Chapter One

"Congratulations, Ms Granger," said the realtor, handing her a bunch of about a hundred gold, antique keys. "Enjoy your new home."

"Thank you," Hermione answered, her hand dropping quite low after receiving the keys, clearly not expecting the weight of them. "These are …" She inspected the keys, each with a label, ugly scrawls of 'Music Room', 'Master Bedroom', 'Pantry' and a misspelled 'Kittschen', "A lot."

"Yes, it is quite an old mansion – very beautiful, just needs a little maintenance here and there," said the realtor, Anastasia, a forty-something slender redhead as she smoothed down her blue suit, "It's good that this house will finally have an owner once more. Greta refused to put it up for sale, insisting that 'The Right One' hasn't come. They were very superstitious, you see. They believed that this old place has some magic powers."

Hermione blinked and laughed a little too high-pitched for her own liking.

"I know, right?!" she giggled, slapping Hermione gently on the shoulder. "This is just too crazy."

"Yeah, crazy," Hermione shook her head. That was impossible; she bought this place knowing that it was far away from Wizarding London, away from magic. She loved magic, and she was working as an Arguer at the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. It was just that she needed have something … Muggle.

She turned and scanned the view from outside the gothic gates of Qismah Mansion, a stunning three-storey off-white brick Palladian architecture, looking back at her through floor-to-ceiling windows that were decorated with deep red velvet curtains. There was a fountain and a cupid statue smack dab on the entrance of the breathtaking well-maintained garden of roses and the lawn was neat and trimmed. It was gorgeous, really.

The first time she passed by the mansion was after her meeting with a client – she had cheated on her wizard husband with a Muggle man who was pretty well off, had a mansion of his right around this place. She had decided to go for a walk, and stood still, as if frozen when she came face to face with this lovely, empty mansion. There was something about the place that called to her, as if it was meant for her. There was an aura that seemed to lead her to it.

She never really had a penchant for the grandiose, always opting for stability and reliability. This time, however, she said 'to hell with stability!' and got in touch with the realtor. Plus, she had always wanted something away from Wizarding London.

Her first tour, she almost had a conniption. Marble floors, spiral staircases and the library – oh, the library. It took up two floors (not that she minded), connecting to the balcony which overlooked the gardens. What amazed her even more were the stained glass windows in most areas of the house. They were intricate designs, the windows. They were always depictions of romance, of lovers and all-round sappy stuff painted with the colours of the rainbow. She wasn't sure if love was something she still believed in, but the art was beautiful, nonetheless. There were also various portraits of men and women, all who look none alike. Hermione decided that like everything else in this place, it was going to stay. It made the place seem more mysterious and historical.

It boasted eight bedrooms, with other rooms that Hermione seemed to have lost count of … At the end of it; she was crushed – both by its sheer magnificence and the fact that she could not afford it.

"Well, it is beautiful. So beautiful," Hermione stole a glance up the spiral staircase. "How much is it?"

She turned to Anastasia, who was not alone. There was a short, old woman who had friendly, smiling eyes and a face full of wrinkles. She still looked lovely. Although strangely, she reminded Hermione of Popeye the sailorman.

"Oh, hello," Hermione beamed.
"Hermione, this is Greta. Greta was the housekeeper for decades now, ever since she was a young woman. She served until the passing of the previous owners, Mr. and Mrs. Archambault, which was about a year ago."

Hermione held out her hand and shook the lovely old lady's wiry hand and she returned it enthusiastically, with both hands.

"This is the one," Greta whispered.

"Pardon?" Anastasia asked.

"This is the one that's going to be the new owner here," Greta explained, still staring at Hermione, never letting her eyes stray for Hermione's.

"Oh, no, no, this is just surveying," Hermione offered, feeling a little embarrassed now. "I'm not sure I can afford it."

"Are you sure?" Anastasia asked Greta.

"Yes," Greta nodded resolutely, still smiling at Hermione.

And that was it. Money was apparently not the issue for the Archambaults, for they left the house to Greta for her to choose the next owner. It was a rather bizarre thing, but the only thing Hermione needed to pay for was the processing of documents, so she counted her blessings and accepted.

"But still, can you believe it?" Anastasia's voice snapped Hermione out of her reverie, "Magic, really? Who the hell still believes in that?"

"Oh, you'll be surprised," Hermione raised her eyebrows and sighed, reaching inside her pocket and touched her wand. She smiled to herself and took another look at this glorious place that was to be her new home.

