Author's Note: Here's the beginning of a story I've been planning for, good grief, OVER a year and a half. It's a little complicated and I'll be honest, I'm playing way, WAY loose with the mechanics of time, physics, science in general. (Forgive me, I'm playing and having fun. It's allowed.). Basically, I'm saying not to look too deeply into how it all works. Just enjoy! Lol. When in doubt, just think, "Oh, that's because MAGIC!"

This story will have some dark-ish elements to it. I've not decided yet how dark it will end up being, but I don't anticipate it will be too bad. There will of course include Adult Situations and Content, Sexual Content (hopefully a variety), Violence on par with what we see in canon (maybe a little more graphic), Toxic relationships, and most definitely Imperfect Characters. Want to complain about characters doing dumb stuff even though they're human? Don't. Everyone makes mistakes. Even you. Perhaps even especially you, I don't know.

Chapter One

Hermione - 2010

Keeping her mind focused on anything important was nearly impossible for Hermione Granger when the ugly scar on her chest itched. It was a miserable feeling that she had no adequate words to describe. And she'd tried on numerous occasions to try to help her loved ones to understand why she was so uncomfortable or irritable. The only one who sort of understood was Harry Potter on account of that whole scar on his head that sometimes caused him pain bit. Generally, she tried to avoid bringing up that topic of conversation with her old friend. It usually led to comparisons she couldn't compete with. The Chosen One could be a frustrating One-Upper when it suited him. No, she wasn't cursed with a part of a mad dark wizard's soul in her scar that could allow him to read her mind if she wasn't careful. But did that mean she couldn't be annoyed when it started to itch?

She supposed she should be thankful that the itching was rare. When it did happen, however, it was positively maddening. So far she had been unable to find anything that would relieve her of the misery. Potions failed. Muggle ointments were a joke. Cooling spells only masked the problem for a couple of hours at best. She'd even gone so far as to try hypnosis with a very sketchy Muggle therapist she'd heard about from a friend of a friend. All she'd managed to achieve there was to lose fifty quid and end up on some infuriating email list she hadn't figured out how to get off of yet. Nothing Muggle or magical helped. Usually, she just tried to ignore it. Scratching only made it worse.

There was a stack of reports on top of her desk that needed attention she was unable to provide. Each time she would pick up a quill and make her notes in the margins of something that needed to be corrected or further explained, the itching would increase. Someone, Neville maybe, suggested that the itching was brought on by periods of high stress. She didn't want to agree that that made sense, but it did. Work had been frustrating in recent weeks thanks to an infuriating new coworker she thought was determined to make her life miserable at every turn. To make matters worse, the flat she had been living in for the previous three years seemed in need of constant repair. Just that morning the hot water in her shower went out right when her head was full of shampoo. If she didn't have access to magic to provide a temporary solution, she would've been very unhappy. Her non-existent love life also contributed its own sort of stress to her life. After a rather dramatic break-up just a year earlier, she hadn't been in the mood to try to find someone new. Just the thought of going through a series of miserable dates hoping to find a person she didn't despise everything about made her cringe. It was a shame she enjoyed sex too much. Otherwise she could happily live alone. Perhaps if she wasn't in the midst of a rather dismal dry spell the damned scar wouldn't be itching so much that day.

She hated the scar. It was hideous. Every time she caught a glimpse of it in the mirror or when she was bathing or changing clothes, she remembered the day in the Department of Mysteries when she nearly died. She hated the man who gave it to her even more. The only consolation she had was the knowledge that the insane wizard Antonin Dolohov would spend the rest of his natural life locked up in the crumbling Azkaban fortress. Unless, of course, he managed to figure out how to escape from the notorious wizarding prison for a third time which unfortunately based on the incompetence that the Ministry of Magic had shown over the years wasn't exactly out of the realm of possibilities. Add one more reason to be stressed to her list.

An owl swooped through her open office door to drop a tiny rolled up parchment on top of the messy desk. She was glad to have an excuse to temporarily put aside the report that was making her eyes cross. Not to mention it would hopefully give her a reason to ignore the itching scar for a few minutes at least. Interdepartmental memos from within the Ministry came in the form of a purple paper airplane. If someone took the time to send an owl, it was important and likely from somewhere outside the little bubble she had been hiding herself in.

Hermione, I have great news! Can you drop by the office when you leave work today? -Alicia

Just reading the simple message buoyed her spirits. If it was about what she thought it was about, then the request had perfect timing. Without hesitation she scribbled off a response to her fellow Gryffindor that she would be there as soon after five that day as she could make it. She could hardly wait for the day to be over.

