Chapter Text
Hermione was allowed out of her bedroom a few days after the talk between her parents and Elisaveta. Her parents and Elisaveta had blacked out all of the windows in the house so she could move through it without fear of being burned. The only room that wasn’t blacked out was her parents’ bedroom. It wasn’t fair to them to lose the sun, Elisaveta pointed out to her one night. They were human, and needed it, whereas she and Hermione were vampires, and did not.
“Why weren’t you and Sebastian and Pascal hurt by the sun that day in the forest?” Hermione asked her one day while they sat in her room.
“Sebastian and I work with the Ministry occasionally,” Elisaveta explained. “When we take a job, a wizard casts the Sol Tueri over us– it keeps us from being hurt by the sun, and lasts for roughly a year. It will be awhile before I can find a wizard I trust enough to cast it over you.”
“If the Ministry knows I was bitten, why don’t they cast it over me?” Hermione thought it rather unfair. She may be a vampire, but she loved the sun and playing outdoors as much as the next child.
“The Ministry knows someone was bitten, not you specifically,” Elisaveta corrected. “The less they know, the better they feel. Besides, there is no registration requirement as there is in the United States. They need not know you were bitten. And they wouldn’t cast it over you unless you were working for them.”
Hermione let that go, but persisted on in her questioning. “Why wasn’t Pascal hurt, then?”
Elisaveta sighed. “He worked for the Ministry about six months back. A little job, scoping out some places in Knockturn Alley– that’s adjacent to Diagon, you won’t see there for a long while I hope– that a Ministry worker couldn’t. It was enough for him to get the Sol Tueri.”
Hermione nodded, and changed the subject. Pascal was not something she wanted to dwell on.
Where do you get the blood?” Hermione asked. She’d been wondering this for a few days, knowing her parents couldn’t supply it forever.
“Vampires run a few blood banks,” Elisaveta said. “Half of the blood goes to us, and half goes to Muggles who need it. Sebastian brings it every few days– it’s kept relatively fresh with charmed, airtight containers that we return to the blood bank after we use them.”
“Ah,” Hermione said. That was an admittedly smart way of doing things. After all, if vampires were fed, there was less chance of them starving and attacking people.
Those first couple of days out of her room were Hermione’s first forays into discovering what she could do as a vampire. She found she ran faster than her parents could even see, and had great fun in timing herself to see how quickly she could run through the house. She could jump from the first floor to the second easily, as she smugly showed her parents each time one of them had to climb the stairs. Quite by accident, Hermione discovered she could cling to the walls and ceilings, and crawl across them like a spider. Her mother screamed the first time she’d caught her at it. These things were great fun to her, but everything else was almost overwhelming.
Hermione heard every bird chirp, every leaf rustle; she could smell every animal in her yard; she saw every detail down to the minute. Taste was something else– it contributed heavily to her sense of smell, especially in the sense of emotions. The worst thing she smelled sometimes came from her parents: fear. It wasn’t often, but her mother had once cut herself while chopping vegetables and Elisaveta had needed to crush Hermione to the ground. Her mother’s emotions had blended into the blood and for a terrifying moment, Hermione wanted nothing more than to rip her throat out and taste that sanguine fear.
That day was the first time Hermione realized she truly wasn’t human, and wouldn’t ever be again. That day also marked the beginning of Elisaveta and Sebastian teaching Hermione to control her thirst.
“It is something that dulls with time,” Elisaveta explained that night. “You will eventually have full control over yourself. But you shouldn’t wait until then to get a handle on your bloodlust.”
Sebastian came under the cover of night, and taught her to suppress the urges she had. His voice, deep and soothing, guided her through the mental process of emptying her mind. This, he explained to her, was necessary for all vampires. It was strenuous; Hermione had trouble in the beginning. When she tried to quiet her thoughts, her mind would race suddenly, tripping from thought to thought.
“I can’t do it,” she finally said one night. They were in the living room, Hermione laid out on the couch, eyes fixed on the ceiling above her. Beyond the window, she could feel the moon was fully risen. “I keep….thinking. Just of ordinary things. I don’t know how to stop it.”