"What about your belongings? Do you need my help with the movers?" Anastasia asked.

"Err, umm, no. I only have a couple of things … not much. I'll get my friends to help me move them here," Hermione lied. Of course everything was just a flick of a wand away. Which reminded her, she needed to have a proper house-warming with Harry, Ron and everybody else.

"Where is Greta, by the way?" she asked Anastasia. "I was thinking maybe the three of us could have dinner."

"She's probably inside, talking to the walls," Anastasia said, swiping on her phone, "She does that. Superstitious, remember?"

"Well, I'll just go look for her then."

There were whispers. Soft, motherly whispers.

It was soothing, like a mother humming to her baby.

Hermione was on the second floor and walked towards the sound. Room after room, she eventually found Greta walking all by herself towards the library, hand caressing the walls as she whispered to nothing and no one in particular.

"She will take care of you … and you will do the same," she whispered.

Hermione smiled. It was such a sweet moment. This woman, who'd worked in this very mansion for so long, has such an attachment that touched Hermione. What was strange was that Hermione could feel a cool, flowing aura surrounding Greta at that very moment.

"Greta?" Hermione called.

Greta turned around and smiled at Hermione.

"Oh, sorry, dear. I just wanted to say goodbye."

"Goodbye?"

Oh, no, that's terrible! Now that Hermione's bought this place, Greta had nowhere to stay! Oh, crap.

"Yes, I'm going to stay with my son."

"Oh. Well, I really don't mind if you stayed here with me. It is after all, your home, too."

"No, no, I couldn't possibly do that. It is time for me to move on, now that she has got a new owner. My final service to the Archambaults is done."

"She?"

"Yes, she," Greta winked. "She is the oldest friend I have."

Greta then grabbed her umbrella and her bag, and walked past Hermione. The aura disappeared.

"Talk to her often … like you would do with a friend. Introduce yourself."

Hermione stared around at the walls and the stained glass windows, this time of a charming lady staring back at her, offering a single rose.

Without saying anything, Hermione left to have dinner with Anastasia.

Upon arriving home after dinner, she immediately transported her belongings from her old flat. Everything was done within minutes, and she found herself back at the entrance of the mansion, in the middle of the vast marble floors.

It was so quiet, the only thing that could be heard was the grandfather clock ticking away a couple of rooms down in the den.

Hermione looked around and tapped her foot, feeling a little nervous. Well, nobody was around to watch her do it anyway.

"Well, hello … house," Hermione stammered. "My name is Hermione … I'll be staying with you from now on. I hope you're alright with that. I'll take good care of you and umm, ugh for goodness sake, this is silly," she laughed, "But there's only you and me now so … hello and … pleased to make your acquaintance?" She even shrugged at the end, as if she was talking to a person who made her really nervous. The aura returned, as soon as she said that, but she reckoned it was just her feeling. She had always liked drama in her life anyway. Plus, she was 110% sure that this house was non-magical, despite what Greta said.

"I think you're really beautiful," she continued, "Those designs, the art, I can tell that this house was filled with love. Umm, I'm not sure if I still believe in that, but you're lovely, nonetheless."

The aura travelled around her, as if inspecting her. Again Hermione brushed it off.

"Well, it's late and I have work in the morning. Goodnight."

The aura followed her, up the spiral staircase, past the portraits of besotted men and women, to the third floor and finally to the master bedroom. Plush, large, red pillows inundated the four-poster bed, topped with a canopy. Again, there were very personal items around, and Hermione left them there with the exception that she included bits and pieces of her own belongings as well.

Having done her nightly rituals, she jumped into bed and could not believe her luck at acquiring such a masterpiece of a house. She smiled.

"Goodnight, house," she whispered and dozed off immediately.

Hermione thought she felt something squeezing her, even as she was in a deep sleep. She hummed and tried to shift her body, only to find that she'd been paralyzed.

Her eyes snapped open.

It was pitch-dark, and she couldn't see or do anything. The only thing that was for sure was that she felt as if the bed was swallowing her, she began to sink and sink ever-so-slowly into the large bed.

After blinking several times in panic, her eyes adjusted to the darkness with the help of the sliver of moonlight pouring through the drawn red velvet curtains.

