BANG, BANG, BANG!

The noise surrounded me, coming from everywhere in the darkness.

BANG, BANG, BANG!

It was so dark I couldn't tell if my eyes were open or closed. All I could do was cover my ears to muffle the sound.

BANG, BANG, BANG!

Tears wet my face as the banging got louder, closing in on me. My chest tightened as panic ensued; I was trapped, and it was coming for me.

BANG, BANG, BANG!

The noise continued, growing so loud that my ears began to thrum in sync with my heart's rapid pounding.

A scream-like sound erupted, abruptly freeing me from my nightmare, and I bolted upright with a gasp. My hands shot up to my ears, protecting them from the noise, as I folded around my bent knees.

It was coming.

My chest heaved against my legs as I waited. Waited for the banging, for pain, for death…

It took several silent moments to realize there was no more noise and nothing was coming.

I tested my eyes, unclenching them slowly before letting them flutter open.

I sat for a few minutes, resting my head on my knees, slowly waking up and quickly forgetting my nightmare.

A glance at my phone let me know it was about time to get up anyway.

It was a new day, I thought to myself, deciding to make up for yesterday's lack of progress by getting an early start.

Sliding into my slippers, I grabbed my beaded bag and began accio -ing all the things I'd need to take to the bathroom.

Had I not been in such a hurry last night, I would have gone to the ground floor and picked a bigger room with an en-suite bathroom. No matter, though, I thought to myself as I headed to the loo with my silk robe and toiletries; Malfoy was all the way in the opposite wing and had no reason to come this way.

When I finished my morning rituals, I returned to my room to find that someone, most likely Trixie, had unpacked my beaded bag and arranged my things neatly into the small room and closet.

Stunned, I set my wand on top of the built-in dresser in the closet as I explored the various drawers. I hadn't been in the bathroom long, but magically, all of my foldable garments had been pristinely organized within.

I checked every drawer, finding the bottom one empty and surprisingly difficult to close. I used my foot to force it to shut, causing my wand to roll off the top, onto the floor, and underneath the built-in.

Just my luck.

Getting down on all fours, I slid my hand into the gap between the floor and the built-in drawers. Dust and grime coated the floorboards, sending a cloud of filth into my airway as I spread my hand around. I sneezed once, twice, three times, swearing to scourgify this area the moment I found my wand.

I swept left, then right, and as far back as my forearm would fit before finally making contact with something. I adjusted my angle for easier access as I aimed for the object. As I tucked my nails into it, I realized it wasn't my wand but something else entirely.

It had an oddly familiar feeling to it, so I gave it a quick tug, to no avail, before giving up and continuing the search for my wand.

After several more sneezes and coughs, my fingers found the tip of my wand, and I managed to drag it toward me.

After cleaning off my wand and hands, I finished getting dressed and ready for the day. Then, just before leaving, it finally occurred to me why the other object may have felt so familiar.

Wand in hand, I returned to the closet floor.

" Accio book." I tried, testing my theory.

A wave of dust and disappointment was all the response I received.

" Accio journal," I tried, a last-ditch, half-hearted idea.

A brief rattling and shimmying of leather against wood sounded as a journal wiggled itself free, then settled into my open hand, carrying with it new clouds of dust.

Either with disgust or shock, I dropped the journal back onto the floor, creating more clouds as a coughing fit consumed me.

Annoyed and sick of dust-covered journals, I got up and cast a few cleaning charms over myself and the surrounding area.

I coughed some more, realizing just how desperate I was for some water.

Desperate as I was, curiosity still got the better of me as I picked the journal up and set it on top of the dresser.

I used a gentle cleaning spell to remove as much dust and grime off the exterior as possible without damaging the leather cover. There weren't any legible markings on the outside, but now that it was cleaner, it very clearly resembled some of the journals I'd encountered in the library.

Except this one was not so well persevered.

The exterior was worn and highly damaged by liquid at some point, meaning the pages would be in even worse shape.

I carefully let my fingers grace the edges of the brittle pages, most of which were stuck together. I'd have to be extremely careful with each and every page, using only my wand to turn and restore each one gently.

I risked opening the cover slightly to see who had claimed the journal. The handwriting was difficult to read, and I didn't want to risk breaking the binding by opening it up too much, but slowly, I managed to make out a name.

Property of:

Seraphina Thurkell

Leaving the book on the dresser, I wracked my brain for traces of the name Thurkell. After several minutes without bells ringing, I pulled out my cell phone and texted my assistant, Jessica.

Morning. Can you search the Ministry archives for the name Seraphina Thurkell? If you find anything of interest, let me know. Thanks.

I wasn't sure if there was any writing in this journal that I could uncover; even the most precise and delicate spells were risky. I also didn't know if it was anything of importance, but the archives were a pretty good place to start.

