging about on the dance floor. He spotted Ginny dancing wildly with Luna. Neville was in deep conversation with a very old, wizened lady, surely about Herbology. Then he spotted her. Hermione was leaning against one of the tent poles with Fleur, Bill, Charlie, and a few others Harry didn't know, all listening to a very animated Mr. Weasley tell a story. She was wearing a red dress and had matching red lips, and Harry could have sworn she was a different person. It was the Yule Ball all over again. Harry usually didn't look at Hermione in that way, but it was impossible not to when she looked like, well, like that.
Hermione's gaze drifted and her eyes locked with Harry's. A gleam entered her eyes, a smile grew on her face, and then everything went wrong. It started with a scream that pierced through the air, extinguishing all other sound in the tent. Then, pandemonium. People started apperating left and right, others lay motionless on the floor of the tent. There was yelling, friends trying to find each other, parents looking for their kids, everything.
It didn't take long for Harry to figure out what was causing the disturbance, not after he spotted a corpse on the ground, a young woman, with a steady stream of blood flowing from two uniform holes in her neck. Vampires. Harry looked back to where Hermione had been standing but she was nowhere to be found. He just had to hope that she was somewhere safe. He knew he had to find her and Ron and they needed to apparate. As much as he wanted to help, he knew staying was only putting the wedding guests in more danger.
Before he could even start searching for his friends he felt a cold hand wrap around his throat and hoist him with ease. He was slammed against one of the tent poles and his vision tunneled. A searing headache erupted from the point of impact on the back of his head and spread through him. He blinked in an attempt to clear the spots that had formed but it hardly helped. He was barely managing to breathe. When the world finally came back into focus he saw the man– the monster that was holding him up. Melroy. There was no mistaking it, this was the vampire he had seen in his dream.
"So," Melroy's voice came out in a long, antagonistic drawl. "You're the one hey? Don't look like much, but I can feel it. You've got the power." He nodded slowly. "Yep, it's in there alright. You reek of prophetic potential. Well don't you worry. I'm just here to make sure that power goes towards the right prophecy." He was grinning at this point, and two blood stained fangs gleamed prominently.
"Stupefy!" The grin on his face was wiped away and quickly replaced with a look of interminable rage. In a flash he was gone, and Harry fell to the floor, gasping for breath. To his side was Ron, wand held up as he approached Harry, Hermione following close behind him.
"Alright there, Harry?" Ron didn't move his eyes from the spot where Melroy had been standing, as though he may reappear any second.
"Hermione," Harry gasped, still taking in large gulps of air, "need to…apparate." She nodded, and grabbed Ron's hand with one of hers, placing the other on Harry's arm. There was a loud suction noise, and then a pop. They stood on the familiar steps of Number 12 Grimmauld Place.
There was a moment of silence, and then Ron spoke. "Mate…what the bloody hell was that?"
A/N: Vampires!… One ha ha ha, two ha ha ha…
