Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

”Finally,” Ron groaned, shoving his suitcase into the car and kicking it for good measure. The midday sun was high and bright, and the rare gusts of wind gave no real relief from the heat. “I am so fucking sick of this town. Besides, the receptionist kept glaring at me.”

“We’ve been here for less than two weeks,” Hermione said, wholeheartedly unimpressed by her boyfriend’s whining. “It’s one of the fastest episodes we’ve ever wrapped up. And she keeps glaring at you because you kept sneaking food from the breakfast buffet when she specifically told you to not do that.”

“Everyone else does it too,” Ron argued, lifting the hem of his shirt to wipe his sweaty face with it. “What else is she going to do with the excess scrambled eggs, huh? It’s not like she can serve those later! So take your judgmental eyebrows and go bother Harry.”

“No one should bother Harry, Harry is going to be busy editing the footage later and suffering a lot because of it,” Harry said, leaning out from his seat behind the wheel and looking back at Ron and Hermione. “Also, we’re going to stay at our next location for a lot longer than two weeks, I think. We got this episode done so quickly only because the script was a leftover from the previous season. So unless enough shit happens to fill up the episode, we'll be staying there for much longer.”

“Thanks for cheering me up mate,” Ron huffed, attempting a scowl but couldn’t quite keep the grin off his face. “Anyway, our bags are in properly now. Camera equipment is also mostly in. Harry, you got the paperwork done?”

“Of course,” Harry replied. “Hermione even read through them earlier just in case. Everything is good and done. Go-Go-Ghosts is ready to go.”

“I hate that name,” Hermione sighed, looking annoyed. Go-Go-Ghosts, their very own paranormal investigation show that claimed to be just as real as any documentary - their show, their taxable job. Joked into existence less than a week after graduation, Ron and Harry had declared that they would take a year off before entering the job market, and exploring abandoned buildings all over the country seemed like a fun thing to do at the time. After sharing trips with a small audience online resulted in an influx of ghost encounter stories to fill their inboxes, they had decided to shift the focus of their show a little.

Hermione herself wasn’t particularly impressed by most episodes, and it often baffled her how so many people seemed to wholeheartedly believe it to be real. But when Ron and Harry’s good idea, propelled onto moderate popularity due to their interactions and charisma, seemed to wither into nothing simply due to their bad planning… well, it would’ve been such a pity to just let things go. And so, she had to step in and help them out.

Nothing about this plan for any one of them had been more than just a temporary delight at first. Because, really, ghosts? Making money from an online show that the three of them were doing for fun? How long was that expected to last?

And yet the episodes kept garnering more and more attention, and with that attention came money from various sources. A year after starting their strange little endeavour Ron had admitted he wouldn’t mind just continuing with it. Harry hadn’t needed much persuasion, and eventually Hermione had relented as well.

And thus, the – ugh – Go-Go-Ghosts had officially become their thing. Their actual, real job. It was a job as good as any other, and they worked well together. Hermione couldn’t imagine leaving either one of her boys to work anywhere else anymore, as much as she hated admitting that to the two of them.

“All right, everything’s ready,” Ron said, closing the trunk of the car. “Dibs on the backseat, I need a nap.”

“Dibs on driving,” Hermione quickly added, heading to the driver’s side of the car. “I love you Harry but no.”

“I resent the implication here,” Harry replied, but obediently switched seats. “Anyway, what’s our next destination? Did you already research it? Ron?”

“I can’t believe I’m the one who does the history shit when Hermione’s here,” Ron muttered, sullen. “We’re going to Little Hangleton. Never heard of that place before, but apparently it is, indeed, little. They have one inn we can stay at if something goes to shit at the location, but not much else.”

“How’s the script going?” Harry asked, turning to look at Ron in the backseat just as Hermione started the car and began slowly driving out of the inn’s parking lot. “Did you manage to get anything down yet?”

“Yeah, but we really need someone to join us in the team” Ron replied, giving up on napping to sit up properly. “I don’t mind writing the scripts and doing the heavy lifting, but researching the history of every location to work on those scripts is a task and a half. Anyway, the Riddle House has one hell of a backstory, so we've got a lot of material to work on. Which means that if you think you’re going to be busy editing this episode, just wait till we’re done with the next one!”

“Great,” Harry sighed. “What ideas have you got so far? What’s the tone for the episode? Are we going to be funny or is it going to be scary?”

“As if the location isn’t scary enough,” Hermione muttered, shaking her head. “Who’s going to get harassed the most this time?”

“Harry,” Ron replied. “We’ve got such a good cast of former residents here: wealthy but mean grandparents who raised a cruel man, who then had a child out of wedlock with a destitute woman who had a violently abusive family of her own. Cruel man in the manor rejects the woman and her child, she dies in childbirth, then seventeen years later the child returns and kills everyone in the house – his grandparents, his father, his father’s new wife and their infant son… even the servants. Then he just… disappears forever.”

“Wow, yeah, that’s got potential,” Harry agreed with a nod. “So who’ll fixate on me? The father?”

“No, I was thinking his wife,” Ron said. “Because she was wronged the most – I mean, the infant too but that wouldn’t be scary. The woman, however, had never even met her husband’s son. Everyone else had, and everyone else had rejected him. Her? She was just caught in the middle and died with resentment in her heart towards being wronged in such a way.”

“Why would she fixate on Harry?” Hermione asked. “Thoughts on that?”

“I didn’t see any pictures of the son, but from the description Harry looks a lot like him,” Ron replied. “Maybe he’s a bit taller than our shorty over here—"

“Hey!”

“—but dark hair, pale face, greenish eyes… We can comb and gel Harry’s hair to match the common style in those times, and that could have us present the fixation as her mistaking Harry for the son who killed her.”

“Brilliant!” Harry said, grinning. “Do you have any effects you want me to be ready to work into the footage?”

“We can gradually decrease your make up between takes,” Ron suggested. “That would make it evident how much the woman’s ghost is getting to you. But we can do a test run of which specific spots can be the haunted ones when we get there. Do we have any interviews with locals, by the way?”

“Yeah.” Harry nodded. “One of them is actually the house’s owner. When I emailed to ask for access to the place, he got interested in what we’re doing and offered to tell us what he remembers from the place, and his experiences with ghosts there.”

“Oh lord,” Hermione muttered. “Another person who’ll tell us about scary creaks in an old building. It all creaks! That’s what old and badly maintained buildings do!”

“But this time it’s real, Hermione,” Harry said, imitating the earnestness of some of their previous interviewees. “There were footsteps! Sure, it could’ve been his wife who was upstairs at the time, but it didn’t sound like her. The footsteps weren’t feminine enough!”

“So, we’re going to be mingling with the locals again?” Ron asked. “All right, Hermione – you have to watch your face. You’re so bad at hiding your skepticism. We need your customer service face, not your why-you-always-lying face.”

“I’ll just stay where I want to be – behind the camera,” Hermione said. “Harry can do the interviews as always. Are we going to drive directly to the Riddle House or do we have at least one night at the inn you mentioned?”

“I mean, we could just stay at the inn and operate from there,” Ron said. “We don’t actually have to spend every night at the Riddle House – just enough to get proper footage.”

“Perfect,” Hermione said. “Harry, call the inn and get us rooms.”

“I love how it’s just the inn,” Harry said, digging out his phone and googling the contact information of the inn in Little Hangleton. “Since they have just the one. Watch it be someone’s house with a shared kitchen that’s just pretending to be an inn. Wait, hold up, this B&B looks good. If some of our interviewees want to, we can just meet there?”

“Brilliant,” Ron said, yawning. “If you get us rooms booked, you can move the interviews there. I’m going to nap now, wake me up when we arrive at the undoubtedly homely destination. Drive safe, drive fast.”

“I’m going to do only one of those two,” Hermione replied. “Harry, keep working on the interview guides based on what Ron just told us. It’d be great if they are somewhat ready by the time we arrive.”

*

“The interview guides aren’t as ready as we wanted,” Harry said as they slowly drove up a cobbled road towards their destination. “But I made an effort.”

“Well, you’re the one who’ll have to do the talking anyway, so thank yourself when you start panicking after you realize you have nothing to help you,” Hermione replied, squinting at the maze of dark buildings ahead of them. “This place already feels creepy. Our promo pictures will be great.”

Barty’s Bed & Breakfast was a large two-story building with small windows and heavy doors. Its entrance hall – that appeared to serve as a pub as well – had perhaps once been cozy and homely, but now was a mismatch of worn furniture and glimpses of past glory, kept alive by the raucous drunks inside.

“Well, let’s first check in and only then take our equipment with us,” Hermione decided while they waited for the man behind the counter to fetch them their keys. “Maybe the rooms will be better.”

Unexpectedly, the rooms were better. Hermione made sure to say so, aiming for an upbeat tone.

“That might be more thanks to the lack of use rather than any maintenance effort from the owner’s part,” Ron muttered after carrying the last of their equipment into the room he shared with Hermione. “The place is bloody creepy, though. Good luck sleeping on your own, mate.”

“I’ll be fine,” Harry replied. “I’ll see you guys in the morning. Eight, right? See you downstairs for breakfast?”

“Let’s do that,” Hermione agreed, before Harry left their room and went into his own. Shutting the door with a swift kick left him alone in a small, incredibly quiet space that felt almost unreal. The room itself was clean, but the bedding looked like it was made of the same fabric as the curtains, and the cold stone floor had two small rugs on it, hardly covering anything at all.

“It could be worse,” Harry told himself, walking further into the room and lifting his suitcase onto the coffee table. He then opened it to look for a t-shirt and a pair of boxers to change into after showering. He was tired, and the thought of spending a long time in this place didn’t sound appealing – perhaps they could speed it up, somehow?

‘At least we’ll get a lot of great footage from this place as well,’ Harry thought, entering the bathroom. Again, it was clean, which was more than he expected. ‘I need to get the footage from the dashcam and see how well it’d work as a starter. Or maybe in a trailer.’ If the Riddle House was anywhere near as creepy as the inn, the episode was going to be a success.

While in the shower Harry could heard the faint sound of music coming from somewhere. A soothing, if a bit melancholic tune that just… continued. Whoever was playing that tune in some nearby room sure appeared to hate silence, but it didn’t bother Harry much.

‘They better hope Ron’s asleep already,’ he thought as he exited the bathroom drying his hair. ‘If he hears that he’ll throw a fit, and it’s too late for that now.’

Harry yawned, scratching his stomach while restlessly digging through his suitcase again. He didn’t know what he was looking for, but didn’t feel calm enough to go to bed despite how tired he was. Something about the room kept him tense, and he…

—was there someone under the bed?

Harry scrambled back towards the door with a few quick steps before squatting down to see under the bed from a distance, only to feel ridiculous when there was nothing to be found. But, the thing was—he could’ve sworn he sensed something.

“I should’ve stayed with Ron and Hermione,” Harry muttered, before doing a quick sweep of the room, looking into every closet and cupboard, behind every door and into every space where anything could hide. He didn’t think he’d find anyone or anything, but it just… he couldn’t help himself. Somehow, he couldn’t shrug off the feeling of unease.

“I’m being stupid,” Harry said aloud, the sound of his own voice somehow drowning in the quiet of the room. “This is fucking ridiculous.” He had clearly checked that there were no people hiding in his room, so there was no reason for him to feel this wary, right?

Right.

And yet…

Without thinking too much about it, Harry closed his suitcase and moved it to stand against the door of his room, right under the door handle to prevent anyone from opening it from the outside. Only then did he finally go to bed, eyeing with unreasonable distrust the couch and the mirror and the coffee table, as if the items would somehow contribute to what felt like an inevitable demise.

“This is stupid,” Harry said aloud once again, doing his best to relax. He didn’t believe in ghosts and there was no one in the room with him. He was going to be fine.

