Forever Young

Scenes were flashing before Hermione's eyes. Scenes she never wanted to look back on. Amidst the swirling blacks and blues, she saw shadows of visions. The troll in the girl's bathroom; Slytherins everywhere, laughing and teasing; the car accident; watching her father die in the hospital. . . . So, this is what it's like to die, she thought. But all of a sudden, spasms of pain ricocheted through her body. She heard screaming, and the scenes before her eyes vanished into deep nothingness.

Behind the screaming however, she heard and felt someone there with her. Bright light was shining down on her, appearing red through her eyelids. She was writhing with pain, and someone grabbed her arms and straddled her legs. What was happening?

"Herm . . . Herm . . . Hermione . . . HERMIONE!" someone shouted. Apparently, she was the one screaming. It echoed strangely in her ears, and it didn't at all sound remotely like herself. It sounded like Barry White having sucked on helium.

Breathing heavily, she wrenched her eyes open so see who it was. The person holding her down was exactly who she didn't want to see.

"Yo . . . you!" she choked.

Her sight was very blurry, but she could clearly make out the face and outline of the mystery girl. She was holding Hermione's twitching arms down on the floor and shushing her feverishly. "Shhh! It's alright! Calm down!"

"Calm down?" Hermione exclaimed. Her lips kept forming the words even when all the sound had run out of her. What was going on? Who was this girl? Before she could say anything else, the girl and grabbed her behind the head, pulled something out of her pocket, and Hermione felt something hot and sulfurous being poured down her throat, silencing any words that were building up in her chest.

Coughs shook her entire body, and the girl stood up and walked away from her. Hermione rolled over onto her stomach, which was churning with the burning sensation of the potion that felt like liquid fire, coughing into the floor. Whatever kind of potion she'd just been force-fed seemed to be a Strengthening Potion, because her vision was sharpening and the ache in all her joints was easing.

"Your strength should be coming back any moment now," said the girl, thinking along the same lines. "I gave you a Strengthener. You only got a few bruises and cuts and a real shiner, but other than that there's nothing too serious. But we'll have to get you to Exam first before I go confirming anything. As you can tell, I'm no doctor."

Hermione moaned, rubbing her forehead against the floor. She was sweating all over and her throat was burning. The side of her head was still throbbing, and, did that girl say shiner? Her hand crept up and felt under her eye --

"Ow!" she whimpered.

"I told you," said the girl.

Hermione looked over at her, feeling ready and rearing to rip any of the girl's protruding limbs right off. Her anger was replacing the fear that had settled in her gut for about an hour. Who was this girl? Who? But more eye-catching was her current environment . . . or lack thereof.

They were in an entirely white room. It seemed like some sort of hidden universe or world. She looked all around them. It was indefinable. She'd seen places like this in Sci-Fi movies and in photos they have in magazines of models or cars surrounded by complete whiteness, but this was stranger, because she was actually in it and there was nothing to reassure her that there was any sort of exit (or entrance, for that matter). It was brightly lit and seeming to have no walls or ceiling. Just stretching on forever. There wouldn't seem to be a floor had it not been for Hermione's grayish shadow underneath her. The girl was standing in front of a rectangular, silver-framed mirror that seemed to be held up by nothing, but Hermione couldn't see what she was doing. But before she could investigate further, she blurted out, "Who . . . the bloody hell . . . are you?" Her voice was split into fragments, as her lungs felt tiny, needing oxygen every few seconds. She attempted to climb back onto non-functioning legs without much result. "And how do . . . you know . . . my name?"

The girl turned around, and when she looked at Hermione, it was obvious that she was trying to rub the black makeup off her face. Her blue eyes studied Hermione's face with an eyebrow arched. She took a long, deep breath, and Hermione could see her sparkling white fangs when her lips separated. Then she smiled in a casual, it's-not-like-I'm-a-vampire-or-anything way.

"It's been a while, hasn't it?" Hermione frowned and she went on, bouncing happily on the balls of her feet. "Well, I had said before I wouldn't tell you who I am, because I didn't know you. Am I right?"

"Just get . . . to the point!" Hermione said, trying to sit up so that she could work her way to standing. "Who . . . are you?"

The girl smiled wider. "Okay then. Since we are officially involved, my name is Charlie." And she took a low, sweeping bow.

