Disclaimer: Any recognisable characters are the property of JKR, Scholastic, and Warner Bros. among others, none of which are me.

A/N: Ok, new story, a bit different than the others. But I promise it's good :D

CHAPTER ONE: PART ONE

'We are going on holiday.' It was the first thing my parents said to me when I shuffled into the kitchen. Grabbing a plate and scooping myself some eggs, I slid a glance over to them.

Though they were both in their late forties, they looked youthful. My father had a full head of hair that bore the same dull brown colour as mine and had soft, blue eyes that, according to my mum, attracted all the ladies 'back in the day.' He was only five-ten but still held pretty decent musculature, as he jogged every morning before sunrise.

My mother could still pass for a women in her early thirties despite her thin, greying, frizzy hair. Her face was the perfect oval shape, her eyebrows completely low-maintenance. There was a slight up-turn to the corners of her lips, giving her the appearance of always smiling. She had gained some weight since the birth of me, but carried it well.

They were sitting at the table, both with parts of the newspaper and steaming mugs. My mum smiled happily at me, as if the sight of me taking eggs could please her more than any other and my father looked expectant, waiting for my response.

'Oh?' I inquired politely, taking the third chair at the table, leaving the one closest to the wall open, as always. 'Where are you two going?'

They smiled at each other, sharing a secret message. My mother, Rebecca Granger, said to me, 'Love, we are all going, you included. I thought we would take a trip to this lovely town this weekend.'

How odd, to sit here, knowing that Voldemort is out there killing off people as we speak and my parents were planning holidays. I cannot blame them, really, as I haven't told them about it. They still think all the latest tragedies are coincidence or global warming.

I know, I know, I have to tell them eventually. But it would break their hearts for me, their only daughter to tell them that not only am I going to not return to school, but I was also going to set out on a mission that could very well get me killed. It's as though, if they don't know about it, they are safe. Stupid, I know, but I just don't want to disappoint them.

'But, Mum, Dad, I am going to go to Ron's remember? With Harry and Ginny.' I had told them this after I returned from Bill and Fleur's wedding, claiming we had another Quidditch Tournament to go to, even though there was none. At least I don't think so.

I heard my father exhale out his nose and looked at him. He reached across the table and covered my hand with his large one. 'Hermione, you are getting older each day and soon you will be at university, or the wizarding equivalent. Your mother and I want to spend one last holiday with you. Please?'

They meant well, I knew and my father actually looked sad. I also felt a little guilty about having to leave them soon. So, I asked, 'How long will we be gone?'

'A week,' my mum replied, grinning with obvious relief.

'What about the clinic?'

I knew the answer as soon as I asked. Another dentist, Dr. Rosemary Cinnison would be in charge of it. My parents, realising I had figured it out on my own, changed the subject.

'It's only got eight hundred people,' my mother quipped. 'The town is called Falconsware, and it is so rich in history, Hermione!'

My father chipped in, like an excited schoolboy, 'Dates all the way back to King Henry VIII. The crusades! There are lovely churches and, oh! Hermione, the library. The largest you have ever seen, probably even larger than the one you claim is the most expansive, the one at your school!'

They lobbied back and forth, giving me bits of information they thought would interest me. I tried to appear excited but all I could think about what was I was going to tell Harry and Ron.

PART TWO

I told them the truth, clearly and both surprisingly understood.

'Yeah,' sighed Ron, who sat on his sofa, feet flat on the ground and arms stretched across the backrest. 'I should spend time with my family as well.' He bid me have fun and I pulled me head out of his fireplace.

Harry's house proved more difficulty.

The first thing I heard was a scream when my head stopped spinning. For a second, I thought it was mine. However, I opened my eyes to see a very white, ashen-faced, burly teenager. He clutched the cushions of his seat and started at me as if I was some sort of demon.

Sputtering, he asked, 'W-who are-are you?'

'Hermione Granger,' I told him calmly. 'Can I speak to Harry please?'

Not taking his beady eyes off me, he shouted out the side of his mouth. 'Dad…! There's a talking head in the fireplace!'

A man the size of a Mini Cooper stomped into the room, causing the fire I was in to protest in hisses and sparks. His face a rich plum colour, he swiveled his gaze to me and backed up a step.

'What are you?' He demanded in a booming voice that rattled my eardrums.

