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When Hermione woke up, she stared at the ceiling above her for several, long minutes. It was the hospital wing at Hogwarts. She recognized the pattern of the ceiling instantly. She focused on the chipped ceiling tile above her. How had she never noticed that, before? It was glaringly obvious, now that she looked. She wondered if it might have been caused by the Weasley twins’ fireworks.
Merlin, why was she so thirsty?
There was the creak of a door, and light spilled into the room. A steady thumping noise that Hermione ignored to focus on the light. That brought Hermione up short. She blinked and stared up at the ceiling again. It was night. There was no light in her section of the ward, but she could see the ceiling perfectly. She could pick out the tiniest detail in the tiles. How was that even possible? Her vision had never been quite as awful as Harry’s, but it certainly wasn’t this good.
Had she been hit with some sort of spell? Spellfire had been flying every which way during the Battle of Hogwarts, and Hermione knew that she’d been hit by several different spells. Who would have wasted a spell on something that would give her excellent vision? Surely any number of spells would have been a better choice.
Speaking of being hit by multiple spells… was that why she was here, in the hospital wing? Carefully, Hermione sat up. It didn’t hurt to move. She wasn’t dizzy. She ran her hands over her arms and legs, but nothing was tender or painful. She touched her torso briefly, but everything felt fine, except for the fact that she was really, really thirsty.
Why was she in the hospital wing?
“Hermione?”
The most delicious scent filled the air. Like… petrichor and fresh cut grass and something that made her nose itch and her mouth water. Her head swung around sharply and she focused on the figure that moved closer to her bed.
“Ron?” She froze as soon as she spoke. That melodic, bell-like voice was not hers.
“Blimey, Hermione,” Ron said as he drew nearer. “What happened to you? Madam Pomfrey wouldn’t let anyone in to see you. Harry’s still sleeping, but I thought it wouldn’t hurt anything if I snuck in.”
“I don’t know,” Hermione replied and then flinched again at the sound of her voice. “You probably shouldn’t be in here, Ron. What if I’m contagious or something?”
“What’s the last thing you remember?” Ron asked as he drew nearer.
“I got stuck in a corridor,” Hermione said slowly. “There was one of Voldemort’s soldiers—I don’t think it was a werewolf or a Death Eater, but he certainly wasn’t on our side. He… he bit me…”
The man had been beautiful in a terrible way. As he moved closer Hermione realized that his eyes were a brilliant ruby red… just like Sanguini, the vampire that had been at Slughorn’s Christmas party. He had grabbed at her left arm and had bitten her. There had been an awful burning sensation, and then Hermione had gripped her wand in her hand and blasted him with Bombarda Maxima.
After that… everything went fuzzy. She remembered being on fire, the pain of it had been excruciating, and she remembered screaming, and begging Madam Pomfrey to make it stop. Hermione jerked up the sleeve of her left arm. The perfect half circles of a set of teeth were clearly visible to her excellent vision.
“Ron,” Hermione said very carefully. “I think you should leave now.”
“Hermione,” Ron huffed at her, unwittingly blowing more of that delicious smell straight at her. “I wanted to talk. About the kiss you planted on me.”
“The kiss,” Hermione repeated.
A vague, slightly fuzzy memory intruded. Hermione was clutching basilisk teeth in her arms when she ran toward Ron and kissed him, flinging herself in his arms.
“Yeah, the kiss,” Ron repeated and blushed.
It was fairly dark still in Hermione’s corner of the hospital wing, but she could see the flush of blood in Ron’s cheeks. She could see Ron quite clearly. He looked… scrumptious. Her mouth watered again and she swallowed. Merlin, she was so thirsty.
“What about the kiss?” Hermione asked with a frown, trying to ignore the steady throb of Ron’s pulse at the base of his throat.
“What does that mean for us?” Ron pressed. “Are we… are we dating now?”
“Dating,” Hermione repeated slowly. She frowned at Ron. “You want to talk about whether or not we’re dating? I’m in an isolation ward, Ron. Don’t you think Madam Pomfrey put me here for a reason?”
“Well, yeah, sure,” Ron agreed. “It’s just… this is important, Hermione.”
Irritation flowed through Hermione. That was just typical.
“So is whether or not you catch some magical malady, Ron,” Hermione snapped. “Do you want matching beds in the Janus Thickey ward, or something?”
“Would that be so terrible?” Ron asked.
Fine, Hermione decided. If the idiot wanted to catch whatever it was that she had, fine. He could be the one to explain to Molly what had happened. She certainly wasn’t going to do it. She grabbed Ron’s head and pulled him toward her. She pressed her lips against his, and he struggled in her hands. She let him go and he stumbled back a couple of steps.
“Ow, Herbyne,” Ron complained. “I thig you broke my dose.”
If Ron smelled delicious before, he smelled intoxicating now. Unable to help herself, Hermione leaned forward and licked Ron’s upper lip. The taste blood on her tongue was ambrosia. She moaned helplessly and leaned forward to lick at Ron’s skin again.
“Herbyne!” Ron protested. “What are you doing?”
Suddenly, her mouth filled with saliva and she pounced, biting that spot where his blood had pulsed, teasing her. Blood flooded her tongue and mouth and she drank greedily, clutching Ron to her chest. Swallow after swallow, the blood seemed to be quenching the thirst that made her throat burn. The need overtook her, and Hermione bit even deeper, sucking blood into her mouth.
When the blood stopped flowing, Hermione pulled her mouth away from Ron’s neck. She licked the blood off her lips and stared at the boy in her arms. His head lolled to one side, his eyes wide and surprised, his mouth open slightly. Hermione groaned. The steady thumping that she had heard before had stopped.
“Damn it, Ron,” she huffed at him. “I told you to leave! Now look at you.”
The door opened again, and there was a new steady thumping, but this time instead of smelling delicious it smelled… not quite right. Woodsy and loamy and something else that made Hermione growl low in her throat.
“Hermione?” A voice whispered in the dark, but Hermione could hear it perfectly clearly.
“Lavender?” Hermione whispered.
The other girl moved closer to Hermione’s bed and paused at the foot of it, staring at Hermione in horror.
“Hermione… what have you done?” Lavender demanded.
Hermione looked down at Ron and frowned. She looked back up at Lavender.
“I… I think I ate Ron,” she admitted.