Author's Note: this story will contain dark themes, including but not limited to: murder, suicide, assault, and medical violence. Proceed with caution if you find this triggering.
Also, this in an AU heavily inspired by American Horror Story. That being said, it won't follow the same plot and you don't have to have seen the show to understand it.I know this first chapter brings up a lot of questions with basically no answers. That's kind of the point right now, because, you know, plot. All will be revealed in time.
Harry had come up with the idea the summer after their junior year.
Ron thought it sounded perfect. Sirius had told him absolutely not, and that if he had any choice in the matter the house would have been bulldozed and the land sold by now.
Hermione, however, had the most to say about it. She had told Harry it was a bad idea from the very start. That it would never help him get closure. That it was unhealthy. That it was morbid. That, beyond all that, it was just creepy.
Who would want to live in the house their parents were murdered in? Harry James Potter, apparently.
But she went with him and Ron to tour the house, hoping he'd see it, get freaked out, and change his mind. It didn't seem like she was having any such luck.
"And here," he said, pointing to yet another bedroom, "is where my parents used to keep my dad's office. They could have used the bigger room downstairs, but he wanted a smaller spaces. Mione could even turn this into a library, if she wanted to. You can see his bookshelves are even still in here."
He smiled at her, trying to show her how perfect it was. It wasn't working.
The tour continued, with Ron and Harry excitedly pointing out what each room could be used for, what Harry's parents had done with it all, where they wanted to put their furniture, and what furniture they could buy now that they had all of Harry's inheritance. They didn't skip pointing out any single detail, making sure to go on about it to her at length.
At one point, Harry spent an entire five minutes talking about the Tiffany light fixtures, and how much his mother had apparently loved them. Hermione still wasn't impressed.
Well, not with the decision to move into the house, that is. The house itself was very impressive.
The house(more of a mansion, really) was a classic Victorian, containing six bedrooms, four and a half bathrooms, an attic, a basement, a den, four fireplaces, hardwood floors, Tiffany fixtures, stained glass windows, and all with modern amenities. For fuck's sake, it even had a gazebo in the backyard.
That being said, the whole 'James and Lily Potter were stabbed to death here' thing made it seem a lot less inviting(at least to Hermione; Harry and Ron didn't seem to mind much).
She slipped away, out to the backyard, and found herself on the gazebo while Harry and Ron continued excitedly debating over the best place to put a pool table. It seemed her complaints were falling on deaf ears.
She was just about to pull out a book when an old man with long white hair and a long white beard to match stepped up and sat down next to her. "Thinking of buying the house, are you?" He asked it conversationally, as though he weren't trespassing on private property.
"It's already owned," she explained, "I'm simply trying to convince him not to move into it."
"A wise decision," he smiled kindly, "Not many can handle the responsibility that comes with the home."
Her head tilted curiously, finding that a bit odd. The house may have been quite old, but it was in excellent shape considering its age. "What do you mean? What responsibility?"
"Old houses come alive in ways many people don't understand. This one especially."
She pursed her lips, debating whether she should ask him to explain or just take this all as the ramblings of an old man. Turning to look at him, she noticed a twinkle in his bright blue eyes. She found it off-putting.
Though she was just about to politely excuse herself, the man spoke up again. "Is this the man you're trying to convince?" Looking up, she saw Harry striding towards them, looking excited as ever.
"Yes," she replied, lips pressed into a thin line, "yes, it is."
"'Mione, we wondered where you ran off to," Harry stated, then extended a hand to the stranger. "Harry Potter, nice to meet you."
"Albus Dumbledore," he replied, shaking Harry's hand, "and no need to introduce yourself Harry, we've met before. I was wondering if you'd ever come around again." There was a pause, where Hermione watched as Harry's brows furrowed, attempting to understand the meaning of what he just heard. "We're neighbors. I knew your parents," Albus explained.
"Oh! Really? That's wonderful," Harry exclaimed, and he had that giddy expression he always did when any mention of his parents came up. "Well don't be a stranger! You can drop by any time. Always welcome to friends of the family, you know. And of course I came back. It is my house, isn't it?"
The man, Albus, didn't respond, instead simply giving a polite smile. It made Hermione feel a bit uneasy, but she chalked it up to paranoia. This whole situation made her uncomfortable, and she was hardly in an unbiased state of mind. That still didn't mean she wanted to lengthen the encounter. "Harry, um, we should probably go inside. Find Ron and all."
