Chapter Text
Harry paced his office until 10 minutes to midnight, then apparated to the spot nearest Midnight Mystique. It was an unassuming red brick building with the white shutters at the windows and a big oak door. There were several other witches and wizards milling around in front, all of them dressed like Malfoy, in head to toe black. He stuck out like a sore thumb in his jeans and gray hoodie.
At midnight on the dot, the back door swung open to reveal an unearthly beautiful woman dressed in a long black velvet skirt and a ruby red corset. She wore a choker of dark red rubies and a matching ring. She was as pale as moonlight with long dark hair that fell to her waist. She didn’t say anything, but beckoned to the group of people clustered outside the door, who queued up to trail after her.
The room they were led into had dark red walls embossed with gold filagree. Instead of lights, there were torches mounted at even intervals around the room. There were several plush sofas and chairs and a long cherry wood bar top that ran the length of the room. It was unlike any club he’d ever been to. No music, no strobe lights, not even much noise. Just the low murmur of voices in hushed conversation. Most of the group he’d come in with fanned out throughout the room, joining people already seated at tables or draped on the many sofas and chairs.
Harry scanned the people around him. It seemed just about everyone favored black, though it was occasionally broken up with brocades of deep green and gold or velvet jewel tones. And almost everyone in the room was so beautiful, it was like being trapped in an alternate dimension.
“Who are you?” The woman who opened the door was suddenly in front of him, her stunning face filling his vision. Her eyes were the most unusual shade of amber he’d ever seen, a thick band of gold for her irises, and her lips were full and red. She stared into his eyes without blinking and Harry swore he could feel himself becoming light headed. With some effort, he broke her gaze, shaking his head slightly.
The woman appeared vaguely surprised and a bit intrigued as she considered him. “Your name?” she inquired again, “I don’t believe I’ve seen you at one of our gatherings before. Who invited you?”
“I…I’m…erm…delivery for Mia Wilkins,” he said. He had to dig through his memories for the right words. He’d been clear headed when he walked into the room, but the longer he stayed, the more fuzzy his mind became. Perhaps it was the heavy scent of perfume in the air, the musky, exotic fragrance filling his nostrils and dulling his other senses.
The woman before him went from vaguely surprised to very surprised. “Mia ordered out, did she? What a waste when we offer such a magnificent house buffet. But all right. You’re out of dress code. Change.”
Something about her voice compelled obedience. Harry pulled out his wand and waved it over himself until he too was dressed in the black turtleneck/black blazer/black trousers combo of everyone else he came in with.
The woman gave him a critical onceover, then nodded. “Do something about your face and your hair too. Even take-out should come with a bit of presentation.”
Harry wasn’t exactly sure what she meant, but he waved his wand over his face. His jawline became a little sharper, his cheekbones a touch more prominent. He didn’t change his eyes, but deepened the emerald color to a darker shade of forest green, and he changed his hair color to a light brown. The changes were minimal, but enough so that anyone who walked past him, wouldn’t see Harry Potter.
The woman didn’t look especially impressed, muttering something about ground beef and filet mignon.
“Follow me.” She led him to a bank of brushed gold elevators and punched the up arrow. When the doors opened, a house elf in black tea towel tied over one shoulder and wrapped with gold and white cords around the middle stood there. “Dimitty, takeout for Ms. Wilkins. Please show him to her rooms.”
“Yes, Mistress.”
The gorgeous woman gave Harry one last appraising look, then returned to the other guests. They took the elevator to the top floor, then Dimitty led him through a maze of hallways before pausing in front of a double set of doors. She waved her hand, and the doors opened to a beautiful suite of rooms done up in creams and golds. There was a large fireplace against the wall with a pair of matching sofas positioned in front of it. Several vases and potted plants dotted the room. A large crystal chandelier hung overhead, catching the firelight and throwing prisms around the room.
The house elf gestured to a chaise lounge at the foot of the bed. “Please sit.”
She watched through large unblinking eyes as Harry did, then gave him a slight bow. “Missy Wilkins will be in soon.” The door snicked closed behind her.
