Author's Note: I have literally been promising this story for YEARS. My sincere apologies that it has taken so long to write. This story shouldn't be nearly as dark as most of my others (but then again I often surprise myself as it goes along). Please be aware that this story will likely contain a tiny bit of violence, definite sexual situations, poor behavior, flawed characters, not an OUNCE of perfection anywhere, and many adult situations.

Chapter One

"So you mean to tell me that you're in the habit of just going around muttering incantations you've read on the back of old jewelry that you bought secondhand at a dodgy shop in Knockturn Alley infamous for being purveyors of Dark Magical artifacts?" demanded the irate wizard.

Hermione attempted to stutter out a suitable response to his question, but nothing of any value was forthcoming. It had been a terrible idea. She shouldn't have purchased the ring to begin with, let alone recited the inscription on the inside. Nineteen years in the wizarding world and she was still learning lessons the hard way.

"You are a foolish and stupid witch," he continued. "Do you have any idea the paradise I was existing in before you chose to be so utterly rash and selfish? I do not use the word "paradise" lightly! Now, not only am I alive again, but I'm back in this miserable country I never wanted to return."

"I'm very sorry, Mr... incidentally, what is your name?"

"Karkaroff. Igor Nikolayevich Karkaroff."

She gulped. The entire situation had just gotten a lot more complicated than she ever imagined.

Earlier that day…

Knockturn Alley was nothing like it used to be, to Hermione's disappointment. She remembered how interesting and dark and sinister it once felt when she was younger. The end of the war changed all that. After Lord Voldemort was finally defeated and it was made crystal clear he would never be able to return, the Ministry of Magic was emboldened to make a number of changes to the darker side of the shopping district that many of the locals resented. Or perhaps it was the almost constant surveillance they resented. Used to operating under their own rules, having the Ministry interfere was too much for some to handle.

Hermione didn't usually like being asked to inspect a Knockturn Alley store suspected of dealing in illegal goods. It felt beneath her status within the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. She'd worked long, hard hours for ten years to get to her position. It hadn't been easy. Relationships were lost and friendships were fractured along the way, but she didn't doubt she was making the right choices to further her career and better the wizarding world at large.

Being told, not asked by her superior to take time out of her very busy day to do something so demeaning was infuriating. Hermione suspected he only did it to make her mad. Maybe he'd heard the rumors about her and a certain Minister for Magic that just wouldn't die. She had no idea where the murmurs began, but she wasn't going to allow idle gossip to negatively affect her career. If her boss continued to play little games, he wasn't going to like what happened next. She played to win. He would do well to remember that.

But for the present, she didn't really have a reason to refuse the assignment as much as she might've liked to. They were shorthanded in their department. Nasty cases of dragon pox took their toll on most of the other departments in the Ministry as well. Healers at St. Mungo's were quick to state that it wasn't considered an 'epidemic' yet, though it seemed to Hermione they were just trying not to terrify the public at large with the unusual scale. There were always seasonal bouts of the pox. It seemed like much more than just that, but even Kingsley was quick to tell her that her suspicious mind was wrong that time. He'd never had a reason to lie to her before and couldn't see him starting then. So, she didn't worry when she heard of another person being stricken with the condition. As a Muggle-Born, she wasn't as susceptible to the condition thanks to her genes. Or maybe it was because she had chicken pox as a child. No one was really sure.

She supposed she should be grateful for her health and ability to go to Knockturn Alley even in the deplorable weather. It was terribly easy to take living for granted. That was a lesson she should have learned fully years earlier during the war. Some days it was easy to forget how dangerous their world could be. Over a decade had come and gone since Voldemort died in the Great Hall. No other dark witch or wizards tried to raise themselves up to a power strong enough to take over the world. It had been a peaceful time.