Sebastian was sitting on the love seat, cross-legged and barefoot. Hermione like him almost as much as she liked Elisaveta, which was quite a lot. “I should have explained better,” he said. “You want to empty your mind of thoughts. Focus on something else instead, something expansive. I think of the sea, and the currents of it push away my stray thoughts. Take a minute to think of it.” He paused. “Try not to breathe,” he suggested. “You don’t need to, and you only do it out of habit. Smell will distract you.”
Hermione nodded. “Okay,” she said, closing her eyes again. Something expansive, he’d said. In her mind, she formed an image of an open field with grass that came to her waist, high enough to hide in. A breeze pushed the stray thoughts from her head as she focused on the field, the grass waving in the breeze, the peace that accompanied the image.
They sat like that in silence for what felt like hours while Hermione perfected the image she had created. The wind rustling through the trees outside only helped her sink into the grassland.
“Do you have it?” Sebastian asked finally.
“Yes,” she said, opening her eyes and turning on her side to look at him.
“Good. Work on this over the next few days. When you feel overwhelmed or upset, think of that place. It will help you to suppress some of your senses so you’re not always overwhelmed.” Sebastian rose from his chair. “I’ll be back next Thursday,” he said, nodding to her before going upstairs, presumably to speak to Elisaveta about the exercises despite the fact she had certainly heard it.
Hermione lay on the couch for a long while, imagining the plain. She could almost feel the softness of the earth beneath her feet. On the plain, it was night. The moon was risen in her head, living in the same position it did on the Earth.
As the days went on, Hermione attempted to employ this new mental strategy when she started feeling overwhelmed. Anger was the hardest to suppress, and unfortunately she’d developed quite a lot of it over the last few weeks. Being stuck indoors was hard, and everything was more difficult after her experience with Pascal.
As Hermione continuously to unsuccessfully suppress the anger she had built up inside of her, she feared Sebastian’s reaction to her failure. What would he say? What if– and she feared this most– what if simply gave up on her and left? She couldn’t bear it.
After days of agonizing over her inability to master this technique immediately, Hermione finally achieved it on Tuesday evening. She was in the midst of an argument with her mother over what station to play on the radio, and was acutely aware, even as she shouted at her mother, that her anger to the situation was disproportional. It felt like a fire had crawled up in her belly and was egging her on. The smell of her mother’s anger didn’t help in the slightest. Hermione knew she was going too far when she felt the familiar little ache in her teeth as her fangs unsheathed themselves from her gums.
The plain, she thought to herself as she fought back the anger, the plain! She squeezed her eyes shut, and stopped breathing in order to focus. Hermione forced her mind to the tall grass, summoned the cooling breeze, and let it wash over her mind. Hermione buried the anger somewhere in the field, unwilling to let it control her moods any longer. As she did this, the fire in her smoldered and died out, the fangs retracted into her gums. Hermione let out a breath.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered, opening her eyes. She blinked back tears that had welled up in the wake of her anger. “I didn’t mean to get so upset. I’m sorry.”
Her mother’s face melted and she stepped forward to embrace Hermione. Hermione wrapped her arms around her mother loosely, afraid that if she tried to hug her as tightly as she used to, she would crush the woman.
“It’s alright.” Hermione’s mother kissed the top of her head. “I know why you’re so upset. This can’t be easy for you.”
Hermione shook her head. “It’s not.” She blinked back tears, trying to send them to the plain rather than let them fall. “It’s really not.”
Sebastian came two days later at half past eleven. Hermione’s parents had already gone to bed, and she let Sebastian in, staring longingly across the dirt path that led to her home. She could feel the moon on the horizon as she could feel the breeze drifting through the summer night to brush her skin. He shut the door behind him with a raised brow.
“Not yet,” he chastised, ushering her forward. “Soon, maybe.”
Hermione sighed and led the way to the living room, taking her customary seat on the sofa while Sebastian sat in the leather arm chair. ‘Maybe’ meant ‘not for a long while’– she was old enough to know that.
“How have you been faring? Have you been practicing?”
“Yes!” Hermione said with a wide grin. Her love of success was only rivaled by her love of books. “It was hard at first, but I finally got it on Tuesday.” She relayed the story to him, and watched as he sat back with steepled fingers.