Hermione blinked, her mouth open slightly, and she wobbled to her feet, feeling entirely too dizzy to be allowed. She stood, found her balance, and just stared at Charlie, who was still bent at the waist. All her anger, all her frustration was building up to way beyond her boiling point. And then, swaying drunkenly, she took a deep breath and shrieked at the top of her lungs, "WHAT THE FUCKING HELL WERE YOU THINKING?"

Charlie looked up at her calmly and straightened. "I know," she said, her eyes wide. "What was I thinking? This lipstick makes my lips look like slugs." She turned back to the mirror and continued to rub away at the makeup.

Hermione stared at her incredulously. What? She walked unsteadily towards the girl, who was staring in the mirror held up by nothing. She was no more than an inch shorter than she was, built to almost her exact proportion, as the outfit Charlie was wearing wasn't exactly tight, but enough that her figure was able to be outlined. But how old was she? Fourteen or fifteen?

"In case you're wondering, this is the main Apparation Zone in the headquarters. Because there's only one place like this in the world and it's so easy to think about, it takes about a second to concentrate when Apparating to it. Very simple, quick, and a great escape route. But you're lucky," Charlie said, wiping off the gothic, black tears she had drawn on her cheekbones. "You'd have been killed if I hadn't hurried."

"What . . . do you mean?" Hermione snapped, licking the bit of blood that had dripped down from her lip. Her breathing was slowly improving; her chest and stomach were warm with the Strengthening Potion.

Charlie looked closely at her reflection to make sure she hadn't missed any traces of black and then she pulled a pair of thin-rimmed, silver glasses from her pocket and put them on her face. The mirror vanished, and she turned back to Hermione, exacting Hermione's mental picture of her from their first meeting with the small exception of Charlie's eyebrows blackened by makeup. "I mean, I had only just arrived at the castle when they told me they'd found a victim for the annual Sacrifice of the Innocent. But I hate it. It's really gruesome, and if you don't sit still and watch it, it's considered dishonorable, and they'll throw you in the Hall of Stakes." Charlie sighed and crossed herself quickly, though Hermione was completely baffled as to what the girl was even talking about. "I ran to see who it was, and when they found out I was there, they suggested I did the ceremony." With a shrug, she added, "I had no idea I'd be running into you again."

This lit Hermione's fuse for some unknown reason. She was so cocky. "I think that's . . . a lie!" Hermione shouted before she could even think about it, jabbing a finger at the girl, who stood her ground politely. "I think you . . . you knew I was going to . . . be there! How do you even know . . . who I am? Or my name? How do you know . . . my name . . . if I only just learned . . . yours? What's going on?"

There was a long, loud silence that followed that. The two merely stood looking at each other, Hermione visibly exhausted, her body heaving, and her breathing deep and ragged, and Charlie merely looking, posture unmoving and straight, calm, with that air of one seeming politely interested with absolutely everything Hermione had to say. Even more chilling was the fact that her expression neither weakened nor intensified at such a blunt, opinionated accusation. Hermione didn't know if it was a lie or not, she was just so enraged that everything she heard sounded like a lie. It would have been a little less nerve-racking if Charlie even moved. She just stayed in that calm, controlled state that was driving Hermione insane. How could she possibly just stand there as if nothing was happening?

When she did speak, however, the bright note was lost to a firm, softer voice. "You're right," Charlie said, but this time the smile was absent. "It is a lie. Well, not all of it. Very wise, Hermione." Her gaze became so icy that Hermione trembled. All of a sudden she wasn't so fun-loving and cheerful, and the bounciness of her being made it even eerier.

"Would you like to know the truth, Miss Granger?"

Hermione merely swallowed. Charlie took a deep breath.

"I'm not lying when I say my name is Charlie. Do I have a last name? I don't know. If I ever did, it's lost with what I was."

This was an odd thing to say, and the ghost of a grimace passed across her face. Hermione frowned. "What . . . ?"

"I am lying," Charlie said quickly, cutting Hermione off loudly, "when I say I was supposed to be there. I wasn't. No one knew I was going to be there until I came in the door, but because I am--well, was well-liked by my race, I was welcomed, which was perfect. The last thing I'd have needed was to start kicking ass before I even completed step one of my plan. Not that I wasn't expecting it." She sucked in another deep breath, and continued. "I'm not lying when I say they asked me to perform the ceremony when I arrived, as that was what my plan was in the first place. I lied when I said I had no idea I'd be seeing you again, as it, once again, was according to my plan."