He was going to be just fine.

*

“You look terrible,” Hermione said, a camera already on her shoulder, now facing Harry. “Did you sleep at all?”

“I tried,” Harry grunted, sitting down and eyeing Ron’s plateful of food. He had just placed his own order for the breakfast, though he admittedly hadn’t had the energy to read the options on the menu well enough to know if he was missing on anything great. “I was just so weirdly tense and paranoid all night. No idea why. Ah, thanks.” He leaned back on his seat as the same man from the reception the day before set a plateful of butter pancakes in front of him. A tilted name tag had Barty Jr. written on it in thick, blocky writing.

“Will you be okay with doing some of the interviews today?” Hermione asked, frowning a bit. “We can postpone them by a day if you’d like?”

Postponing anything that could lead to them staying in the B&B longer than necessary sounded extremely unappealing, and so Harry hurried to reassure her that he’d be fine. “I’ve done this before. Everything will be fine, you guys don’t need to worry. Anyway, what’s the plan for today?”

“I finished the bullet points for what you two need to know about the place,” Ron said through a mouthful of beans. “And I still maintain that we need someone who can specialize in doing that for us, it’s incredibly time consuming on top of everything else. Then we’ll go for a quick drive around the area, definitely check out the Riddle House from a distance. After that we’ll come back, Hermione will make sure all the equipment is ready to go while we go through the script. Then you start with the interviews. You had three scheduled for today, didn’t you?”

“Yeah,” Harry confirmed with a nod. “One after dinner – we’ll go to the Riddle House and interview Frank Bryce there.”

Ron squinted at him, trying to remember who it was. “The owner?”

“Yep. Three today, and three more tomorrow. That should be enough for us to get what we need even if they don’t talk much.”

“That’s perfectly fine,” Hermione said. “We already have quite a bit of footage, and the bulk of it will come from us wandering around the house itself anyway. If you guys are ready now, should we get going? A quick drive – we can also buy some snacks and leave them in the car.”

“I love buying snacks,” Ron said under his breath, buzzing with excitement. Harry grinned, and even the grey and slightly rainy weather outside didn’t dampen his mood. They got into the car – with Ron driving this time as Hermione and Harry read through the bullet points and the script.

At first glance Little Hangleton was a gloomy little town with narrow streets and dark buildings. Even the trees just seemed… darker. There wasn’t much life to be seen on the streets, though perhaps that was due to the weather.

“There are literally no other cars driving around,” Ron muttered, looking through the windshield. “Barely any people, either.”

“Hold up, let me set up one of the cameras on the dashboard before we start talking about how creepy this place is,” Hermione said, tugging at the bag with her GoPro in it. The small camera was easily mounted on the dashboard, and it wasn’t long until it was recording. “All right, start.”

“This place is so creepy,” Ron said, before repeating: “there are barely any people out. No cars, either. Do you know if there’s a mall or a store of some kind nearby?”

“There are supposed to be at least three grocery stores,” Harry said.

“Nearby? Or in the whole town.”

“To be fair it’s so small everything here is nearby. But I meant in the town overall.”

“Why would people live here?” Hermione muttered, just as the rain started falling harder. “I mean, I understand the appeal of small towns when they’re cute and cozy, but this? It’s so… melancholy. Let’s hope it’s just the weather that’s causing this.”

“Turn right from the next corner and drive past a park of some sort,” Harry suddenly said, eyeing the map he had pulled up on his phone. “We’re getting closer to the Riddle House. Can’t wait to ask Frank Bryce about it later. How dramatic will he be, what do you guys think?”

“Oh no, if we have to put up with another dramatic retelling of a wife’s footsteps in the attic, I’m going to lose my shit,” Hermione sighed. “I’ll just focus on the cameras and let you guys do the… supernatural talking. At least my tech doesn’t make me cringe.”

“Oh, come on,” Harry said. “No one will make you cringe. Much. How bad could be?”

*

‘Oh bloody hell this is nuts,’ Harry thought, smiling at an interviewee who had just arrived. They were seated in a quiet corner of the bar attached to the B&B, with Hermione standing behind the camera and Ron standing beside her, ready to help out whenever needed, but mostly keeping an eye out on any gestures that could be portrayed as signs of lying or fear – anything to get their viewers speculating and engaging in the comment section. Harry was sitting with their guest, who had just bought them two pints of what was allegedly the town’s favourite drink.

“Wolven’s Warning,” Karkaroff said, sitting heavily on the chair across Harry. “Like Firewhisky but better.”

“We will definitely need this, considering what we’ll be discussing,” Harry said, mustering up a smile. “The Riddle House.”

“The Riddle House,” Karkaroff repeated, sighing. His hand twitched towards the pint, but he hesitated a bit before taking a proper hold of the handle. “Now that’s a piece of work.”

“When did you first hear about it?”

“Forever ago. You can’t grow up in Little Hangleton and avoid hearing about it.”

“So people talk about it? Warn each other?”

“Kind of. No one talks about the Riddle House but sometimes creepy shit happens that gets the town talking.”

“Creepy shit?” Harry said, leaning forward. “Have you experienced any of that, or what do you mean?”

“Everyone’s experienced something,” Karkaroff replied, before lifting the pint to his mouth and drinking for a few long moments. When he eventually put it down, he began talking before Harry could ask for further elaboration. “Everyone. Either calls that trace back to that house, or weird lights by the windows. And that’s just the shit you see from the outside.”

“Have you ever been inside?”

“Once. I was a dumb fucking kid who didn’t know any better. Because you know… when you’re told about crazy shit like ghosts and all that, you think no fucking way. That ain't real – can’t be, isn’t. So you think everyone else is being a fucking coward, and you think you’re tough shit and go in because you aren’t afraid. And when you go in at first everything is fine, but then you walk past a mirror and don’t see yourself, and you hear noises in places that you can see are empty. And then something hurts you."

“Hurts you how?” Harry asked, and wasn’t surprised when Karkaroff took another long swig of his drink. “Did something physically hurt you when you were there?”

“Yeah,” Karkaroff finally replied, sounding subdued. “It’s been years, but let me tell you – evil like that doesn’t run out of steam.”

“How were you hurt?” Harry pressed on, not wanting the other man to evade the question. They often got descriptions of scratch marks and bruises, and that’s what he was expecting now as well. Maybe even a shove. Karkaroff sighed again, but rather than drink more, he said:

“Something took a hold of my throat. I don’t know what – it felt like fingers, but I know no one was there.”

“Took a hold of your throat,” Harry repeated, giving what he hoped was a freaked-out look at the camera. “What happened right before that?”

“Have you been inside it yet?” Karkaroff asked, his grip on the pint tightening. “Listen, there’re mirrors in that house. And those mirrors? Bad fucking news. Because you walk past one and you never know what the fuck happens. So keep your eyes fucking peeled. I’d been just… walking upstairs past one of those mirrors and that’s when it happened.”

‘Mirrors,’ Harry thought, experience keeping him from looking disappointed. ‘Typical. Damn it, can’t they aim for a bit originality with these ghost encounters?’ “Wow,” he ended up saying. “Holy shit. So you were standing by a mirror when something grabbed you? What did you do then?”

“Yanked myself away and run out,” Karkaroff replied. He finished his drink and slammed the pint loudly down on the table. “How much do you know about that house anyway?”

“We’ve been told it’s haunted by the father and his wife,” Harry lied. They needed to get mentions of the wife early on, to make her appearance later believable, and interviews were a great way to—

“Nah,” Karkaroff interrupted. “Riddle Senior and his wife aren’t who you need to worry about. It’s the son.”

“The son,” Harry repeated, surprised. “You mean—”

“Riddle Junior,” Karkaroff said. “The one who killed them.”

“But why’s he haunting there?” Harry asked, knowing that he’d probably have to cut out this part of the interview. No need to introduce variables that wouldn’t be helpful. “He wasn’t killed there, was he?”

“He wasn’t killed there, but he did die there,” Karkaroff said, and wasn’t that interesting? “Now you might find other people who’ll tell you in more detail about this, but ask them about Voldemort.”

“Voldemort,” Harry repeated, frowning at how familiar the name sounded. “Thanks, I’ll do that for sure.”

When Karkaroff left a bit later after a few more questions and answers, Harry turned to look at Hermione and Ron with raised eyebrows. Hermione, safe behind the camera, rolled her eyes, but Ron was frowning.

“Did you pick up on something, Ron?” Harry asked. “He said some interesting things, even though his encounter was a bit… I wish he’d have described it more. But we definitely need to look into Voldemort.”

“The way he spoke,” Ron said. “He told his whole story in second perspective. That’s such a classic sign on wanting to distance himself from the events. Even if he says it all happened a long time ago, it’s clear that he’s not over it.”

“We will need to look into the son again,” Harry decided, sighing. “Just in case. Anyway, our next interview is with someone who says they’re a medium of some sort.”

“Love that,” Ron giggled. “Every single lunatic claiming to be a medium? Hilarious. They take themselves so seriously.”

“I can see beyond the veil, Ronald Weasley,” Hermione joined, grinning. “I’m attuned to the universe, Ronald Weasley. The tea leaves told me how you will die next week, Ronald Weasley.”

“Man, Trelawney was a riot,” Ron sighed happily, referring to an interviewee from a previous case. "Finish your drink, Harry – or give it to me – and then we can start preparing for the next interview.”

*

“Thank you for coming, uh, Aquamarine,” Harry said, reaching to shake the hand of the medium. “Interesting name, that.”

“Names have power,” the medium replied, her painted nails clacking against the surface of the table. “The fewer beings know your real name, the fewer chances they get to involve you in their lives.”

‘Honestly, I respect that,’ Harry thought, keeping his face serious as he nodded. “We’re in town to investigate the Riddle House. The more we learn about it, however, the more mysterious it gets, strangely enough. We were hoping that you could share some of your experiences and insights of the place before we go in there.”

“It’s a stupid decision,” Aquamarine said, her clear eyes unnervingly unblinking as she looked at Harry. “People go in there thinking it’s all tall tales, but then flee the place with regrets and fears they never thought they’d get. I feel obliged to warn you of that.”

“Thank you,” Harry said, hoping to sound polite and not annoyed. People got so serious about their perceived supernatural encounters. “You believe there’s something in there, then?”

“There is,” Aquamarine confirmed. “Everyone knows it. There’s an evil entity that cannot be purged because it doesn’t want to leave. People have tried. I’m just a medium – all I can do is look at what’s there and see things other people don’t. I can’t do things even exorcists failed at.”

“What do you think this entity wants?” Harry asked, hoping to get something less vague than what he was hearing now. “A demon?”

“No, I don’t think it’s a demonic entity,” Aquamarine replied. “People forget that humans have a great capacity for evil. I don’t think it’s a demon at all. I think it’s a spirit. An angry, dark, evil spirit that keeps everyone else trapped and tormented in there with him.”

“Him,” Harry repeated. “Do you also think it’s the son? Riddle Junior?”

The medium didn’t reply, merely raised her eyebrows. Not to be discouraged, Harry changed his question: “What do you know of Voldemort?”

At this her eyes widened in a first sign of surprise that they had managed to elicit so far. “People don’t like that name around here,” she said, her voice low and breathy all of a sudden. “He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. A man so evil even the devil didn’t collect him after he died.”

“What’s his relation to the Riddle House?”

“He owned it before Bryce bought it,” Aquamarine said. “No one claimed the property after he died, and so it was auctioned off, and Bryce in a moment of utter madness went and bought it. Couldn’t live there, though. Didn’t last a week.”

“We were told that Riddle Junior haunts the place,” Harry said. “But we’re now told about Vol— He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named instead. So… which one is it? Does anyone know what happened?”