"Oh God, oh God, what is happening," she whispered as she struggled to free herself, but her bed had gripped her so tightly that the only thing she could move were her eyeballs. Her heart was racing and the creaking sound from the bed was almost inaudible as her head was already halfway through the mattress. The mattress then began to slowly crowd around Hermione's head – as if it was trying to suffocate her –

"Accio wand!" Hermione cried out and her wand instantaneously zoomed towards her hand.

"Immobulus!" she twisted her wrist and pointed it at the bed, but the bed would not stop moving.

"Petrifucus Totalus!" It still did not stop and Hermione's vision was now covered by the heavy mattress.

Her breathing was fast and her mind worked like a freight train, trying to get out of this before she gets suffocated by a bloody bed –

"Ascendio!" she shouted at the top of her lungs it the force and determination in her voice caused her body to propel upwards, hit the canopy and land on the carpeted floor, all tangled in said canopy.

She stood up immediately, half covered in canopy material, but she glared and pointed her wand at the bed purposefully. The bed halted, and slowly began to return to its normal shape.

"Homenum revelio," she whispered.

Nothing.

"Specialis revelio."

Nothing.

There was no one present, and no magic present in this room, or in this mansion for that matter. It was just her.

She looked at the bed; face a mixture of disdain and confusion.

"My bed tried to kill me!"

Her heart was still racing many minutes later as she stood there, staring at her bed. Maybe this bed was … maybe this bed was so old that it … umm …

She scratched her head and shook her head. She muttered under her breath, lighting up the entire room and inspected the bed countless times, but having found nothing to help her figure out what had just happened, she gave up.

In dire need of a drink, she padded towards the hallway and passed by the portraits that hung on the wall. They were not magical, as they did not move like the ones Hermione was used to. She studied them and their names as she passed by, finding that they were all portraits of husband and wives that used to live here.

"Well, that's interest – AAAAAAAAAH!" the floor beneath her feet suddenly collapsed, and took her down down down three floors.

Screaming her lungs out, she saw the marble floor downstairs approaching fast but realized that she still had her wand in her hand despite her shock.

Again, for the second time that night, she cast a spell on herself in order to not die.

"Arresto momentum!" she shouted and mere inches before her head would have hit the floor in a bloody mess, she was stopped abruptly and landed gently on her back.

Her breathing was labored and her eyes still glazy from the fright and from the fall, but she squinted as she saw something approaching her head – something white, something big – something –

"Oh, holy fucking Merlin!" she immediately rolled away and stood up just as a large part of the ceiling slammed against the marble floor and shattered into pieces.

"Why is everything trying to kill me," she whispered, her brain working in a frenzied manner. Surely, this was not what Anastasia had meant when she said this house had magical powers? And Greta, Greta did not mention this once! She made it seem like the house was - well, not trying to kill the sole person in it!

What was up with this house?

She knew where to go to in order to get answers. She sprinted towards the library, casting a shielding bubble around herself just in case some random tile pierced her foot or whatever else fell from the ceiling. The woman on the window, the one with the rose, greeted her sight when she turned into a corner that led to the library. This time, however, she had a slight smirk on her face.

"The hell you smirking at?" Hermione hissed as she made her way to the library door. Every single record about this house had to be in there, she was sure of it. "I don't know how you do it, but I swear, I will find out and … Alohomora!" she pointed her wand at the doorknob and placed her hand around it.

"AUGHHHHHH!" she immediately withdrew her hand as if burned – well, she was burned! She looked at her hand, red and covered in scorch marks that felt like a million needles were piercing her hand.

"Episkey!" she muttered and found her hand spotless. But before she could be in awe of how flawless her spellwork was, there was a loud crack and deafening creaks came from the door before her. The hinges were coming off in a forceful manner, breaking the support of the heavy, ancient, mahogany door. It made a low, rumbling sound before it began to descend on Hermione, and glaring at the huge falling door, she shouted, "Confringo!"

And the door blew into pieces, leaving Hermione with a doorless library.

She turned back to the woman in the window, and she pointed at her.

"I get it. You don't want me here. Okay, I get it. But guess what? This place belongs to me now. It's under my name! And I will get to the bottom of this, whether you like it or not!" she shouted at the window. "You will yield!"

Just like that, the medium-sized chandelier right above Hermione's head began to unscrew itself from the ceiling, and throwing one last glare at the woman, Hermione Apparated, faintly hearing the echoes of the impact of glass against the floor.