'I am a witch, Harry's friend. Can I speak to him, please? It's urgent.'

'NO!' He took a long, sharp metal stick from the stand, a fireplace poker, and began jabbing it at me. Thankfully, I am made of fire and therefore, untouchable.

'Get!' Stab! 'Out!' Stab! 'Of!' Stab! 'My!' Stab! 'Fireplace!' With another jab, he stopped, hands on knees, huffing.

Suddenly, a tall skeleton of a woman came bustling in. 'Vernon, what in the world…' she trailed off, her eyes focusing on me.

'There's a head in the fireplace,' pointed Harry's uncle, stating the obvious. 'It wants to talk to Harry.'

'Dudley,' the women, Harry's aunt, I assumed, turned to the shaken boy in the corner. 'Go get your cousin.' When he didn't move, she looked to her husband for support. He simply shot a glare at his son and Dudley scampered off, all too happy to be away from the 'demon head'.

'Do you know what it is, Petunia?' asked the robust man.

Petunia shrugged. 'She's flooing, as those gingers did a few years ago. Only, she's only sending her head. It's like the telephone.' She was amazingly calm about this and I remembered Harry saying she seemed to know more about the wizarding world than she let on.

Her steely gaze shot to mine. 'What is your name?'

'Hermione Granger, ma'am.' I hoped to give a smile that didn't look too alarming, my face being a fire now.

She nodded and her husband looked thoughtful. 'That name sounds familiar. Petunia, why does that name sound familiar?'

'They're our dentists, darling, the Grangers.'

His eyes bulged out of his head. 'What?!' He shouted. 'We've been going to… to… people of his kind? Petunia, what they could have done to us! There are probably hexes on our teeth now!' The poor man looked ready to faint so I decided to clear a bit up.

'No.'

He looked down at me with shock, having clearly forgotten my presence, temporarily.

'My parents are mug—like you lot. They can't do magic at all. I am the only one in my family.'

He shook his head. 'We have to get new dentists now. Even relatives of them are… Petunia, why are you looking at me like that?'

'I will have you know that I am a relative of one of "them", Vernon. So what are relatives of "them"?'

He opened and shut his mouth a few times but couldn't manage to get anything out.

'Hermione?' a familiar voice called. Both man and woman spun around at the sound and I had to lean around Vernon to see Harry eyeing me curiously. Dudley towered behind him, looking uncertain as to what to do.

Despite his protests, Petunia tugged Vernon into the kitchen and Dudley obediently followed.

Harry got on his knees. 'Hermione, is everything all right?'

Oh, poor Harry. His hair shot out at different angles and his eyes looked bruised with lack of sleep. His clothes were more rumpled than usual and he looked ten pounds thinner. He was also eyeing me with worry, which made the whole effect worse.

'Everything's fine. I just thought I would tell you that I am going out of town with my family this weekend, for a week. Hope that's ok.'

Thankfully, the concern left his face. 'No, of course that's ok. You need to spend time with them, I understand.'

'That's what Ron said,' I told him, smiling for the first time in months.

He nodded but didn't return my smile. 'Ron's right. In fact, take longer if you wish. I don't plan on going to Godric's Hollow until the school year would begin. Ron and Ginny can't get away until then, anyway. Not without it going unnoticed, anyway.'

I should have realised then, the way he stated this all mechanically, as if reading from a script, that something wasn't quite right. If I did notice anything, it was too seemingly unimportant for me to care.

We chatted lightly a little bit before I pulled out and went to bed.

PART THREE

The history of the village was apparent as soon as we entered through the gates—yes, the village was gated. The hills were lush and green, dotted here and there with small cottages, yes, cottages. In the town centre, ancient, worn, but glorious building grandly greeted us.

For some odd reason, the entire ride there (they would not allow me to apparate them), I felt myself growing anxious and excited, like a small girl on her way to the sideshow for the first time. I felt jittery and hyper, increasing the nearer we got. Then, as soon as we were through the gates, I felt alarmingly calm. I felt at home, as if I had been there before.

My parents, ever the tourists, snapped photographs at everything they saw. From each house to each civilian' everything was a wonderment to them.

Even I felt as though I had stepped back in time. While there were cars, a few horse-and-carriage vehicles passed us. I'd figured this was a tourist trap but in reality, everyone seemed to be a local.

