Soul Searching

Hermione sat down to her take-out. She opened it and smelled the pad-Thai, one of Draco's favorite meals. Her meal was in fact, in honor of him. Today was the day that she had been kissed, the day that legally made Hermione a widow after less than two months of marriage.

Not many people knew that Hermione and Draco had been married. They wouldn't have understood. It seemed to Hermione that even Harry, her closest friend, never understood what Hermione saw in Draco. But Hermione couldn't help it. She was in love. Not with a perfect Weasley, or the Boy Who Lived, making out a fairy tale romance. No. Hermione was in love with a Death Eater. But the amazing thing about being with Draco was that when he held her, she always forgot that fact.

Hermione and Draco had an unwritten rule. They never spoke of politics or good and bad when they were together. They were neither Light nor Dark, but just two lovers who wanted to always be together.

The wedding had been a very private ceremony. A Muggle minister had done it, and Harry was their only guest, acting as witness to the marriage.

Their marriage was one of inconvenience. They only saw each other three times in those first two months after their marriage. They always met in a safe spot, neutral ground, which was protected by magics that not even the Darkest of wizards could break.

Upon reflection, Hermione realized it was selfish to send out Harry to save Draco when he had been captured. And foolish, too, for it had ultimately killed Draco and sent Harry across the pond to forget that any of the problems had ever existed.

But on this night, Hermione liked to remember all the good moments she had felt lying with Draco, his arms around her. She curled into bed and to her it seemed that Draco still held her in his arms.

***

Harry woke up groggy and disoriented. Had he just come back from a bar? It was possible, but Harry looked at the clock that said 6 o'clock p.m. No ladies of his caliber were out this early. Then, it struck him. The conversation he had with the girl, a vampire with a soul.

Harry got up and washed his face. He had to make a plan of action. First, to the Muggle bookshops. Sometimes Muggles would stumble across things that would prove quite useful to the educated witch or wizard. Of course, all the bookstores in the world could never compare to the Hogwarts Library, but with Harry's self-imposed exile, that was the last place he wanted to go. Plus, Harry felt compelled to not let anyone find out about his secret. It was a gut feeling, maybe a message from Ginny, and Harry had been in enough predicaments to know when to follow your heart.

Harry fixed himself a simple breakfast of black coffee ("a meal in a mug") and set out to find a bookstore that would serve his needs. After looking in the phone book for nearly an hour, he found a local occult store, which he hoped would hold the key to Ginny's soul.

***

Anika sat at the counter of the Gothic Dungeon, tapping her hands on the counter. Business had been slow all week, and the only people who seemed to frequent her store were the "Goth kids," as she liked to call them. Dressed in black, pierced in places she didn't even know existed.

Sometimes Anika wondered why she even bothered to keep the store open. Her husband was long gone, and her child was dead. Today the sticky heat permeated the shop, and brought her thoughts back to her childhood; the days of yore. She had a duty which had run in her line for ages. Keep the knowledge alive. The intricate spells and potions which had passed through the Gypsy heritage for years now. Even as she thought of the powerful words, she heard the sounds of her youth in the background.

Suddenly the sounds were invaded by a foreign noise of a bell ringing. She looked up at the man who had come in. Medium stature, messy black hair, obviously not a serious buyer. His cheap clothing indicated that it would take a month's pay to purchase of the items found in the store. But Anika got the impression that the man was looking for something much more valuable.

He walked up to her. "Do you carry spell books?" he asked politely.

Anika smiled. "Over in the right-hand corner. Do you need help looking for anything?"

The man seemed startled by the question but shrugged off Anika's offer. He told her he was sure he could manage on his own.

Over three hours later, Anika was still watching the man struggle to find what he was looking for. He came back over to her.

"It seems my judgment was impaired from a /slight/ hangover earlier," he said, wincing at the sound of his voice.

Anika nodded. She knew that he didn't want to tell her what he was looking for, but she had ways to help him. "Give me your hand" she commanded.

The man flinched. "I don't have a very good experience with palm reading. Or any divination of that matter! Maybe I should just take some Advil and come back tomorrow?"

Anika laughed at him. "Oh, don't be silly! It's not like I'm going to predict your death!"

She forcefully grabbed his hand and began studying the lines and curves of it. It seemed like a very morbid hand, to be perfectly honest. The lifeline was very short, and the love line stopped, and then started strong again only to fade out halfway across the man's palm. Anika studied the man's hand, trying to uncover what he needed.

"Looks like you're having some trouble in the love life," she commented dryly.

He glared at her. "That's what this spell is for!"

Then, suddenly, she saw what he was seeking. "Oh dear. I see what you want." She looked straight into his eyes; they were so green. "Are you sure you really need /this/ spell? The consequences are so great."

The man flared, and anger rose in his eyes. "I need to find how to defeat him! There's only a couple months left, you know! And Ginny is the key, I know she is, for my own sanity, and for my strength! I need to do this, no matter the cost!"

Anika dropped his hand back to the counter. "Very well. I wish you would reconsider. The spell is very powerful, and has corrupted almost all of its casters. But I will find it for you."

The man nodded and put his hand in his pocket. "Thank you. For helping me. I mean, for helping me to help Ginny."

She gave a dejected snort. "Don't kid yourself, hon. This isn't just for her. I think this spell may impact more than just this /Ginny/ you speak of."

***

Hermione sat up in her queen-sized bed, big enough to fit a couple, sweating, doubled over with dry heaves. Hermione had tried to adapt to the nightmares, but this night's vision was worse than ever.

It seemed that they were all the same. Draco in some moral danger which she couldn't get him out of, and then him pulling her down too. But tonight's dream had been different. It was Harry. He was wandering over a barren land, calling out Ginny's name. Then, he finally saw Ginny standing on a dune, but she was blocked by some unknown force. Harry took out a key, but buzzards attacked him until he ran; and Hermione had awoken.

Hermione busied herself by making her bed and cleaning her room before she went downstairs. She picked up the newspaper and read the headline, declaring that there was less that three months left until Voldemort would return. Hermione threw down the paper and sobbed into her hands.

Everyone who mattered left her. Ron was dead, Draco was just a living corpse, and Harry, her last hope, was gone. He knew how much he had meant to her. Her well being, her life. But Harry never wrote. All she knew was that Harry was in America, probably forgetting his troubles at a bar, succumbing to the sweet words of drunkenness. Where life didn't matter, where there was no impending doom that would arise within the next months, and where there was no girl hanging onto his life force on the other side of the Atlantic.

Hermione stood up and took out a piece of paper and a quill. Tomorrow she would leave this apartment. She would move back with her parents. The rooms were too big to share alone, and the bed was too empty.