Chapter 12: Curiosity Minus the Cat
"I suppose I deserved that," Rupert muttered, gently tapping the blood from his swollen lip with two fingers.
"Right you did," Molly muttered.
She dampened the corner of her hand towel and handed it to the man without looking at him. Giles nodded in thanks before looking to the wizard who'd delivered the blow. Arthur stood a few feet from him, nostrils wide to take in a loud breath, his back to Moody, who remained in the door way, chuckling lightly.
Arthur clapped his hands together in attention. "Well, now that that's over, ol' boy," he began, "let's have one."
Giles stood with a small smile at his broken lips and awkwardly embraced the taller man in a quick hug, patting his back curtly. "Good to see you, Arthur," Rupert said.
Arthur's own grin was tight, his lips almost absent entirely. Rupert knew at once that the man was stopping himself from saying whatever had first crossed his mind.
"Keeping yourself well these days?" Arthur asked, politely. He didn't wait for an answer. "We get word of your group at the Ministry, every once in a great while. I was sorry to hear about your other watcher chaps last year. Glad you weren't with them."
"Yes." Giles nodded in agreement. "Very fortunate," he bit.
He couldn't help but notice Moody take a few steps forward. The older wizard's grumbling, low voice followed his movement.
"Funny thing," Alastor said, not sounding in the least humored. "Ministry seems to get wind of odd, some would say illicit, magical practices from some of 'your group' after the matter. Isn't that strange, how dark practices, like that little Wiccan's dabblings a few years back never reached our ears accept as rumor. Almost like someone was blocking us from finding out about them."
Giles didn't change his expression but his eyes grew steely. "Perhaps because there isn't such a thing as a proper magical reading on a Hellmouth?" he offered.
Arthur seemed to feel the ice in that reply and cleared his throat to interrupt the two men. "Suppose Dumbledore will give us a few answers when he gets here." He looked up at his wife. "Oh, by the way, Molly, dear, he and Remus might not arrive alone, so we should prepare an extra seat at supper, just in case."
Molly raised a brow. She'd already lost count of her current guests. "Well, shoo, then, boys," she said, all but herding the three towards the kitchen's exit. "I've got plenty to cook--Arthur, dear, send Ginny to the kitchen to help me, will you?"
She turned away from them, staring hard at the sink, her eyes burning in remembrance. "Bloody long night," she said, and swallowed a deep breath to calm her nerves and clear her mind of what she'd always called the "Ripper-effect." A good shot of fire whiskey would have done the job better. Molly shook away her frustration and clucked her tongue at a pile of spuds peeling themselves.
"Back on track, Molly girl. Let's get cracking. . . Oh dear, I wonder if the blue one eats," she pondered.
"Do you think Dumbledore will know?" Hermione asked. She leaned forward over her crossed legs, as if conspiring with the red head. "Do you think he already knows about the High Necromancer?"
"I suppose," Ginny said, brow furrowed. "But the question is, is he planning on telling us? By us, of course, I mean you--no one ever tells me anything." She smirked when Hermione tried to counter her, and continued, "You talked like it got pretty dangerous when you used that magic. . . The headmaster might not want to feed your curiosity."
"That would explain why he didn't mention the book when he saw me," Hermione answered. Instinctively, she pushed the book further away, nearly beneath the bed's pillow, as if to hide it from her sight. Her face was flushed and she dipped her head down. "I've never had any magic make me feel quite that way, Gin. And, even though I know it can't be good, it just. . . Well, it didn't feel like a bad thing. I was so scared then but now I, I realize it wasn't as horrifying as it should have been."
Ginny blinked, concern lining her face. "Hermione, you should be careful."
"Of course," Hermione said, rolling her eyes. She was always careful. Except, of course, when she wasn't.
There was a knock at the bedroom door and the two girls sat up straight. Without receiving a reply, the knob turned and Ron peaked in.
"Decent?" he asked.
"Let's hope, perv," Ginny snorted.
Ron snorted in return. "You're my sister--not like I haven't see you dancing in your. . ."
He received a pillow to his face for the effort.
"And what if Hermione was changing?" Ginny asked, indignantly.
The boy's face quickly matched his hair. "Um, well. . ."
Harry pushed past him, the two boys entering the room. "Hello," he said, giving Ginny a slight smile. "Your dad sent us up for you."
"Mum needs help in the kitchen," Ron took up, suddenly remembering why he was there.