As it often happened when one was excited about something, time seemed to drag by very slowly for the rest of the afternoon. Though the clock showed Hermione that only two and a half hours had passed since she received her letter, it felt more like days. Often she would linger at the office longer than most of the other Ministry officials. That day, however, she was out the door the moment the clock struck five. She practically ran out of the building. On her way to the employee exit she nearly collided with Neville Longbottom.

"In a hurry, are we?"

She could only throw him a smile over her shoulder as she kept going. It might have been rude, but she was on a mission. Neville knew her well enough to understand when she was determined. His laughter that echoed in the marble room proved she knew he wasn't upset. Later, when she had good news, she would invite him out for a pint to share it. Even if it was bad news, she would do the same. It was more fun to commiserate with a friend than alone. He would offer her sound advice and encouragement that would make her feel better. For nearly twenty years of their friendship he had been doing that for her when she needed it.

The very first moment she was free of the Anti-Apparition wards surrounding the London office of the Ministry, she Apparated to Diagon Alley. She directed her steps towards a building near the offices of the Daily Prophet. Upon seeing the sign hanging out in front advertising what they were, she couldn't keep from rolling her eyes. Even after so many years following the war and a number of supposed "reforms" that the newspaper and others like it went under to ensure the journalism they practiced was actual journalism and not just sensational rubbish, she still didn't believe a word it said. There had been too many lies printed about her before to trust. Likely it would never be a resource she felt confident in again. If the building burned down to the ground and all its archives and printing presses were destroyed forever, she might even throw a party.

Next door to the disgusting publisher was a brick building housing several professional offices. She pushed open the front door and climbed up a narrow staircase to the second floor. It wasn't the nicest set of offices, but she didn't care if the results were to her liking. She had been waiting for that particular owl for months. At the end of a long corridor she knocked on a door with a frosted glass window.

"Come in!"

Hermione stepped inside Alicia Spinnet's office to find the witch scribbling away on parchment. She looked up and smiled at her guest when she recognized her old schoolmate. It was an encouraging sign. The last time she'd been in the same office, all she saw on Alicia's face were frowns and grimaces.

"I found it, Hermione. I'm sorry it took so long, but I've finally found exactly what you were looking for — Cornwall, on the cliffs, overlooking the ocean. It's beautiful."

Excitement she hadn't fully allowed herself to feel yet bubbled up in Hermione's chest. Nearly a year earlier she made the decision that she had to get out of the city. Her flat was too small and it reminded her too much of her ex-boyfriend who used to live there with her. All of the concessions about where to live had been made on her end which made the situation even more infuriating. He got the flat he wanted and she ended up stuck with it when he made his dramatic escape from her life. But even though she was desperate to move somewhere else, she refused to just settle for whatever hovel was available. If she was going to go through the hassle of moving all of her belongings, the house would be what she wanted. No concessions that time. Unfortunately, she might have been a little too picky in the current market. Alicia was no miracle worker no matter how highly recommended she came.

Hermione sat immediately in the chair in front of Alicia's desk to see the flier she handed over. Several pictures covered the sheet of paper. Though she had her doubts that Alicia was telling the full truth, it appeared as if she was. It was her dream home. Everything about it looked perfect from the pictures. Maybe a little too perfect. Even the price was reasonable.

"What's wrong with it?"

Alicia's first response was to laugh. It seemed a little forced to Hermione's ears. Her suspicious nature had served her well too many times in the past to just disregard it in a moment of excitement and weakness.

"What do you mean 'what's wrong with it'? It's everything you asked for."

"Then why is it at least five thousand galleons less than any of the other properties you've shown me? That's a significant number."

The smile on Alicia's face slipped a little before she was able to plaster it back on again. Hermione knew she'd caught her out. Alicia was a born saleswitch, in all of the most positive and negative ways. She might try to keep denying there was anything wrong, but they both knew eventually she would give in. Best to just put it all out in the open before they wasted any more time.

"All right. The price is lower because the current owner just wants to get rid of it as quickly as possible. It's been tied up in some very complicated legal issues for the last several years. It's been returned to the bank and Gringotts doesn't want it. The goblins prefer gold to real estate. Less upkeep and maintenance costs."

"What sort of legal issues?"

No matter how wonderful the house, she didn't want to get caught up in the middle of some nasty inheritance squabble. There had been a few cases she had become familiar with at the Ministry that had given her horrible headaches. And she wasn't even a participant, just reading the briefs and reports when it was over. If she had to get a solicitor involved, it would take no time at all before the five thousand galleons she would be saving would be eaten up in their fees. That would hardly be a good deal when all was said and done.