“People think He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named did something to summon Riddle Junior’s spirit,” Aquamarine said. “Who knows if that is true. What we do know however is that after he died, no one has been able to stand being in that house. And the more time passes, the worse it gets.”

“Have you had personal encounters in there?” Harry asked.

“I went in there once with a group of people,” the medium started. “The expectation was that going in as a group would discourage the entity and keep us safe. The moment I entered I saw this… thing kneeling in front of one of the mirrors. A naked, humanoid thing that looked like an old woman. She was crouching down with saggy skin hanging off her—its legs. It disappeared when I looked away for a moment, but I kept seeing it from the corner of my eye ever since and until I left.”

‘Does she actually expect me to believe that?’ Harry thought, nodding. “That sounds scary.”

“It was,” Aquamarine confirmed. “But what is truly frightening isn’t any of that. Not the creatures crawling on the floors and not the shadows you see in the mirrors. The scariest things are the ones you can’t describe. The ones that when someone asks you about them, your throat closes up and your tongue stops working, because nothing you say could ever do justice to the creeping nameless horrors.”

‘Now this is good,’ Harry thought, nodding slowly. ‘I hope Bryce can tell us even more.’ “Are there areas in the house you see as more dangerous than others? Could you tell us a bit more about your visit to the place?”

The interview may have started off a bit shaky, but Harry was glad that he had gotten the medium to speak. And from the pleased looks on Ron and Hermione’s faces, he knew they were satisfied as well. This would give them great conversation points to bring up with other interviewees later on.

If things kept going this well, they might not need as much time as they had initially thought they would.

Which was great.

*

They had agreed to meet Frank Bryce in front of the Riddle House. It was already dark by the time they drove to the location, but the wait had allowed Hermione to charge all the equipment that needed to be charged, and replace the batteries that needed to be replaced. They had had a quick dinner, and were now excitedly driving towards the Riddle House.

“I think we can still include the ghost of the wife fixating on Harry,” Ron said, “but we should definitely include all this shit about Riddle Junior as well. Hermione, you said you googled Voldemort, didn’t you?”

“I did,” Harry said. “The name was familiar because he was the subject of a case my parents worked on when I was a baby, apparently. He was arrested for a string of murders in Scotland and England, but then got free because some sort of an error in the proceedings led to a mistrial. So he basically got out scot-free, and before any follow-up actions could be taken he just… disappeared. He was already in his seventies by then, so people just assumed he’d die and that’d be it. So I think what happened is that he came here, settled in that house, and died not long after.”

“Holy shit what a coincidence,” Ron said. “That your parents worked on that case I mean. What the fuck.”

“Right? There’s so much I want to discuss with Bryce, it’s ridiculous. Oh, look— there he is.”

They had arrived at the driveway leading up to the Riddle House – a large, towering mansion with dark windows, peeling paint revealing grey wood marked by the changing seasons and the lack of care. In front of the house was a red car, with an elderly man leaning against it.

“Frank Bryce?” Harry called as he exited the car. “I’m Harry Potter. Thank you so much for meeting us.”

“Yes, yes, I’m Frank, hello,” the man said, shaking Harry’s hand and eyeing the camera on Hermione’s shoulder with mild interest. His face was long and pale, with wrinkles and liver spots all over. His eyes were small and deep-set, his gaze nervously flickering all around them. “Let’s not… let’s not go inside yet, yeah? We can talk here and maybe I can show you around. You can have the keys, regardless. Just return them to me when you’re done.”

Interviewing anyone outdoors wasn’t optimal, but Harry didn’t show his displeasure – no need to alienate the informant, after all. Besides, they were lucky that the already quiet town was even quieter now.

“So, you’re Frank Bryce, the current owner of the house,” Harry repeated, for the sake of their viewers. “How did you come to own this place?”

“A mistake,” Bryce replied promptly, before trying to ease the initial harshness of his statement with a strained laugh. “It was dirt cheap. I didn’t know who had owned it beforehand – you see, I’m not from here. My wife is, and she didn’t know that I— She would’ve warned me, otherwise. I didn’t know. All I saw was a big house for a cheap price and thought it’d make her happy to have such a nice place for us and our children. So I bought it, and then I told her, and…”

“She wasn’t happy?” Harry said, trying to sound both sympathetic and lighthearted. Bryce nodded, laughing again, though sounding – if possible – even more strained than before.

“No, no she wasn’t,” he replied. “We tried to move in. Stayed for a week before it got— it was just too much, you know? You read a book on your couch and swear there’s someone crouching on top of the closet, and when you look you see nothing. And there’s only so much you can dismiss— only so many times you can see things happening in your peripheral before it starts getting to you.”

“Could you tell me more about the things you saw?”

“I mean, sure,” Bryce sighed. “But it’s not just what you see that gets to you. It’s not just the sight of someone standing on top the stairs and watching you with big, big eyes. It’s the sounds, too. You wake up at night to the sound of someone loudly crawling on your floor. You’re in the kitchen and you hear the sound of someone sitting on the leather couch – it’s a bit loud, that one. There’s so much and at first you can say that, all right, we can just cohabit with a ghost and maybe it’ll just go away. But the first days of peace and awareness are just it gauging how to hurt us best.”

“Did it hurt you?” Harry asked then, attempting to push the conversation forward as gently as he could. “Were either one of you attacked?”

“A few times,” Bryce admitted, his shoulders slumping, and the tired resignation made Harry consider for the first time if he was actually hearing a real experience. “When my wife was once taking a bath, something shoved her underwater. It was by pure coincidence that I happened to hear the sound of falling shampoo bottles caused by her fight to get out. Another time I had been walking past the mirror in the hallway – it’s a large one, fused into the wall like most mirrors in there – when something yanked me hard enough to almost dislocate my shoulder. You can’t hallucinate something that leaves a physical mark, you know.”

‘But can he prove any of that?’ Harry thought, nodding. ‘How do I know that his wife was almost drowned? How do we know his shoulder was injured? Even if the alleged aftermath is physical, it’s still temporary.’

“The third incident was a bit more subtle,” Frank continued. “We came back from a day out planning on making a nice dinner. The whole house, however, smelled like gas. Do you know what lighting up the stove would’ve done? We had to not only air the house, but call for maintenance to see if there was a leak somewhere, and it wasn’t just that there was one, but that the gas supply had been left open. Someone had opened it. Neither one of us would do that – there’s no reason for us to do either.”

‘There’s literally nothing supernatural about that,’ Harry thought. “That sounds horrifying.”

“Yeah,” Bryce sighed, and shook his head. “Listen, I really don’t want to go in there. I know you would probably want me to show you around, but…”

“It’s fine,” Harry said. “Just tell us if there are specific locations we need to watch out for.”

“The whole place,” Bryce promptly replied. “The hallway with mirrors is especially active. Don’t be alone anywhere – definitely don’t sleep in separate rooms. If you can, avoid going to the bathrooms because it loves capitalizing on locked doors.”

“We’ll definitely keep that in mind,” Harry promised, eagerly accepting the keys. They hadn’t planned on exploring tonight, but since the opportunity had presented itself… maybe they could? Even without Bryce? ‘Although probably it’s best to go there in daylight first. Bloody hell, we should’ve just skipped the B&B and came straight here.’

After Frank Bryce had climbed back into his car, the three of them stood quietly for a little while, just watching the departing vehicle. Hermione was the first to speak, shaking her head as she said: “We will probably need to cut out the gas leak bit. That’s not scary at all. Well, not in this context at least.”

“I agree,” Ron said. “But we can definitely make use of all this mirror-talk. Especially if any of the remaining three respondents say anything about it. And we definitely need to work in the Voldemort stuff early on.”

“Right,” Harry agreed. “It looks so dark now. Do you guys want to go in or should we wait till the morning?”

“Let’s wait till the morning,” Hermione said. “I’ll need to switch batteries again. They keep draining so fast, it’s ridiculous. I should start buying some fancy ones, probably, that aren’t so shit.”

“All right then, you might as well then just take an extra battery with you tomorrow,” Harry said. “I can’t wait to see what the place looks like. It’ll be hard to make things look creepy in the daylight, but it sets the scene nicely.”

“Brilliant,” Ron said, nodding his head. “Right after breakfast? When do you have your interviews Harry?”

“If we come back here at nine in the morning, explore for two hours or so,” Harry said, “we’ll make it back in time for my one o’clock interview. The second one starts at three, and the one after it at five. We’ll be done with the interviews by seven, and then we can just focus on going through the script again, and then tomorrow set up props before we stay the night.”

“I love it when things proceed this fast,” Hermione said as they returned to their own car. “No delays, no one’s suddenly unavailable, everything just falls into place neatly as it should. Guys, this episode will be brilliant!”

“Yeah, and we can see if we’ll manage to sneak in anything to make merch about,” Harry said cheerfully. Despite how shitty the B&B was, coming to Little Hangleton was a great idea.

Best decision in a while, for sure.

*

The Riddle House didn’t lose its sinister atmosphere in daylight. Not that Harry really believed in such things, but… there was just something that rubbed off him in the wrong way from the moment he pushed the front door open.

“Wow, they weren’t kidding about the mirrors,” Ron said, stepping into the hallway. “Mirrors and portraits. Great taste. Why didn’t Bryce change this shit when he moved it?”

“Probably didn’t have the time,” Hermione said, walking further into the house. Harry followed her, his footsteps causing the wooden floor to creak loudly.

The first floor of the three-story house was full of narrow hallways with only a few windows allowing light sparingly in. The kitchen was large, and a doorway with stained windows and a broken door handle allowed them to peek into the messy backyard. There was a living room not far from the kitchen, and a dining room a bit further away. A bathroom – small and narrow with pink floral wallpaper and yellow, flickering lightbulbs – could be accessed through a room that had likely been a library of some sort. All it now had was a pile of torn books and a tilted bookshelf, with old and torn couches forming a loose semi-circle around a blocked fireplace.

“Yikes,” Ron commented, looking at the ceiling. “It looks so bad.”

“It’s ridiculously cold, too,” Hermione said, making sure to capture the rooms with her camera. “Let’s go upstairs? It can’t be worse than this.”

It was.

The narrow and dark hallway opened to eight small rooms, each one with a bed and a small window. No bathrooms of any kind were on the second floor, which Harry found baffling. “This does not look like a set-up for a normal house,” he said. “Who the hell has ten small bedrooms? Look at them! And imagine if you have to pee at night? You’d need to go to that tiny little thing downstairs!”

“Why on earth did Bryce even want to own this place?” Ron asked. “I mean, come on. Unless you want to tear the whole shit down and rebuild it, there’s no way you could actually enjoy living here.”

“I don’t disagree,” Harry said. “All right, that’s it for this floor. Next?”

The third floor was only marginally better than the two beneath it. It opened up to a large space with a single massive bed in the far corner, and a small table with a few chairs around it. It was empty, and a glaring contrast to how narrow and cramped every other place was. A bathroom with a shower and a bathtub was finally found as well, though it didn’t make the rest of the house any less odd in its design.

“When we stay overnight, we can stay here,” Hermione decided. “It’d be the best place for all three of us, right? We’ve got a big bed and a bathroom and we can just.. film what we need with the props and then be done. Might need to take several shots but honestly? We’re just blitzing through this, aren’t we?”

“Thankfully,” Harry said, turning his head to look at Ron shuffling in the doorway, except… Ron wasn’t there? “Ron?”

“Yeah?” his friend’s voice called from downstairs. “Wait, you went up already?”

“Weren’t you just here with me?” Harry asked, raising his voice and turning towards the staircase. A feeling of something cold settled into his stomach when he saw Ron and Hermione climbing up the stairs. They had both been here with him. He hadn’t hallucinated that, but… had he? Because even though he thought that he had come up here with them, there’s no way they had somehow gone down and now back up again without him noticing.