Ginny nodded--the burden of the only daughter, kitchen duty--and glanced back at Hermione. "We'll talk later," she assured, with a raised, warning brow.
She slipped past the wizards. Ron quickly shut the door behind her, giving Harry a look of relief.
Hermione stood from the bed. "I thought you two would be mingling with the guests."
"Well, 'the guests' just started up fighting again, so we thought we'd escape," Harry answered, smirking. His emerald eyes went past Hermione, seeing the corner of the book on the bed. A voice seemed to be whispering to him. Without trying to hear it, he shook it off. "Thought we'd stop in for a visit. How are you, Hermione, really?"
She ignored his intense gaze, shrugging, wanting to brush away his offer to listen. Before she could reply, two strong arms were latched around her torso, pulling her into an awkward hug. Hermione blinked in surprise at Ron's chest pressed against her face.
"I'm so sorry about your aunt, 'Mione," he whispered into her hair. "Harry told me what happened."
Hermione felt the heat rising to her face and quickly wiped her eyes. The sudden swell of emotion had taken her off guard. She bit her bottom lip, holding back.
"Thank you, Ron," she said, gently sliding out of his hug. Harry's worried gaze caught hers. "I'm a bit numb from it all at the moment," she lied. "But I'm sure it'll catch up with me soon. Can we just talk about something else for now?"
Ron nodded, abashed. "Course we can."
Harry stared at them, somewhat distracted by the pulsing in his ears. He shook his head, clearing it. "So, vampires," he began, trying to start over. At Hermione's raised brow, he clarified, "Downstairs. Supposedly discussing some past affair with a vampire slayer. Strike anyone else as odd?"
Hermione looked somewhat skeptical. "I'm fairly certain Xander and Mr. Giles aren't vampires, Harry." She suddenly remembered meeting the blond man in the bathroom and his somewhat strange greeting with Buffy. "Oh, Spike!" she realized. "And the other man, I believe Buffy said his name was--"
"Angel," Harry finished. "Xander just filled us in a bit, well, as much as he was willing."
"Which wasn't very much, truth be told," Ron added. "But Mum told me a bit about our guests before you lot arrived. She was somewhat panicked about them being here, actually. Thought it was the vampires who had her in a tizzy, but she's recruited them to help prepare the squash, so now I'm thinking she was more wary of the blue one."
"Blue?" Hermione took a seat.
Harry seemed just as puzzled and gave Hermione a small grin. "A vampire who ate a smurf, perhaps?"
"What's a smurf? You mean the imp?" Ron asked, perturbed. He brushed the question off and sat down on the bed beside Hermione. "She ain't a vampire of any sort, she's an Old One's what Mr. Gunn said."
"Mr. Gunn?" Harry asked.
"Another person you haven't met. He's human. Tonks is taking care of him," Ron snapped, frustrated.
Hermione blinked. "Another guest? Tonks is here? How many people are in the Burrow right now?"
"Bloody hell, would you stop interrupting my story--and to answer you, I have no idea. Lost count already, but I suppose they'll be more come supper." Ron took a breath. "Now, as I was saying, Mum got a bit iffy around the blue one, and she told us lot not to be around her. Before I could ask what she was, you were at the floo, but from the talk of the others, I'd say she was some sort of demon. What do you think?"
"Blast!" Hermione snapped. The two boys stared at her in shock. She blushed. "Sorry, I just realized that a good portion of my books are in the States. They would have been a great help right now, as I'm fairly certain that I've heard the phrase "Old One" before. And I think you're right, Ron, it seems they were related in some way to demons."
"What exactly are we referring to as demons?" Harry asked. "In class, when we studied vampires, we didn't refer to them as demon."
"That's because the recommended courses of study in most wizarding schools don't fully discuss demon theory," Hermione explained. "Demons are not necessarily what muggles associate the word with, all hellfire and brimstone to them. Demon is a somewhat loose term, and it simply refers to any magical creatures with a very particular evolutionary history. Most of the magical creatures we study in the wizarding world are not from the demon line; however, vampires are one of the main exceptions, as they are found in such abundance in most parts of the world and are a definite threat when not controlled."
"I've never even heard of demon theory," Ron muttered.
"Well, that's because one would have read about it, Ronald, not 'hear' about it." Hermione bit down her smirk, trying to scold him. "Honestly, you should take more advantage of the library."
