Chapter Two

Hermione didn't understand what was happening. Where did that bright light come from? Where did the man come from? Who was he? Why was he there? And why was he naked? It was all confusing.

"What am I doing here?"

The man was not happy to be in her flat. Not that she could blame him. If she'd been going about her life and suddenly was transported to a stranger's home without a stitch of clothing on, she wouldn't be pleased either. She tried to push him off, but he wouldn't budge. Was he going to remain right where he was until he got a satisfactory explanation? She hoped not. It was awkward and besides, she wasn't sure how to explain what happened.

"I'm not sure. One moment I was alone and the next, you were on top of me. Do you think you could..?"

Perhaps finally realizing that the position they were in, especially as complete strangers, was highly inappropriate, the man rolled off of Hermione and climbed to his feet. Getting an eyeful of all he possessed, she averted her eyes. Hardly some innocent prude, she just wasn't used to seeing a man naked quite so early on in their acquaintance. It usually took a couple of dates or one really good bottle of wine.

Once she was back on her feet too, Hermione picked a blanket she kept folded on the arm of her sofa up. Without looking in his direction again, she handed it to the man. He snatched it out of her hand to immediately wrap around his waist. Only when she knew he was covered did she dare to look at him again.

She couldn't deny that whoever he was, he was handsome. Tall and lean but with very well-defined muscles, he was the sort of man to turn women's heads. Likely he knew that power well and used it to his advantage. His dark hair was thick and wavy. Most startling of all were his deep blue eyes. Even flashing with frustration and pure annoyance, she couldn't stop looking at them. It wasn't always easy to tell a person's age in the wizarding world thanks to the beauty of magical genes. If she had to guess, she would assume he was in his early thirties.

"You don't know how I got here?"

"No, I don't. Like I said, one moment I was alone and then the next there was a bright light and you knocked me to the ground."

He was the suspicious type. His narrowed eyes were proof of that. It was a bit insulting in her opinion. She was no liar. What would she have to gain by not telling him the full truth?

"And what were you doing alone right before you saw the bright light? Some sort of dark magic spell? There are few countries in this world where necromancy is legal. Are you some sort of dark witch? Because I've had my fill of evil witches and wizards, thank you."

"Necromancy? Dark magic? What are you going on about? Clearly a transportation spell went awry or you used a faulty portkey. I'm no dark witch, sir. How dare you?"

He rolled his beautiful blue eyes in such a dramatic fashion that she was almost tempted to strike him with a dark spell just for his cheek. How could anyone accuse her of being a necromancer? There was a reason why those sorts were considered the lowest of the low. Death was not something that should ever be messed with, especially lightly.

"I was dead, madam. Dead and in a beautiful paradise without a single care in my head. Then I was rudely ripped from that existence to end up here in this tacky flat."

She scoffed. "Tacky flat"? That was hardly a fair description for her home. She took great pride in where she lived and was rather proud of how it looked. The very rude dead man was getting on her nerves. Evidently he wasn't in full control of his senses. Maybe she should check with St. Mungo's to see if they were missing one of their long-term patients. Paradise indeed. The man was a nutter. Handsome certainly, but absolutely insane.

"You have yet to answer my question. What were you doing in the moments leading up to my kidnapping?"

'Kidnapping'? Oh, he was exhausting, wasn't he? As if she wanted a lunatic in her home, especially naked and irritating. Hermione rolled her eyes.

"I wasn't doing anything dark or nefarious, I can assure you, sir. I was examining a gold ring with a carved inscription on the inside."

His brow furrowed at her answer.

"Where is this ring?"

She was startled by how calm and quiet his voice was when he asked his question. Still nothing made the least bit of sense. Needing something to occupy her mind lest she really do something drastic like hex him or worse, Hermione began looking around her desk for the gold ring. When it grew too hot to hold, she dropped it on the floor. Where it ended up in the ensuing chaos was anybody's guess. She got down on her knees to look under the desk.

"Do please cover up, madam. I'm not interested in looking at your charms."

The belt to her dressing gown had come loose at some point in all of the excitement. Crouching down on the floor only made it worse. She looked down to see that she indeed had all of her charms on display. Just as he had been able to hide nothing from her view, he was able to see her. At least they were even. With reddening cheeks, she retied her belt and continued her search for the location of the ring.

She spotted the hunk of gold up against the wall. Fearing her dressing gown would ride up too high on her legs and expose herself again to the horrible man's gaze, she resorted to using a summoning spell. Realizing she could have done that from the beginning made her feel dumb. Clearly the strange man flustered her with his very presence. Once she had the ring in her hand, she carefully stood up to her feet.