“When we stay overnight, we can stay here,” Hermione said, startling Harry who knew that she had just said those words moments earlier. What the fuck was going on? Was he that sleepy? He’d slept pretty okay in the B&B last night, so there was no reason for him to feel so disoriented.

“Yeah,” was all he ended up saying, before turning to survey the room again. There were large portraits hanging off the walls, which made him feel… watched. Even if this was the best room available of the lot, it didn’t make it a good room. “Sounds great. We can either sleep on the bed or bring our sleeping bags. I think the bags would be better, right?”

“Yeah,” Ron agreed. “Great. We can definitely stage something in the corridor with the mirrors. And then on another instance we can have someone throw something at Hermione from the staircase. But the focus will be mostly on Harry as we agreed – you’ll fall down the stairs at least once, so be prepared.”

“Of course, no need to worry,” Harry assured him. “I think we should definitely do something with the bathrooms as well. Have Hermione try and get an EVP or something.”

“Sounds good,” Hermione said. “Brilliant. Ron, do you mind if I go through your history notes one more time? There might be things I’ll be able to add. Because I know three of the sources you used and I think—”

“Yeah, sure, go wild,” Ron said. “And I know I keep saying this, but I’ll continue saying it: we need to find someone who can take care of the history part. I hate research.”

“I’d love to do it but the cameras keep me occupied and I don’t trust either one of you near my tech,” Hermione replied. “Anyway, I think we’re done here. Harry, who’s your first interviewee today?”

“Uh, I forgot their name,” Harry admitted. “Chu or something? They asked to have a basket of bread on the table, so… there’s that.”

“Okay,” Hermione muttered, nodding her head. “Bread for someone whose name might or might not be Chu. We can do that. We can get them bread.”

*

“I used to not believe in ghosts,” Chu said, chewing on a loaf of bread. “But then I broke in there – for science, I had something I wanted to investigate – and phew. Have you spoken with others yet? Did they tell you about the mirrors?”

“Mirrors grabbing people, yes,” Harry said, nodding. “What happened?”

“I swear I was being chased,” Chu said. “I was just going down the stairs – I was about to leave already. And then I heard this… you know how creepy it is to hear someone crawling fast after you? Someone crawling in the dark is already bad. Someone crawling fast? No thanks.”

“I see,” Harry said, imagining the scenario. Terrifying, but mostly because sounds of crawling indicated a physical presence and real people were infinitely scarier than ghosts. “Did you ever go back? What about the other people you were with?”

“I didn’t go back, no,” Chu replied, pulling the breadbasket even closer. “I haven’t heard of anyone else who has, either. It’s just… You don’t know what it’s like until you’ve encountered something like that yourself, you know?”

“Yes, absolutely,” Harry said, nodding. “Was that the extent of the encounter? Do you know of any others?”

“Well, I think someone who can tell you about a variety of encounters is Ava from the library,” Chu sighed. “You’ve probably reached out to her already though, haven’t you?”

“Yes, but our meeting with her won’t be until later today,” Harry explained. “Is there something specific you think we should ask her about?”

“The Riddle House itself, obviously,” Chu replied, “but the Riddle family in particular. There’s not much known about Riddle Junior, but what little is known – Ava knows it.”

Harry nodded again, seeing Ron’s expression brighten up. They’d been lacking information on Riddle Junior, which would’ve made his inclusion in the script much harder. But if they had a reputable source who could provide them with useful – and hopefully creepy – information? It’d be brilliant!

“Well, that’s one interview we can look forward to,” Hermione said as soon as Chu left. They’d managed to tease out a few more useful stories of encounters that she had experienced, which would help in adding some depth to the picture overall. “It’s the next one, right? And after that we have just one more.”

“Yeah,” Harry replied, pleased. “And then we’ll finally get to the fun stuff. So how about a quick lunch and then we go to the library?”

“Sounds good,” Ron immediately said, taking a piece of the bread that had been left behind. “I was getting hungry.”

They found a small diner not too far away from the library, and though the food wasn’t the best, at least it was cheap. Harry picked at the dry steak he had on his plate, wondering if they ought to drop by a kiosk or a convenience store for something that was a bit more edible than this.

“We probably don’t need to drive to the library,” Hermione said, looking at the map on her phone. “We can just walk – it’s literally across the street and a bit to the left from here. Ah, I’ve missed spending time in libraries. I think that’s what I miss the most about university – just sitting down in a library and forgetting the rest of the world.”

“Never happened to me,” Ron said, eating his steak with gusto that Harry couldn’t help but envy a bit. “I could barely step a foot in there without falling asleep. Depending on how much time we have after the interview, you could take a look around the library afterwards, right?”

“Right,” Harry confirmed. “Anyway, are you guys ready? We might as well get going. Maybe Ava will have time for us even if we turn up a bit earlier than anticipated.”

“Let’s hope so,” Hermione said, standing up and wiping the imaginary dust off her skirt. “Let’s go. I like these history interviews the most, so I might even pitch in with a question or two.”

“Sounds great,” Harry said, pulling on his jacket as they headed towards the exit. “You do that.”

*

Turned out that Hermione’s curiosity about the history of the Riddle House and the family rendered most of Harry’s questions redundant and useless. He didn’t mind, however, when he saw how engaged the librarian was, showing Hermione a variety of photographs and other documentation.

“People forget that while what happened to Riddle Senior is terrible,” Ava said, “what he did wasn’t nice either. He was known as a cruel man, and people knew that his wife – who was much, much younger than him – was completely under his rule. His grandparents were also known as arrogant people who used their wealth to keep everyone in Little Hangleton under their thumb. It wasn’t a liked family, by all means.”

“And the son?”

“The son… well… the son’s story begins with his mother, Merope Gaunt. Merope was so very poor and, well, not disliked but she just wasn’t someone anyone cared about. She didn’t mingle with people, wasn’t talkative or charming, wasn’t pretty, either… When she fell pregnant and claimed it was Riddle Senior’s, no one believed her at first. Why would someone as handsome and Riddle Senior bed her when there were so many other options, you know? That’s what the townspeople thought. It wasn’t until a mailman admitted to having seen them together than people started believing. Riddle denied it, of course, and Merope was cast out.”

“She died in childbirth, didn’t she?” Harry asked. “What happened to the baby after that? Was he raised by her family?”

“Oh no, no,” Ava replied, shaking her head. She smiled, but there was little joy to be found there. “The Gaunts were just awful. They disowned Merope the moment she brought dishonor upon them, and thus her baby was also considered, well… not one of them. As far as evidence shows, Merope actually went to London. So Riddle Junior was born in London, and presumably was raised in an orphanage.”

“What happened to him after he killed his… relatives?” Harry asked, hesitant to use the word family. “Was he arrested? How did people know if it was him if they didn’t?”

“There are conflicting records on that, actually,” Ava replied. “Some claim that he was arrested immediately after the deed, but I haven’t been able to find any proof of that. Others claim to have seen him wandering about, covered in blood, but that’s hardly likely as well. What we suspect happened instead was – and this is based on some very spotty court records – that he was apprehended and charged, but there was a mistrial and so he had to be allowed to roam free. After that he just… disappeared.”

‘Why does that sound familiar?’ Harry thought, frowning. It was Hermione, however, who helped fill that gap by asking:

“Isn’t that what happened with Voldemort as well? A mistrial?”

“I don’t really… I’m not knowledgeable of the doings of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named,” Ava said, appearing suddenly nervous. “Listen, I’d love to continue, but I have to get back to work. You’re free to take a look around and check out some of the records yourselves.”

“Could you point me to records on the Riddles?” Hermione asked quickly, not arguing against the abrupt end of the interview. Harry took a step back, deciding to let the girls be on their own in case Hermione could get something more out of the librarian after all.

“I’ll go take a look at the newspapers,” Ron said, sighing. “Harry, do you want to come with me or wander around like the little creeper we know you are?”

“Oh fuck off,” Harry replied with a grin and a shake of his head. “Nah, I’m going to take a look around. See if there’s anything worth looking further into in terms of the town’s history.”

“Great, you do that,” Ron replied. “See you once Hermione’s done?”

With a nod Harry shooed Ron away, and made his way between the shelves, looking for any kind of a photo gallery. Surely their records weren’t just written ones, right? There had to be pictures somewhere, and since the records that Ava had briefly showed them – the same ones Hermione had now wanted to take another look at – were void of pictures, they had to be kept separately, right?

“Can I help you?”

Harry flinched, and turned on his heels when he heard someone speak behind him. There he found a man, likely around his age, holding a pile of books. His black hair was combed neatly and parted at the side, and his dark brown eyes were neither cold nor warm. There was a nametag on his shirt that simply read ‘Tom’ in lovely cursive.

“Um, no, well,” Harry stammered. “I’m looking for any photography that you guys might have here?”

“Books on photography?” Tom asked, setting the books down onto a trolley that Harry hadn’t noticed before. “Of photographs?”

“The second,” Harry replied, flushing when he realized how silly he sounded. “I mean, photographs. I’m… researching something.”

“Well, if you tell me what it is, I might be able to be of more help,” Tom replied, smiling a little.

‘Oh, fucking hell,’ Harry thought miserably. ‘He has dimples.’ He had dimples and he was taller than Harry and he smelled good. Harry wanted simultaneously to leave immediately, but also stay forever. “I’m a, uh, paranormal investigator from the show Go-Go-Ghosts. We’re looking into the Riddle House, but there aren’t any photographs in the records.”

“Ah, the Riddle House,” Tom said, clearly knowing immediately what house that was. “Quite the fascinating case, isn’t it? How awful for the family.”

Harry, who thought about the Dursleys – his aunt and uncle and cousin – and how much it hurt being rejected, said: “Well… I’m not saying that murder was the right way to go about handling the situation, and I’m not blaming the victims, but it’s not like Riddle Senior did the right thing either when he rejected Merope after getting her pregnant, you know? And somehow I find it difficult to imagine that he would’ve been any more welcoming towards Riddle Junior, so… Yeah, it’s terrible, but he’s no angel, is what I’m trying to say.”

Tom hummed in what Harry hoped was agreement. The smile on his face remained pleasant, and when Tom led him towards a cabinet of what looked like photo albums, he didn’t leave Harry to go through them on his own. So at least he wasn’t upset, right?

“This one,” Tom said, pulling an album with covers made of dark brown leather, some faded images of golden leaves worn out over time. He handed Harry the album and stood right next to him and he opened it. The very first picture showed a tall man – a handsome one, with dark hair and pale skin – standing on his own in front of a large building that was clearly the Riddle House in its glory days. “That’s him. Riddle Senior.”

The next picture had the same man, now considerably older, standing next to a woman who looked hardly out of her teens, with a baby held in her arms. “Are these his wife and child?”

“Yeah,” Tom murmured, before pointing at the baby in the picture. “Little Hephaestus.”

“Little what?” Harry said, turning to look at Tom with wide eyes. “They did not name their child that!”

“They did,” Tom grinned, and oh no— dimples again. “What, not a name you’d like?”

“I’m happy being just Harry,” Harry replied. “Would you have liked a name like that? Isn’t Tom much better?”

“I suspect it would’ve been much too common for the Riddles,” Tom replied. “Perhaps acceptable as a nickname among friends. But say, what brought you to the Riddle House in particular? Despite how it is, it doesn’t attract, ah, paranormal investigators.”

“Someone in our team found out a bit about it, and since it wasn’t one of those cliched places that everyone’s been to, we decided to just go for it,” Harry explained. “Mind you, you can ask him about his discovery if you’re willing to heard him complain about being the research guy in the team despite hating it.”