Stomach grumbling, I left the book on the dresser, deciding to wait until Jessica's research was complete to move forward. Merlin knows I already have enough journals to read through without adding this one.

I made my way down to the kitchen, where a large spread of fruits, nuts, meats, and cheeses – my favorite – was laid out as if Trixie knew I was coming. The elf was nowhere to be seen, but I still called out, 'Thank you,' just in case.

I was making myself a plate when footsteps sounded in the doorway behind me.

"Gods, you're here early," Malfoy groaned behind me.

I turned to find him in sweaty workout attire, a towel hanging around his neck, leaning in the entryway.

"You stayed the night then?" He continued, looking me up and down.

"Good morning to you, too, Malfoy," I replied, skin heating, as I turned back to finish making my plate. "I lost track of time last night and figured it was easiest."

He didn't respond; just continued to watch.

"If Trixie continues to serve me charcuterie, I may never leave." I chuckled as I turned around, just in time for him to find my eyes as he stepped forward.

His glare was icy and mischievous as he walked past me before turning to get a glass of water.

"Remind me to ensure she never bakes for you," he mused, downing the water in a couple of gulps. "You'll never eat Honeydukes again."

His eyes returned to mine, gray and intimidating. He smirked like he knew it, too. I choked on a breath and averted my eyes. After days of working with him, I still felt… what was this… awkward, unsure, tense, nervous?

"I'm going to take this upstairs. Then, when you're ready, I'd like to review your notes from yesterday." I managed, taking my plate toward the exit.

"Notes?"

"Yes, your notes on the journals you read yesterday. You did take notes, didn't you?"

"No," he mused haughtily as if it was a preposterous thing to do.

"We're supposed to be keeping track of things, exchanging information, data, looking for patterns and…" I started, getting annoyed.

He simply watched in amusement, sliding grapes in between his lips one at a time. My annoyance his favorite form of entertainment.

"I'm serious, Malfoy. I need your help with this."

He studied me for a moment more.

"What will you do with these notes when your time is up here?"

"I, er, I don't know. I suppose it depends on—"

"Wouldn't your investigation notes go into a ministry file, accessible by anyone with clearance? Notes and information about my family that could potentially get leaked to the press… Isn't sharing that information exactly what you said you would refrain from doing just yesterday?"

His tone was playful and teasing, but his eyes were daggers, revealing his true feelings.

Surprisingly, he waited for my response, perhaps not wanting a repeat of yesterday's silencing charm.

"Our agreement still stands," I mused, taking on an air of confidence and stepping toward him. "For all I care, we can make a grand show of burning the notes when I successfully solve and break your curse," with less than a foot of space between us, I glared directly into his silver irises, determined to make my point blatantly clear, "but I still expect you to take notes."

He looked me over once more, perhaps sizing me up.

"When I come upstairs, I'll tell you about what I read, and then you can take notes."

I could feel wrinkles deepening between my eyebrows as they furrowed at his response.

"That's hardly fair."

"And…I'll take some notes moving forward. You might live to regret it, though; my handwriting is atrocious." He smirked, sliding another grape between soft lips.

"Well, that seems to be a common Malfoy trait; the journals I've read so far have hardly been legible," I complain before stepping back toward the entryway with my plate. "See you upstairs shortly?"

"You're already using a bed; you might as well utilize the breakfast nook. I trust your team of treasure-hunting goblins tested it and deemed it curse-free." He continued to tease, adding an annoyingly attractive wink that made me grimace.

He clearly lived to get on my nerves, and it was far too early in the morning for his nonsense.

"The sooner I get your summaries, the sooner I can get to reading," I responded, reaching for my wand to accio my notebook from upstairs.

"All business and no pleasure." He tutted, sliding another grape into his mouth.

"What possible pleasure could you offer me, Malfoy?" I scoffed back quickly, too quickly to realize my mistake before it was too late. Heat bloomed across my cheeks as I tried to recover. "In the breakfast nook, er, over breakfast, I mean."

"Hmm," he chuckled in response, seemingly arching an eyebrow in consideration before a mischievous smirk angled his mouth.

His eyes narrowed on my lips before slowly trailing up to meet mine. Every second lasted longer than it should as I resisted the urge to slam my palm into my forehead or hide behind my fingers.

Miraculously, I managed to maintain eye contact as he stepped forward. One step, then another, until he was hovering over my shoulder.

"Use your imagination, Granger, if you dare." He breathed above my ear before brushing against my shoulder on his way out.

I stiffened all over, struggling to compute what the bastard was bloody playing at.

"I think I'll stick to business, thank you." I managed quietly, just in time for him to disparate away.