"I don't think all books are worth reading," Ron said, suddenly solemn. He was looking over her shoulder, seeing the edge of the book beneath her pillow.
Hermione pursed her lips and turned away from him, pulling the large book free. She put it on her lap, trying to the hide the electrifying sensation its touch sent her fingertips. Ron instinctively scooted down from her, his eyes staying on the front, almost fleshy looking cover and reading the title.
"The Lord of the Dead," he said. His voice was faint, as if he didn't want the world outside to hear him. "Doesn't sound like a particularly cheerful read to me."
"Have you opened it again since. . .?" Harry's question trailed off.
"No," Hermione quickly replied, shaking her head. Her fingers tightened around the binding. "I haven't. I was thinking of it, though." She ignored Harry's frown. "Ginny and I were discussing how useful it would be to know the identity of this High Necromancer character, the one who wrote the book."
"Useful," Harry repeated. "You really think opening it would be the best way to find out."
"Dumbledore might know," Ron piped in. "You could ask him."
"That's what Ginny said," Hermione replied. "I suppose it wouldn't hurt to ask him."
None but the heir of my legacy shall know. You will ask in vain.
Hermione blinked, looking up at the boys. She realized at once that she'd been the only one to hear the voice.
Harry placed a hand on her shoulder, drawing her eyes upward. "Just do me a favor, Hermione. Don't open the book again, not until you've learned more."
She swallowed hard. "Not until I've learned more," she agreed.
Her fingers were trembling, her nails digging so deeply that she was afraid they'd soon reach the pages within.
A rapping on the door distracted her from the book's call. "Come in."
Fred and George arrived in two short pops, favoring an apparation over turning a knob. They flashed prideful grins, as if they'd just returned from curing world hunger.
"Oh, Ronnikins," Fred began.
George took up, "you're needed downstairs."
"Apparently Mum expected you and Harry to return and help her-"
"-'Feed twenty or so mouths within the hour.' We're not honestly sure if there's twenty of us here, but we'll go with it," George finished. When Ron and Harry simply stared at him, he waved his arms. "Up and about, men--we've chicken to battle."
The boys groaned, sounding more like their twelve-year-old selves than young men, and made their way to the door, shooting Hermione looks of remorse.
Hermione stood as well. "I can help," she said.
Fred gave her a sad smile. There was something intense behind his eyes that made her want to look away. Hermione wasn't sure, but she thought it might be distrust.
"Why don't you get some rest?" he suggested. "We'll come and get you in time for supper, right?"
Hermione was about to insist on helping Mrs. Weasley when another thought passed through her mind. "Where exactly did you put Malfoy?"
Rupert couldn't hide his grin as he watched Arthur Weasley recruit Angel and Spike for kitchen work. His sense of humor was in bad taste, he knew, considering the rather ridged state between himself and the wizarding family, but the stunned and somewhat confused expressions on the vampires' faces were priceless.
"Something amusing?" a voice snapped.
Giles blinked, turning to see that Buffy was still standing, her brow wrinkled in frustration at having the other half of her argument taken from her. Obviously, she was looking for someone to release her anger upon. It took Rupert only two seconds to realize that the situation was no longer quite as funny.
"No, of course not," he answered. He glanced up at the staircase, seeing Xander's backside as the one-eyed carpenter ushered the remaining young wizards upstairs and sped off to find himself a nice safe distance from the discussion.
"Did you know?" she asked, her voice sharp. "About Spike."
At Giles' stare, Buffy crossed her arms.
"Andrew." He looked down, knowing the answer would not suffice. "I'm sorry."
"Not as sorry as I am," she bit.
But she didn't budge from her spot. She simply waited. Seconds passed and Giles took off his glasses, giving them a sweep of the cleaning cloth. He knew what she wanted.
"We should talk," Rupert finally admitted. "About a few things I might have left out when I told you about my troubled youth."
He thought of the others only a room away and gently touched her arm, leading her deeper into the house and to a short hall before the back door. Though he could hear the muffled sound of Molly's high, cheerful voice barking orders, he was fairly certain that she wouldn't be able to hear him over the bickering vampires. Not that she needed to hear it. Molly knew the tale better than most.
Buffy's green eyes were bright, softer as she watched his expression go from regretful to pained in seconds.
"So." She cocked her head. "Are you going to spill on your own or do I have to tip you over?"
End Notes: Sorry for all the dialogue in this chapter, but I needed these conversations to take place so that I could move on to the action soon.