“Why does he do it then?” Tom asked, raising an eyebrow. “If he dislikes it so?”

“There’s only three of us,” Harry replied. “Both Hermione and I have so much else that it just kind of fell on Ron to do the research work.”

“Ah,” Tom said, nodding his head in sympathy. “For those who don’t enjoy it, research can be the worst part imaginable of an otherwise fun job.”

“Do you enjoy it?” Harry asked. “I mean, I don’t want to assume anything just by you working at a library, but—"

“I do,” Tom replied. “I do enjoy it. Considering that this is Little Hangleton, there’s not much else to do here, really.”

‘Why not leave?’ Harry thought, but didn’t dare to ask. It was so easy to forget that he had met Tom just a few minutes ago. To not dwell on that, Harry turned back to the photo album and kept looking at the pictures. Sometimes Tom would stop and tell him of the people in them, but mostly he just stood quietly by Harry’s side.

They weren’t done with the album by the time Ron found them. “Hi mate. Hermione’s ready. Want to get going?”

“Oh, sure,” Harry said, trying to not sound disappointed. He turned to look at Tom, desperately trying to come up with an excuse to visit again. Would it make sense if he asked to come and look at the photos again? Well yes, but that wouldn’t necessarily include Tom, would it?

“I’ll show you the rest when you come here next time if you’d like,” Tom said, unknowingly sparing Harry the trouble of figuring out what to do.

“Great,” Harry said, looking at Tom with a smile on his face as Ron started dragging him towards the exit. “See you!”

“You wanker,” Ron huffed, visibly amused as he shoved Harry into the backseat of the car. “Hermione, guess what this loser was doing? Talking to some librarian in there.”

“I was talking with the librarian as well,” Hermione replied, before her eyes met Harry’s and a knowing smile appeared on her face. “Oh we’re talking… talking.”

“We’re not, leave me be,” Harry protested. “He’s cute, all right? That’s all. Anyway, we’ve got the next interview in thirty minutes. Let’s focus on that.”

“Uhhuh,” Hermione said, before giggling quietly to herself. “If we make time for a free day, you can go on a date with him Harry.”

“Leave me alooooone,” Harry whined. “Like I said, let’s just focus on the next one. We’ve got five really good interviews so far, and if our luck holds the sixth will be just as useful.”

*

The sixth interviewee stared at Harry unblinkingly for the few minutes it took him to introduce her on camera. Her dark red lips were pursed into a pout, and her beautiful face was framed by a stylish array of dark curls. Her eyes, however… there was an unnerving spark to them and Harry was happier than ever that he had Ron and Hermione so close.

“It’s not the Riddles haunting that place,” the woman – Bella, she insisted to be called – said. “Those pathetic gremlins couldn’t haunt a shed, let alone a house like that. No, it’s not them. It’s You-Know-Who.”

‘Who now?’ Harry thought, trying to desperately connect that new title to anyone they had discussed before. There was only one candidate, and he hoped he was right: “You mean… Voldemort?”

“Lord Voldemort,” Bellatrix said sharply. “A man of great power, as you have doubtlessly heard. He did unthinkable, great things in the Riddle House and when he died, his legacy remained.”

“Actually,” Harry said, hoping to be able to hear her talk more about Voldemort. “I feel like not enough people speak of him.”

“You’re right,” the woman instantly said. “Nowhere near enough people know and appreciate His greatness. They keep deflecting. He was a man dedicated to the passion of learning and experimenting. Science that went beyond the boundaries of the living. When it came to death – he was an artist.”

‘All right, so she’s like that,’ Harry thought, his smile unwavering when he said: “So you suspect that he haunts the house?”

“I have no doubt,” Bella said, nodding so hard her curls bounced.

“But why?” Harry asked. “What does he want?”

“He’s waiting,” Bella replied, her voice lowering into a whisper. “He’s waiting for something – or someone. Because no matter how strong a spirit is, if it’s tied to an earthly boundary, it’ll remain put. But if it finds a vessel – someone strong enough to carry it without crumbling – it can leave and grow.”

“Why didn’t you do it, then?” Harry said. “I mean – why didn’t you offer to be his, uh, person?”

“I wasn’t strong enough,” Bella said mournfully, and bloody hell Harry could see her tearing up. “I tried so many times, but I simply couldn’t carry the weight. My Lord…”

Slightly freaked out, Harry glanced at Ron and Hermione standing behind the camera. Hermione’s unimpressed face was purely judgmental, while Ron was visibly holding back a laugh. Harry coughed, and tried to steer the conversation back to something useful. “Could you tell me more of his… aims? I mean – why would he need to leave Little Hangleton?”

“Revenge, of course,” Bella hissed. “Those people he rightfully executed before the police got to him— well, there wasn’t much they could do now, was there!”

‘She really believes this shit,’ Harry thought, nodding slowly. ‘Our subscribers better appreciate this.’ “You said you couldn’t – could you tell me of your experiences? How did you feel? How did you know what to do?”

“When you enter that house, it feels heavy,” Bella said, “like a blessing bestowed upon you. His favour is a heavy gift to carry, but oh, did I try. And when he whispers into your ear— it is all you could want from this world, and more.”

“Why do you think the others believe it’s the Riddles and not him who haunt the place?” Hermione asked. “They’ve told us of a few encounters, and there just seems to be this… general acceptance of it having been the Riddles. Why the misconception?”

“Fear and wishful thinking,” Bella hissed, this time sounding angry. She was glaring at Harry as she continued: “They know that His power grows with every person entering His domain and their fear of what could happen if he returned is boundless. They’re cowards. They’d much rather squeak in fright and denial than unite to serve our Lord.”

Harry felt hideously uncomfortable, and briefly wondered how many in this town believed in what she did. He didn’t dare to ask, however, though he voiced his thoughts to the camera after Bella had left.

“We need to be careful, maybe,” Hermione said quietly. “I agree with Harry – there’s no predicting if there are other people here who believe what she’s saying. I wouldn’t be surprised if that was the case. Small towns have a way of surprising you sometimes.”

“Well, I don’t want to be surprised,” Harry groaned, standing up. “It’s pretty damn late now, but at least the interviews are over. I’ll start going over the footage tomorrow while you two put up the props, yeah?”

“Sounds good,” Ron said, leading them towards the staircase, and their rooms. “We’ll need to buy some snacks, also, and make sure we’ll have everything we need with us at the Riddle House even if we will come back here afterwards to wrap things up.”

“All right, sounds good,” Harry said, shoving the key of his room into the lock and pushing the door open. “I’ll see you guys at breakfast.”

A lot had happened that day – which, sure, it wasn’t the number of interviews that had drained him so, but rather the absolute belief in their experiences that these locals had. Especially the last one… Harry wasn’t sure where to even begin unpacking her issues, but was glad that at least it meant great content for them.

Harry closed the room’s door behind him, shoving his suitcase back under the handle. He kicked his shoes off, did the usual check all around the room in case someone was hiding there – there was no telling with these people, honestly – and then finally went to hang his coat on the hook by the door.

He didn’t switch off the lights. Even with how tired he was, he knew he wasn’t quite tired enough to fall asleep anytime soon. Therefore, what he could do was dig out his laptop and open the interview files from the first day that Hermione had already uploaded. Harry sat on the small couch, his feet propped up on the coffee table, his back to the windows, facing the door. He had his headphones on, drowning the suffocating silence of the room under the sound of the interviews, without needing to worry about disturbing any other residents on the floor.

It was by pure coincidence that Harry looked up from the laptop and at the door when he did. He stared uncomprehendingly at the door for a few long moments, brows furrowing as he took in the sight of the door handle turning down an inch before it was blocked by the suitcase Harry had gotten into the habit of pushing against the door.

Someone was trying to get in. Quietly.

Harry’s first – if delayed – response was to jump up and rush towards the door to make sure it remains closed. It was locked anyway – right? So whoever was trying to get in without being heard and must have had a copy of the key so—

The door handle turned upwards again, released from the hold of who ever was standing on the other side. Harry took his headphones off and pushed his laptop onto the coffee table as he quietly got onto his feet. And then as carefully as he could, he made his way towards the door. He wasn’t sure why – there was no way he could see to the other side of that door.

He stood quietly in there, waiting for something. A sound of footsteps shuffling away, if nothing else. Yet no sound could be heard.

‘What am I supposed to do?’ Harry thought, tempted to press his ear against the door, but somehow fearful of doing so. And so, he stood still for a few long moments, watching the door handle, but it didn’t move. Nothing moved.

‘I’m so glad we’ll be staying at the Riddle House tomorrow night,’ Harry decided, knowing already that he wouldn’t be getting any sleep now. There was no way he could when he knew that someone had tried to get in here. Why would anyone even bother?

He couldn’t wait to leave this whole town, seriously. Not even the cute librarian was worth the stress.

*

“You look… fresh,” Hermione remarked, eyeing Harry’s wet hair as he joined them for breakfast. “And by fresh I mean that you should’ve taken a moment after the shower to dry up a little.”

“My night sucked,” Harry groaned, sitting down and nearly tearing up in gratitude when Ron handed him a plateful of scrambled eggs. “Someone tried to open my door and I couldn’t sleep after it at all. I ended up napping on the couch facing the door, and my neck now hurts.”

“Someone tried to open your door?” Hermione repeated, frowning. “That’s creepy! Should we complain about it? Maybe it was someone from the cleaning staff—“

“At night? I don’t think so.”

“Also,” Ron said, “does this place look like it has cleaning staff on the payroll?”

“Besides, we’re not going to be staying here for the next few nights,” Harry said. “Even if we won’t be checking out, at least all of our stuff will be in the car and there’s no risk of anything happening even if someone does get into the room when we’re away.”

“But that’s freaky,” Hermione hissed. “Honestly, if this was a proper hotel, I’d definitely ask you to complain. But somehow I doubt anyone working here would give a damn. But you’re right – at least for the next two nights we’ll be fine if we stay at the Riddle House like we originally intended. If you’re all packed up and done, we could go right away? Since Bryce told us that the electricity works, you can work on the footage there and we can just start setting up the props early on.”

Harry couldn’t deny the feeling of relief when he exited the B&B with his bags in tow. He could see Barty Jr. watching them quietly, and Harry fleetingly wondered if he should have interviewed the man as well. Maybe someone who runs a bar and a B&B, Barty Jr. was privy to information about the town that most others didn’t know. Could he perhaps add one more interview into the mix?

“I don’t think he would’ve agreed,” Ron said when they got into the car and Harry told them about his idea. “Even when I explained to him that we won’t be present for the next two days he just… stared at me. Also I went to grab a snack from the bar yesterday evening, and I saw him whispering something with that weirdo… uh… Bella? Yeah, that one. So honestly, I don’t think you would’ve gotten anything useful out of him.”

“For someone working in hospitality, he was very unwelcoming,” Hermione added. “Honestly, if there was any other competition for a B&B in this town, I suspect he’d be out of business in a month. Not that business is booming now anyway – did you see the wall of keys behind him? Out of forty rooms only six are occupied.”

“His source of income is probably the bar, then,” Harry said. “I suspect that one’s a place the locals love to visit. Certainly never seems to be quiet or empty.”

“I’d probably be drinking too if I lived here,” Ron admitted, just as they approached the Riddle House. Unwelcoming as ever in the gloomy and grey weather, Harry still preferred it over Barty’s B&B. “All right. Another quick walk around the house before we start setting up?”

“I’m so excited,” Hermione said, before starting to record the entrance. Harry, knowing that a big part of their appeal was how homely their production appeared to viewers, pretended to be casually wandering in front of the camera after attaching his mic to his collar and making sure the recording devices were working.