"Yeah, yeah, 'course." He turned back to Albus. "It was nice meeting you. And again, feel free to drop by."
As Hermione and Harry walked back towards the house, she looked back once. Albus was still sitting on the gazebo, and though he looked perfectly serene with his hands folded across his lap, she couldn't shake her nerves about the man.
Just as they walked in, Ron was coming down the staircase. "Where the bloody hell did you guys run off to? I swear I turn around for one second and you're both gone. This place is huge, thought you might have gotten lost. Not that I'm complaining, -about the size- that is. You know, we were all packed like sardines back at mum's but-"
"Took a stroll outside," Harry interrupted, before turning back to Hermione. "I told you. It's perfect. Even Ron agrees."
She sighed, bit the inside of her check and crossed her arms over her chest. She knew she wasn't going to win this one. Didn't mean she was giving up without one last attempt at being the voice of reason. "Ron would love any house that gave him his own bedroom, that's hardly a selling point. Yes, the house is beautiful Harry, but I don't think it's healthy for you to come back here. You've had the chance to see it. Gotten your closure. Now I think you should sell it and move on."
"You know damn well that's not what I want." His voice was starting to waver, and Hermione tried to be gentle but it was difficult when he insisted on being so dense.
"Harry, I know it's not what you want, but-"
"'But' nothing, Hermione! My parents bought this house for my family. I was supposed to live here and grow up here and be here with them. If I can't do it with them, I'll still have the next best thing. I'm not giving it up and you're not changing my mind. If you don't want to be here, then you don't have to. But I'm staying."
She shook her head. She really had no leverage here, no ability to sway him.
"Come on, 'Mione," Ron urged gently, "this place is brilliant. And, it's a bit morbid, yeah, but it's not that bad. Got character, but that's not so much a bad thing, right? You always did love history and this place is practically ancient. And, it's always been the three of us. Harry and I are staying. You should too."
She sighed, and allowed her fingers to pinch the bridge of her nose while she thought it over. To her, it wasn't a big deal. It's just a pretty, interesting old house. That used to be a crime scene, but that was irrelevant to her personally. It wasn't a crime scene anymore, and it's not like it was covered in blood stains or police tape. Her concern had always been about Harry, and how it would affect his health. He was staying. There was no reasoning with him. She was damn sure she wasn't about to let him do it alone.
Reluctantly, she agreed.
A week later, they were moving in.
As teenagers fresh out of high school, they didn't have much. They didn't even need a moving van, instead just renting a trailer they could shove their suitcases and a few boxes into. James and Lily's furniture was still there, having never been moved. Technically, it's Harry's furniture now, she reminded herself.
Harry had said she could take any of the bedrooms she wanted, most likely in an attempt to placate her because she refused to hide her discomfort. Though she considered taking the master suite just so that Harry wouldn't(gross, she had reminded him, creepy and gross), she decided against it.
She chose the one next to James's old office, which they had agreed to turn into a library(essentially dictating the room was hers as well). It was a short walk away from the bathroom, but she decided she wouldn't mind. Harry and Ron were on the opposite end of the floor, so it's not like she'd risk running into them while wearing nothing but a towel anyways.
The first thing she grabbed was a box of books, deciding to bring them up to the library -her library- as quickly as possible. The box was heavy, but she managed to lug it up the stairs just fine. Walking down the hallway, she approached the library when suddenly she stopped dead in her tracks, feeling like she was literally frozen on the spot.
There was a man in the room. A man she didn't know, who shouldn't be here, going through the books still left on James's bookcases. He was tall, she noticed. Much taller than her(though, admittedly she was a bit on the short side), with neat black hair, a thin build, and, though she couldn't clearly see his face yet, she saw a hint of a sharp jawline. If he hadn't broken into her home, she'd probably have thought he was attractive.
Anger broke her out of her initial shock.
"Excuse you," she started, using the tone that had branded her as 'bossy' as a child and 'bitchy' as she got older, "I know this house has been vacant for a long time, but it's not anymore. You're trespassing, and now there's people here to notice."
He turned to face her properly, his lips quirking into a hint of a mocking smile, and it caught her so off guard that she nearly dropped the box she was carrying. His smile faltered, and he rushed over to take the box from her arms.
It was heavy, so she let him. She still wasn't going to thank him for breaking into what was now her home.
"Why are you here?" She asked, glaring at him as he put the box down.