"I'm honestly not sure. All of the records have been sealed. I can't even tell you who owned the cottage before it became the bank's."

"Why would the records be sealed? I've never known of a case like that. It sounds very dramatic and ominous."

"It's usually only done by someone who was a lot of influence in the government and usually only when…" Alicia paused to consider if she was going to finish her sentence and possibly miss out on a sale. In the end, she knew she might as well tell. Even if Hermione didn't want to buy the house she would still likely want to know what she did. "…only when the property is the scene of a horrible crime."

Immediately Hermione felt deflated. Every milligram of excitement she'd had moments earlier was gone. The house had a checkered past, one she wasn't sure she could look past. Who would want to live in an old crime scene even if it was beautiful and within their budget?

"Was there a horrible crime committed there?"

If it was possible, Alicia looked even more uncomfortable than before. That was all the answer Hermione needed. She knew she wouldn't like what she heard next. Perhaps she would be better suited just saying no already and waiting several more months to see if something else came available.

"Well… I don't know all of the details, but I do know that there was a death in the house in the late seventies or early eighties. I don't know where exactly."

"What kind of death? Natural? Murder? Suicide?"

None of the options were ideal, but a natural death was better than the others. A little old lady dying in her sleep after a life well-lived wasn't so terrible. She could be okay with that. Violent deaths, however, left something of themselves behind. Was she willing to take the chance?

"It was during the war. All I know is a man between twenty-five and forty years old was killed. Whether it was a murder or a suicide is unclear, but it definitely wasn't natural."

Maybe she should pass. There were other homes. She might not be able to hear the ocean from her bed and there might be nothing special about the view, but at least they wouldn't be the scene of something horrific.

"I know what you're thinking, Hermione, but you should at least look at it before you decide to say 'no'. It really is a great house and it has everything you wanted. There's even a bathtub to just die for."

Realizing she might have used a poor choice of words, Alicia cleared her throat. After about of a minute of deliberating, Hermione decided it couldn't hurt to at least look at it. If there was something terribly wrong with it, wouldn't she notice it as soon as she stepped inside?

"All right. I'll look at it."

There was no need to waste any time. Alicia was intelligent enough to know that she had to hook that sale as quickly as possible lest her client return home to talk herself out of it. She immediately stood up from her desk to escort her downstairs where they could safely Apparate. Not knowing the exact location where they were going, she had to trust Alicia to get them both there safely.

When her feet landed in the front garden of their destination, Hermione could hardly breathe. It was amazing. Everything little thing she could see about the outside of the cottage was wonderful. The pictures she had looked at didn't give it the proper justice it deserved. She could hear the ocean. Daring to take her eyes off the building for just a few seconds, she nearly gasped when she saw the ocean just behind her back. It was so close she could smell the salt in the air. How wonderful would it be to be able to open her bedroom window every night to hear the crashing waves while she slept? That might be the very answer to her years-long issue with sleeping through the night.

"It's beautiful, isn't it?"

All she could do was nod in response to Alicia's question. She didn't know what else to say. Stepping inside the front door into the house itself didn't change her first impression. She didn't feel any negativity whatsoever. If anything, the house felt very warm and inviting, like she belonged there. Had she ever felt that way before? Even just standing centimeters inside the front door she couldn't remember the last time, if ever, she felt so comfortable.

As she began to slowly move through the cottage, she kept up an internal reminder that she needed to stop herself from getting too excited. There were still questions she had about the property. The history could not just be ignored because the large windows in every room allowed her the most gorgeous views no matter where she was. Nor could she forget that violence could leave its mark on a place many years later. What if everything seemed fine upon her first visit but it only got worse the longer she lived there?

It might have been possible to keep herself from making a rash decision if she'd managed to avoid stepping into the cottage's bathroom. Alicia hadn't been exaggerating when she mentioned how wonderful the bathtub was. Extra deep, it was the sort of tub women who loved baths dreamed about. Her knees and her chest would be underwater at the same time. She hadn't had a bath like that since she had access to the prefects' bathroom in Hogwarts. Thinking about returning to her horrible flat that only had a shower she had to squeeze into after knowing that tub existed would be torture. Not to mention the rest of the bathroom was everything she had ever wanted in a bathroom.

She had it bad. Was it possible to be in love with real estate? It was everything she didn't allow herself to dream about in one home. She loved every nook and cranny. There seemed to be nothing wrong with it, an observation that made her increasingly wary. When something seemed too good to be true, it usually was. If it was possible, she wanted to move in immediately. Seeing the truth on her face that she was trying and failing to hide, Alicia laughed.

"I knew you would love this house. It's perfect for you."

"I know I shouldn't be so eager but something about this place just feels right."