“You are moving through this more quickly than I thought you would,” Sebastian said. His eyes were calculating as he stared at her. “Perhaps it will soon be time for you to step outside again.” Hermione couldn’t suppress a smile. “But for tonight, we’ll continue working on this. Tomorrow after your parents have left for work, I’ll return with something that can help us progress further. For tonight, I think we’ll continue with this.”
The next day, after Hermione’s parents had left for work, Elisaveta and Sebastian tested her skills at suppressing her bloodlust. Sebastian would uncover an airtight container of blood, and Hermione would attempt to control her thirst.
At first, these attempts didn’t go well. Hermione was wrestled to the ground by Elisaveta more than once before she mauled Sebastian. It took nearly a full week before Hermione was able to concentrate through the red haze enough to stop herself. In two weeks, she could ignore the blood and control her breathing enough so that the smell of it didn’t trigger anything. Slowly, but surely, she was making progress.
Hermione continued on in her lessons with Elisaveta, and Sebastian came occasionally to assist with physical training– namely, teaching Hermione to control her strength. Hermione didn’t trust herself enough yet to hug her parents safely, but at least she could hold a teacup without crushing it in her palm.
Other lessons, held pretty much exclusively with Elisaveta, involved lectures on vampiric history, legends, vivid descriptions of the societies and settlements vampires had created all around the world, details about the magic vampires could weave (Hermione, for one, was excited to attempt any magic she could), along with some basic wizarding history. Everything was pure gold to Hermione. An entire world had just come into her reach, and she wanted nothing more than to grasp it with both hands and shake it until all it’s secrets fell out before her.
The best lessons included the magic Hermione had achieved at the beginnings of her new life. Elisaveta watched on as Hermione moved things without touching them. She sent salt-and-pepper shakers dancing along the countertops, flew books into her grasp, and once even made tea for her parents without touching a single thing. When she concentrated enough, Hermione could feel the thread inside her that bid the objects to move. Enthralled, Hermione often practiced this simple bit of magic late into the night.
In the midst of all this, July ended and August turned to September, Hermione craved the outdoors. At first, she’d been alright not going outside. After all, the last time she went out, she’d been turned into a vampire. But something about the night called to her. The windows, having been blacked out with canvas to protect Hermione and Elisaveta during the day, shut off every sight outside of her home. Hermione could feel the moon rising and setting, traveling up and down the ridge of her still heart. It called her, and Hermione was half-mad with want to answer.
When she questioned Elisaveta about it, she’d nodded knowingly, said all vampires felt the call, but also said the urge was easy enough to curb. Hermione, who had seriously debated bursting through the windows of her home to soak in the moonlight just the night before, was left a bit lost. The call was stronger than Elisaveta described, and yet that didn’t make sense. Everything she’d been told so far was true– why shouldn’t this be?
Slowly, it ate at her. One moment, she was sitting quietly in a chair, then she would look up to glance out the window, and nearly burst into tears at the sight of it covered in thick black canvas. In these moments, Hermione had to summon up the plain she’d built to keep herself from crying outright. The moon wanted her outside. And outside, Hermione would go.
Her birthday came and went with little celebration– Hermione didn’t mind this, as she wasn’t one to throw a party for her birthday. All she wanted was a little extra attention, and some leeway for the day. She was given three books: The Vampires Guide To Shadows by Count Viago, Flight for the Fledgling Vampire by Vladislav Deacon, and Shapeshifting: How and Why Vampires Can Change Form by Helen Rossi. Hermione read them quickly, but was cautioned by Elisaveta that she would have little success in achieving these things so young.
As October died, November began in all it’s chilled glory. Hermione gained more control of her newfound abilities, and finally, Elisaveta asked her parent’s permission to take her outside at night.
“I don’t know,” Beatrice fretted. The three of them were sitting at the kitchen table while Hermione listened upstairs, nearly vibrating in excitement. “I know you’ll keep an eye on her, but those woods…that’s where it all happened.”
Hermione supposed that was fair, but still– she needed to go outside, or she was going to lose her mind.
“Better for her to face it now than years down the road,” Elisaveta said. “She can’t stay away from the woods forever. Besides, there’s no better place for a young vampire to run off that energy than in a forest, where she can jump and climb and run.”
Yes! Hermione mentally cheered Elisaveta on.
“Hermione has always been very responsible,” Oliver pointed out. “And with Elisaveta, nothing terrible can happen to her.”