Her hair was down on her shoulders, still black from whatever kind of paint she'd used to taint her honey-brown hair, and she quick put it into a wispy ponytail. "And do you know why I know your name?"

"N-no."

After a short pause, Charlie said, "Because for the past year and a half, you've unknowingly been the target of every vampire in my race."

At first Hermione thought she had misheard what Charlie was saying. "Excuse me?" she said. "Speak . . . louder."

Charlie shook her head, and her voice was almost sympathetic. "That can't possibly get any louder than it is."

Hermione's heart clenched. The girl walked about ten feet away to Hermione's left and reached out for something Hermione couldn't see. Then she pulled it open and Hermione realized it was a door. Charlie stood next to it and gestured for Hermione to go through, and Hermione walked over without even realizing her legs were moving. Charlie watched her walk out of the empty white room, expressionless, and shut it behind them, Hermione's eyes adjusting to the sudden deprivation of light. They were in a long, high, metallic-looking corridor that was thronging with people. Charlie grabbed Hermione's arm behind the elbow and walked her down the hall.

"Welcome to LFX Agencies," she said, waving a hand around the impossibly grand hallway that was so magnificent, Hermione couldn't take her eyes away. "We pronounce it 'lefex,' but LFX is okay."

"What does LFX mean?"

Charlie halted mid-step and blinked in realization. "I don't know."

"You work for this company and you . . . have no idea what it's called?"

"No one here does, either. Ask them. Ask anyone here. Grab someone and ask, any random person, no matter their position or level. No one knows, and honestly, no one cares. Well, I'm sure the boss knows, though. Whoever he is."

"And you don't even . . . know your boss?"

"Trust me. This place is so busy and full of people, I don't know half the people that work here. I don't even know enough people to dislike anyone."

She pulled Hermione over to the right and walked them through a door, which, low and behold, let to yet another corridor, this one equally as grand. Through about two more doors they went, each door looking exactly the same, nameless and silver to match the walls and floors and ceiling, and each corridor the exact same as the other.

Hermione stared around in utter amazement as Charlie continued, her grip loosening more and more on Hermione's arm with every passing second. "I'm well known, of course. I'm the only vampire in the entire agency. And when I mean agency, I'm talking every station all over the world. It took forever to get in because of what I am, believe you me. But when I finally did it was all over everywhere . . ."

Hermione felt numb and even though the people that walked by, clad in long, sweeping blue robes and holding clipboards, were staring at her blood-stained, bruised and broken form without hiding their curiosity, she couldn't see them at all. All she could see was Charlie. A trickle of blood dripped down her temple. She couldn't think. She couldn't breathe. It didn't make any sense. She was just normal. What would she possibly have done to send an entire race -- of vampires no less -- after her? It was impossible. There was no . . . no way . . .

"Stay awake. We need to get you fixed up," Charlie said. "I'm sorry if my Strengthener's not very . . . well, strengthening. My hand at potion-making downright sucks."

Hermione stared at her with her American walk and American talk. Who exactly did she think she was? Once again, this girl was about fourteen and Hermione was about twenty. Six-year difference! her mind shouted at her. Don't let her be this way towards you!

Hermione realized it immediately and yanked her arm free of the girl's grasp. Charlie turned around to look at her. "Look, you," Hermione spat, pointing her finger accusingly at the vampire with rage. "I don't know who you think . . . you are . . ."

"And you don't know who I know I am, either," Charlie said coolly. "Are you coming to the exam room or not? You've got blood gushing from your head. I don't know medicine, but I'm not sure it's a good sign." She reached over to Hermione gently to wipe off the blood that was tickling Hermione's hairline, but Hermione swung her arm to whack Charlie's hand away or at least hit her round the face. But before Hermione even made contact, Charlie flicked her wrist and snatched Hermione's arm in an unexpected amount of speed. The grip she had was bone-crushing, and now she looked angry. Hermione gasped as she felt something pop in her wrist joints.

"I don't know who you think you are, Miss Granger," she said, and people walking past glanced over frighteningly. "But right now, I'd keep my head down if I were you. You're dealing with something much more important and dangerous than anything you can imagine. The slightest mistake can risk your life and the exposure of this whole agency." She let go of Hermione's arm, which was freezing from cut-off circulation. And then she muttered, with a shake of her head, "I already told them. You're much too young to be dealing with something like this, in my opinion."