The mid-November afternoon wasn't as cold as it promised to be later, but a steady fall of rain fit her mood perfectly. Hermione pulled her cloak tighter, glad she had at least some protection from the elements. At the entrance to Knockturn Alley, she took a deep breath, hoping it would help with her frustration of having to be there in the first place. It didn't.

Borgin and Burkes would never be her favorite shop. How it was still open after all of the trouble it was involved in over the years, whether intentionally or not, boggled her mind. Someone should've shut it down years ago before another cursed necklace ended up sending an innocent girl to St. Mungo's or a band of homicidal Death Eaters with their pet werewolf infiltrated a school filled with helpless children. The Ministry of Magic had a terrible track record and she was sad to report it hadn't got much better. There was always talk of reform. Very rarely did it expand beyond that stage.

Time seemed to move differently in the wizarding world. In nearly every other part of the city she could see some evidence of change, both good and bad. Standing in front of Borgin and Burkes made her feel like she was a sixth year again trying to trick the sales clerk in telling her what Draco Malfoy had been there to buy. Absolutely nothing about the outside of the shop changed. She could only hope the same couldn't be said for the inside.

Unsure why she was suddenly nervous, Hermione laughed to herself. She was being silly and oddly sentimental. Sometimes the past snuck up on her at the most inconvenient times. There was no reason to fear stepping inside the shop. Laws were in place to keep her protected from the scum that populated the underbelly of their society. One wrong move and she would have anyone inside the shop arrested she pleased. They couldn't intimidate her anymore. She was an adult, fully trained in her own power as a witch.

The bell above the door announcing her arrival seemed unnaturally loud in the nearly silent shop. Only the aging Mr. Borgin seemed to be within. He sat behind the counter reading that morning's edition of the Daily Prophet with an undisguised sneer on his oily face. No doubt he wasn't pleased with her arrival. Whether it was her blood status or the fact she represented the Ministry of Magic that made him despise her on sight was unclear. Not that it really mattered. His opinion meant nothing to Hermione.

"I'm Hermione Granger."

"I know who you are."

"Then you should also know I'm representing the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. I'm here to inspect your shops to make certain it conforms to the standards imposed by the Act of…"

Borgin scowled and waved his hand at her like she was little more than an annoying gnat.

"Yes, yes, I know why you're here. I have nothing to hide. Look all you want."

He returned his attention to the newspaper with the arrogant air that she wasn't worth his notice. All the better for her, she thought. His lack of interference should make the inspection even easier. She removed the clipboard she had tucked away from her pocket, enlarged it to its normal size with a tap of her wand, and began going through the rather lengthy checklist required of every official inspection.

Every corner of the shop had to be checked for illegal goods and concealment charms. The process was tedious and took a long time in some of the older, more cluttered shops. An hour passed before Hermione was able to finish the main room of the shop. At the rate she was going, there wouldn't be any reason or opportunity to return to her office when she was finished. Perhaps that was why her supervisor had been so quick to force her to go. No one else wanted to be stuck in the filthy, dark shop all afternoon.

"I will need to go downstairs into your basement."

"There's nothing but rubbish down there."

She fought the urge to declare that was all his shop possessed anywhere, but she bit her tongue. Insulting the prickly proprietor would get her nowhere.

"That doesn't matter. I'm required to check it all."

Borgin rolled his eyes, but stood up to unlock the door behind the counter. A strange feeling came over Hermione when she began descending the rickety steps into the basement stockroom. She wasn't entirely sure what it was exactly. It didn't feel like fear. She'd certainly experienced that often enough in her life, even after the war finally ended. It felt more like… anticipation. All she knew was she was drawn to the dank, creepy basement.

At the bottom of the stairs she shook her head. It wasn't professional, whatever it was she was feeling and needed to be ignored until her job was done. There was plenty to do after all. Rows and rows of shelves covered the floor of the basement. Every individual shelf held countless objects that would have to be scanned one by one. She sighed. Forget finishing up early. If she finished before midnight, she would be surprised.