Harry took a closer look around the room. Unlike the downstairs, which was steeped in shadows, this room was bright and pretty. He could smell a hint of vanilla, which he assumed was from the candles burning brightly in their sconces. It was a beautiful room, but thoroughly impersonal. It could have belonged to anyone. There wasn’t so much as a trace of Hermione anywhere. And why would there be? Hermione loathed clubs of any kind. And even if the room he was in now was a far cry from the den of shadows below, he still couldn’t see Hermione Granger, of all people, willingly setting foot in a place like this.
Harry leaned forward, his head in his hands. What was he doing here? Malfoy was obviously fucking with him. He was probably back at his manor, laughing his ass off at what a fool Harry Potter was. Either that or he was setting him up for something. And like a brainless prat, Harry walked right into it.
He knew he should leave. There was no chance Hermione would be this close and not reach out to him–and definitely no way in hell Draco Malfoy would find her first. But even if he knew it was a lost cause, he couldn’t bring himself to leave until he knew without a doubt Malfoy was lying. Because if there was even a chance he’d been telling the truth…well, Harry wasn’t leaving until he knew for sure.
The shushing sound of a door opening on thick carpet made him lift his head and before he realized how it happened, a woman was standing in front of him. Harry’s gaze tracked up her body slowly, from her delicate feet in strappy black heels with ribbons that wound around her ankles to the strapless black dress that hugged every ripe curve. Long dark hair streamed over her bare shoulders and down her back. Her skin was flawless, though so fair it practically glowed against the dark material of her dress. Her fingernails and toenails were painted a deep crimson red, which matched the shade on her full lips. Steeling himself, he lifted his head higher to meet her gaze.
Warm brown eyes met his. The same warm brown eyes he knew almost as well as his own. Eyes that seemed to have the power to see directly into his soul.
His heart throbbed painfully against his chest, and he just managed to bite back a whimper. It was her. It was Hermione. Different in ways he couldn’t quite explain, but still unmistakably her. He’d finally found her. His throat closed over his vocal chords.
Harry drank the sight of her in, like he could never look at her enough. She was staring back at him, just as frankly, with a small frown hovering around the corners of her mouth. He wanted to touch her, to feel with his own hands that she was here, that she was real, and that she was finally back with him where she belonged. His hands itched to reach for her, but something in her expression stopped him. He could practically see her brain ticking through her options.
After a moment, she shook her head. “It’s no good, Harry,” she said, “You might as well drop the glamor. I would know your scent anywhere. I knew that twitchy little ferret wouldn’t be able to keep his damn mouth shut.”
She sat down on the opposite end of the sofa, her arms crossed tight across her chest. Harry stared at her, afraid to even blink. Afraid that in that second, she would disappear from his sight, once again leaving him lost and empty and alone. He stared at her until his vision blurred from tears, two of which trailed down the side of his face.
The stern look on her face softened at the sight of them. “Oh, Harry,” she murmured.
Her voice–that blend of gentleness and concern and affection that had haunted his every waking moment for the last six months–finally shook him out of his stupor. Before she could say anything else, he’d closed the distance between them and gathered her into his arms. With a sigh of resignation, Hermione melted against him.
And then he was crying in earnest, his face buried in her silky hair. Her arms wound around his waist and after a moment of clinging to her, he felt her maneuver them backwards and ease him back into the spot on the chaise lounge he’d just vacated.
She tried to pull back, but Harry refused to let her go. If anything, he pulled her in even tighter until she was half in his lap. She was saying something–her voice soothing and familiar–but he couldn’t hear her over the words over the whine in his head. She was here. She was really here.
He’d spent the last six months fighting back any thread of fear that threatened to work its way into his conscious mind that maybe–as much as he didn’t want to admit it–maybe everyone was right and she was really gone. Maybe the dream really had been nothing more than a dream.
“They told me you were dead,” he breathed into her hair, “Do you have any idea what that did to me?”
She pulled back a fraction to look up at him, one hand cupping his face. “Yes, I do. That’s why I came to warn you.”
“But where have you been?” he said, “Here this whole time?”
“Not the whole time.”
“Why didn’t you come to me?” he asked, “Why didn’t you let me know you were okay?”
Hermione’s fingers stroking along his jaw was like a balm to his soul. He leaned into her touch, wishing he could feel it everywhere. Now that she was in his arms again, he could admit to himself just how afraid he’d been that it would never happen again.