I leaned forward between the two front seats. 'How did you hear about this place, anyway?'

The camera clicked and wrrred as my mother took a picture of a copper-coloured fox off the side of the road. 'We won something, through our clinic.'

'Won something?' I repeated, confused.

'Yeah,' my father added, peering at the street sign. 'Got it in the letter saying it was a drawing that all the small businesses got put into. The letter gave us one week free stay at the Dragonfly Inn for four.' He smiled back at me through the review mirror. 'Lucky us, huh?'

'Yeah.' I sat back. 'Lucky.' Now I had the odd feeling that something was going to happen. Good or bad, I didn't know.

I told myself I was just being paranoid as we approached a small building with a wooden sing shaped like a dragonfly hanging on chains from a post that stuck out of the building perpendicularly.

Before we'd even completely pulled into a parking place, a squat, white-haired woman bustled outside and pulled open my mum's door. 'You must be the Grangers!' She greeted, smiling broadly. She bent down slightly and squinted into the backseat. Giving a squeak, she hurriedly opened my door. 'And you must be Miss Hermione Granger! Come on!'

We piled out and grabbed our luggage. As soon as we had them in hand, the woman led us up the walk and into a small, quaint entrance.

She called for an assistant, a large muscular man who, single-handedly, carried four suitcases and Crookshanks' kennel up the stairs. The woman must have noticed my awed expression because she smiled up at me. 'That's my son, Jerald. And my name is Fiona Dawson, but folks just call me Fi.'

'Nice to meet you, Fi,' my father greeted. 'I am…'

Fi interrupted us with a chuckle. 'I know who you all are! You are Steve and Rebecca Granger, along with your daughter, Hermione!'

I had to ask. 'How do you know all our names?'

My mother smiled at me. 'Love, I told them.'

'You did?' I wasn't the only one that asked it; my father's rich voice joined my own.

My mother didn't answer.

'Well!' Fi clasped her hands together. 'Let me give you a tour and a brief history lesson, how's that?'

As if some invisible marionette was tugging our strings, my parents and I nodded.

Fi led us through an rounded doorway into a small common room done in pastels with high-backed seating. 'This is our living room. This entire house once belonged to the peasants of the village, and was always an inn. My very grandmother owned it, and her grandmother before her, for many generations. This part, however, unlike the rest of the building, is new.' She laughed at an unknown joke. 'We had to make room when we became more populated.'

In what was clearly the formal dining room, though too small to be considered formal, there was a roughly-cut wooden table, its legs gnarled and twisted. 'This is the very same table that came with the house. When there was a flood in the early eighteen hundreds, most of the furniture on the main level became warped or rotted. This one, however, completely went without damage. It still stands as strong as ever.'

After a few more rooms, she took up upstairs to our quarters. She sent my mum through one door but took me all the way to the end, where a door stood, the wood a deeper tone than the other buttery ones. She stuck what appeared to be a skeleton key into the slot and turned. The door creaked in protest as it opened.

'This, m'dear, is yours.'

Indeed. Crooks and my things were both waiting on my bed, my cat out of his cage.

I wondered if Jerald had let him out, or he'd gotten out himself.

Fi took no notice as she strode to the shuttered window. The blue doors opened effortlessly, despite how heavy they looked. 'Now, these are very old and so these windows have no panes.' She stuck her hand out the window to demonstrate, gliding her fingers through the air. 'So unless you want bugs in here, try to keep it closed during dusk.'

I nodded and got ready to thank her, but she wasn't done.

'Come on over, dear.' She waved me over. When I was by her side, she pointed out to a large, 'E' shaped mansion. 'That is where the 16th Duke of Falconsware resides.'

'Duke?' I parroted, intrigued. I had never once met a duke.

She nodded, the jolly smile oddly gone. 'Mr Edmund Hammond, Duke of Falconsware lives over there. His estate, Eidelbrook is open to the public for a tour every Sunday afternoon. I would suggest you take the tour. It would be very beneficial.'

Before I could ask why it would be very beneficial, her smile returned. 'Well, Hermione, dinner will be ready in a couple hours. You can walk around town until then, if you like.' Without another word, she was gone, my door shut behind her.