As much as she tried to ignore the strange feeling she felt down there, it was persistent and nearly overwhelming. Unable to concentrate on what she was doing, Hermione feared she might be encountering one of the dark and dangerous artifacts she was there to uncover. Why else would she feel a tug on her magic beckoning her further into the basement? Rarely did innocuous items possess such a pull. She set the wooden box she'd been examining back on its shelf.

The call to her magic was a bizarre sensation. She'd only experienced that one time before and it had been one of Lord Voldemort's horcruxes, a fact that made her even more curious. Was it possible Borgin managed to get his hands on another horcrux, purposefully or not? If so, who would it belong to? She hated to admit she was nervous. Even just the thought of dealing with another evil wizard capable of creating their own horcrux filled her with dread.

She had to determine if her suspicions were correct. All of the other innocuous rubbish could wait. Allowing the pull to lead her where she needed to go, Hermione went further into the dark space. The feeling was at its strongest on the bottom shelf of the very last case against the back wall. A tiny, cardboard carton beckoned to her. Still feeling nothing but curiosity, she wasn't nervous to pick it up. She scanned the carton for any evidence of a dark spell before she dared open it.

Clearly there was strong magic inside the little container but none of it felt particularly harmful. A warmth settled over her shoulders when she opened it up. Yes, she was meant to find it. How she knew that, she had no idea. Expecting something terribly interesting and exciting, she was a little disappointed that all that was inside was a simple gold ring. Not even a particularly attractive one at that.

"There's nothing illegal about that ring."

Borgin's voice cut straight through the silence. Startled because she thought she was alone in the basement, Hermione dropped the carton. The gold ring fell onto the dusty floor.

"I still have to check it, Mr. Borgin."

Frustrated that the distrustful wizard was standing a little too close for comfort, Hermione reached down to pick up the dropped ring with an annoyed huff. The very moment her hand touched the cold metal of the ring, she gasped. An intense feeling of joy and safety and… she couldn't describe it exactly filled her entire body. She nearly wept at the sensation. Pretty or not, she had to have the ring.

"How much is this?"

She tried to keep her tone of voice as neutral as possible. Borgin didn't seem to have noticed the odd effect the ring had on her. That would be important in keeping the price down low. The more he could tell she wanted the ring, the more galleons he would demand. Somehow she got the impression she would pay whatever ridiculous sum was offered. It was that important that the ring be hers. Her Gringotts vault had plenty but she didn't want to be cheated.

"What do you want an old ring like that for?"

"What does it matter? How much?"

"One thousand galleons."

Hermione laughed loudly. How stupid did he think she was? It wasn't even worth that much just for the amount of gold it was made out of. Borgin smirked, recognizing she was not going to be an easy target.

"I'll give you one hundred."

"Ach, that won't even cover what I paid for it in the first place. I'm allowed to make a little money, aren't I? Five hundred."

"Two hundred."

He laughed, clearly amused by the exchange.

"Three hundred."

"Two-fifty and I'll stop the inspection before I get to that cupboard under the stairs you think you've hidden so cleverly."

His smirk turned into a sheepish grin. It was how the game was played after all. Most inspections ended in some sort of agreement to turn a blind eye to an infraction if it wasn't too serious. The shopkeeper held out his hand to seal the agreement with a handshake.

"But, I'll be conducting a follow-up inspection in one week from now. That cupboard will be empty when I return."

She couldn't let him get away completely. Exceptions could be made from time to time. Growing up taught her that very little existed in black and white. The world and its inhabitants lived within their own varying shades of grey.

With the purchase of the ring completed by signing a draft he could use at Gringotts, Hermione slipped the gold ring into her pocket and resumed her inspection. It was difficult to keep her mind focused on her work with the ring so close. For the rest of the afternoon and part of the evening she was stuck in the shop's basement, she had to continually remind herself to stay focused on the task at hand. There would be plenty of time later to examine the ring to her heart's content and try to solve its mysteries.