“Can’t believe we’re here,” he said, before turning to Hermione. “The Riddle House. A house that belonged to a man so evil, even the devil feared him. And now us three will be spending a whole night in there. We’re here to look at the building in daylight first to make sure it’s safe to walk around, and will return at night to investigate the paranormal happenings that we’ve been hearing about.”

“I’m so looking forward to investigating the second floor,” Ron said, and Hermione turned slightly to allow the viewers to see him peeking in through one of the windows. “Almost everyone told us that there’s something dark going on with the mirror on the second floor. So that’s one place we’ll have to be really alert with.”

“There’s some inconsistency with who is doing the haunting, though, did you guys notice?” Hermione said. “No one really knows for sure, so that’s one thing we should probably define first.”

“So long as it’s just ghosts, I think we’ll be fine,” Harry said. “But if it’s a demonic entity? Well…”

Hermione then gave them a thumb-up and stopped recording. “Nice. Sounded really promising. Ron, what was the next scene that you wanted?”

“Just us walking around inside, starting from how creepy the entrance is,” Ron said, walking ahead and opening the door. “ A quick look into the bathroom downstairs since it’s so small and creepy, and then we go up the stairs to the mirror. And Harry, when you edit – Hermione will take a shot of the whole hallway with its many little bedrooms. I want you to then make them a bit darker – not that that will be hard to do – and really prison-like. And then later Harry you will go on your own a bit to the living room, and then you’ll tell us that you feel incredibly cold there.”

“Great,” Harry said, nodding. “All right. Hermione, do you want to walk into the house first before us and take the shot of us walking in, or do you prefer to follow?”

“I’ll go sit on the stairs,” Hermione replied, walking past them with the camera. “And then you guys come in. That way I’ll really show you two and the hallway when you talk about how creepy it is.”

Harry nodded, and stepped away from the doorway. Just as Hermione was about to walk in, Harry felt a weird pinch at his elbow that made him let go of the door. Strangely enough, despite the lack of wind, the door then closed with such force it made the windows near it rattle.

“Oh shit, I’m sorry!” Harry yelped. “I don’t know what happened – I swear I didn’t push it!”

“Save this for when the cameras are recording,” Hermione told him, but the tone of her voice was teasing. When she opened the door and walked into the hallway, Harry made sure to close it behind her carefully. No need to startle her twice, after all – not that the first time had been intentional either.

Inside, Hermione felt the strange atmosphere of the house weigh on her heavily. The very air seemed to be thick and still, and despite knowing that she was alone inside, she felt as if she was being watched. She couldn’t bring herself to look up, though, torn between not wanting to indulge feelings of fear while also illogically scared of seeing someone looking down at her.

“Come in,” she said, her voice first coming out way too quiet to be heard by Ron and Harry. She couldn’t help it – raising her voice in here felt… uncomfortable. She took a deep breath and tried again: “All right guys! Come in!”

When Harry entered the building, Hermione couldn’t help but notice how pale he looked once again. The night before had really done a number on him, but as unfortunate as it was, it’d help their narrative for the episode. She readjusted her grip in the camera and gestured for them to step further in.

“Wow,” Harry said, looking around with wide eyes. “Do you guys feel that?”

“Feel what?” Ron asked, already looking around. “It’s so dusty in here.”

“It feels… weird,” Harry explained, and Hermione wanted to applaud him for how convincing he sounded. “It’s so much colder here than outside.”

“Maybe it’s just your bad circulation?” Hermione asked teasingly, knowing that bringing it up now would make them appear more reliable. Bringing up logical answers to questions they wanted to present as supernatural made it unlikely that anyone would accuse them of jumping into conclusions.

“Could be,” Harry muttered, rubbing his arms and pouting. “I hate being cold.”

Hermione grinned, and gave him another encouraging thumb-up. ‘He’s really doing great setting up here. I’ll buy him a treacle tart afterwards. Brilliant!’

*

The problem was – on Harry’s end at least – that he wasn’t acting. The moment he stepped into the house there was a strange cloud of cold air that just seemed to puff at him from his left side. He didn’t know what kind of ventilation the building had, but bloody hell was it annoying.

He followed Ron who walked around the first floor, and then stood aside when Hermione filmed the weird, flowery bathroom. And when they climbed the stairs to go upstairs… Harry felt as if he was being watched. When he relayed this to Ron and Hermione, they both nodded in understanding.

“It’s probably the portraits,” Ron said, gesturing at the faces painted on small portraits covering the wall. “I just don’t understand why anyone would want to have this many faces on their walls.”

“Honestly, I felt as if I was being watched already when I was on the stairs,” Hermione admitted. “It’s really creepy, this place. And oh, look, here’s that mirror again.”

That mirror – or more specifically the mirror – was surprisingly clean for a piece of furniture left to gather dust in an already dusty hallway. “Look at it. Now imagine an arm or something emerging from it.”

Harry snorted. “That’s just ridiculous. Their sleeves probably got caught on a hook or something, because… I mean, look at it.” He then proceeded to tap the surface of the mirror with his nails. “Solid. Like mirrors tend to be.”

“All right, now do that again while I film you,” Hermione said, “but be less skeptical about what other people have told you about. Just… when I say ‘imagine an arm attacking you from the mirror’ I want you to pretend you’re taking it seriously.”

Harry nodded, and was about to start speaking again when Hermione’s face suddenly snapped to their right. They all fell silent, Ron and Harry watching Hermione, and Hermione looking at the long corridor. “What?”

“I swear I saw movement there,” Hermione muttered, gesturing at one of the open doorways. “As if someone peeked out.” She then raised her voice. “Is anyone there?”

“Are you serious?” Ron asked. Hermione nodded, biting her lip with a frown on her face.

“This isn’t me setting anything up for the show,” she said. “I swear I saw someone peek out. Maybe a squatter?”

“With the reputation this house has, I doubt a squatter would dare to spend any time here voluntarily,” Harry said, taking a few steps towards the room Hermione had pointed at. He was barely two feet away from the open doorway, when another room’s door slammed shut, causing all three of them to scream, startled.

“What was that?” Ron gasped, hurrying to where Harry was. “The fuck? Is the wind that strong outside?”

“But it’s not windy outside,” Hermione said, coming closer. They stopped outside the closed door and hesitated, unsure of what could have caused this. After a moment, Hermione spoke loudly again: “If there’s anyone in here, you don’t have to be scared of us. You can just leave freely.”

“I’m going to knock on the door,” Harry whispered, and after getting a nod from Ron hesitantly reached towards the door. The knocks were quiet, but audible enough for whoever was hiding inside to hear them. And yet, there was no reaction.

Well, no reaction from within the room, that was. Because the moment Harry had knocked, one of the portraits fell off the wall and onto the floor with a cloud clang.

“Oh my… fuck, my heart almost stopped,” Ron hissed, and stomped angrily to pick up the small round frame. Harry took a deep shaky breath to calm himself down, but froze when he saw Ron lose all the colour in his face. Hermione, turning to look at Ron as well, also looked wary and worried.

“If the frame broke, I doubt Bryce would care,” she said, but Ron shook his head. He then, slowly and still pale in the face, turned the portrait towards them. Except, except, it wasn’t a portrait.

“That was not a fucking mirror,” Harry snapped, feeling something that resembled fear a bit too much sink into the pit of his stomach. “I walked past it, I saw a face in there. Not my own, that’s for fucking sure.”

“Same here,” Hermione said, and Ron nodded as well, still quiet. “Maybe there was a layer or dust or something? Maybe that’s why we all thought we saw faces not our own in that portrait, while in truth all it did was distort out own—”

“I saw a woman’s face in it,” Ron cut in. “A woman with dark hair. There’s no way that could’ve been a distortion of me.”

“Then what do you suggest it was?” Hermione snapped, the sudden fear making her agitated and worried. “That something weird is going on? We both know – we all know – that stuff isn’t real.”

“Right,” Harry said, though he didn’t sound convinced as he looked at the other portraits. No, they definitely were portraits – he could see the strokes of the brush that had painted each line on the faces watching them. “Let’s just… let’s just continue. There’s no need to assign any meaning to things that could be just, you know… caused by our lack of attention to details. Maybe we all saw something and like Hermione said, was distorted by the dust. It’s fine. Let’s continue.”

Hermione nodded, and Ron also hesitantly did so, after setting the mirror down on the floor, making it lean against the all to keep it out of their way. When he stood up, his gaze flicked to the closed door again. “Should we keep knocking on that or…?”

“We’re going to go upstairs,” Hermione said, her voice loud again. “If you’re scared of leaving while we’re here, you can exit while we’re upstairs.” She then took another deep, steadying breath, and walked towards the staircase with Harry close behind her. Ron, who had been closer to the stairs waited for them while keeping an eye on the corridor.

“It’s fucking creepy,” he muttered.

“Yeah,” Harry agreed. When they reached the uppermost floor, he had expected to feel better, but that didn’t happen. The atmosphere up here was, if possible, even worse. “I wonder if it’s because the windows are small and the ventilation is shit when you get to this floor.”

“But that’s not what we’re telling the viewers, is it,” Hermione said, starting the recording again. Harry made a show of looking around, and then said:

“The atmosphere is so suffocating.”

“Yeah, it’s kind of weird,” Ron replied. “I mean, this floor is a large, open space – you’d think the air would be better up here. But no.”

“Did you ever figure out where in the house did the murders happen?” Harry asked, peeking into the bathroom again. “Or did they happen in different places?”

“I know the baby was killed in its crib,” Ron started, when Harry interrupted him.

“Hephaestus, right?” Harry said. “That was the baby’s name.”

“I don’t know,” Ron admitted. “I didn’t find any names for the baby or its mum. Where the hell did you get Hephaestus from?”

“Tom told me,” Harry replied with a small grin, and he had barely gotten the sentence out when they suddenly heard several doors slam downstairs at the same time, causing Ron – who was once again closest of the three to the stairs – to scream in alarm.

“Who’s there?” he yelled, fear audible in his voice. “What the fuck! Who’s there slamming doors?”

“This is ridiculous,” Hermione hissed, coming to stand next to Ron as well. “Whoever’s here, you can just leave!”

Harry stood still, his heart beating fast. He wasn’t sure why exactly, but there was something about the second floor that really bothered him. Just… was there someone really in that one room? How had they slammed the door shut without being seen? Because the room that had been closed wasn’t the one that Hermione had seen someone peeking out of. Not to mention that they had checked at least half the rooms – they were empty. Yet now more than half had just slammed shut at the same time? There was no way there were that many people hiding in here with them.

“It has to be either the wind or some faulty ventilation,” Harry said, even though neither of the two would explain the doors slamming shut with such force at the same time.

“No wonder the people here believe in supernatural shit,” Ron muttered, sweaty and pale. “If we didn’t know any better, it’d be so easy to believe that. Anyway, let’s just start setting up the props and the equipment. Harry, you might as well also get your laptop and park your ass in here to get started with the interview footage.”

“Yeah,” Harry said, as they started going down the stairs again. “I have—oof.” He bumped into Ron’s back hard enough to momentarily lose his breath, but before he could smack his friend and ask him why he had stopped, he noticed what him and Hermione had frozen in their tracks to look at.

Every door in the corridor was open.

*

As the sun began setting and Ron and Hermione were putting the final touches on the equipment and props scattered around the house, Harry was still struggling with what had taken place on the second floor. There were just… no explanations that made sense to him.

‘Ron’s right,’ he thought with a sigh. ‘No wonder the locals believe in ghosts.’ Did Tom believe in ghosts? He hadn’t really indicated anything of the kind, and Harry liked to think of the handsome librarian as someone not easily influenced by supernatural tales.

“I ordered us pizza,” Hermione said, sitting down next to Harry, and watching him work on the interview clips. “Ron’s going to finish setting up some sensors downstairs until the delivery arrives, and then he’ll join us. We might as well eat something solid before we start filming the actual investigation.”