“That’s true,” Beatrice said, though her tone was strained. “It’s just…promise me you’ll make sure she comes back. I…I can’t lose her. I thought she was gone forever that day, and having kept her inside since then…it’s difficult. Just bring her back to us, please.”
“You have my word.” Elisaveta’s voice was low.
Hermione danced in glee at the thought of finally being able to go outside. She hadn’t seen anything but the house for so long! And the moon, the moon’s call would finally be answered. Perhaps the madness itching at her would fall silent once she saw it.
That very night, as soon as the sun had set and before the moon had fully risen, Elisaveta took Hermione outside. The night air burst across her skin, not too cold despite the freezing temperatures. A layer of frost covered the dying grass. November was always chilly. Despite the darkness, she could see clearly.
Hermione took a deep breath, relishing in the outside scent. She let her senses go, absorbing everything she could. How could she have taken going outside for granted all her life? It was wondrous, so open and free and wild. She could smell foxes in the forest, and deer, and snakes in their holes. Far away, an owl called into the night.
“We will stick to the edge of the forest tonight,” Elisaveta said. Hermione looked up at the woman who had gone from her rescuer to her teacher and mentor. “No need to go very far in, especially not the first night that you’ll be out.”
Hermione nodded. She could see the logic in that, even though she desperately wanted to run deep into the forest.
“Remember, we are predators,” Elisaveta continued. They hadn’t moved off the back porch yet, and Hermione was itching to run. “It is our instinct to hunt, especially at night. You could hunt and kill an animal– though I don’t think you will find that appealing– but the easiest way to burn off that energy and instinct is to hunt another vampire. Playfully, of course,” she added hastily, seeing Hermione’s horrified look. “A game. Like two cats.”
Hermione nodded. Elisaveta was right– the rising moon, the dark, the rustling of the grass, had all awakened a deep instinct inside of her. It was powerful, the urge to run silently through the night and search for a food source. But it was not untamable, as she’d already drunk enough to keep her sated (though not enough to fill her– it was never enough) and the plain was always available. “Who hunts who?”
“You will hunt me,” Elisaveta grinned. “Like a game of hide and seek. We will run opposite directions. In five minutes time, you will begin to hunt, and I will attempt to evade your. This will be a good exercise in honing your senses as well. Tracking is a big part of a vampire’s job skills.”
“Got it,” Hermione nodded. She’d had to re-think her future careers over the last few months. Of course, she wanted to be a scholar and do scientific research. Now, she wasn’t so sure what the market had open for her.
“On my count,” Elisaveta said. “One…two…three!”
Hermione dashed off into the night, relishing in the frosty grass under her bare feet. It was odd to not feel the cold of it, but rather the texture and feel. Wild happiness surged inside of her. The moon was rising with her heart.
Reaching the tree line, Hermione immediately leapt for a branch, instinctively wanting the high ground over Elisaveta. She moved from tree to tree, further and further from Elisaveta. Her scent was still on the wind, but vampire’s were fainter than humans. With a scowl, she realized Elisaveta would have the advantage of being downwind. Hermione’s scent would be easier for her to catch.
Eventually, Hermione came to a stop, resting near the top of an oak. She could see across the entire field. Her house sat dark with the blacked out windows, except for her parents room which glowed a warm yellow. The field itself was empty. Hermione scanned the tree line opposite, looking for any sign of movement. There! Elisaveta was in the tree tops. A satisfied smile worked its way across Hermione’s face as hunter instincts kicked in. She was absolutely still, counting down the clock until she could hunt for her mentor.
On the mark, Hermione slipped down the tree, careful to stay back from the line lest Elisaveta see her coming. She raced though the forest, silent as she could be. It was so easy to avoid the hidden roots and holes; she was nimbler than she’d ever been before. Pausing, Hermione took a deep breath. Elisaveta was nearby. Hermione jumped upwards, into the trees. Elisaveta would have yet another advantage over her otherwise.
Letting herself completely over to her instincts, Hermione slipped from tree to tree silently, creeping through them in search of her prey. Elisaveta’s scent had grown stronger– she was directly ahead! Hermione could see her with her advanced vision. She was crouched on a branch, looking over the field, no doubt scanning for Hermione.
Hermione pounced. Elisaveta had evidently known she was there, as she jumped out of the way nimbly. Hermione hit the ground with a growl.