As much as Hermione tried to talk herself out of making a reckless and rash decision she would come to regret, by the time both women returned to Alicia's office following the tour, she was ready to make an offer. There was real fear that if she didn't jump at the opportunity, someone else would buy it. Losing out on that cottage would be a tragedy. She didn't leave the office until her formal offer was in official written form.

"I will let you know the moment I hear anything."

Sitting around waiting for the next step had always been difficult for Hermione. Buying a home was a lengthy process. She knew that. No matter how impatient she might feel, the proper steps had to be followed. There was no use in wishing it could be simpler. Unfortunately, once she knew the cottage existed, her flat felt even smaller and horrible than it had that morning. How could she maintain a good attitude while she waited? It seemed impossible.

After a restless night where she must have woken up a dozen times, she had a fresh perspective. Decisions made in haste often were mistakes. She needed to learn more about the cottage and who owned it before she signed her name to another roll of parchment. That was the smart, rational course of action. A home was usually the biggest purchase of a person's life. It was foolish to dive right in without all of the pertinent facts.

"Good morning, Hermione. I have great news."

So lost had she been in her thoughts she hadn't even heard Alicia knock on the frame of her open office door. She looked up from the report she had only been half-reading to see the excited witch. It wasn't even half-past nine in the morning. They'd parted ways mere hours the night before. There was already news? She tried not to get her hopes up.

"Your offer was accepted this morning."

Forgetting everything she just told herself about not getting too excited, Hermione jumped out of her desk chair to throw her arms around the other witch. They broke apart laughing just moments later. The reality of the situation began to overtake her joy. She hadn't expected to hear back so quickly or for her first offer to be so readily accepted. Wasn't there usually more negotiation involved? She started to worry. The current owner was very eager to get rid of the property. Even the goblins' explanation that they preferred actual gold didn't make her feel any better. Gringotts had never been in the habit before of making deals where they could lose money. Was she making a big mistake?

Ten days. Ten days from her offer being accepted to signing the paperwork to finalize the sale. Hermione wasn't sure if that was some sort of record but it felt like it should be. It seemed weird that all of the pieces could be put together so quickly. As she sat in an office down the corridor from Alicia's signing what felt like a thousand different forms, it was hard to believe it was all real. Maybe she was about to wake up to find out she was really going to have to wait twelve weeks after she jumped through hundreds of hoops. Nothing could be that easy.

"Congratulations, Hermione! It's now officially yours."

Alicia held out a silver key when the last form was signed. The instant the metal touched the palm of Hermione's hand she felt an electric shock that seemed to go all of the way up her arm. Worried at first what that might mean, she dismissed it. She was just being overly paranoid because it all felt so easy. Sometimes people felt shocks when they touched something metal. Static electricity was real. She held the key tightly in her hand as she stood up.

"Thank you for everything, Alicia."

A few minutes later Hermione stood in front of the cottage that now belonged to her again. It still didn't feel real. When would it? When it was full of her furniture and her belongings? When she invited all of her friends over to see it? Maybe not even then.

She wanted to be alone the first time she entered as the new owner. It seemed important somehow. Later when the week ended she would invite her closest friends to see it. Just outside the front door she took a deep breath. Why was she nervous? She felt silly, overly dramatic. There wasn't another electric spark when she put the key in the lock and turned it.

A strange wave of energy she wasn't expecting fell over her and went through every cell in her body as soon as she stepped across the threshold. It was intoxicating. She actually felt lightheaded and dizzy for a few moments. Thankfully the unnerving feeling passed quickly. She didn't know how to explain what just happened. There had been no weird feelings when she was taking a tour.

Convinced again that she was being overly paranoid, Hermione shook off her concerns. It just felt right to be in that cottage. Nowhere she had ever lived before felt so immediately and thoroughly like home. As she moved through each of the rooms, she made mental notes about where she was going to place her furniture and what color she might want to paint the walls. It really was hers to do with exactly as she pleased. No one else got to have an opinion what she did in her own home. It felt nice. She really wanted to put some roots down.

A noise in the kitchen startled her out of her thoughts. Nervous, she pulled her wand out of her pocket to get ready to curse any intruder. It wasn't a great start to her first hour as a homeowner, but she'd fought Death Eaters before. A burglar should be no problem.

Finding the kitchen empty, she was relieved. The window above the sink was open. Something must have been wrong with the latch. No matter. There was bound to be a long list of minor repairs necessary. She reached up to close it.

The sound of heavy boots hitting the wooden floor behind her was terrifying. She spun around just in time to see a wizard she didn't know rush towards her with a menacing expression on his face. He raised his wand, clearly ready to do her harm. By instinct she cast a strong shield charm. His spell flew right through her shield like it didn't even exist.

