Hermione followed her parents off the plane and into the airport, still a bit groggy. Waiting at the baggage claim, she retraced her thoughts to remember exactly where they were going. After several moments, it came to her that her distant great uncle had passed away and her father had inherited his estate in America. Now what state was it in again? Looking around she saw a large sign that said, 'Welcome to Salem International Airport.' Salem, eh? She spotted another sign advertising the annual Festival of the Dead.

Her interest now piqued, she found a brochure and began reading.

"Halloween is the time of year when the shades of the dead whisper from forgotten places and spirits walk among us. The Witches of Salem honor this time with Festival of the Dead, an annual event series that explores death's macabre customs, heretical histories, and strange rituals. Founded by Salem Witches Shawn Poirier and Christian Day, and hosted by the foremost authorities on the spirit world, Festival of the Dead beckons guests to step through the veil into a realm where spirits await.

Festival of the Dead explores death's mysteries through haunting events that investigate both the favored and forbidden ways in which cultures have revered, celebrated, and secretly divined the meaning of life's inevitable destination.

Become a practicing ghost hunter, peer into the future with a psychic reading, learn the ancient arts of necromancy, wander a gallery of terrifying art, communicate with departed loved ones in an authentic séance, transform yourself in a ritual of death and rebirth, dance in the vampires' masquerade, enroll your kids in a school where they can make friends with ghosts, and even dine with the dead.

Finally, join the Salem Witches and revelers from around the globe for the crown jewel of Salem's Haunted Happenings at The Official Salem Witches' Halloween Ball, the world's most exclusive Halloween event! Celebrate the afterlife with food, dancing, ritual, live music, free psychic readings, and prizes where the dead cavort with the living and powerful spells are cast for the Witches' new year."

Death, rebirth, necromancy, vampires, ghosts, Halloween Balls and...witches. It sounded like a right good time and yet it almost bothered her still. Moving across the world and leaving all her friends at the boarding school in Whales didn't seem to have the slightest effect on her and yet this simple leaflet now had her heart racing and the gears of her mind going faster and faster until finally,---

"Hermione, dear! Do keep up, will you? We need to meet the limo that is taking us to Granger's Glen." her father called while trying to push the luggage filled trolley.

The gears stopped spinning. She resorted to starting them up again later. "A limo? For us?"

"Yes, dear. Your great uncle Albus--er--Albert, was quite well established. I do believe there are several automobiles on the estate. Perhaps you could have one of your own to drive around and learn the town." her mother tried to smile and hide the stumble as her husband leered at her.

As they climbed in and got settled in the overly large Lincoln, Hermione reflected on her mother's words. "Mum, my birthday is still a few weeks away. I can't start to drive yet. And why have I never heard of great uncle Albert before?"

Her mother took a moment to compose an answer. "Hermione, you are in the United States now. That means you only have to be 16 to get a driver's permit. And as for Albert, he always was a strange man, but he had a good heart and kept mostly to himself. I'm sure you'll find plenty to do once we arrive as the home is a rather large one, filled with all kinds of rooms to discover and items to do mischief with."

Hermione smiled at her mother and resigned to looking out the window at the countryside. It seemed that Granger's Glen was in the middle of nowhere, as Hermione soon grew bored with the endless trees and green fields. Where was the town? The people? The animals? The life? Just as she was about to ask the question parents loathe the most on road trips, 'are we there yet?', the car pulled to a stop and the chauffeur pushed an access code on an electric key pad. Two huge iron gates swung open and the car ascended up an oak lined drive. Pulling up to the house, it looked terribly out of place. Hermione reasoned it looked more like the sprawling southern mansions in Gone with the Wind. Tarra in New England was just, well it was just wrong. Hermione half expected a bovine woman with a southern accent to greet them at the door, but no such luck. Her father pulled a long, silver key from his trouser pocket and unlocked the massive front doors.

They opened to a large foyer that seemed horribly out of date in it's style. Even through the darkness, it was obvious that it matched the houses' exterior, in that everything Hermione could see appeared to be from the Civil War. Gliding past her father, she spotted a candle and some matches on a side table. Instinctively, she struck the match and was just about to light the candle, when her mother flipped on a light switch.

"Hermione, what are you doing with that candelabra?"

