Chapter Text
Something was wrong with the pipes.
Harry Potter let his hand briefly skim over the large wet patch on the living room wall. It had yellowed around the edges already, spots of black mold sprouting like sickly flowers in the middle of it. A recurring tapestry of decay that had begun to creep into almost every single room of the Granger Family Home.
The front door had been unlocked when they arrived. It had only amplified the horrible sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. A sense of wrongness clung to the stone, making bile rise in his throat as they stepped inside.
Because Hermione always locked her door. She had done it when she had still lived in her small apartment in Diagon Alley and did not drop the habit after taking over her parents house. If anything, after their death she had become…more paranoid. An empty house, coupled with grief, did that to a person.
Why was it open, then?
And why was she not at home?
The house keys were still on the small decorated plate by the entrance. They had cast the detection spell on both levels of the house and even inside the basement — but nothing. Looking at Ginny's face then had done little to soothe his nerves. His wife had been beside herself ever since her visit here a few days ago. A simple check-in on their friend to make sure she was still alive and kicking after her prolonged illness which had rendered her pretty much unable to come back to work.
Hermione had answered their owls, albeit slowly. Told them she was still recovering and that the healers at St. Mungo's had told her to avoid contact with friends and family for the time being. Something about not getting them sick, too.
What a load of shit.
Ginny had explained Hermione looked…weird. Well, that was an understatement. Her left eye looked like it had gone blind and there was something very… off about her skin. Her whole demeanour, the way she spoke — it had spooked her more than anything.
And then there was that man.
Ginny had recognized him from an outing a few months ago and her eyes had screamed bloody murder when she'd described him. Overbearing and creepy, treating their friend like she was his to manage. Ginny usually wouldn't hesitate to bodily drag a creep endangering her friends through the streets to make a point. And yet something had stopped her.
Harry knew his wife, she could hold her own in a fight. So the fact that she had still decided to come home first, to wait for him to return from work and then tell him about it…something had unsettled her. Scared her, even.
Another letter from Hermione had arrived that same night, telling them again not to worry, that she was sorry this first meeting with her new partner had been so unfortunate. She also promised to attend Harry's birthday the following day, if she was feeling well enough. It managed to somewhat ease their worries, for a while at least.
Until Hermione didn't show up.
So they had come over first thing in the morning, unannounced, fully prepared to kick down the door, wands blazing and itching for a confrontation. They had mentally prepared themselves for many things, really.
But not…this.
An empty house, slowly rotting from the inside despite its beautiful exterior.
Most of the windows were covered with towels or blankets, effectively keeping the sun out and the horrible humidity from the broken pipes inside. That cloying smell of rot had mixed with the one from the stagnant water and trapped heat inside the walls. Summers were always awful in Britain — humid and uncomfortably hot — but this was different. Worse.
It had never occurred to Harry that a house could actually smell sick, but this one certainly did. He knew the stench would stick to their clothes and follow them back home.
The upstairs bathroom cabinets were filled with empty Pepper-Up Potions and nameless brown glass bottles. Fingerprints covered the surface of the mirror. Some had tiny layers of skin still stuck to them. The tap was leaking, despite his best efforts to turn it off.
Drip. Drip. Drip.
He closed the door behind him with more force than necessary.
Bones of little rodents and feathers crunched under his boots when he walked through the hallways. Had she forgotten to feed Crookshanks while she was sick and the little menace had cleared out the backyard while hunting for mice?
Her parent's old bedroom was still unused, the furniture covered by white linen and a thin layer of dust that had accumulated over the last year.
A car accident, something wrong with the brakes. Harry could still picture Hermione's ashen face so clearly when she had shown up at their door to tell them what had happened to Mr and Mrs Granger.
Of course she had cried, they all had. And then…well.
None of their friends had been too happy about her decision to move into her childhood home again. To clear her parent's stuff out, to have more space for her own and clear her head. It would be good for her, she had argued. Better than avoiding it altogether, right?
They should've never left her to deal with it all on her own.