Antonin - 1976

Exhausted and angry after a miserable day, Antonin Dolohov was relieved to finally be home again. It was one of those awful days where nothing went right from beginning to end. His boss was a nightmare who he suspected hated him. His coworkers were all idiots. The project he had been enjoying working on was abruptly cancelled and replaced with the most boring and useless project he'd ever heard of. His best friend wasn't talking to him and he didn't know why. When he tried to wave at him in the Ministry canteen to join him for lunch, he pretended he didn't see him and walked out of the room. His ex-girlfriend chose that day to flaunt the new diamond ring on her finger. Oh, she wasn't ready for marriage when he was the one asking, but some arsehole from the right kind of family with a full vault comes around and suddenly she couldn't wait to run down the aisle. It was embarrassing.

All that was keeping him marginally sane was being able to return to his new cottage right on the cliffs. When his feet landed in his front garden, he closed his eyes and took a deep, calming breath. Being near the ocean always made him feel better. Since he was a small boy splashing in the water near his grandparents' house, he wanted to be near the water. The derelict cottage was nothing special to look at, but it was all his. He didn't mind the hard work it would take to get it into his dream home. That was something he did not have in common with his ex.

Inside his front door he felt even calmer. The rest of the evening didn't have to be bad just because the majority of his day was. He went into his kitchen to continue on his latest improvement project. At the back door he raised his wand to begin applying even stronger security wards than were already there. The cottage was fairly isolated. He could be vulnerable to vagrants and potential enemies if he didn't protect his home correctly.

Creating security wards and enchantments had always been easy for him. He could do them in his sleep. Some said he had a gift. Maybe it was true. His father had a similar talent. No, it wasn't a flashy sort of magic that was impressive to the uneducated masses. It wasn't the sort of enchantments that made everyone gasp and beg for more.

"'Nobody cares about that, Antonin. It's boring.'"

He muttered his ex-girlfriend's words under his breath as he sneered. How many times had she encouraged him to brew exciting potions instead? He'd even joined a Dueling Club to impress her though clearly that had been a mistake. It was at one of his matches that she met her fiancé. Wasn't he glad to have been able to facilitate that meeting? Learning he was an excellent duelist and really enjoyed it was all that made up for the loss of that relationship.

It wouldn't have worked out. He knew that even if it was a bitter potion to swallow. They were too different in some ways and far too alike in others. And she hated his cottage. Everything about it seemed to horrify her. The house was too isolated, the ocean was too loud, the garden smelled. Nothing made her happy.

"'Better to just burn it down. You could use the insurance money to get one of those gorgeous flats in Diagon Alley.'"

Antonin groaned. Practice was making him sound far too much like her for his comfort. Even the way he'd taken to saying the word 'gorgeous' changed. Of course he'd been making an effort to stop saying that word entirely. It reminded him too much of her. Everything it seemed reminded him of her and it was threatening to drive him mad. He didn't want to think about all of the years he wasted on someone who ultimately didn't want him.

Thick smoke suddenly filled the kitchen. A burning pain moved up his arm from the end of his wand. Cursing, he knew he'd made a mistake. It was embarrassing to admit. Antonin Dolohov did not make mistakes when casting wards except apparently when his thoughts were consumed by his horrible ex. There seemed no reason to worry. He could easily fix what he broke when he was calmer.

Unable to breathe thanks to the smoke, he unlatched the window above the sink to get some fresh air. Not working fast enough, he left the room to open the front door to get a breeze moving through the cottage. He inhaled another deep breath of the ocean air. The sound of footsteps behind him put him immediately on alert. Assuming it was only a figment of his imagination, he relaxed until he saw the woman disappear into his kitchen acting as if she owned his home.

He would not allow intruders into his sanctuary. No, she would be dealt with swiftly and if necessary, painfully. Who the fuck did she think she was? Her back was to him for a moment when he entered the kitchen. Perhaps it would've been better if he'd been lighter on his feet, but he hadn't thought his actions through clearly. He lifted his wand. There were a number of hexes he knew that would keep her from being able to run away or attack him that were relatively harmless. Casting it nonverbally, he had to admit he was impressed with the shield charm she cast. Not that it seemed to do her any good. His spell cut through her shield as if it wasn't even there and went straight into her chest, but it didn't work. She was still moving.

"Who are you?"

His question was shouted as he reached for her arm. If magic wouldn't work on her, physical force certainly would. She was much smaller than he was.

Except his hand just went straight through her like she was nothing more than a puff of smoke. Or a ghost.