Trying to rub the migraine from my temples, I sat on my bed. Crookshanks slinked over to where I was sitting, his feathery tail held in a question mark. He butted his face against my arm. Distractedly, I rubbed his ear.

There was a war going on, a war no longer invisible to Muggles. But here, in this tiny town, everything was peaceful and pure, like a utopia in the middle of a dystopia. Order in the centre of chaos, the eye of the storm. Everything was calm and silent, completely oblivious to the world around it.

Suddenly, Crooks left my hand and leaped off the bed. Miaowing, he planted his furry but by the door, looking at me plaintively.

'You want to go out?' I asked, knowing he wouldn't answer but not caring because I also knew he understood. I walked over to the door and turned the knob. However, the orange tabby only walked so that he was half-way in the room, before eyeing me again. 'You want me to come with?'

I could have sworn he nodded.

Sighing again, I followed him down the hall and stairs, and out the door, quickly saying goodbye to my parents and Fi.

Despite the bright sun in the lower third of the sky, the temperature was pretty cool. In fact, I briefly debated going back to get a jumper. Out of pure laziness, I decided against it.

Crookshanks leading, we walked down the cobblestone road, passing a locksmith, a small gift shop, and what appeared to be a residence. In the distance, further down the road, was a marble-white church practically glowing in the evening sun. Like a camel following the scent of water, I walked to it, as if pulled by invisible rope.

Up close, it was even more magnificent. Intricate carvings of animals and numbers, and various designs covered every centemetre of the façade. Pillars rose up like large white tree trunks, guarding the entrance. The large, mahogany double doors came open with the slightest pull and I stepped into the church.

The sight before my caught my breath.

Unlike most churches I have seen, this one was crafted in artistry. High, gothic windows glittered of different colours of stained glass. The designs however, were not biblical in the least. I even recalled that no steeple stood atop the building outside.

How did I know it was a church, then?

Each design on the wall showed a different Greek myth. One was a muscled man standing, insignificant before the large statue of an older man: Hercules and his father, Zeus. There was one depicting Persephone, taken by Hades, along with the one of Venus seducing a mortal.

Another stark difference from other churches was the fact that every inch of space, that wasn't a wall or pew was covered in white and gold flowers of inexplicit breed, glittering different colours in the setting sun.

'Pretty, isn't it?'

I whipped around, my heart leaping over a few beats.

In the doorway stood an older man with permanent wrinkles around his eyes and crows feet at the corners of his mouth, as if he'd been smiling a bit too much in his life.

He did so now. 'Sorry, didn't mean to startle you. I am Mr Auguste, the vicar.' He walked toward me and stuck out his hand.

I took it and the cool, wrinkled skin had an odd soothing effect. 'Nice to meet you. I am—'

'Hermione,' He finished, giving me a brief, firm squeeze. 'News travels fast in such a small town with few visitors.'

The last bit confused me. 'Oh, you don't do the draw often?'

'Draw?' he echoed, his face wrinkling a bit more.

'The one with the small businesses in London?'

'Yeah…' He trailed off then changed the subject. 'So, do you like the décor?'

I spun around. 'Oh, it's all so lovely. In fact, it's breathtaking.'

He chuckled at that. 'I will give the ladies of the town your gratitude.' His face suddenly got serious. 'We are glad you finally came.'

'Finally? You mean, we were expected earlier?'

He didn't appear to hear me. 'Tomorrow, you should take a tour of the manor. It's in the afternoon.'

What is so special about this manor? I didn't ask this because I thought it rude to look down my nose at this town's obvious proud jewel.

His face brightened right up. 'Well, my name is Mr Auguste and I am here if you wish to talk.'

Without a word, he left.

What is it with people in this town? I wondered.

Little did I realise then, this was only the beginning.

A/N: ok, first, don't worry, all right? I will still be getting the other stories updated and in fact, thanks to SeverusFan, am now well into the next chappie for Spinsters.

That said, this is my new story, a bit different from the others (though, my dry humour will always find its way in). I can't say much of this at all because it's a mystery that has a few BIG turns that I haven't seen in any other fic, I don't think.

Ok, well, please let me know if you like it or not, and don't be afraid to say exactly what you think. If you have any guesses along the way as to the mystery, please don't try them in the review but send me a message. Don't want to ruin it for the others!

Lots of love!

Hermy