Looking back over my shoulder, I sagged in relief once I confirmed he was gone. Then I looked into the breakfast nook just to my left.

Without my permission, surpassing all self-control, irreverent images flashed in my mind.

My bare skin lay across the round table, knees spread wide, ready, impossibly ready.

Malfoy leaning forward between my thighs, then dragging the tip of his tongue upwards between my folds torturously slow before finding my eager bundle of nerves.

A tremble down my spine abruptly forces me back to reality, and then I shake my head so hard I almost dislodge my chignon. I needed to get my shit together, fast.

Appetite lost, I discarded my plate and headed toward the stairs. Hopefully, the burn of climbing up three flights of the grand staircase will help me forget the wetness that had so quickly developed at my core.

My phone started ringing just as I entered the library.

I accept the call with a breathy 'Hello,' eager for anything or anyone to talk to but him .

"Merlin, Mione, if I'd known you were going to be fucking when I called, I would have—actually, no, I still would have called. TELL ME EVERYTHING!" Ginny exclaims, ridiculously overjoyed.

"I'm not," I look both ways to ensure I'm alone before whispering the word, " fucking ! I just walked up a bunch of steps."

"This is no time to keep secrets; you know how desperate I am right now! I'm practically dry-humping the furniture!"

"Godric, I'm not keeping secrets! I'm just working; I'm sorry that's not so exciting."

"Well, the moment that changes, I better be your first bloody phone call. Deal?"

"You're raving," I laugh, absentmindedly spinning around the library.

"I mean it; promise me that as soon as you break your vow of celibacy or monkhood or whatever drought you're experiencing and let someone screw your brains out, you better be calling me!"

"I'm not a monk or all that; I just, er," I didn't have the time or patience to try and explain myself to Ginny right now. "Fine. I promise to call you if and when I let someone screw my brains out. But don't get your hopes up; I hardly have time for anything but work, let alone a man. As you should well know by now."

I could almost hear Ginny's eyes rolling through the phone.

"Do you have time to visit me on Sunday? And possibly bring me frogs?"

"Of course," I smile, an idea lighting up in my head. "I'll do you one better; I'll bring you some really smutty muggle books."

"You know I'm not much of a reader; it makes me nod off."

"Trust me, these will keep you entertained. If you get tired, read the book aloud to the baby – the appropriate parts," I quickly add. "I think that's supposed to be beneficial."

Ginny's laugh that followed was a contagious symphony of joy. I giggled back as I finally meandered around to the alcove with the hidden door.

I damn near collided with Malfoy's foul, nosey, no-good, eavesdropping body as I rounded the bookshelf; I just barely managed to spin out of the way as Ginny spoke.

"Mione, what would I do without you?" She asked as I glared daggers, no, fire, at Malfoy. "See you around 11 o'clock on Sunday?"

"Er, yes, see you then, got to go bye," I rapidly strung together each word into one long, garbled mess before ending the call.

"QUIT DOING THAT!" I yell, not only pink in the face but burning all over.

My rage and mortification scorch deeper as his hand moves to cover his mouth as he turns away, a failed attempt at hiding his shit-eating grin and chuckle.

He recovers quickly, hand gone and smirk firmly in place as he turns back to face me.

"Quit doing what?" He asked, thickly laying on his mock confusion.

"Quit listening to my phone conversations! This house is so egregiously big, yet you're always right around the corner!" I seeth, barely pausing to refill my lungs as I realize he's still in his gym attire. "I thought you'd gone to take a shower or something; what are you doing?"

"Do you… want me to take a shower, Granger?"

I blink once, then twice, while his eyes sparkle back with mischief.

"No, I, er, I want you to stop lurking around whenever I'm on the phone!"

"Well, next time you decline my breakfast invitation and demand my notes," he turns toward the desk, retrieves a short roll of parchment, then turns to face me again. "I'll try to remember that that's my cue to leave so you can talk on the fucking phone."

His teeth linger on his lips as he drags the abominable word out, and there's no denying he heard my entire conversation. My cheeks somehow chill and then reheat as he steps forward and hands me the parchment. I don't have to open it to know it's his stupid, bloody notes.

"I assume you'll be borrowing from your own arsenal of muggle smut; I'm afraid this library's collection will disappoint you. Perhaps, an expert like yourself could make some recommendat—" he teased as he walked past.

I groaned loudly, cutting him off before he could embarrass me further.

"I get it; you heard everything. Ha ha, SO funny. Great, now we've all had a good laugh." I managed through my teeth, decidedly not turning to speak in his direction as he walked toward the exit. "Maybe now I can finally get some work done."

"Whatever brings you pleasure , Granger." He droned sarcastically as he left.