Hermione quickly blew out the match and looked at the candle. I was a decorative piece and obviously not supposed to be used. "Sorry, Mum. I thought it was a regular candle. I should have just waited for you to turn on the lights. Really, it was silly of me."

Her mother smiled and said, "Why don't you try and rest a bit dear? It's been a long journey and it's getting late. You have all day tomorrow to run about. You room is upstairs, the third door on the left."

Deciding doing was she was told was better than an argument right now, Hermione obliged and trudged up the stairs. Walking sown the hall, she wondered why she had gone for the candle first instead of looking for a light switch. What was wrong with her today? First she gets all worked up over a brochure and now she was acting like it was the dark ages before electricity. Maybe she did need more sleep. Reaching her door, she opened it and didn't even pay any attention to the large four poster with the comfy looking scarlet blanket adorned with a large golden lion. Instead, she began to unbutton her jumper. As she shrugged it off in to the floor, something fell from her pocket. It was the brochure on the Festival. Picking it up, she flung herself on the bed . After re-reading it four times and still not having an answer for her feeling of being wound rather tightly, she tossed it on the night table and fell back into a fitful slumber.

The next morning she awoke with a start. She had the same dream as the other night. I it, she was searching for someone, a boy with red hair that always seemed to elude her, no matter what she did to try and catch him. Shrugging off the covers, she noticed for the first time that she had her own bathroom. Sitting up to take a proper look, she saw her luggage had been brought up and unpacked in a tall wardrobe. She had a writing desk, chair, a squishy armchair by the fireplace and a full length mirror. Everything seemed to be in order and yet, it didn't feel like a bedroom should. Perhaps it was because it was all so foreign to her still. She decided to take a shower and try to find the kitchen; she was famished.

Back at Hogwarts, Harry and Ron sat at the lunch table and waited for Nevra. At least, Harry was—Ron waited for nothing or no one to eat. But today, Ron's plate was empty. Harry looked at his best friend with astonishment. "You finished your first plate already?"

But Ron didn't answer. He seemed lost in thought. Harry poked him just as Nevra sat down. "Ron are you ill? There is no food on your plate!" she teased.

"Huh? Oh, um, I'm not hungry. I think I'm gonna go to the library. See you." and with that, he collected his thing and strode slowly out of the great hall.

"Ron, not eat everything in sight and then exclaim he is going to the library? Does he even know where that is? Harry what is going on here?" Nevra demanded.

"Believe me, I haven't the foggiest, unless---"

"Unless what?"

"He was extremely upset over Hermione's leaving and being unable to say certain things to her."

"Harry, we were all upset over it, but not much could be done."

"Yeah, but it hit him especially hard because he never got the chance to tell her he really loved her and always had. She never got to know how much she meant to him."

"I'm sure she knew. It was obvious to all of us. And--"

"Was it? If so, then why were they not together before? I'll tell you why! Because she had given up on waiting for him to come around and stop being such a prat! That can do things to a person, feeling like you love someone that doesn't love you back. It makes them change. Makes them do things they normally wouldn't. Like hatching an insane kidnapping/murder/brainwashing plot!" Harry was fuming.

"You seem to know an awful lot about this, Harry. Are you sure you didn't know anything about what Hermione did?" Nevra eyed him suspiciously.

"Just because she was my best friend, did not mean she told me everything. It's just easy to figure out because maybe I know how she felt!" He jumped from the table and took off toward the library himself.

Nevra sat there with her mouth open, which was promptly closed by Dennis. She looked at him with a dumbfounded gaze and tried to figure out what Harry meant by, 'maybe I know how she felt.' Dennis just shrugged and stole her pudding. Could things get any weirder around here? Strike that. She knew full well that they could.

Miles away, Hermione's heart began to flutter as she tried to put on her shoes. Sitting up, she had the overwhelming urge to cry and had no idea why...

A/N: It's back! For those of you that still care out there, I have decided to revive this fic and give it a proper finish, eventually. ;) I went through and edited the previous chapters for spelling and continuity, so they read better and I combined a few chapters for those of you keeping count. The excerpt from the pamphlet on The Festival of the Dead is a direct quote from their website.

you all for your kind words and for helping to bring this plot bunny out of his comfy spot in my head.