Hermione stared at her incredulously. "Too young?" she said furiously. "Excuse me, young lady, but I --"

"Young lady?" Charlie said over her. People walking past them skirted determinedly around them as not to get caught in the crossfire. "You're so . . ." She lifted her hands in surrender. "Look, let me settle this. Just . . . as a question, how old do you think I am?"

Hermione paused slightly, and then said uncertainly, "Er . . . fourteen?"

"Wrong," Charlie said sharply before the word was even out of Hermione's mouth. "Extremely wrong, in fact. You're way off."

"Off by how . . . much?" Hermione said, making Charlie halt when she began to walk again. Charlie looked around at her and snorted.

"You're off by about ninety years, kiddo."

With a quirk of an eyebrow, she continued walking, Hermione stumbling along confusedly in her wake.

"What?" she asked, striding quickly to catch up with Charlie, who didn't seem so keen to try making Hermione follow her, as if she knew she was going to already.

"You heard. Well, no, actually you're off by ninety-one years next month. Do the math, sugar pie."

Quickly abiding, Hermione spat out, "Are you trying to make me believe that you're . . . that you're one hundred and . . . and five years old? What do you think I . . . am? An ass?"

Charlie slowed and looked over her shoulder at Hermione. "I see you're back to normal. I knew I should have upped the dosage." Charlie continued walking and Hermione stared in confusion as she breathed into her hand and inhaled, smelling for something unknown, but Hermione let it pass unquestioned for the moment.

"Answer my question . . . please!"

Charlie sighed, turning around with a roll of her eyes as though tired of answering such an old question. Hermione stopped and stared at her wide-eyed. Charlie replied, "Yes. I'm one hundred and four years old, and I'll be one hundred and five next month. I'm guessing you think it's a lie," she said grimly to Hermione's skeptical expression.

"Yes, I most certainly do! You just . . . reeled through an entire list of lies. What makes . . . this statement so true?"

A man walking past was flipping through pages on his clipboard, jotting things down with his quill in a thin scrawlish writing, and Charlie grabbed his arm to stop him and he looked up.

"Ed, how old am I?"

He rolled his jaw slowly, looking into space as he thought, and then he looked at Charlie with a small smile. "The big one o five's next month, isn't it?"

"Absolutely."

Hermione's mouth fell open as Ed walked down the corridor, scratching away. Charlie shrugged.

"Of course you think I'm lying. But, as you know, I am a vampire. Vampires are the walking dead, but we're just like fallen angels without the whole angelic part. Not corpselike and decaying. Feel my skin," she said to Hermione, outstretching her hand palm-up towards her. Hermione lightly felt her fingers with her own, and her eyebrows rose.

"My goodness!" She wrapped her hand around Charlie's tightly, feeling her whole hand, and then her arm. "It's so soft!" She raised a hand without even thinking, and pressed it to Charlie's forehead, a main oil source of the body, but she just felt smooth, perfect skin.

Charlie shrugged. "When you're not alive it becomes really easy to live longer."

"But . . . that doesn't make sense."

Charlie shrugged. "Of course it does. Even a smart professor like you should know that. And even though you're about one fifth of my age, you should at least know a few basics of what it's like to be immune from life. Get with the twenty-first, Granger."

Hermione stared. Her brain felt as though it was so full it might explode with information she didn't know existed. And, if one would have heard such an absurd thing, they might have died from shock. Information that Hermione Granger didn't already know were things unheard of by human ears or unthought-of of by human minds.

Charlie jerked her head down the hall, not forceful, not orderly, but with her hands casually in her pockets, merely requesting it of Hermione. "Come with me. You're bleeding. We both got pretty rattled back there, and I'm sure your friends are worried about you. The faster we move, the faster I can guarantee you can safely go back." She took gentle hold of Hermione's arm. "Come with me, and I swear I'll fill you in on everything. We'll hit the interrogation room afterwards. Not to interrogate you, but so you can ask me anything you want. I promise."

Hermione looked at her, trembling. She knew she looked awful, because she felt worse, and that she couldn't trust anyone at the moment. She stared into Charlie's eyes, and once again she got that feeling. That those immaculate blue eyes were staring past her own eyes, inside her, seeing what was going on and feeling what she was feeling. She slowly took a step back. This couldn't all be real. Was she asleep? Maybe she was just sleeping, and this was a dream. An insanely real dream. For the first time since she'd been with Charlie, she looked pleadingly at the girl, and her voice shook desperately. "Charlie . . . please tell me the truth . . . how is this all possible? What's . . . what's happening to me?"