She sobbed into Harry's chest as soon as he opened the door – his hair was ruffled and he looked like he had put on clothes in a hurry.

"What's the matter, 'Mione?" he hugged her back, rubbing soothing circles on her back as he took in her appearance – half dressed and barefoot – a couple of gashes her and there.

They were not tears of fear or weakness … for Hermione, they were tears of confusion. Like that one time she couldn't solve an Arithmancy problem. It was so annoying when she couldn't figure out a problem. What the fuck was wrong with the house?!

"H-Harry," she said through her blubbering, "My house is trying to kill me!"

Harry blinked at her.

"What?"

"My house – at first it was the bed, it tried to suffocate me, and then the floor just collapsed, the ceiling tried to squash my brains, the doorknob burned me, the door almost squashed me entirely and the chandelier – I escaped!" she said, wiping her snot.

Green eyes blinked at her and dark brows knitted together.

"Bad dream?"

"No!"

"Are you hammered?"

"Harry!"

"Okay, okay, come in and tell me what happened, alright? I'll fix you a cup of tea."

Hermione nodded through stubborn tears and walked in after Harry.

"Are you sure it's not haunted?"

"No, Harry, I've checked it a billion times. It was in an area with zero magic. Even when these things happened, there was not an ounce of magical presence or magical signature," Hermione explain as she massaged her temples.

"What about that aura thing?"

"I didn't notice, I was too busy trying to save my life," Hermione muttered in dismay, "Even if that thing really was there, it wasn't … magical. Or maybe it was, but not like our kind of magic. It was more like a sentient being."

"Strange."

"Yes, and you need to help me Harry. You're an Auror, surely you can tell if something is up with the house or not?"

"Well, I, err, I'm more into catching criminals and shooting spells. I'm not really into checking houses for dark spells," Harry laughed. Hermione glared.

"Alright, alright. Tell you what; I'll take a look at it first thing in the morning. Spend the night here and then … we'll see what the outcome is tomorrow, okay?"

"Alright. That sounds like a plan. While you're out at Death Realm I'll just ring Greta or Anastasia, or both, ask them what the fuck is going on, and what exactly it is that they're not telling me. Thanks, Harry."

That night, she dreamt of mattresses chasing her.

"Anastasia Bramson speaking," the cool voice responded after the third ring.

"ANASTASIA!" Hermione nearly shouted, "It's Hermione!"

"Oh, hello there! How's the house going? Planning a housewarming party yet?"

"No, it's not that! The house – the house is crazy. Do you have Greta's number?" she asked, desperate.

"Hmm, I think I do … hang on … ah here it is," she gave Hermione the number, and with a rushed thank-you and 'I'll explain later', Hermione immediately dialed Greta's number.

"Hello?" the familiar voice answered.

"Greta! It's Hermione, I need to talk to you about something -"

"Yes of course, dear, what is it? I'm a little pressed for time, but what is it, child?"

"The house – the house is trying to kill me, Greta. You're the only one who believes me because you know what kind of … aura-being-whatever is in there," Hermione said in a breath.

Greta laughed.

"Nonsense, child! The house would never hurt you!"

"It did. It tried to so many times, like last night, the bed tried to suffocate me and you would not believe the night I had. I called in sick today and I'm currently at a friend's because I know if I return, I would die."

Greta laughed once more, clearly amused, "Now child, I have to go. I'm going on holiday. Finally! Can you believe it, after so many years?"

"No, Greta, you have to believe me!"

"The only advice I can give to you is … don't fight it. It knows what's best. The house always knows."

And then she hung up.

Okay. What the flying fucking fuck was that?

The house knows best? So the best for Hermione is death?

No bloody way.

Hermione began to pace, stroking her chin but her mind was blank.

Just then, Harry appeared with a 'pop'.

"Anything?" Hermione asked hopefully. She was not crazy, she really was not.

Harry shook his head and sighed at Hermione's disconsolate face.

"Like I said … I really am not trained in this kind of thing but …"

"But?"

"But I did say I was going to try. And I found nothing. But if you really believe something is in there and it's endangering you, we will try to find out what it is okay?"

Hermione nodded. "Do we know any Curse Breakers or someone who knows how to deal with this kind of thing?"

Harry had a faraway look for a moment.
"Yes."

"Well, then, grab a hold of that person!"