“Because I wasn’t okay,” she said, “Not for a long time. And not coherent enough to contact you.”
“Where were you before you came here?”
“I was in a…a care center of sorts for a long time. I came here about 6 weeks ago.”
Harry blanched. “Six weeks? Six weeks and you didn’t contact me?”
“I couldn't,” she said, her voice turning defensive, “I might look all right now, but I wasn’t for a very long time. It wouldn't have been safe for you to be around me. By the time it was, you’d already had the funeral. What was I supposed to do? Owl you?”
He stared at her, anger and hurt warring with relief at seeing her again. He wanted to throttle her for not reaching out sooner. For not at least trying to contact him. “So you decided it was better to let Draco Fucking Malfoy tell me the truth instead?”
Her lips thinned, a flash of anger lighting her dark eyes. “Just wait til I get my hands on that foul little cockroach. He promised he wouldn’t say anything. ”
‘“Tell me what happened,” Harry said, “I know there was an attack. And a fire. But what were you doing there in the first place?”
“The Ministry has been concerned about the uptick in vampire activity in the last few years,” she said, “Although magic folk and vampires have been able to come to an understanding of sorts, there are some who still believe vampires should return to the old ways. They view themselves as royalty and humans as their food. My team was sent on the pretense of investigating artifacts supposedly cursed by the vampire king and queen. But really, the Ministry had gotten word of a nest in Egypt. They wanted Unspeakables and curse breakers on hand to help seal the tomb after the artifacts were retrieved.”
All of this matched the reports Harry managed to take from the records archive. But the holes in the information were so big, Harry could have driven Mr. Weasley’s old Ford through them.
“That doesn’t make any sense,” he said, “Why Unspeakables, not Aurors? Or vampire hunters, for that matter.”
“I don’t know,” she said, “You’d have to ask the Minister about that. All I know is when we got there, they were waiting for us. Someone tipped them off. They knew we were coming. As soon as we were in the crypt, they attacked. They slaughtered my whole team.”
She ducked her head then. The hitch in her voice let Harry know she was crying. He cupped her face and titled it back, a little taken aback to see not tears, but drops of blood trailing down her cheeks. She pulled out of his grasp. “Don’t look,” she said, trying to hastily wipe them away on the back of her hand. “I know it’s unsettling.”
“I don’t care,” Harry said, drawing her hands away from her face, “I wouldn’t care if you were crying drops of acid. All I care about is that you’re here.” He pulled her closer against him, tucking her head against his shoulder. Her hair smelled like summer rain, sweet and cool and clean. “How did you get away?”
“I didn’t exactly,” Hermione said, “Most of my team didn’t have their wands out. Why would they? We thought we were inspecting artifacts, not walking into a trap. But I always have mine spring-loaded in my arm holster. A precaution from–”
“--the war,” Harry said, “I know. Me too.”
“I wasn’t fast enough to get away,” she said, “He’d already bitten me by the time I got my hand up. But I managed to cast my patronus and the light burned him so badly, he let go of me.” She sniffed again and Harry saw two more drops of blood splatter onto her forearm. “My team was already dead. No one was even screaming anymore. I apparated out of there before anyone else noticed me. I didn’t know until later that the Ministry torched the crypt. I suppose they figured there was no one left to save.”
She sniffed again, then sat up straight. “Anyway, I’m not exactly sure what happened after that. It’s all very fuzzy. I just know that someone found me and took me to a place to recover. When I was strong enough to travel, I came here.” She turned to look at him again. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner.”
“You were going to tell me though, right?” When she didn’t answer, he repeated, “Right?”
“I don’t know,” she said softly, “It’s been 6 months, Harry. I didn’t want to cause you more pain. You were moving on with your life–”
“The fuck I was!” he cut in, “I’ve done nothing but look for you since that night!”
Hermione chewed her bottom lip for a moment, and the gesture was so familiar, it made him want to cry again. “Yes, I know. But eventually you would have,” she said, “That’s the thing about life, Harry. It goes on. Yours would have too. I’m not sure I did you any favors by coming to you that night.”
“Listen to me,” he said, taking her face in his hands. “You coming to me that night is the only thing that’s kept me sane through this whole ordeal. Losing you…I can’t even think about it, Hermione. If I thought you were gone forever...I wouldn’t survive it.”