“We’ll need to work on the recordings for the EVP sessions as well,” Harry muttered, having just finished editing the interview with the medium. “Although we definitely should do something that’s not ‘kill you’ or ‘help me’s.”

“I think Ron wants a few ‘let me go’s in there,” Hermione said. “After all with the mother fixating on you and mistaking you for the son, it’d make sense for her to try and act as if you’re the one who trapped her here.”

“Most of the episode will be filmed on the second floor, right?”

“Yeah,” Hermione sighed, clearly hating the idea. “You know I’m not usually scared of these weird little buildings we investigate, but there’s something about that floor that just… makes me nervous. If there are ghosts – and before you start: I know there aren’t – but if there were, they’d definitely be downstairs in those rooms.”

Harry nodded slowly. “It still could be just the wind. Ron and I checked each room when you were working on the cameras on the first floor, and there was no one in any of them, so whoever was hiding – if there was anyone – has left the building. And then we locked the door so there’s also no way that anyone could’ve snuck in after we did the check.”

“I’m so glad this place doesn’t have a basement or an attic,” Hermione said, and they paused for a moment when they heard the front door open. They both relaxed – when and why had they tensed up anyway? – when they heard Ron talking to someone, and soon they heard him walk up the stairs telling them that the pizzas had arrived.

“Let’s not read too much into this,” Harry said quietly to Hermione. “I know what happened was unsettling – I feel shaken too, but we know nothing about any of the things we’ve filmed is real. And it won’t be real this time either.”

Hermione nodded, forcing herself to relax. She mustered up a smile right as Ron got to them with the pizzas. She didn’t believe in ghosts, and the lack of a clear explanation to debunk the things that had happened was really frustrating.

Well, at least all this – as freaky as it was right now – would make the episode brilliant. And in the end that’s all that mattered, right?

*

“It’s so dark,” Harry muttered. They had set up camp on the third floor as planned, with their sleeping bags neatly arranged, and a stash of food thrown onto each one. Hermione was setting up the screens for each camera set-up scattered around the house, and Ron was helping her by making sure that all of their GoPros were working as intended, and attached firmly to the headbands they used when filming.

“It’s so creepy,” Ron added. “All right, so – initial adjustments to the script now that we got some great shots earlier: Hermione, you stay here and keep an eye on the screens. If there’s anything that we can turn into a paranormal encounter, make sure to record it. Harry – you can start on the first floor. Just wander around. Then you’ll pretend to have heard something from the toilet, and I’ll join you to take a look. Then we’ll call Hermione and ask her if she’s seeing anything weird. She will tell us no at first, but then mention that someone should take a look at the second floor.”

“And then I’ll go,” Harry said with a nod. “All right, let’s get this started.”

Rushing down the stairs – and past the second floor – was strangely unnerving. Harry wasn’t afraid of the dark, and even now he didn’t think it was the dark that bothered him. No, there was something else. He resolutely didn’t think of the doors that had slammed and then apparently somehow opened wide on their own. He also didn’t think of the painting that had turned out to be a mirror. Instead, as he walked slowly around the first floor, he thought of Tom.

Why was Tom in Little Hangleton anyway? It was strange to think of someone like him staying in this gloomy and dark little town. Was he born here? That must have been the case because who’d move to—

Harry stopped in his tracks when he heard a sound coming from the stairs. He stood still in the kitchen for a few moments waiting for another sound that would indicate it being Ron, but when no such a sound came, he moved again, hating how hesitant he was.

There was no one on the stairs.

He wasn’t supposed to go up to the second floor yet, and he didn’t want to go to the second floor, but somehow Harry found himself going up anyway. Step by step, feeling almost weightless as he moved. He kept going up and up until he reached the landing, and even as a feeling of nausea rose inside of him, he could help but keep go—

“Mate?” Ron’s voice snapped him out of whatever trance he’d been under, making Harry gasp and take a step back. “You all right?”

“Ron,” Harry said, looking up at Ron who was now slowly descending the stairs. “I don’t know. I mean, no, yes. I’m… yes. I’m all right.” It took him a moment to remember what he was supposed to do, but hoped that they could play up his disorientation as him being affected by some ghost.

“Did you hear something here?” Ron asked, coming to stand next to Harry. “So many have had encounters here. I’ll go take a look at some rooms in the back. Want to help out?”

Harry did. He did want to go with Ron and he even took a few steps forward, somehow coming to a halt in front of the large mirror that they had been told so much about. And then, as if someone had taken a firm grasp of his chin, his head was turned to the side to look at his reflection.

Except it wasn’t… there was something wrong with his reflection. He wasn’t that tall, and his hair wasn’t combed to the side, and his eyes weren’t brown, and—

“Harry! Fuck, Harry!”

A sharp slap against his cheek had Harry gasping for air as he slowly realized that Ron was holding his arms while Hermione was trying get him to breathe properly. He didn’t know what was going on, except that his throat was sore and he was— he was screaming?

“There’s something wrong!” The words burst out from him, loud and wailing. “There’s… oh fuck, there’s…”

“Sshhh, it’s all right, don’t worry about anything, just focus on breathing,” Hermione told him lifting a bottle of water to his lips just as all three of them heard a low, mocking chuckle from the floor above them. Ron’s grip on Harry tightened momentarily, before he let go and rushed up, taking two steps at a time.

“Who’s there?” he bellowed. Harry, feeling sweaty and shaky, got back onto his feet with Hermione’s help. His gaze flickered back to the mirror, but now it was just him. Him and Hermione, and yet…

“Hermione,” Harry whispered, looking at their reflection. “Hermione, are you looking at me?”

“What?” Hermione, who had been eyeing the staircase with concern, turned to him then. Her reflection remained as it was, staring unfalteringly at Harry. A smile was creeping onto her face and she was suddenly taller, and the man Harry had seen moments ago was standing there once again, next to him.

He looked familiar. So strangely, terribly familiar, the familiarity of his features straining as his dimpled smile was a bit too sharp and his brown eyes had a red spark to them. There was a realization of some sort teasing him in the distance, and Harry struggled to understand what was going on.

“I didn’t find anyone,” Ron said, coming to the second floor again. “But you guys heard that, didn’t you?”

“It was a man. Chuckling,” Hermione confirmed. “I also heard it coming from upstairs. But we’ve been there for hours, there’s no way anyone was there hiding all this time. And there’re no places up there that anyone could hide in.”

“Let’s just continue,” Harry whispered as the image of the man standing next to him slowly disappeared. “I don’t know what the fuck is going on here, but I’m… I don’t know. I think we need to be careful.”

“I think we should try the EVP,” Ron said suddenly, before turning to look at the GoPro on Hermione’s headband. “To those who’re new viewers, EVP stands for electronic voice phenomenon. The electronic readings can be interpreted, revealing anything that a spirit in our vicinity might want to say. They can answer questions or tell us their wishes. The longer the recording, the better, of course. Usually if you get an EVP it’s just a word or two. But we might as well try something here.”

“It’s just so strange,” Harry said quietly. “Why is everything – well, almost everything – happening on the second floor? What happened here?”

“Maybe the murders?” Hermione suggested just as quietly, and then buckled down with a shriek of pain as something kicked her knee hard enough for her to lose her balance. “Ah, fuck! It hurts!”

‘Something needs to be done,’ Harry thought, though he had no idea what. What he ended up doing was look at Ron and say: “take Hermione upstairs to check on her knee. Review the tapes. I’ll take a look and—"

“On your own? Don’t be stupid,” Ron snapped. “Let’s all go up. Come on.”

Harry didn’t argue against the suggestion – it wasn’t as if he wanted to spend time on his own on the second floor either. They helped Hermione upstairs, and sat her down by the screens she had set up earlier. She groaned in pain still, rubbing her knee with tears in her eyes.

“We have a knee brace somewhere, I know it,” Harry said, scrambling to look through the bags. “Ron, help me search for it while Hermione, you could review the tapes, yeah?” He refused to think of the fact that the third floor apparently had its own weird things as well – what with the chuckle and the strange deja vu he had gotten the first time he had been here with Ron and Hermione. “We can then tomorrow go to a clinic if her knee’s still in pain and—”

“Guys,” Hermione said, her voice faint and shaky. “You… you should probably come and look at this.”

Harry dropped the bag he had been rummaging through, and with growing feeling of apprehension made his way to stand behind Hermione looking at the screen she was pointing at.

“This camera shows us what’s happening on the second floor,” Hermione said, before pointing at another. “And this shows what’s happening on the first. Look.”

On the first scene they saw a glimpse of Harry as he walked from the third floor towards the first. What they also saw was what appeared to be a person following him.

“What the fuck,” Harry whispered, not even denying his feelings of fear anymore. He had already tried to ignore so much, had kept telling himself that he was seeing things, but this? This wasn’t just… he couldn’t just explain this away. A man was walking right behind Harry, and it didn’t take long for him to realize it was likely the same man he had seen in the mirror.

“Keep watching,” Hermione said, pointing now at the footage from the first floor. There they saw Harry wandering around, with the man sitting at the foot of the stairs. When Harry was in the kitchen – exactly at the time Harry knew he had heard the strange sound – the man stood up. He disappeared for a heartbeat, and soon after Harry appeared on the screen again, heading towards the stairs.

“I felt compelled to go up those,” Harry whispered, not daring to raise his voice as he saw himself being led by a man he hadn’t seen or felt near him. It was horrifying – watching himself be coaxed step by step up, apparently freeing himself momentarily from the daze when Ron had made an appearance.

Harry watched himself talk with Ron as the spirit – because that’s what it had to be, denial no longer an option – walked past him and right into the mirror. And soon Harry, nearly breathless with fright, saw himself inching towards the mirror, a hand faintly reaching from it, straining its fingers towards him. That’s when he had started to scream, collapsing on the floor as if in a fit.

“Look at the corridor,” Hermione said sharply then, and Harry wished he wouldn’t have to.

“Fucking hell,” Ron whispered, and with no small amount of disbelief Harry watched what appeared to be a multitude of people run from room to room, in visible distress. “What the actual fuck is this? We can’t show any of this – no one would believe this!”

“That’s your concern?” Hermione asked, annoyed. “We’re clearly dealing with something that’s horrible and dangerous! We shouldn’t go to the second floor anymore!”

“Whatever is in there can clearly go from floor to floor,” Harry said. “We won’t be safe unless we leave. And if we want to have an episode worth showing – if we don’t want all this wasted – we have to stay.”

“We should continue in the daylight, then,” Hermione decided. “We’ll need to sleep here anyway, and so far this room— despite the laugh that we heard – has been safe.”

“Are you suggesting we sleep?” Harry asked, unable to imagine himself just falling asleep when he now knew that there were things he’d never thought real roaming in the same building. “I don’t think so!”

“We can take turns,” Hermione suggested. “But there’s no point in staying awake and afraid if we’re still going to be in this house, yet unable to physically investigate any part of it. We can lock the door between the staircase and this room, and hope whatever is out there didn’t come with us here. I think the video footage will provide us with plenty of material for the episode even without our physical interference.”

Harry could tell from Ron’s expression that he agreed with Hermione, and so with a resigned sigh he relented. He felt ridiculous getting into his sleeping bag, believing that falling asleep was an impossibility. His heart was still beating fast, his mind running a mile a minute trying to process all the things he’d seen.

There’s no way he was going to fall asleep, not anyti—

*

The sun was bright and warm as Harry returned to awareness. He was sitting on the porch, feeling warm and lovely, the taste of honey in his mouth and happiness tickling his mouth into a smile. He was dressed in a pair of simple brown trousers with a green shirt that he didn’t own, and watched a pair of dogs run and play with each other in the backyard.

