Moonrise || Harry Potter Twilight Crossover || FanFiction

Chapter Two: Hermione's POV

CHAPTER TWO

Hermione's POV:

I look down at the letter in my hand, for what feels like the hundredth time, filled with disbelief. The first two lines are classic Bella-babbling that warmed my heart to no end, but after that... "Before you do come, though, there are a few things you should probably know," I mumble out loud, running a single hand through my hair, regretting it when my fingers get tangled in the curls. "A vampire. My sister is mated to a vampire. And her best sort-of human friend turns into a bloody wolf the size of a horse!"

Groaning aloud, I put down the letter, and move into the bathroom to splash my face with water. A glance up at the mirror tells me I look about as good as I feel- drawn, strung-out, my out-of-control hair even more out-of-control then usual, with a nice extra layer of grease, skin several shades paler then normal with purple rings under my eyes that could rival Bella's vampire.

Vampire... it's a modern word in a world where vampires are romanticized, and loved. In the early times they were considered demons. In India they were called Vetalas, those who inhabit corpses and drink blood. In Africa the Asanbosam and the Adze who hunts children. They knew to fear them then. They knew of dark things that drank blood and the people were wise and feared them.

Smart of them. I wish one of the books I'd sent Bella about the amazing magical creatures had included some of the not-so amazing, very, extremely dangerous creatures as well- such as, oh I don't know, vampires? I didn't have a problem with the ones who abstained from the murder of innocents, which was sadly a rare few, but I did have a problem with my very breakable, very muggle sister being mated to one.

Splashing my face with cool water, I try to think firmly about my sister not in the arms of a being designed to seduce and slaughter innocent humans like her. I don't succeed, and tiredly wipe my face dry before moving back out into the small room I'm staying in.

The Leakey Cauldron is a simple place, and my small room has a double bed, matchbox-sized bathroom, full-length mirror and inbuilt cupboard- nothing but the bare necessities. In one corner of the room my trunk is leaning haphazardly against the wall, and an assortment of books and parchment is scattered across the floor.

It had only been one month since the event that had come to be called "The Battle of Hogwarts", but the Wizarding World had already changed drastically, and was in the process of still more change. Victory and loss, celebrations and mourning. The exhilaration of finding fellow survivors tempered by the heart wrenching goodbyes as loved ones and respected friends were buried. The fear and uncertainty as survivors searched for any sign of the missing.

And at the center of the emotional storm war Harry, Ron and myself. Harry insisted that he would attend every funeral, meet every survivor who needed reassuring and visit every site where refugees huddled to tell them that the long night of Voldemort's reign of terror had lifted.

I'd accompanied Harry because I knew what each meeting, funeral and gathering cost him. Looking behind the façade that he erected for the outside world to see, I knew how close to the edge he was skirting each time he walked into a room or up to a graveside.

I can't remember the last time I slept without dreaming. Every time I close my eyes, all I can see is green light flashing under my eyelids, and gaunt, skull-like faces, with twisted grins, dancing along my vision. I wake up screaming, coated in sweat, clutching my left forearm, my fingers tracing the knotted scars spelling MUDBLOOD.

A chill runs through me, a cold, sickening fear, and I spin on my heel, going straight back to the bathroom, straight to the shower. The water starts running the second I open the door, automatically setting itself to the perfect temperature. Setting my wand down on the sink and shrugging out of my dirty clothes, I step under the warm spray of water and start to scrub at my skin with the soap, cleaning away all traces of her, shivering all the while.