He huffed, unsatisfied with her response. "You're supposed to say 'thank you' when someone prevents a large box of books from breaking your foot."
"And you're supposed to answer the question."
He pursed his lips for a moment, likely thinking over his response.
"I'm researching the history of the house."
She rolled her eyes. Great, we haven't even been here a day and this bullshite has already started.
"Well you're not anymore. People live here now. You can't just waltz in whenever you want." Not that he could in the first place, but now there were people here to actually enforce it.
He grinned at her like it was a joke only he understood, and oh god, whoever this was, she decided right there that she hated him. "Who are you?" She demanded.
"My name is Tom. I live around here," he stated, still grinning like the devil, "and, correct me if I'm wrong, but I take it you know absolutely nothing about the house you're moving into."
"What makes you say that?"
"If you did, you probably wouldn't be here."
"I know what happened to James and Lily," she stated, putting her hands on her hips, "their son is my best friend, and we're the ones moving in. So, yes, I know about the house."
An amused chuckle left his throat and she had to restrain her fists to her sides. "James and Lily are just the tip of the iceberg, sweetheart."
The glare she gave him was near venomous, but it didn't phase him. "Don't call me 'sweetheart.'"
"Apologies, love, but you didn't give me a name to call you by."
"Because we don't know each other and I don't want you to know my name. What I want is for you to get the fuck out of my house."
That, however, did seem to affect him. For only half a second, she swore he looked angry, but just as quickly as she noticed it, it was gone.
"Did you know this house was built by a doctor? Do you know any of the families that lived here before the Potters moved in?" He asked, completely ignoring her hostility, expression forming a mischievous smirk. "Did you know they say this place is haunted?"
She rolled her eyes. Haunted? Really? Couldn't get any more creative with the scare tactics? "I really don't care. Get out."
His smile didn't falter as he told her, "I'll see you around."
"I certainly hope not."
She watched as he left her room and walked down the hall towards the stairs, turning once he reached the staircase. Deciding to keep bringing in boxes(and to see him out), she followed only a few steps behind him. She reached the stairs only seconds after he did, and she swore she heard the steps creak under his weight -but he was gone. She didn't see him anywhere.
Rushing down the stairs, she glanced through the room and down the hallway, but, still, nothing. "Tom?" She hesitantly called out, wondering where he ran off to. She hadn't heard him leave and she didn't want him hiding around.
Almost immediately, the front door cracked open and he snaked back in through the crack. Seeing that, no, he hadn't just disappeared or wondered throughout the house, caused a faint sense of relief to wash over her.
"Changed your mind, darling? Planning on inviting me in for tea now, maybe?" He asked, his lips once again forming that Cheshire grin.
She was just about to tell him to leave, again, and for good measure to never come back, when Harry came down the stairs. "'Mione, who's this? You didn't tell me we had company."
"We don't," Hermione started to say, just as Tom stepped forward towards Harry, extending a hand.
"Tom Riddle," he said, voice smooth and causal, like he didn't just show up here uninvited, "and you must be the Harry Potter that 'Mione has told me so much about."
She turned her head towards him, a look of suspicion forming on her face. She hadn't mentioned that her best friend was named Harry, only that he was the son of James and Lily. Well, she reasoned, he did say he was researching the house. He probably already knew.
It also didn't skip her notice that he had called her 'Mione, most likely just to be an arsehole, just to prove that even though she refused to give him her name he found out anyways.
"Uh, yeah, that would be me," Harry replied, taking his hand. "Are you another neighbor, then?"
"Yes," he replied, and then after a moment added, "you've been gone a long time. I was starting to assume you had sold the place."
"I'm never selling it," Harry replied definitively, before he took on a confused frown, "Did you know my parents then? You look a bit, well, young to have remembered them."
"I know the history of this house," he stated as though that was an answer. "I know every occupant who has ever lived here, every renovation that has ever been done. I've taken a lot of time learning everything there is to know about this place. It has a truly fascinating history."
The stranger, trespasser, finished, and looked at Harry as though he was just hoping that Harry would ask him more. Harry opened his mouth again, seemingly entranced and apparently unaware he was being baited.
"Harry," Hermione cut in, wanting to end the conversation before Harry formally invited her unwanted guest in, "there's still boxes in the car. We should go get them."
She gave him a stern, while simultaneously pleading, look.