I could hex him, I think, as I allowed myself to sink into a chair; I could easily damage that chiseled jawline permanently. I could. I should. That'd teach him. Teach him to leave me alone. To stop making me so…

I wracked my brain, trying to find adequate words to describe what this man was doing to me.

Pleasure .

Fucking .

Use your imagination .

Granger .

If you dare .

I gulped loudly, then launched myself out of the seat and forced myself to get to work and get him out of my head.

…

I was curled comfortably on one side of a long sofa by the library fireplace, a 12th-century journal in hand when he finally reentered the library.

I focused on the scribbled cursive letters on the page, refusing to notice his freshly showered scent as he strode past me, ignoring him as he settled into the oversized leather chair furthest from me.

He said nothing. I said nothing.

This was our game. Or so I'd come to imagine over the course of silently working near him for hours on end. As long as neither of us said a word, we were competing. Competing at being the least bothered by the other's presence. Competing at being the one to hold the silence the longest. Competing at pretending the other was absolutely invisible. Competing at being the faster reader as our stacks of completed journals rose neck and neck. Everything became a competition in those silent hours spent together, and nothing went unnoticed.

Despite doing my utmost not to acknowledge his existence as I read through one journal and then the next, I couldn't help but pick up on his habits.

The switch of one ankle propped over a knee to the opposite, the breaks he takes to stretch his long legs and wander around the library with a journal in hand, the rare slips of his facade and glimpse of emotion when what he read intrigued him or when he thought I wasn't looking, the near-constant twirling of his wand between his slender fingers, and the occasional glaring of silver eyes directed at me over the top of his open pages.

I'd grown accustomed to the silence, our unofficial game, but somehow, not entirely at ease. There were moments when I'd forget he was there, but every time I remembered, a wave of insecurity washed over me. It was ten times worse when I'd forget and catch him staring at me like I'd done something strange or noteworthy.

At least I had the wherewithal to look away quickly whenever he caught me staring at him , something that happened more often than I'd ever admit. He did not; he lived to make me squirm.

We continued this way for hours, eating meals separately. It wasn't until after 7 that evening that a question I'd been chewing on for hours finally broke free.

"Does Malfoy Manor have any ghosts?" My quiet voice cracked from disuse.

The abrupt end to the silence didn't seem to alarm him. Instead, his mouth curved upward into an amused smirk. He'd officially won the game today.

"No."

"Don't you think that's odd? How is it even possible with as many people who have likely died here over the last thousand years? Statistically, there should be several…" I mused, setting aside the journal I was working on.

"A Malfoy would never." He remarked with a shrug, turning his eyes back to his reading.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

A huff of annoyance followed by the closing of his journal preceded his response.

"Can you imagine how miserable it would be if the ghost of my grandfather or great-grandfather, or someone from 8 generations prior, and their father or grandfather were all hanging about telling me how I should be run the place? Malfoy Manor would be untenable. It's also why we have art and not portraits hanging everywhere. No one wants their forefathers watching and judging them. No one wants to be a miserable, shameful annoyance to their descendants." He pauses to take a breath and check his watch before continuing. "So out of respect, dignity, and pride, no Malfoy would dare choose to stay behind in the afterlife."

I considered his statements for a while, wondering if questioning portraits should be part of my investigation process. I then recalled learning how magical portraits were made and functioned, only embodying the essence and personality of the person at the time the portrait was completed; they would have no knowledge of their future and very little memory of the past.

"They wouldn't stay even to relay what they knew of the curse or their death to future generations?"

"Surely, anything they knew would have already been relayed to their heirs directly or through these journals. If it were that easy to break the curse, you wouldn't be sitting here."

I nodded, taking in the information, then circled back to what I knew about the Manor and what occurred here during the war.

"And what about those who weren't Malfoys, those that were murdered here?" I nervously asked.

"If you died in prison, would you want to stay there in the afterlife?" He questioned back as he stood up from his chair.

"I suppose not."

"People whose lives were stolen here likely did not want to be here in the first place and chose to move on. At least, that's my assumption; I've never seen a ghost here. Perhaps these journals will tell us otherwise. It's not like ghosts can't be forcibly removed with enough power and money." He muses as he walks toward the exit.

"Perhaps."

"I've got somewhere to be," he calls over his shoulder nonchalantly, "Don't wait up, Granger."

I started to argue back as he left the library, my natural response to most things involving Malfoy, then stopped myself. I had no business telling him he couldn't go somewhere after he'd sat here and read through journals with me for damn near 12 hours.

The realization didn't stop my curiosity, though.

I forced myself to read for several hours more, determined not to think of him. Determined not to miss his presence as the Manor grew dark and eerie with the setting sun. I read until I could hardly keep my eyes open.

Finally, at some ungodly hour of the night, I drifted off to my tiny room, lulled there and to sleep by piano music playing in my head.