"This is…"

He snatched it straight out of her hand. Not even caring that was being the height of rudeness, he held it up close to his eyes to view all of its markings.

"…the ring I was talking about."

"Where did you get this?"

His tone of voice hadn't been friendly from the very beginning of their unusual encounter, but she thought she detected anger and even more confusion when he demanded to know how she came upon the silly ring. How was she going to get him out of her flat and out of her life? Being around him set her on edge like she'd never experienced with anyone else. Maybe it was just a result of their bizarre introduction. Even in the wizarding world it wasn't every day that naked strangers just appeared in someone's home uninvited.

"Borgin and Burkes."

"That horrible shop in Knockturn Alley?"

"Yes. I was inspecting it for the Ministry today and I found that on one of the basement shelves collecting dust."

The man scoffed and rolled his eyes again. His childish dramatics were getting on her nerves. Who the fuck was he?

"Why does that not surprise me? Of course the horrible creature would pawn whatever he could. Greyback never could control his sticky fingers."

"Excuse me?"

He waved her off just like Borgin had hours earlier. It was growing tiresome. What was he talking about and how was the werewolf involved? It had been years since she last heard his name.

"The magic of the ring couldn't have been activated without the incantation on the back of the ring being read aloud. Who would do something so reckless?"

"I would."

There was no sense in denying the truth. It was what she did after all even if she didn't fully realize what she was doing. Her answer was spoken in a near whisper but he didn't miss it.

"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. Maybe she misunderstood? Perhaps the name was more common than she ever realized.

"Igor Karkaroff, the former Durmstrang Headmaster?"

"Yes, former indeed. Hard to keep up your career from the other side after all."

"I need… I need a drink. Would you care for one Mr. Karkaroff?"

"Finally the witch shows some manners."

Choosing to let his foul mood and rude behavior go for the moment due to what had to have been a fairly traumatic experience, Hermione left the irritated wizard alone to find the bottle of fire whiskey she usually only kept around for bad colds. Despite already having a glass earlier in the evening with George, she didn't think anyone would begrudge her another. Pulling the bottle and two glasses out of the cupboard, she filled both glasses with a large amount. There was no reason to not indulge all the way under such unusual circumstances.

Karkaroff sat on her sofa with his elbows on his knees and his head cradled in his hands. Was he all right? His skin was pale, but hadn't he been pale when he was alive too? It was strange to see him looking so much younger than he did when she was a fourth year and he was at Hogwarts for the Triwizard Tournament. No more so than realizing he's somehow alive when he'd been dead for years, she thought. Careful not to startle him, she nudged one of his hands with a glass. He seemed grateful for the fire whiskey and acted almost as if he was on the verge of thanking her before thinking better of it.

She wasn't insulted. Maybe she would've been if he was anybody else and they were in the midst of a normal evening. There was no excuse to be rude, in her opinion. Considering he'd only recently been dead, she took pity on him. She sat down in her favorite reading chair to sip at her own glass. Neither of them spoke for an uncomfortable few minutes. What was there to say? Where did they even begin?

"I would ask you to pinch me to prove I wasn't in the middle of horrible nightmare, but that's not necessary. I don't recall even falling asleep since I died."

"I'm terribly sorry, Mr. Karkaroff. I don't even know what happened."

He sighed and gulped the rest of his glass down. Annoyed that it was empty, he rose abruptly and disappeared into the kitchen. When he returned moments later, he had the entire bottle in his hands. He was thoughtful enough to top off her nearly empty glass before resuming his seat on the sofa.

"It was the ring. It belonged to my grandfather, my mother's father. It's been passed down for generations. It was a source of contention between my cousin and myself that I got it in Grandfather's will and not him. For the rest of my life, he hated me for not handing it over just because he believed he had more of a right to it than I did."

"And it brings people back from the dead?"

"Apparently. Grandfather only told me that it possessed strong magic for the right person. I had no idea what that meant. When I asked him about the inscription, he warned me to never speak it out loud unless I was certain I was prepared for the consequences. It all sounded far too ominous for me to even try."

His blue eyes cut to stare at her with an expression that could only be described as disgust. Clearly if it had been up to him, the inscription would never have been recited and the ring would've remained in the dusty carton in Borgin's basement for all of eternity. How could she explain to him the pull the ring had on her magic or how she felt a compulsion to read the inscription out loud even when she knew it was a dangerous idea without sounding like a complete lunatic?

"He said a day would come when the ring would be in the right hands at the right time. Whoever held it would read the inscription almost as if it was against their will."

Or maybe she wouldn't need to. Maybe he knew much more about the strange ring than she realized. She decided it couldn't hurt to tell him everything.

"I could sense the ring when I went into the basement. It was strange. It was tucked away in the very back but I could feel it there."

