Forever Knight [Harmione]

Prologue

He nodded, tucking his wand deeper into his robes. 

“You should be asleep at this hour,” she said softly, her own gaze drifting to the droplets on the window.  “The boys and I will guard the house.”

“I don’t sleep at night anymore.”  It was the truth.  He had somewhat reversed the clock of his body through the years and did sleep during the day, though never for long periods.  A few hours, maybe.  It worked for him, anyway.  Most of the Death Eater attacks he had the pleasure of being part of had happened at night, so this reversal of body clock worked out better for him. 

She smiled, that hint of fang taking a bit away from the old warmth in it.  “Try a coffin.  Makes sleeping in the day much better.”

He stared at her, wondering if she was joking.  She half was and she half wasn’t, but he chuckled in spite of himself.  “And I thought Lucien and Solomon had a twisted sense of humor.”

“Oh, they’re consistently better at it than I am, but you always brought out the best in me, Harry.”

He faltered a bit, a dull ache and remembered longing surged inside him at her words.  “Did I?  Do I still?”

Her gaze was cold for a moment before it became filled with such unspeakable sadness.  He wanted to reach for her; pull her into his arms and whisper in her ear that everything was going to be alright.  He wanted to be that reassuring blanket for her again; have her cling to him for love, and support and warmth and ecstasy.  He wanted her. 

Nothing had changed, he thought painfully.  He may have been a different man than what he was five years ago, and many life-altering situations had pushed him to go one way or another, but his feelings for her had remained constant, whether he realized it then or not.  Now he knew, and once again he found himself awed at the impact of her presence.  She had always made him see things; had always cleared murky waters of thoughts and emotions.  She had been his obsession, after all.

She began to speak. 

“There is raging violence inside me,” she whispered in her strange, ethereal way.  “I’m not afraid of blood.  I’m not afraid of death.  And sometimes… I’m not even afraid to kill.  That changes a person forever, Harry.  I’m Hermione on the outside.  I might even be Hermione on the inside.  But my core… my soul… it’s not Hermione anymore.  I’m a vampire; a monster.  Some might say I’m condemned to hell.”

He shook his head.  “You’re not a monster.”

“Harry… right now, I can hear your heartbeat.   I hear your blood coursing through your veins.  And I want to taste it so badly…”  She said it like a plea; a sigh of such desperate longing.

He sucked in a breath, his heart beating faster.  Her own breath caught.  He knew then she was telling the truth, but how can he be afraid?  He was seeing her; speaking to her, as he’d wanted to for five years.  He’d read books and texts about her kind; wishing and praying that there was some way he could get her back.  Bring her back to them.  And now she was back, but her return hadn’t required a ritual, or a supernatural summoning.  They simply had a shared cause, one they’d have to fight from different sides of reality. 

By all appearances it was still her, but more mysterious; touched by a beautiful sort of darkness. 

His motivated study of vampires had developed in him a fascination for her kind; a deep, obsessive interest that made him want to understand what drove their blood lust; what abysmal cultures were they entrenched in.  What were they really like? 

Now, looking at her and inhaling her scent.  It was almost as if he wanted those fangs of hers to sink into him.  Drink him.  She was intoxicating and his desire spiked like it hadn’t in five years.

He had known lust during her absence; had even given into it, but what she called in him had always been different; more intense; more natural and primal.  Now it was pulsing through him again; that urge to take her and love her.   

Her tiny smile showed a hint of fang.  “It’s just vampire pheromones, Harry.  You don’t want me.  You just think you do.  Lucien and Solomon can make you feel the same way if they wanted to, fortunately, or maybe unfortunately, they don’t swing that way.”

Harry looked her in the eyes.  “You don’t need to use pheromones on me.”

She took his hand and he laced his fingers through hers, pulling her to him. 

“Feel that?” she asked.  “My skin is cold.  It does that when I need to feed.  I warm up when I’ve drank.”

If she meant to scare him, it wasn’t working. 

“Hermione, I—“

Her fingers hovered lightly over his lips.  “Don’t say anything.  Just don’t.”

And he remembered again, when she had said similar words to him, but back then it had offered promises.  Now, it offered nothing.

She pulled her hand away from his grasp.  “I’m sorry, Harry, but it can’t ever be the way it used to be.”

He thought maybe it was better if she had ripped his throat out and drank her fill of him. 

She walked away, her footsteps mingling with the shattering of his soul.