"Oh, yeah," he replied lamely, but apparently he caught her drift, "Hermione's right. We're real busy right now, but it's been nice meeting you, Tom."
"Of course," Tom replied, perfectly rehearsed smile never fading, "I'll see around then, Harry. Hermione."
This time when he left, he didn't come back in.
Harry turned to her. "He seems like a nice bloke, yeah?"
She scowled at him. "He's a condescending prick who broke into your house."
Harry defensively crossed his arms over his chest. "Why did he break in? He didn't look like he was stealing anything."
"Does it matter? He said he was researching the house, but that doesn't mean he can just break in!"
"Well, yeah, but..." Harry trailed off, furrowing his brows before asking, "So, you think he knows anything? Since he's been researching the house and all."
She knew where his mind was headed and she also knew it wasn't a good idea to go there. The murder of the Potter family had never been solved, and the trail(minimal as it was) had long since gone cold. Harry was convinced the murderer was still out there, and was determined to solve it himself.
"Harry, please," she said gently, and she didn't want to sound like a broken record but this is exactly why she didn't want him moving back here. It was tragic, but it was a hopeless case. He shouldn't waste his life on an effort so futile.
"No, Hermione, you heard him. He knows everyone who ever lived here, every renovation," as he trailed off his eyes began to brighten and no, no no no, this was bad, "maybe he's found something that the police missed. I don't bloody well care if he was snooping around if he found something to reopen the case!" He moved towards the door, "Did he say which house he lived in?"
Hermione threw herself in front of him, and though she was small enough he could easily just push her out of the way, he didn't. "Harry, think about this. You can't just go running after strangers asking about your parents. And, as you said yourself, he's young. It's unlikely he ever even met them, and even less likely he would remember them if he had. He's probably just read what was made public about the case. Let's just get unpacked, and you can think on it later, okay?"
He looked at her with what she interpreted as a glare, but he still reluctantly agreed. "If you see him again, will you direct him to me?"
She nodded, internally praying that the man would simply vanish so she'd never have to.
After she had brought in the final box of books, she started to unpack them, filling the still mostly empty shelves. Her books were always meticulously organized, but it seemed that James didn't organize his at all, much to her dismay. They were scattered randomly in bunches across various shelves, not even bothering to keep books of the same series together. They were also covered in a thick layer of dust, but she figured that was to be expected given the fact that no one(except her arsehole neighbor, apparently) had been in here in almost two decades.
If this had been a public library, she'd have been appalled.
It seemed strangely disrespectful to move James' books, but she reasoned that she was just moving them onto a different shelf, not throwing them away, and it's not like he had any use left for them. Given the way he organized them, she assumed he probably hadn't used them much when he was alive either. She decided she'd just put them all together on their own shelf, so if Harry needed any of them(not that he would, but better safe than sorry), he could find them easily.
That would also give her a chance to organize them properly.
As she went to grab all the books from the various shelves they had been tossed on, she saw one specifically that caught her eye. She hadn't noticed it when she had browsed through only minutes before. She knew she hadn't, because she would have remembered that there was one book without any labeling on it, only a blank red cover, and, for whatever reason, no dust on it.
Cautiously, because she felt a bit like a child sticking their hand in a cookie jar, she opened the front cover and read.
April 17, 1999
We've barely been here ten minutes and James is already making 'the walls ooze green slime' jokes, claiming we'll be the next Amityville Horror and we should start setting Harry up with acting classes.
Hermione slammed the book shut and dropped it to the floor like it had burned her, not even getting through the first page.
The date, the names mentioned -There was little doubt in her mind; She had found Lily Potter's diary.
She checked over her shoulder, again, to make sure no one had seen her.
Like everything in the house, the book, diary, now belonged to Harry. He'd want it, since it belonged to his mother. He'd probably treasure it, consider it one of his prized possessions like he did with his dad's old leather jacket.
But it also might feed into his obsession with his parents(more specifically, with their deaths). His fixation had grown to the point that he saw no problem sleeping in the exact same room his parents had both been brutally murdered in. He was constantly looking for evidence to reopen the case, despite the fact that there was nothing, not even a fingerprint left behind at the crime scene.
This book, this diary, could be evidence. It could be the missing piece to the puzzle. The very first entry was dated less than a year before Lily and James had died. Lily could have written in it the exact night that she died, potentially only moments before the murder itself.
A thought came to her that made her blood run cold.