“You have got to be sneakier than that,” Elisaveta admonished. “If you want the advantage of surprise, first find out which way the wind is blowing.”
“I noticed that after I’d already run the other way,” Hermione said. She jumped up the the branch Elisaveta was perched on, and sat cross-legged with her back against the trunk. “What if I don’t want the surprise? What if I want to just attack?”
“Be faster, and stronger,” Elisaveta said. “We will go again. I will hunt you this time.”
All night, Hermione hunted Elisaveta, and was hunted in return. The game of cat and mouse gave Hermione’s senses a rush; she wanted to be outside forever, running under the moon, bathing in the milky light. When the time came to go inside, dawn’s rosy fingers yawning over the horizon, Hermione went reluctantly. She knew the sun would hurt her, but she wanted to be wild forever.
Hermione’s nightly lessons continued, and she loved them. These lessons were more than training. They were the only things that got her outside of her house and gave her some relief from the cabin fever she’d been slowly developing. She looked forward to them every evening with some reverence.
Hermione’s ability to sit in the moonlight and let it wash over her, basking as a cat would in the sun, soothed the madness prowling in her heart. Existing was easier now. She likened herself to some sort of moth, drawn to light. But it still wasn’t enough. Though her intense need had been settled, there was still a yearning in her heart. Hermione didn’t know what to do, and Elisaveta maintained that as a nocturnal creature, her draw to the moon was only natural.
November passed. Hermione found herself missing the rest of the world. She sat for hours as the day passed, heart aching for nightfall. It gave her time to do her lessons for the day and read whatever she wanted freely, but she still loathed it. With nothing to do, she was growing restless. Often she ran the length of the house, trying to burn off the energy built up inside of her. It was maddening for her parents; Elisaveta had an endless well of patience somehow. But she needed out, in the full light of day. She needed to go somewhere, anywhere, for just a little while.
“Do other vampires want to be outside during the day?” Hermione questioned Elisaveta. They were outside, and Hermione was practicing her tracking. All her senses were keyed in on a single mouse burrowing in the field.
Elisaveta shrugged. “Not the older ones,” she said. “They’ve grown used to their vampire life. Younger vampires, like you, remember the sun and the light more clearly– they miss it. Only the luckiest vampires are friendly enough with a talented wizard to have the charm performed on them.”
They continued on, Hermione tracking the mouse’s little heartbeat as it moved through the field, scurrying across winter-thin blades of grass.
“Besides,” Elisaveta added, “most of them can go places. You’re confined to the house. Restlessness is natural.”
Hermione nodded, eyes fixed on the quick movements of the mouse in front of her. It was just restlessness, of course.
Christmas was quickly approaching. Hermione made it no secret she wanted to go to her grandparent’s house, as they had for years, on Christmas day.
“I want one thing to be normal,” she’d told her mum. “Everything is changed. I can’t go outside unless it’s at night, I drink blood, I have an uncontrollable urge to kill when you so much as cut your finger! I can’t even go to school anymore.” Tears welled up in her eyes. “I just want Christmas to be right,” she’d choked out. Her mother had pulled her into her arms, and hugged her tightly.
“I know, baby,” she’d whispered, stroking Hermione’s curls. “I know.”
A few days before Christmas, Hermione’s wish was granted.
“We have a surprise for you,” Hermione’s mum sing-songed. Hermione had been called downstairs from doing her maths homework, and they were standing in the living room.
“A surprise?” Hermione asked, hope ringing in her heart. A surprise, for Hermione, a few days before Christmas…
“A surprise,” her father nodded with a grin. Elisaveta was watching her with a funny little smile, sitting cross-legged on the armchair, much like Sebastian had months ago when Hermione was still learning to control herself.
There was a knock at the door.
“I’ll get that!” Her father jumped up and headed for the door. Hermione craned her head, watching him disappear into the foyer. Sunlight burst across the floor as he opened the door. Hermione let her senses open up. A curious smell permeated the house. It was slightly canine, but the most overpowering scent was that of the Dark and, somehow, the moon. Hermione furrowed her brow. What on earth could that be?
“Hello, good afternoon. My name is Remus Lupin,” a man’s voice came. “Elisaveta sent for me?” It was a calm, warm voice– Hermione liked it immediately.