Hermione had to stay at Harry's for two more days, because the so-called famous Curse Breaker had other appointments to attend to. Hermione had rolled her eyes then. Obviously he was a busy man or woman but … it was becoming rather a feat to have to pop back 'home' for a change of clothes while ducking flying lamps and failing ceilings.

The day had finally arrived, and she was waiting patiently for the person to show up. She paced the marble floor, watching out for any suspicious movement or sound. So far, so good.

The Curse Breaker was over an hour late, and Hermione was getting agitated. The more she waited, the higher the chances of her getting killed by some flying furniture or something.

Finally, after what felt like ten hours, she felt a magical signature outside her gate. With a swish of her hand, she allowed the Curse Breaker entry and waited for the presence to arrive at her door before opening it.

Oh great.

"It's fucking Malfoy," she said, voice full of agitation. Whoops, she wasn't meant to say that out loud. It was just that her mind is not in the right place at the moment … plus the waiting, plus the discovery that Malfoy looked so dashingly handsome, for some reason, the years have definitely done him good and – wait, what was going on here? What was she thinking about?

"Well, hello Granger, glad to be of service. I'm great, how are you? Not so well, I presume, considering that you sought my help, and that you think your house is trying to kill you."

"You're late," Hermione said through gritted teeth.

"And you're rude," Malfoy answered promptly.

"Ah, manners. You're quite excellent at them, are you not?" Hermione retorted. "Come in."

"Well, I'm a changed man, Granger," he said, putting down his large black briefcase as soon as he got into the house. He began to take off his gloves whilst looking around.

Hermione agreed. He certainly looked … different. Mature, poised and loathe as she was to admit that, charismatic. His hair was silver, like she remembered, but not gelled to death like it was in school, but more of a done-undone style. He was no longer pointy but he filled out quite nicely. He was not the typical heartthrob, and frankly Hermione never knew why the girls fawned over him then. But if it were now, she'd understand. It was an innate sort of confidence, and that was quite attractive. Even if it was Malfoy. Prick.

Dressed in an all-black ensemble, Malfoy's grey eyes were watching her just as she was watching him.

"Can't say the same for you, Granger. Still the same old, prudish swot, I reckon. And still, after all these years, you're still delusional and something is still trying to kill you," Malfoy grinned, and that was sort of attractive, too.

"You don't understand, Malfoy. I'm not making this up. My house is trying to kill me," Hermione walked towards him and looked at him dead in the eye.

"Granger, if I were your house, I too would try to kill you."

Hermione rolled her eyes and crossed her arms.

"Are you going to help me or what? Because if you're going to stand here exchanging love songs, I'd rather find someone else capable of doing their job."

Malfoy straightened then, and blinked, as if triggered by something Hermione said.

The attractive grin returned and he answered, "Oh, believe me, I am capable."

"Good, then you can get to work."

"Look, I'm doing this as a favour for Harry -"

"Harry? Why are you calling him Harry?" Hermione asked, puzzled.

Malfoy began walking around, "We're friends."

"Oh are you now?"

"Yes, he asked me if I could come in and check out this apparent … supernatural case. And maybe if you like, we can be friends too. That's the only way you're getting a discount."

"I thought you said it was a favour."

"Favour for him, not you."

Hermione rolled her eyes so hard that she feared it would get stuck.

"Are you always this unprofessional?"

"It depends, are my cases usually this childish? If so, then yes."

"Malfoy, really, I'm not joking. The house really is trying to kill me."

"How exciting," he said, still looking around.

"Look, Malfoy, if all you're going to be doing is make fun of my problem, then I suggest you get out."

Just the second after she said that, the door slammed shut and locked itself. It then began melting at the sides, making its hinges handles impossible to budge. The windows then, too, began to shut on their own, locked tightly. The curtains drew shut all by themselves, blocking out the sunlight.

Malfoy and Hermione were left in complete darkness, in a completely inaccessible mansion.

Malfoy's silver eyes looked up, his expression unfathomable.

"See what I mean?!" Hermione growled. "Now you'll get us both killed!"

Malfoy said nothing. He cast a Lumos and grabbed his briefcase before walking up the spiral staircase.

To be continued!

It's been a while, I know. But hey, I'm back, and hopefully this proved to be an exciting premise. Happy Halloween in advance!

p/s excuse the mistakes in grammar/spelling, I do try to do a once-over but sometimes you can't detect your own mistakes, so whoopsie!