Lily wouldn't have had any reason to keep her diary in James's office, and this was the only book with no dust on it.
What if it had been placed there, hoping to be found?
If that were the case, who moved it? And why would they have wanted it found? James and Lily were dead, and their killer would not want to leave behind evidence, nor would they want to go back decades later to leave a trail. That would simply be illogical.
Now you're sounding as bad as Harry, she mentally chided herself, we've already met two trespassers. Most likely someone just found a book and thought they were putting it back, never having opened it. I'm just being paranoid. Ridiculous, honestly.
She still decided she wasn't going to hand the diary over to Harry until she had thoroughly looked through it. Slipping the book into her pocket, she quietly retreated to her bedroom and hid it in her nightstand drawer.
They had just taken a lunch break when there was a knock at the door.
Hermione wasn't exactly eager to meet any more neighbours and would have been happy to ignore it, but Harry, who still had half a sandwich in his mouth, perked up. "I'll get it!"
He ran towards the door, Ron following sheepishly behind him. They both missed the withered glance Hermione sent their way as she too trailed behind.
A few feet back, Ron and Hermione watched as Harry opened the door, revealing a woman with long, dark hair that fell down her back in sleek curls(which Hermione couldn't help but enviously compare to her own curls, which were nowhere near as sleek and defined), heavy lidded grey eyes, and a black trench coat that she wore despite the summer heat.
She was checking her short, blood red painted nails when she looked up and locked eyes with Harry. She cocked her head. "Are you the man of the house?"
Harry gave the woman a questioning glance as he looked her over and nodded. "Yes. If you don't mind me asking, who exactly are you?"
"Bellatrix Black," she replied shortly, "though you can call me Bella, if you wish. And I'm the housekeeper. I work Monday through Thursday, meaning I'll start next week. I come in at ten in the morning and I leave when the house is clean." She crossed her arms over her chest and shifted her weight on one foot, glancing from Harry to over his shoulder at Ron and Hermione. "Understood, then?"
Harry turned back from the door, sending a confused glance at Hermione, as though he somehow expected her to explain what was going on. She gave him a nudge of her head as though to say, 'it's your house'.
Harry turned back to the woman, awkwardly scratching the back of his neck. "Yeah, it's just that uh-" He paused, "it really is just the three of us, I'm just not sure a housekeeper is really necessary right now and-"
Bellatrix dramatically rolled her eyes and sighed, then uncrossed her arms so she could literally push past Harry into the house. She pointed to a doorknob. "Blood stains," she said, "are particularly hard to get out of wooden floors and can damage them if you're not careful. Especially when you have people," she threw Harry a glare, "running around and bashing their foreheads open."
Harry rubbed his scar as he began to say, "how did you know I hit my head against a-" but Bellatrix had already moved into the kitchen.
Opening a drawer and pulling out a spoon, she drawled, "if you're not careful about how you care for silver it can tarnish." The spoon landed back into the drawer with a clank as she dropped it, then began to walk up the stairs with the trio dumbly following behind.
They continued down the hallway, Bellatrix leading as though she owned the place, until she stepped through a door. A specific door that made Hermione's start to object, because she did not want to hear about how they cleaned up the blood left from the murders of Lily and James Potter, and she especially did not want Harry to hear, but-
"Replaced the carpet, I see," Bellatrix noted, kneeling down next to the bed, running her fingers over the floor. "That was the one mess that couldn't be perfectly cleaned, leaving a stain of its own on this house. Everything else was kept it perfect condition, but not this carpet.
"A severed carotid artery bleeds quite a lot. Drip, drip, drip, until you're left with a puddle on the floor, sinking through the carpet, all the way down to the wood. Took a lot of bleach to get it out, but then, well, bleach leaves a mark of its own. Not even I could fix that. Good call, simply ripping the flooring out all together. Still a bit of a pity, though."
She stood back up, seeming completely unphased.
This time, Harry did speak up. "You talk about it like you were there."
"Didn't have to be, to know what happened. The mess was just legendary." The woman, Bellatrix, arched an elegant brow at him, daring him to continue.
"You barely look older than us," he said, rising to the challenge. "You would have been, what, three, four, maybe, when it all happened? And yet you seem to know an awful lot about what happened here. Where did you hear about it all from? Why do you know so much?"