Charlie blinked, and she sounded sincere this time. "Please come?"

Hermione swallowed, and hesitantly, she followed.

* * *

"When was the last time you saw her?"

Photographs were being snapped of the dark alleyway, now brimming with investigators, and Harry was staring at them, lost in his mind, when this question broke through his thoughts. "Er . . . oh, sorry, Twelve."

Twelve, the captain of the Wizarding Crime Lab (WCL), was standing in front of Harry, questioning him on Hermione's disappearances. Twelve was intimidating; very tall, towering over Harry's six-foot stance, with long, braided white hair to match his white skin. His eyes, which were white with an immaculate shade of blue, were extra sensitive to any light, and he had silver sunglasses over them that hid whatever was behind the lenses completely. His ears were very elflike, tall and shaped like raindrops with dull pale tips. They could hear up to a mile away. He was not, despite most popular belief, an albino, but a Sarilace, a strange, impossibly rare breed of wizard. Whenever, Harry saw him, he was propelled back to Hogwarts seeing Firenze trotting through the hallways of the castle. They could most definitely be brothers, with the small exception of the half-horse thing.

He arched a silvery eyebrow over his fluid-shaped sunglasses and said in his peaceful, ever calm voice, "Mr. Potter, are you certain you're --"

"I'm fine, stop asking." He gritted his teeth. "I last saw her at quarter to eight."

A long, intense silence followed. "You needn't snap, Mr. Potter. It's my job to make sure you're alright."

"Twelve, listen to yourself!" Harry said, outraged. "Hermione, my Hermione, is gone! And we don't know who took her! Her wand, the thing that she keeps with her even when she showers, is still here! Someone took her by force, against her will, and that is really saying something when it comes to Hermione Granger."

Twelve didn't reply. Harry shoved his trembling hands into his robes and then pulled them out again, twisting them together. "I don't care if my lungs bloody well explode and I begin bleeding out my ears as we speak! I don't want anyone worrying about me. Everyone should be focused on what's going on right now and should be worrying about Hermione." He shut his eyes tight and grabbed his hair in his hands. "God damn it, I shouldn't have said what I did . . ."

"Don't brand this on yourself, Mr. Potter. It was no one's fault besides her abductors."

Witches and wizards walking past were stopping to watch what was going on. Luckily, the small town they were in was secluded and populated entirely by magic, because to a Muggle's eye, this would be like CSI extra-terrestrial style. Things were glowing at random times, and people were popping in and out of the scene in the blink of an eye. Harry, though, was ignoring all of these things, his mind and heart racing faster and faster towards a breakdown.

Harry breathed heavily through his nose, a thick issue of steam streaming from his nostrils. "Twelve, when we find her --"

"If we find her, Mr. Potter," Twelve said very softly, and even though he couldn't see his eyes, Harry knew he was looking at the ground.

"When we find her," Harry repeated, ignoring him, "you are to bring her abductors to me, Twelve."

"You can't immediately jump to the conclusion that she is being harmed --"

"I don't care!" Harry barked. "I'm giving you an order. I hired you for this. If I say I want her abductors, then I want them brought to me when they're found!"

"But I'm not positive that we'll be allowed to do that, sir. Even a captain has his superiors."

"Then break the rules," Harry said heavily. "I won't take no for an answer from anyone standing here. You are to bring them to me. They won't be getting their comeuppances by just locking them in Azkaban. I won't allow it." He was balling his fists tensely. "I'll Cruciatus their hides so fucking fast they won't know it's them who's even screaming until their blood begins to spill. . . ." He was breathing heavily and his voice was hitting spontaneous hysterical notes when he spoke. He broke off with a grunt and fisted his hands in his hair again, hunching weakly in an attempt to regain himself.