He had reached her bedroom when Ginny's voice dragged him out of his spiralling thoughts.
"Crookshanks isn't here, either. His food bowl hasn't been touched in what seems like days."
She wrapped her arms around herself and her eyes were misty when they met his. "There's mold on it too." Guilt was written all over her face, and Harry could almost hear the thoughts running rampant inside her head.
I should've stayed. Should've made sure she's okay. Should've checked in on her sooner while I had the chance.
Similar thoughts were haunting him, too, after all.
This wasn't right.
Hermione was supposed to be with them, endure their scolding and scold them in return for worrying so much and thinking she couldn't handle this herself. Then they would take her to one of their places, stuff her with food and make her talk and laugh like she was supposed to. Like they should have done long ago.
"Did you…did you find anything on her desk? You know, she sometimes hides things in her books and—"
"I know," she stopped him, anger flashing across her features. "And no. Nothing. I…There were some books with pages ripped out when I checked her shelves but…no weird letters, no personal notes that had anything to do with…"she searched for words, hands moving about to point everywhere and nowhere.
Harry put his hand on her shoulder, squeezing lightly. "Ginny, do you remember anything about that man? Maybe from that night you met him?"
"Not…not much. Look Harry, you know I was piss drunk by the end of that night. Hermione was, too. He told me to look after her and take her home. Didn't think anything of it back then. I just…took her home and let her sleep it off."
"Do you…I mean, I know it's rude to pry but…girls write diaries sometimes. Did—do you know if that's something she still does?"
"No…I—" Ginny's face lit up then, before she pushed past him into the bedroom. The sound of things flying around filled the house not a second later.
"Accio recorder."
"No! Not that—" Something crashed into the wall with a dull thump. Harry carefully followed her inside. The room hadn't changed much since he'd last been in here. Same furniture, same cream tapestry, same bookshelves overflowing with their textbooks from Hogwarts that she had always stored in here during summer.
The mold had crept into this room, too and that sweet, earthy scent of wet decay was even worse in here than in the rest of the house and he spotted several more wet spots and cracks inside the walls. It took some effort to turn his attention back to Ginny, the hackles at the back of his neck rising as an weird sensation began to creep down his spine.
"What are you looking for?"
"She—you know how her thoughts were always running circles in her head? Too fast to catch all of them?"
"Yes…?"
"Well, we figured just…talking might help. Recording it so she could pick things apart later, over and over again. No writing at first, just…thoughts and talking. She brought some stuff with her after the Christmas break in 4th year. Lots of cassettes and a recorder. Awful to make it work inside the castle but she managed and—" Her eyes snagged on the nightstand.
"Accio cassettes."
The drawer flew open and a box filled with countless black rectangles nearly took him out for good as it narrowly avoided his head. Ginny caught it with a relieved grin, before carrying it over to the bed. Her fingers swept through the collection, checking dates and small photos attached to them.
Photographs of their friend group, their graduation ceremony. Dinner with her parents. Crookshank's face covered in custard, his tongue lapping at it greedily in an eternal loop. Some dates and special events had been noted down with colorful pens and adorable cat stickers.
"Just…maybe—maybe there are a few in here from the time after she got sick."
After a few minutes, she had fished out the ones covering the last few months. There was not a single photograph, except for the recording from her last night out with Ginny and some other friends from their Hogwarts years. A wholesome picture, all of them laughing together as they tried to crowd into the shot before the flash went off.
Ginnys fingers shook as she went for that recording and carefully plucked it into the player that had been inside the box as well.
"This is…private stuff, Harry. I don't…do you think she'll be mad?"
"Definitely, but I couldn't care less Ginny. She can obliviate us if we stumble over something embarrassing, but we need to find out what happened." Her hand was still shaking when he took it in his. "Okay?"
"…Alright, yes. Okay."
Harry could feel the sweat soaking into the back of his shirt as they pressed the play button together.
The sound of static crackled through the speakers, before Hermione's voice finally began to tell her story.