Despite her small stature, the woman seemed to have mastered the art of looking down at people. With an expression of distaste, she said, "money has been taken from your parents account for the housekeeper's since they first moved in here. They knew this house requires special care, and they knew only certain people could be trusted to provide it. Cooking spills, mud, rust, mold... bodily fluids- all messes that need to be cleaned. And one way or another, I'm always the one to clean them."
She finished the sentence with finality, implying she thought that was a suitable answer for the question. Given her demeanor, no one seemed keen to argue with her. She cleared her throat and said, "I already told you my schedule. If you would like to make changes to it, that is negotiable. I also already explained that I've been working here in your absence, paid directly through your parents' account. Any questions?"
Ron and Harry once again both looked to Hermione, expecting her to have something to say, most likely to make an objection so they wouldn't have to.
Well, if they were the case, they were about to be disappointed.
As unexpected as Bellatrix's employment was, Hermione could understand why Lily and James had hired her. Old houses needed special care, as they were prone to decay. An inexperienced person may accidentally cause damage simply trying to mop a floor. Not to mention, she had been working here a long time and it wouldn't be fair to leave her unemployed with no warning.
She was a bit... abrasive, but if all she did was clean, she could be easily ignored. Hermione would have to find a way to keep Harry distracted when she was around so he didn't interrogate her about his parents, but that could be managed.
"No, miss," she smiled, "no questions and we'd be glad to have your help."
"Weird day, yeah?" Ron said as he, Harry, and Hermione had all slumped against various couches within the living room. The day had been spent lifting boxes, moving furniture, and interacting with the strange(and slightly intimidating) new neighbors. They were all exhausted and ready to call it a day.
"First, we have to move everything in. Not that that's too hard, but there's a lot of stairs, you know? Not to mention, I stubbed my toe. Then that weird bloke shows up and, well I never actually saw him but Mione, you've been grumbling about him all day and you're the smart one so you're probably right-"
"Ron," Hermione interjected, "you can just say you're hungry. You don't have to do that thing where you start a conversation, rattle on for fifteen minutes about nothing, and then pretend to off handedly ask if anyone has had dinner like that wasn't your intention the whole time."
The freckled boy sheepishly turned red, and Harry spoke up. "Yeah, food sounds good. There's a Thai place around here's that's supposed to be really good. We could get takeout?"
Hermione scrunched up her nose. "I'd rather not have to clean up after you two inevitably go into food comas, passing out until tomorrow afternoon."
"You wouldn't have to clean up. Isn't that why we have a housekeeper now? Which is great, by the way. She's kinda scary, but she's also fit so-"
"Ron, we are not going to get into the habit of making messes just because we know someone else will clean them. I don't care if it's her job, we're not going to deliberately make it difficult for her!"
"It's not deliberate, it's more that it just-"
"So no takeout," Harry said, putting an end to the bickering, "why don't we just eat there?"
"Fine."
"Agreed."
"Well then," Harry said, a slight smirk on his face, "that settles it. Five minutes long enough to get ready?"
"I don't even need that," Hermione answered, "just let me grab my purse."
Albus watched the trio leave, making sure that they were truly gone before he pulled the old key out of his pocket. The Potters had given it to him shortly before they died, "for emergencies", they had said.
They had been so hopeful, so trusting, and so optimistic. They didn't deserve the fate they got, but looking back, very little could have been done to prevent it. He tried his best, but they had no idea what they had gotten themselves into.
Checking for cars and watching eyes, he crossed the street and continued up to the front door.
Some of it, Albus admitted, was his own error. His own fault. He had hoped that Harry would simply move on, but no such luck. He'd do his best to protect their son this time around, he decided as he stuck the old key into the lock and turned it.
The floors didn't creak, and the house appeared to be empty, but he knew better. He made his way up the stairs, then down the hall, stopping at a bedroom.
The walls were still painted green, he noticed, though from what little decor had been added, he assumed this room was now occupied by the girl Harry had brought back with him. He had never caught her name, and, rude as it was, he had forgotten to ask. Though, in his defense, he had been a bit preoccupied.
"As usual, I find the toys I have been presented with to be quite dull. You should know by now that I don't play well with others, Dumby."
Tom had spread himself out elegantly over the girl's lilac bedspread, absent mindedly tossing a small ball over his head(likely a toy for the fluffy orange cat he'd seen prowling around).
"It's good to see you, Tom. And I'm sorry you're unhappy, but you should know by now that I have no control over who lives here-"
"Or who dies here, apparently," he interjected with a sneer.