Twelve was facing the alleyway, uninflected by Harry's swearing. What startled Harry the most was that, as a Sarilace, Twelve could have easily flicked his fingers and turned Harry inside-out if he pleased. Harry knew he was being extremely brutal and unreasonable, but he didn't care. "You know, of course, Mr. Potter . . . that uncertified civilians that use any of the UFC's can and will get the Kiss, hands down. . . . The Ministry --"

"The Ministry doesn't have to know then. They haven't been very productive since they've assigned their new Minister. Especially on that whole "Inter-race Peace Act" they were cooking up. Remember? They were supposed to sign a big fat lie of a treaty with the entire population of vampires. Apparently, when I asked the Minister, he made a real show of getting off the subject." Harry shook his head. "That damn Percy Weasley's going to drive the whole bloody wizarding world right into the ground, mark my words."

Twelve nodded slowly, without doubt feeling the finalness of Harry's words, but when he was called away, Harry merely stood there in the cold, wishing Twelve was still there, but then he realized he only wanted him so he could vent his anger on someone. If there was anyone to use as a verbal punching bag, it would have to be Twelve. Harry respected him greatly, but it eased the pain when he could yell at someone who was practically reeking of patience.

Harry felt like not doing anything and at the same time wanted to do everything. His body began to move on his own, and he marched forward into the alleyway, past Ginny and Ron, who were frozen in the bitter wind tearfully, past Puddlemere United, who were huddled in a navy-blue crowd, talking in hushed voices, past the interrogators who were now grilling the bartender, asking if she knew anything that had gone on before Hermione's departure, all the way over to Draco Malfoy.

Malfoy was helping out with the investigation. His previous employment before his comic job in the cast of Addictions was with the Ministry in the Forensics department. Only very few people knew this, Harry included. He became head of the department two weeks into his job, but when Percy Weasley became Minister, however, he had promptly left the job, much to Ron's humor, raising his view of Malfoy about twenty percent. He had mastered in wizarding forensics after Hogwarts, a talent, he often said, was good to have on the side. Harry gave him a ring the moment he found Hermione's purse lying in the alleyway, with her wand still inside, confirming his worst fear.

Malfoy was standing before five wizards, who were spaced apart in a line that went from one all of the alleyway to the other. They had their wands lit and Malfoy was giving them all instructions, looking very out of place in the midst of the commotion with a silken shirt and tight black pants.

"Alright!" he barked above the noise to the team, his hands up to keep attention. "Sweep the alley left and right. You are to tag anything you may see that isn't supposed to be here. As their footprints are still here, we can say they were sloppy, but we need more proof. Mark anything everything that could be evidence. I will be here, ready to confirm anything you may need confirmed. I -- want -- her -- found. Understood?"

"Sir!" replied the team. They instantly looked down at the ground, shining the beams of their wands and they simultaneously took slow, careful steps, and moved the light back and forth on the path in front of them. Malfoy watched as they passed him, and then looked over at Harry.

"We're trying, Potter."

Harry nodded, grateful for anything kind that anyone had to say. His stomach was on fire, and he couldn't concentrate. "Have you anything yet?"

"Just boot prints in the dirt. Very unique, though. I've never seen anything like them. Come see."

Harry followed Malfoy, shaking and feeling sick. Malfoy walked to a taped-off section of the alley floor, and pointed down at a set of footprints that hadn't been erased. Harry did a double take. The footprints were large, but only so because the dust looked as though blown in the shape of a huge foot. "It looks like the dirt was repelled off the shoes."

Malfoy looked grim. "I know for a fact they haven't invented a Dirt Repelling Charm yet, because I have a few friends from the Ministry who're trying to invent one right now. Whoever did this was practically gusting with power. And I think I know what it might have been." He looked cautiously at Harry. "Now, we can't be sure, but if it is, we need to work fast. Don't be alarmed, because we're still uncertain. Come over here."

They walked over to a space that was being photographed at the moment. The person with the camera moved away, and Harry's eyeballs almost popped out of his head. On the ground there was a small, card-sized packet that at one time seemed to contain . . .

"Blood," Harry said. The pack was drenched with red liquid and droplets of it were scattered around the floor. Harry's gut burst into flames at the sight and he let out a dry moan. It was absurd. Impossible. His head was spinning, and fear was sweeping through him in tidal waves. Malfoy sighed shakily beside him.

"Vampires."

* * *

"Comfortable?"

Hermione looked up from her lap at Charlie, who was sitting on the opposite end of the long, narrow table. She was now wearing a red robe over her black outfit, and there was a ring on her right hand index finger. Hermione looked down at herself. She was wearing new clothes, white pants and a white shirt, and a blue robe provided by LFX. The three letters were embroidered in white near the top. She had been in Exam for almost an hour, as they took x-rays and cast countless spells to ensue her health. When she had finally been cleaned and healed, she was utterly exhausted.

