A/N: Week #9 prompt: "write a creepy story". I have some hard and fast squicks, and so I tried to write something that didn't hit any of them. This is what you get.
The interloper was finally gone, and the house sighed deeply in satisfaction. The house would rather sit empty than have those that did not belong within their walls. The portrait in the hall muttered to itself, but the house ignored it. That one had been tolerated by the house at best. After she had destroyed their family? Their bloodline? The house had taken great satisfaction in making that one suffer. Death had claimed her far too soon, in the house's opinion.
For several years, the house had their wish. They sat empty and alone without even the company of a slightly crazed House Elf. Then one day, she returned. From the first time she had entered the house, as a schoolgirl, they had known that she belonged—that she was theirs.
The magic of the Black family had leeched into the walls over the generations, giving them a sentience and a personality not dissimilar to other magically imbued locations. Unlike some self-important piles of stone, the house had never moved staircases at will, but they watched over the occupants all the same. The house could trace the lines of Black Family magic within their walls. It was easy to trace the magical threads that connected her to the Scion and his consort.
The house had felt the Scion pass beyond the Veil, and later the consort had gone as well, but she remained.
Ours, the walls murmured as she walked through their halls.
Ours, the balustrade sighed as she trailed her fingers over it.
Ours, the house agreed.
"Harry says that you pushed him out," she said quietly. She paused and tilted her head to the side. "Is that true?"
The interloper did not belong, grumbled the hardwood floors.
Silently, she moved to the hall and pulled back the curtains that covered that one's portrait. That one sat sullenly in her frame, aware of the quiet menace that the house was threatening.
"Were you responsible?" She asked.
"No," the portrait muttered. Surprise flickered over her face.
"No insults?" She asked.
"Stupid girl," the portrait snapped and turned its face away from her.
"Hardly a girl," she countered with a snort. "I never would have guessed that a few years would mellow you. Is it the absence of Kreacher?"
The portrait wisely kept its mouth shut. Eventually, she sighed and closed the curtains on the portrait. The house watched as she wandered through their halls, her fingers brushing against the wallpaper or tracing the wainscoting.
"You were beautiful once, weren't you?" She murmured to herself.
The house preened at the compliment.
That night while she slept, the house gave her dreams of its youth.
They used to have balls once. Every year, the invitations to their balls were the most sought after, the most coveted. Every piece of crystal sparkled. Every gilt surface gleamed. Beautiful women and handsome men circulated around one another in an age-old dance of flirtation and seduction in their hallowed halls and across their well-buffed dance floor.
As Hermione walked by a mirror she paused to look at herself. Gone were the ratty jeans and the over-sized sweater. In its place was a stunning set of dress robes in gold silk. Sparkling rubies dripped from her ears and encircled her throat. Riotous curls were pinned up, and phoenix feathers curled about her head giving off little sparks when she moved.
"There you are, my lady," a half-remembered voice purred in her ear. She turned to see a wizard standing next to her.
A flash of white teeth against swarthy skin and he was bowing over her hand. With the skill of long practice, he undid the button of her glove and stroked the bare skin of her wrist. She fought to control the shiver that shot down her spine.
"Do I know you?" She asked before she could help herself.
The wizard straightened and his stormy grey eyes flashed with hurt. Thick, curly black hair was pulled back from his face into a queue. He was wearing a riotously scarlet frock coat with a waistcoat that depicted a brilliantly embroidered phoenix. Hermione stared at his tight breeches and the hose that clung to his calves.
"Are you still angry with me?" He sighed. "It was a joke. I had no idea that you were going to be the first person to visit Cousin Ella."
"Hermione, don't you dare let this cad put a single entry on your dance card," Another voice countered. "Make sure you put Remus Lupin down for every dance."
"Remus?" Hermione turned to see someone who didn't quite look like the Remus she knew.