Never had she been so glad to finish a checklist. Once she had the irritable Mr. Borgin sign the parchment stating he agreed with the findings of her inspection and she reminded him he had a week to sort out his hidden cupboard, she stepped out of the shop straight into cold, pouring rain. She hadn't been aware it was even possible to make Knockturn Alley more dismal. Ignoring the suspicious stares she got from the souls brave enough to face the poor weather, she raised the hood on her cloak over her head and ran for the nearest exit.

Diagon Alley was hardly more ideal in the rain. Hermione was thankful she had a flat close by in a building on a side alley. It only took her a few minutes to reach the entrance to her building, but she was already soaked through. Water dripped off of her to puddle on the tile floor.

"Ever heard of water-repelling charms?"

The teasing voice surprised Hermione. She'd been so focused on removing her cloak she didn't even see her neighbor standing just a few steps away. He must have only come inside a minute before she did.

"Or… and even Muggles have these… an umbrella?"

Hermione rolled her eyes and made a dramatic grimace as he laughed. One of the added benefits of her flat was having George Weasley only three flats away. After the war ended he couldn't bear to return to living in the flat he shared with his late twin brother over their shop alone. He was the one to inform her there was a flat available in his building when it became awkward living at Grimmauld Place with Harry and Ron after her short romance with Ron fizzled out to its inevitable conclusion.

"I thought I could run fast enough."

George chuckled and gestured towards the door to his flat.

"Join me in a glass of fire whiskey? It'll warm you up."

She could rarely say 'no' to her persuasive neighbor. Though the war changed them all in significant ways, some were more altered than most. George was a little more serious than he'd been in his younger years, but he still was quick to make her laugh. At some point when she moved into the building, he became her best friend. It was a development she never would've expected before it happened.

"Just a small one."

Standing inside George's kitchen, Hermione made herself at home by immediately kicking off her shoes. George smiled as he poured them both glasses that weren't small at all. She sighed when she took her first sip of the liquor. Usually not a drinker, there were times when it was exactly what she needed.

"Long day?"

"Very long day. I've just spent the last eight hours inspecting Borgin and Burkes. Most of it was spent in the basement."

George grimaced.

"That sounds awful. No wonder you have cobwebs in your hair."

He reached across the distance between them to pull a large strand of sticky white thread out of her hair. It made her laugh even as she rolled her eyes.

"I suppose it could've been worse. You don't see any spiders in there, do you?"

George stepped closer to make a thorough and quite humorous examination of her hair that had her near tears from laughing before he was done. No matter how terrible of a mood she was in, he could always make it better. She swatted him away still laughing. He stared at her with a pleased smirk for a few seconds before picking his glass back up.

"Did you find anything interesting? I can only imagine what you found in that basement."

"Mostly a load of rubbish to be honest. Not worth anything."

She remembered the gold ring and pulled it out to show him. In her hand again, it felt alive. How could she explain that without sounding like a crazy person? George picked it out of her hand for a closer look. It was evident he wasn't all that impressed.

"Does it do anything?"

"Not that I'm aware of. You don't find it odd?"

He shrugged his shoulders and handed it back. Could he not feel its pulse? Maybe she was going mad. She had been down in that basement a long time with very little ventilation.

"Honestly? The only odd bit I can see is that you would actually spend money on that. It's hideous and too big for you to wear anyway."

Nothing George said was wrong. If it hadn't pulled on her magic, she never would've looked at it twice. She turned it over in her hand. There were some runic carvings that had been mostly worn down by time on the side. On the back of the ring there was a tiny inscription. She had to squint her eyes to read it.

"Acta…"

George's hand pushed the ring away before she could read any further.

"Oi! I don't think it's a good idea to recite an inscription without knowing what you're saying. It could be a spell."

He was right, of course. Ordinarily she wouldn't rush into reading it out loud. Why was she now? Something about the ring was causing her not to think straight. That was a sure sign there was something wrong with it, right?