She looked back up at Charlie. "Gee, I don't know. But you know what? While this psycoville that I'm now in is trying to erase my footsteps and Anti-Track my house and my work, why don't they just jack up my fear a bit more and just give me some really bad news, this time about me being the target of some really awful race of magic creatures? That way, I'll be so uncomfortable, you won't even need to ask!" she exclaimed, putting her hands over her eyes. "I figured you a bit smarter."

Charlie scratched her forehead uncomfortably. "I can't say you shouldn't be mad. In every right you should be. Unfortunately it's out of both our hands and yours." She flicked through a packet of papers in front of her. "No use crying over that now . . ."

She shifted some things around in the papers, slipped them into a folder, and folded her hands in front of her on the table. "Okay. Go ahead."

It was very strange seeing someone who looked so young sitting like an adult and speaking to her like she was a child. "Go ahead what?"

"You wanted to ask me questions right?"

"I just . . . don't know where to start." She folded her hands identically to Charlie's. "Why don't I start with you?"

Charlie arched an eyebrow challengingly. "You can ask, but there are things I can't answer."

"But that's not fair. You said you'd answer any questions I had."

"Sure, I'll answer any questions about what's going on in this whole secret fiasco that is your problem of a life, but not about me."

Hermione leaned forward. "Well, why not?"

"Because there are things I cannot tell you about me or my past. Things I've never told anyone. Understand that now, Miss Granger. I don't know why, but I have a feeling we'll be spending a bit more time with each other than either of us could have expected. I'm sensing it."

Hermione opened her mouth to say something, but at that moment, Charlie turned towards the door, and the door opened a second later. A tall man with silvery hair that fell down to his shoulders poked his head in, looked first at Hermione, and then to Charlie. "Charlie?"

Charlie thanked the man, whose name was Stephen, as she took the thin folder he handed to her before he closed the door on his way out. Hermione watched Charlie flick through the folder and pull out a small two-inch piece of paper that could have been a picture. Charlie's eyes flickered up to her quickly before looking back at the picture and putting it back in the folder.

"What's going on?" Hermione asked.

Charlie didn't answer right away, but kept looking through the folder, until she pulled out a long sheet of paper, her eyebrows knitting, and she set the folder down, taking the paper in both hands.

"What . . . ?" she mumbled, staring at the paper as if she had been told to change it into a potato with her bare hands. She stood up out of her seat and walked over to Hermione's side of the room, where a phone was hooked into the wall. She put it to her ear. "Michaels," she snapped, holding the phone to her ear with one hand and the paper in the other, still staring at it ridiculously. A second later, Hermione could hear the ringing on the other line.

She turned back to the table and looked around the room, as it was quite a sight. Every inch of wall space was covered in black and white mug shots, all wizarding photos, with unpleasant-looking men and women holding a prisoner ID number. In uneven intervals, they would grudgingly shuffle to face left, and then right, and then forward again. Hermione was used to moving pictures, but these were startling. Not a happy face in sight.

"Michaels," Charlie said suddenly after a muffled "hello?" on the other end. "It's Charlie. . . . Yes, I just got it . . . no, there's a mistake . . . no, it's definitely wrong . . . yes, it is, I assure you . . . no, I . . . wait, what?" She glanced at Hermione and then back to the paper. "You can't be serious. . . . But . . . I . . . of course not . . . I . . . Michaels, just listen for a . . . listen for . . . listen --" She stopped talking abruptly and closed her eyes as dial tone cut across her words slashingly.

"Damn it!" she exclaimed, making Hermione jump, and she crushed the phone back into its holder and pounded the wall next to it with her fist. One of the fugitives in the picture dove out of the way into the picture beside him as a huge puncture was created, destroying his frame. Charlie didn't seem to be worrying about it. She pinched the bridge of her nose with her teeth gritted and stood completely still for a moment, letting herself cool off, and then she looked over at Hermione and sighed.

"Well," she said in a voice of forced calm as she went back to her seat on the other side of the table, "I was wrong before."

"About what?"

"We'll be spending a lot more time with each other than either of us could have expected."

Hermione's brow furrowed and Charlie flicked the paper across the table to her, and she picked it up swiftly, her eyes flitting over the parchment intently.