The new wizard's sandy hair was also in a queue, but his frock coat was slightly less eye-watering than the first wizard's. Hermione squinted up at him, searching for some bit of him that would show that he was Remus Lupin. He had the same eyes, she realized, a soft mossy green. The chin was the same, as was the high forehead. There was a vague semblance to the wizard she'd known.
Considering the environs, Hermione wondered if this man might be an ancestor of her Remus. Hermione froze for a moment. Her Remus? Surely not.
"Hermione?" The first wizard said with a worried frown.
"Perhaps she needs some punch," Remus suggested. "Sirius, why don't you help her to one of the chairs. I'll go fetch some punch."
"Sirius?" Hermione said in surprise and looked to the first wizard.
"If you'll take my arm, my lady?" Sirius held out his arm solicitously.
"Is it really you?" She whispered and reached out to touch his cheek.
Carefully, Sirius caught her gloved fingers. "My lady, do take care," he told her gravely. "You'll set more than one tongue wagging if you aren't careful."
"What are you doing here?" She asked as he led her to a chair and bid her sit. He laughed and shook his head at her.
"This is my house, my lady. Where else would I be on the night of the Samhain Ball? My mother would have my guts for garters if I tried to sneak out," he explained.
At that moment, Remus returned with a glass of punch which he handed over with an elegant bow.
"Here you are, my lady," he said with a cheeky grin.
"I'm so confused," Hermione said slowly. She looked up at both wizards. "What are you doing here?"
"I believe it's referred to as dancing in attendance," Remus offered with a raised eyebrow. "The general idea is that one day you'll take pity on us and accept our suit."
"I… what?" Hermione blinked up at them.
"For now, we're willing to make do with a dance each," Sirius added.
The rest of the night passed in a flurry of dancing and teasing and flirting with people who almost looked like people she should know.
The next day, she moved silently through their halls, and the house worried that perhaps it had gone too far. She stopped outside the ball room, which had been shut up for decades. Carefully, she opened the door and peered in.
"Lumos," she whispered. The wall sconces and the chandeliers obligingly lit themselves.
Dust and cobwebs clung to most surfaces, but the dancefloor was still in good order. She crept into the room until she was standing in front of an ornate gilt mirror. Reflected back at her was a tired-looking woman with her hair pulled back into a sensible bun. The ancient jumper she was wearing remained, as did her worn sweatpants.
"Very well," she murmured to herself.
The house watched as she raised her wand and began to cast cleaning spell after cleaning spell. Pleasure hummed through the floor and walls as she set conjured rags to polishing every surface.
Ours, the house hummed in satisfaction.
Night after night, the house sent her dreams of its former glory using the memories and emotions of past inhabitants. People who had lived and loved within their walls.
Within weeks, she had stripped off the hideous wallpaper that one had put up, and had ripped out the garish carpeting. Months later, and the house looked as it hadn't for over a hundred years. All thanks to her, their Chosen One. She had poured herself into the house, and the house had returned the favor in her dreams.
When Samhain Eve arrived, she came down the stairs wearing a set of robes that she'd found in the attic. Such a deep red would not have been appropriate in the house's youth, but it was acceptable nowadays. She'd left her hair down, but she was wearing the Black family tiara that the house had helped her find. Around her neck was another Black heirloom—a string of black pearls that went perfectly with the red of her robes. The house sighed happily.
As she approached the ballroom, the house eagerly opened its doors. Memories of music seeped out of its walls filling the air. Two silvery spectres shimmered into being as she entered the room.
"My lady," the Sirius spectre said with a smile. "Care to dance?"
A small smile curved Hermione's lips and she placed her hand in his.
"Don't forget to save me a dance, my lady," Remus called to her as Sirius swung her out onto the the gleaming dance floor.
"Of course," Hermione replied with a trilling laugh.
The ballroom doors closed tightly, and the house hummed with satisfaction. If one had been standing in the hallway, music might have drifted out and the faint chatter of guests.
Ours.