“Oliver Granger,” her father replied. “Please, come inside. We’re all in the living room.”
The door shut. Her father entered the room with a man definitely younger than her parents, but who somehow looked much older. He had sandy brown hair, and worn, odd clothes. The black cloak he unclasped and slid off her shoulders was decidedly shabby.
“Remus,” Elisaveta greeted, fluidly rising from the chair. A warm smile crinkled at the corner of her dark eyes. “It has been quite a few years since I’ve seen your face!”
“Elisa,” Remus smiled back, nodded to the older woman. “It has been, indeed. I was surprised, but very happy, to receive your letter! And this must be young Hermione,” he said, turning to face her. His eyes were warm. “My name is Remus Lupin.”
“Hello,” she replied, feeling a bit shy. She hadn’t talked to anyone besides her parents, Sebastian, and Elisaveta for the last few months, after all. “I’m Hermione.”
“This is the wizard I told you about back when you were turned,” Elisaveta explained. “We met years ago during….well, it was a dark time. We were allies.”
“You’re a wizard?” she asked, excitement bubbling over her shyness. Here was another source of knowledge about the world she’d been thrust into. “Elisaveta’s told me all about the wizarding world! I can’t wait to see it for myself someday.”
“Yes, I am,” Remus said. He took a seat beside Hermione at her mother’s beckoning. “I went to Hogwarts when I was young.”
“I wish I could go to Hogwarts.” She turned on the couch to face him. He was so interesting, this newcomer. Now that he was closer, Hermione could smell chocolate and butterscotch, woodsmoke and grass. “Elisaveta says I am– or was? Or maybe I still am– a witch!”
“I would say you still are,” Remus said. His face was worn, but his eyes were youthful. “But Elisa and your parents called me here for a very different reason– do you know what it is?”
“To cast the spell that will let me go out into the sun?” Hermione couldn’t contain the smile breaking across her face. To be outside, at last, in the broad light of day– she could hardly contain herself.
“Yes!” Remus pulled a long stick out of the pocket on his robe. “This is my wand,” he said, holding it up for her to see. Hermione studied it closely. Carved of a deep brown wood, it was thin, but Hermione could see it’s resiliency. There wasn’t a fracture or chip on the gleaming wand. The entire thing radiated magic, and she had to urge to take it herself, wave it around and do something. She fought that urge admirably.
“Will it hurt?” Hermione asked. She hadn’t felt pain since that day in the woods, nearly five months ago. She doubted anything would compare to it, which had burned itself into her memory, but still.
“Not a bit,” Remus assured her. “It’s very simple– you will feel a tingle when I cast it over you, but nothing painful.”
“And this will allow her to go outside in the sun without harm?” Worry radiated off her mother. That was natural, Hermione supposed. Her parents hadn’t had the greatest experiences regarding Hermione and strange men.
“Yes,” Remus affirmed. “It will last for about a year, and then I’ll need to come back and re-cast it. But, it will work.”
If Hermione had a heart, it would be beating very quickly. “I haven’t seen the sun for ages…” She hadn’t seen anything for ages– just her house and the backyard and the forest. And the moon, but that was more of a soul-soothing comfort than a sight to see.
Remus’ smile was infectious. “That will soon be rectified,” he promised. He lifted his wand above Hermione’s head, and twisted his wrist as he brought it down to rest on her head, speaking the words Hermione would come to cherish: “Sol tueri.”
Pale gold light burst from the wand and engulfed Hermione for a moment before it sank into her skin. It felt much like a thin fabric had been wrapped around her. The sensation dissipated after a few beats, and Hermione lifted her hands, small and frail-looking, to observe any physical change. Everything was the same.
“Is it safe now?” Hermione asked, eyeing the black canvas nailed over the windows. “Really safe?” The sun, even as she cherished it in her mind (though not nearly as much as the moon), posed a threat to her safety. If this spell didn’t work, and she stepped outside– well, it wouldn’t be pretty.
“It is,” Remus confirmed, amber eyes crinkling at the corners.
Hermione stood upright, her heart set on the sun. The front door had never been further away.
“Wait,” Elisaveta said. “We must go with you, Hermione. You have not yet been out with me. The sun brings different stimuli– we will accompany you.