"You do know what that is, right?"

Hermione nodded, still reading. "Blood chart. But I've never seen one so complicated. Whose is it?"

"Yours."

Hermione looked up. "When was a blood test in order? I don't remember . . ."

"You were unconscious. We have no real identity of who you are."

Hermione jaw dropped. "But you know my name! You know me, just tell them next time! Don't have them jump the gun and automatically suck out my blood!"

Charlie seemed to be struggling with flipping the table over, but she sat calmly, closing her eyes and saying with extreme patience, "Simply my word counts for absolutely nothing. I can't just waltz in and say, 'Hey, no need to take any extremely required samples and throw any caution into the wind, colleagues. Her name's Hermione Granger.' It just doesn't work like that."

"Well I think that's the stupidest thing I've ever heard!"

Charlie shook her head, putting the papers back into the folder and getting out of her seat. "Trust me I've heard stupider. And you're about to hear the stupidest."

She walked around to Hermione's side and pointed to the blood chart in her hands. "We had no idea you were a witch. When we hooked this up, we were expecting a Muggle. That's why the whole thing's off the friggin' charts."

Hermione put the paper on the table. "And this is bad . . . why?"

Charlie squatted down, an arm resting on the table, holding herself steady, and she looked up at Hermione with those vibrant, crystalline eyes. "Vampires are very unique. Like nothing in the world, and this is a reason why. Vampires are very cold-hearted. Way back when, to keep vampires that way, they punished the warm-blooded traitors by placing a charm on our entire race, and if a vampire saved anyone--specifically magic blood--from sure death, then the vampire was linked to that witch or wizard by the magic in themselves and in the magic of the witch or wizard's blood. With me?"

"I've never heard of something like that. How come it isn't on record?"

"Because it's a secret in our race. No human outside of LFX knows of it, until now. Because I'm not a killer, and I can talk to you, don't have to track you down and only stay near you in the shadows like the others. May I continue?" Hermione nodded. "Now, when I saved you, we became linked to one another by a certain unbreakable branch of magic."

"So . . . we're connected, right?"

Charlie took a long pause and licked her lips hesitantly. "Unfortunately."

Hermione stared at her in horror. "So you can't leave me ever?"

Charlie raised her eyebrows. "Hey, I'm not skipping about it either. Fortunately, there might be a way out, but we may have to wait for the researchers to come up with one. I'll send out the order as soon as I can."

"No!" Hermione yelled, standing up. "No, absolutely not! You can't just stay in my house for . . . for . . . how long will it take the researchers?"

Charlie stood up, with an expression of weariness. "If we're lucky, under four months. Charm reversals can take as long as five. Especially ones that haven't been recorded."

"No!" Hermione yelled again, walking away from Charlie and whipping around to gaze with an icy glare. "I won't allow it! I'm on vacation from work for the next two months! I can't have you around the whole time giving me a headache!"

"Hey!" Charlie barked back, pointing a warning finger at her. All of a sudden her eyes seemed rather dark. "You think I wanted this? I had no idea you were a witch! If I did, I'd have left you to die, mark my words. It's definitely not worth all this."

"It most certainly isn't! There's no other way to go about it?"

"Physically, for me, no. There is no way for me to be out of a mile of your coordinates. If I do, I can go through immediate blood deprivation. Like walking through an invisible wall that drains my blood out of me completely. It can lead to my death within an hour."

Hermione gritted her teeth, squaring her shoulders. "I have half a mind to walk out now."

To her surprise, however, Charlie merely shrugged. "Fine. Go on. Walk out the door. See if I care or not."

"Well, I certainly don't!" Hermione yelled, turning around. She marched towards the door. "I hope you die!" she said as she opened the door, striding out -- only to walk straight into Charlie.

"I really hope I don't," Charlie said, leaning up against the wall. She stood straight and walked closely to Hermione, standing strong and menacingly in front of her. Heat was ablaze in her eyes, and all Hermione's pride vanished. "You may not want it," Charlie growled, "but I will do absolutely anything to be near you until we find a cure."

Hermione tried valiantly not to shrink away completely. "But . . . but in my house?"

"I don't exactly have to be right up against you, but I need to at least be on one side of your house if you're on the other." She stared heavily into Hermione's eye. "It doesn't have to be such a problem. And since you're already in my debt, I can help around the house. I promise not to be a burden."