"I'm sorry. I'm too tired to think tonight."

George reached for her hand and squeezed it briefly before dropping it.

"Go home. Feed your grumpy cat. Take a hot bath and go to bed. The mystery of the fascinating ring will be waiting for you in the morning."

His cheeky wink and the simple fact that all of his suggestions sounded amazing was what kept her from getting angry. She didn't appreciate being ordered about. After a quick gulp of the last whiskey in her glass, she placed it in his sink and leaned up to brush her lips against his cheek.

"Thanks for the drink, Georgie. I'm going to go straight to my bathtub this second."

He playfully groaned.

"Oh please don't tell me that. If I know you're naked just a few flats away, I won't be able to think about anything else."

The back of her hand lightly swatted his stomach to his amusement. Hermione had to roll her eyes again and chuckle. He often made inappropriate remarks, especially where she was concerned.

"Good night, George."

"Good night."

A short walk down the corridor later and she was at her own front door. Before she could even cast a charm to unlock it, she heard the angry mewling inside. No matter how early she arrived home, it was always too late for her cantankerous Crookshanks. He only seemed to get more irritable in his old age.

"Give me a moment to breathe before you attack me for dinner, Crooks."

After the war she found the half-kneazle happily wandering the countryside around the Burrow chasing garden gnomes. She'd been so relieved to learn he survived that she burst into tears and hadn't been able to stop until she soaked the thoroughly annoyed creature's fur. Content most of the time to sleep in his comfortable basket by her fireplace, the elderly Crookshanks still craved an occasional adventure.

With her cat occupied with his dinner, Hermione went into her bathroom to fill up her large tub. She didn't always like to indulge in a bath, but after bending over and reaching up repeatedly to examine the inventory of that blasted shop, her muscles were begging for some relief. If it could help her overactive mind relax enough for her to fall asleep, she would be even more pleased.

Tendrils of steam rose off the surface of the water. She turned off the tap and began to undress. Remembering George's remark about her being naked, she snorted. He was always making her laugh.

It took her a few minutes to fully relax in the tub. A carefully selected mixture of herbs and oils floated around her, softening her skin and filling the air with calming scents. She should've known after the day she had that it wouldn't take more than simply closing her eyes and laying her head back to fall asleep.

A series of bizarre visions sped through her mind as she dozed. None of them made any sense even jointed together. There were bright lights and someone else was with her. She was almost relieved when she woke up to find the bath had gone nearly cold.

What were her dreams about? Hermione knew she usually dreamed every night, but they were never so vivid or confusing. The longer she was awake, the less she could remember. It was odd.

Out of the bathtub she toweled off and reached for her dressing gown hanging on the back of her bathroom door. If she could prevent it, she didn't like getting dressed immediately out of the bath or shower. She picked up the pile of dirty clothes she dropped to the floor.

The gold ring fell out of her pocket to land on her bathmat. No longer interested in cleaning up her mess, she dropped her clothes back onto the floor and reached for the ring. George wasn't wrong. It was ugly and far too big for her. Clearly it was a man's ring. Why then did she feel like it must belong to her? She looked closer at the inscription on the back. Unable to see in the dim light of the bathroom, she carried it into her lounge. A lamp on her desk provided enough light that she could read what it said.

"Acta…"

With no one there to stop her from making a foolish decision, Hermione was able to recite the entire inscription. Still not fully understanding what she said, she thought that at least she averted any sort of crisis. It must not have been a spell after all.

But then the ring glowed red hot and she felt it burn the flesh of her palm. Hissing, she dropped the ring where it landed on her foot. A bright light, much like the one from her dream, suddenly filled the entire flat. She was too startled to even scream when a heavy weight knocked her on her back to the floor.

The light disappeared just as suddenly as it arrived, but the weight remained. Hermione dared to open her eyes to see a very confused and very naked man on top of her. His startling blue eyes stared into hers.