"-but I'm asking you to please not make this more difficult than it has to be. For any of us. Don't do anything rash, you may regret the consequences."
Tom stopped tossing the ball, and instead gave it a squeeze, resulting in a terribly obnoxious squeaking noise as he threw Albus an intense glare.
The boy always had loved to be difficult and contrary just for the sake of it.
"Have you informed our new tenants of the consequences of being antagonistic?"
"I'm working on it. They are new here, after all. They don't know yet. They'll learn."
Tom simply scoffed in response.
"Well," he said, "if that's all, you can leave. Need I remind you that you're trespassing?"
Albus knew there was nothing further to be gained from the conversation. A sad smile formed on his face as he said, "not today. Goodnight Tom, and please remember what I said."
He heard a loud banging as the door behind him slammed shut. At this point, there was little he could do but hope for the best.
When they had gotten back from dinner, the trio had all agreed they were wiped and ready for bed. Harry retreated to the master suite, and Ron to his own bedroom next to Harry's.
Hermione decided to shower first, having no desire to get her freshly washed sheets covered in the sweat she had built up from moving boxes all day. After her shower, she padded back to her room and changed into her pyjamas.
As she approached the bed, she noticed one of Crookshanks' toys laying next to her pillow, along with a surprisingly large dent in the comforter. Looks like Crooks might need to go on a diet, she thought, pushing the toy aside as she crawled into bed and reached for the book she was currently reading.
As her fingers brushed against the spine of the novel, she hesitated, remembering Lily's diary.
Curiosity overpowering guilt, she opened up her bedside table and reached for the diary instead.
April 17, 1999
We've barely been here ten minutes and James is already making 'the walls ooze green slime' jokes, claiming we'll be the next Amityville Horror and we should start setting Harry up with acting classes.
It's not that bad, honestly! Not bad at all, really. You can't even tell what happened. It's just a big, beautiful old house. The history is unfortunate, but the house has been excellently maintained and James and I aren't too weirded out by it all.
Not to mention the old owner sold it to us for such a great price, we'd be willing to overlook just about anything.
But, anyways, our first day here has been great. The movers moved in all the furniture so James and I didn't have to worry much about the heavy lifting or the stairs, we just had to watch Harry and make sure he didn't get a piano dropped on himself or something(he really takes after his dad with the reckless curiosity, and James is not helping to discourage him).
On another note, we met the neighbors today. Or, one of them, at least. Albus was certainly great with Harry. He was so kind, and so patient -even when Harry pulled on his beard! He said he's had foster kids for a long time now, and with how good he was with Harry, I can see how he'd be able to help those kids. Wonderful man, truly. I invited him over for tea tomorrow. It'd be nice to have friends around here.
We also have a housekeeper now. Supposedly every previous owner of the house had one, and the girl who was currently taking the position explained to me all the ways that modern cleaning chemicals can damage the house. That's why it's in such good condition -because girls like Bella knew how to keep it perfectly pristine while preserving it. Fascinating, really. I'll have to ask her more about that.
Funny, she reminds me a bit of my sister Petunia. Not that it matters, but that's just my initial impression of her. Very dry sense of humor, but she means no harm. I can tell.
Plans for tomorrow: child-lock everything and put up baby gates, grocery shopping
I really think we're going to be happy here.
After reading the first entry, Hermione shut the diary and placed it back in her nightstand.
She couldn't help but feel a bit... off about it. She couldn't articulate why, but reading Lily's words, in her own handwriting, and knowing that she lived here and died here -well, it all felt very surreal. It might have been because she had never actually met the woman, only heard stories about her, and now having tangible proof of her existence made her feel a little bit more real, a little more personal.
And there was also the fact that the actual entry, while short and quite optimistic, left Hermione with an ominous feeling.
It seemed strange to see 'Bella' mentioned in the diary, but Hermione reasoned that it must be a coincidence. Bellatrix may be a fairly uncommon name, but Isabella has been one of the most popular names of the last century. Bella was more likely than not just a nickname.
That wasn't what worried her.
Tom, as much of an arsehole as he may be, wasn't lying that there was more to the house than just the murders of James and Lily. How much more, Hermione wasn't sure yet, but she was determined to find out.
Ignoring the tightness in her chest and the chills on her skin(it's just cold, she told herself, wrapping the blankets around tighter), she reached over to her nightstand and turned out the light.