"It called out to you? To your magic?"

His brow was furrowed. Why did he seem so concerned? How much worse would it all get get? She sighed. In for a penny, in for a pound, as the Muggles said.

"Yes. It called out to my magic. I thought it was dark, so I sought it out. Only one other item pulled on my magic like that before and it was a horcrux I was destroying with a basilisk fang."

His eyes widened and he muttered something in Russian that sounded a lot like a curse. Swearing in different languages still usually had similar tones. Knowing she'd thoroughly shocked the wizard, she hid her grin behind her glass as she sipped again.

"A basilisk fang? No no, a horcrux? These are such dangerous… Madam, who are you?"

"Hermione Granger."

She stood up and extended her hand for a proper handshake. Still a bit dazed by what she just revealed, he took her hand and gave it a very weak shake. He gulped back more fire whiskey to soothe his nerves.

"You knew I was the Headmaster. Have we met before? I'm sorry, but I don't remember you."

"I would hardly expect you to. We met at Hogwarts during the Triwizard Tournament. I was Viktor Krum's date."

He stared at her again with narrowed eyes. She was starting to find all of the staring uncomfortable.

"But his date was just a little skinny girl. You are…" He gestured towards her with his hand and she suddenly felt as awkward and uncomfortable as she did when her dressing gown opened. "…you are a woman."

"Yes, well, little skinny girls tend to grow up into women if they're lucky."

"What is the date?"

Should she try to ease him into the full truth? What would he do if he knew how many years he'd been dead? Deciding it was better to get the shock over with, she sighed.

"The twelfth of November… 2009."

"2009?"

He looked sick. Of course it would be a shock.

"Fourteen years. I've been dead for fourteen years. Has..? Well, I suppose a lot has probably changed in that time."

"Yes, it has. You'll likely be pleased to know that Voldemort has been dead for the last eleven years. For real, this time. He won't be coming back again."

Likely without even realizing he was doing it, Karkaroff glanced down at his bare left arm. There was no sign of his Dark Mark ever being there. Whether that was a result of him returning from the dead or simply because his master was destroyed, she didn't know. There had yet to be an occasion where she could ask an old Death Eater to show her their arms locked up in Azkaban.

"And Greyback? Is that monster still alive?"

She shook her head.

"He was killed in the last battle of the war."

"I'd like to shake the hand of the one responsible for bringing him down."

"You just did."

The corner of his mouth twitched into a half-smile. His begrudging respect and the fact that he looked the tiniest bit impressed put her on edge. It never got less awkward being pleased for killing a man, even a monster like Fenrir Greyback. She was glad to do her part to rid the world of the cretin, but she had yet to be able to forgive herself… for not doing it sooner. Maybe Lavender would still be alive if she'd only gotten there a couple of minutes sooner. The "what-ifs" were choking.

"Greyback liked to to torment his victims. Play with his food, if you like. I hope you gave him a painful death."

"It was quick. I didn't have the stomach or opportunity to do more. He's dead. That's all that matters. I take it he was the one responsible for your death?"

"For my murder, you mean. Yes, he was. He was always the Dark Lord's best tracker and willing to complete even the dirtiest of jobs. He chased me all over Europe for months. I knew I couldn't run forever. When he finally caught me, he punished me for not surrendering. I wish my death had been quick. It was not."

Though she might have been curious about the details, Hermione wasn't sure she could bear to hear them. After the war, she'd grown weary of violence and blood. If she could stay away from it for the rest of her life, she would be happy. Too many innocent lives had been lost. Karkaroff wasn't exactly blameless for his part, but no one deserved the torture she was certain Greyback put him through.

"Greyback must have stolen the ring and sold it to Borgin. Otherwise it would still be in that shed I died in. Or wherever my body ended up. I don't even know what happened next."

"Greyback cast Morsmordre over the shack to announce his kill."

Karkaroff laughed but there was no humor in it.

"He wasn't even Marked. He didn't have the right to cast that spell, but I'm not surprised he did. Always wanted to feel like he belonged. He would've been proud for everyone to know he killed me."

"I believe your family claimed your body, but I can't be sure. It was so long ago and like you said, a lot has happened since."

"It doesn't matter. Clearly I don't need that body any longer thanks to the spell you cast."

There was bitterness back in his tone. He wasn't about to forgive her for what she did. Why not? Shouldn't he be thankful to no longer be dead?

"So now that I have the misfortune to be alive again, what happens next? I have nowhere to go. No money. No belongings. No home. My family thinks I'm dead."

"You can stay here in my spare bedroom until we figure out what to do next. It's my fault, after all, that you're here."

Hermione hoped she wouldn't come to regret her offer.