“We’ll all go,” Beatrice seconded, rising to her feet.
Hermione waited rather impatiently as her parents shrugged on their coats. It was December and cold, but Hermione wanted to see the sun and the cold had no affect on her anymore.
With coats and gloves finally on, her mum offered her hand to Hermione, who took it despite her desire to break through the front doors and be free.
“Ready?” Oliver’s grin was infectious. Hermione nodded, her eyes fixed on the front door. She had been ready for a long time. Oliver opened the door.
Outside, it was glistening midday. The sun beamed down, throwing a brilliant glare off the blanket of snow covering the grass. The trees that blocked the view of their home from the road were shrouded in white. The light, wintry breeze brought the familiar scent of conifer trees, redwings, deer somewhere deep in the woods. She stepped out into the sun, marveling at the light heat warming her skin. Surely, this was magic, she thought, staring down at her hands, small and pale and open to catch a snowflake drifting down. It did not melt on her palm immediately, and she could clearly see the tiny, crystalline structure of it before the sun melted it.
Remus ended up staying for lunch, a hearty onion soup that her mother made after she and Elisaveta took down the canvas nailed up over the windows. Hermione and her father built a snowman outside while she made it. At her mother’s call, they came inside, Hermione more reluctant than her father. But she would have more time outside now, she thought to herself as brushed snow from her shoulders. It would be better now.
The next few days were rife with preparations. Her grandparents, whom she had spoken to over the phone many times over the last few months, had been worried sick about their granddaughter, and were delighted that she would be able to come for Christmas. Elisaveta went over her mental exercises with her nightly, making sure that Hermione could suppress any urge she had to bite and kill her grandparents. Elisaveta didn’t say that, but Hermione knew it was everyones fear., that being around people she hadn’t seen before would overwhelm her.
But it wouldn’t. Hermione was confident in her abilities. She hugged her mother now without fear of crushing her, and was positive she could do the same for her grandparents.
On Christmas Day, after her cup of blood was given to her, along with a package of something called bloop pops and a book on famous vampire women, Hermione, Elisaveta, Beatrice, and Oliver all piled in the car to go to her grandparent’s home. Elisaveta would be outside somewhere in case things went terribly wrong.
The was more than an hour, but Hermione contented herself by staring out the window as they drove. She hadn’t seen anything but the her home and the surrounding area since July. It was a white Christmas this year– snow blanketed everything.
When they finally pulled up to their grandparent’s house, Hermione could hardly contain herself. She hadn’t seen her grandparents (or anyone, really) in months! Not seeing them on her birthday this year hadn’t been easy. She loved her grandparents as much as any other young girl did.
Her grandmother stepped outside to greet them, curly white hair cut shorter since Hermione had seen her last. Her red pantsuit was immaculate. Hermione jumped from the car as soon as her father put it in park, not bothering to heed Elisaveta’s warning, and raced for her grandmother, slowing herself only for her sake.
“Grandma!” Hermione cried, throwing her arms around the older woman. Warmth, flour and sugar, honey, vanilla, and love clung to the older woman’s clothes. She was hugged tightly in return.
“Oh, look at you,” her grandmother said, smoothing a hand over Hermione’s hair. “You’ve grown since we last saw you!”
“I have,” Hermione said proudly. She had been happy to discover she’d grown almost a half an inch since July.
Hermione’s parents finally arrived, her mother a few gift bags for her grandparents. She looked harried, but her face softened when she saw Hermione’s eyes were shining with unshed tears. Elisaveta was no doubt already hidden up in a tree. Hermione felt badly for her– she was going to be there all night for no reason. Hermione wouldn’t snap, not today.
“Goodness, darling, you’re freezing.” Her grandmother cupped her face, dropping a kiss on her forehead. “Why don’t we get you a blanket and set you in front of the fireplace with your grandpa, hm? He’s been dying to see you!”
“That sounds wonderful,” Hermione agreed, happy to let herself be led inside. Today promised to be a good one, even if she couldn’t eat any of the food her grandmother had prepared. The house smelled like gingerbread and spruce, the fire was warm, and she was out of her home where she’d been trapped for the last few moments. “I missed you, grandma.”
“I missed you, too, love.” Her grandmother’s arm tightened around her shoulder. “I missed you very, very much.”