“Here you are,” a familiar, dear voice said. Someone sat next to him on the porch and Harry felt a brief, warm kiss pressed against his mouth. “Still thinking of leaving? Can’t imagine what you’d do in London.”

He had been thinking of leaving? Why? Why would he leave when everything was so perfect?

“I think your friends suggested it,” the dear voice said, answering Harry’s unvoiced questions. “I know you’d love to travel with them, but everything’s so good here, why go? You can join them later if you’d like, of course. But London is so far away.”

“Why won’t you come with me, Junior?” Harry asked, each word like candy in his mouth. He leaned in for a kiss again, and got it. There was a strange sound – like faint howling – coming from inside, but he couldn’t bring himself to pay attention to it. “Don’t you miss London?”

“I spent too much to lose this place now,” Junior replied, and Harry tried to look at him, but squinted under the harsh light of the sun. He couldn’t make out more than neatly combed dark hair and a lovely, lovely smile. “But if you want me to go with you, I think we can arrange it. There’re some things I’m going to need you to do first, though.”

“Anything,” Harry replied, because wasn’t that the truth? He’d do anything to have this— this moment.

“I’ve got a claim on this house,” Junior told him, pressing another kiss against the corner of Harry’s mouth. “But you know, my darling, there’re many who wish to take it away from me. I’d love to go with you and pay back all the favours I owe my father’s friends, but we need to make sure no one takes our place in the meanwhile.”

“How do we do that?” Harry breathed. He was faintly aware of the dogs that having been playing before now tearing into one another. The sun was brighter and hotter than before, and the howling from the house was growing louder.

“We can’t talk here,” Junior suddenly decided, standing up. Firmly but gently, he pulled Harry with him. “Let’s go to my room. It’s on the second floor.” His room? Harry knew his room – it was on the second floor, yes, on the far end of the long corridor. He knew how to get there, knew how to—

—HARRY!!

Waking up felt like a punch.

Harry’s eyes snapped open, and he found himself not in his sleeping bag like before, but standing in front of the locked door leading to the staircase. Ron was once again gripping both of his arms, with Hermione looking at him with a fearful expression.

“What’s going on?” Harry said, awareness sinking into him like icy hooks, pulling him from the warmth of his dear. “What the fuck is— why am I standing up?”

“You were sleepwalking,” Ron said, looking visibly tense. “It’s almost six in the morning and Hermione was still up. You started moving and she woke me up to ask if you were always a restless sleeper. I was barely up when suddenly you just…”

“You giggled,” Hermione said, shuddering. “It was creepy. And next thing I know you’re standing up and heading to the door and—"

“I think whatever it is that is here – and before anyone disagrees, we know there’s something not normal happening – it probably got its eyes set on Harry,” Ron said, visibly distressed. “There’s too much shit that happened to Harry in particular for that to not be the case.”

“How about we go find a breakfast place?” Hermione suggested suddenly. “Let’s just freshen up – and keep the bathroom door open, no matter how embarrassing it would be, and then we just… go find someplace to eat. Get some fresh air. All that shit. How does that sound?”

*

Hermione’s suggestion found the three of them at some 24/7 diner at seven in the morning. The place was small and rundown, but by the main road and had large windows that let in as much sunlight as one could have at Little Hangleton. Harry looked at his food and didn’t feel hungry, but knew that not eating wasn’t really an option.

“What an ordeal,” he muttered. “I can’t believe I sleepwalked.”

“Did you dream anything?” Hermione asked. “I didn’t want to ask you inside that house since we don’t know what could be listening – and I can’t believe that that’s a sentence I’m actually saying! Do we really believe in spirits now?”

“I don’t think we have an option,” Harry replied. “The dream wasn’t… it wasn’t unpleasant. I was sitting outside with someone I kept calling Junior— oh.”

“Holy shit,” Ron murmured. “Junior? Riddle Junior?”

“Before we analyze that, what did you see?” Hermione pressed on. “Do you remember anything?”

“He said we should go to his room,” Harry said, trying to recall the dream in its entirety, feeling increasingly frustrated when the memories kept slipping away. “That was the main thing. No! Wait! He wanted to go… I wanted to go to London, and he said he’d come with me because he wanted to pay back some favours to his father’s friends? And he said he had just gotten the house and needed to make sure he wouldn’t lose it.”

“Holy shit,” Ron said again. “Doesn’t that kind of match what we know? Junior killed his father and grandparents and everyone in the house, essentially owning it. And then he left – to what? Hunt down the people who had supported his father?”

“But if that’s the case, then he left,” Harry said. “Why is he haunting the place? It doesn’t make any sense!”

“What if he came back?” Ron asked, but Hermione shook her head at that.

“There’re no records of anyone living in the house between after the Riddles and before Voldem— I mean, You-Know-Who. There’s literally no mention of Riddle Junior ever coming back.”

“Oh, hi there,” a sudden, unsettlingly familiar voice said, and Harry turned to see Tom the librarian waving at them with a pleasant little smile on his face. “You three are up early?”

“Yes, oh my— I mean, yes. Very early,” Harry blurted, his brain short-circuiting at the sight of the older boy. He was vaguely aware of Hermione sighing, before she said:

“Forgive Harry here, he doesn’t function before ten in the morning. I’m Hermione, and this is Ron. You are…?”

“Tom,” Tom said. “From the library. The one behind the corner from here.”

“Oh!” Hermione exclaimed, now pleasantly surprised after realizing who he was. “Would you like to join us? We’re taking our time with the breakfast and would love some more company!”

“I’m actually just here grabbing some take-away before I go to work,” Tom said apologetically. “But I could spend a few minutes since I’m waiting for them to heat up my breakfast anyway.”

“Great,” Harry managed to say, flushing red when Tom sat down next to him. “Ummm…”

“I don’t know if Harry told you, but we’re here investigating the Riddle House,” Ron said, in an honourable attempt at saving his best friend from complete embarrassment. “You know of it, I presume? Everyone seems to have an opinion about the place.”

“Oh, everyone here does,” Tom agreed with a quiet laugh. “Then again with it being the only monument with an interesting history in this town, it’s tempting for people to study. I did as well, of course.”

“You’re a historian?”

“Yes, though I enjoy all kinds of research.”

“It’s an interesting town to settle down in,” Hermione remarked. Tom shrugged.

“Well, I just haven’t really had a reason to leave yet, you know? Where would I go? Here at least I have a job and don’t need to worry about income.”

“Is that the only thing keeping you here?” Hermione then asked. “I’m sure you could find work in bigger towns as well, if you wanted some variety?”

“Speaking of research,” Ron cut in. “And not to be morbid this early in the morning, but do you know where the events in the house happened? You know, the, um…”

“The murders.”

“Yes, those. We couldn’t find any mention of the sequence of events or any specific locations. We suspect the second floor, but would love to have actual facts to rely on.”

“Hmm,” Tom leaned his chin against his palm, a thoughtful expression appearing on his handsome face. “Yes, that information is hard to find. I remember reading some old court records of the events that occurred – before they sealed the testimonies and such. Apparently what Riddle Junior did was first kill the servant that had opened the door right in the hallway. He had then checked the rest of the first floor, surprising the cook and killing her as well. After that he went upstairs, but many of the assistants of the Riddles were running errands, so there were only a handful in their rooms. He killed them one by one, quietly and quickly. And then he went to the third floor where he killed his father’s wife and their son. After that he sat down on the stairs and waited. Every time someone would walk in, he’d attack them. He kept doing that until he got his father. And then… He took his time with Riddle Senior. Beat him to a pulp and then took him to the second floor. Kept smashing his face into the mirror there – apparently, they resembled each other greatly, yet Senior had had the audacity to deny the relation. And while Junior was occupied with his father on the second floor, that’s when someone had returned home and realized what was going on. Whoever that person was had then alerted the police.”

“Jesus,” Hermione breathed. “That’s… that’s insane.”

“It really is,” Tom agreed just as the employee at the diner called for a take-away breakfast to be collected. When Tom stood up, Harry managed to finally get his voice working again.

“Do you know if anyone lived in the house before Voldemort?” Harry asked, noting the surprise that flashed across Tom’s face. “I mean, before him, but after the Riddles. Do you know?”

“No, nobody lived there,” Tom replied. “No one dared, because even if the son was a killer, he was still the rightful owner of the house.”

‘Did Voldemort buy it from Junior then?’ Harry thought, watching after Tom as the librarian left. ‘Or is Junior haunting the place because it was wrongfully handed over to someone else? No, that doesn’t make any sense.’

“He’s cute,” Hermione said, voice sly. “And he likes research.”

“I don’t know what you’re thinking, but I don’t trust your brain one bit,” Harry said, shaking his head. He then fell silent for a few moments, still shuffling his now cold breakfast around his plate, before speaking up again. “Listen… This might be ridiculous, but… do you happen to know what Voldemort’s real name was?”

“Uh, let’s ask google,” Hermione said, tapping at the screen of her phone with a speed Harry could only envy. When he saw her eyebrows bounce up, he knew that his hunch hadn’t been wrong.

“Oh shit,” Hermione said. “I don’t know how your thought process led you to this, but we probably should have googled this way before. Or at least made sure to mark it down when we googled Voldemort before.”

“Why?” Ron asked, mouth full of bread and bacon. “What?”

“Thomas Marvolo Riddle Junior,” Hermione read aloud, “known also as Voldemort.” She then turned the phone with to face Harry, in case he wanted to make sure she had read it right.

“Oh fuck that should’ve been bloody obvious,” Ron said, swallowing his mouthful of food and reaching for Hermione’s phone. “That’s why he haunts the place. He came back!”

“What Tom told us explains also why the mirror on the second floor is as significant as it is,” Harry said. Hermione nodded, looking pleased.

“Honestly, it’s impressive how he managed to find so many details about the events,” she said. “He really does research properly, doesn’t he? Because even after I helped Ron with some of the research on the Riddle House I couldn’t find any mention of how the events actually unfolded. I wonder if he could share his sources.”

“Well, if Harry has his way dear Tom will be sharing more than just his sources soon enough,” Ron said teasingly, causing Harry to flush red again. “Honestly, what was that? Did you forget how to speak?”

“Okay, listen,” Harry started. “I don’t know what it is about him but I just can’t stop, all right? He’s clearly not interested—”

“Uh, I disagree?” Ron interrupted. “Are you blind? He was eyeing you up and down like the bespectacled snack that you are.”

“That’s gay,” Harry replied, pointing a finger at Ron. “So gay. Unacceptable in this household.”

“My heart whispered no homo, so I’m still in the clear,” Ron shot back, before laughing loudly. Hermione was biting her lip, trying to hold back a smile.

“Anyway,” she said, trying to steer them back on track. “Now that we know that Junior and Voldemort are the same person, we can reasonably assume that the people he killed as Voldemort are those he thought were his father’s allies against him, right? But then he got caught and he had to lay low. Did he die before he could finish what he wanted to?”

“That would give credence to what Bella said,” Harry pointed out. “That Voldemort’s spirit wants to leave this town to continue the killings. How it’d do that, I have no idea.”

“None of us has any idea what we’re dealing with, really,” Hermione said. “Listen, all we need is a few more hours of nightly footage, and we can just figure out some believable conclusion. We could ask Tom to pitch in and help, and then we could pay him back.”

“We can send Harry to do the asking,” Ron suggested with a grin. “I’ll drive you to a clinic to take a look at your knee, and Harry could go to the library and have a talk with dear Tom.”

Harry didn’t even pretend to resist. After all – he just wanted to do a good job, all right?

*

Tom looked pleased when he saw Harry visit him a bit before lunch. “Got anything else related to the Riddle House that you’d like me to help with?”

“Yes,” Harry said, shuffling on his feet a bit. “Um, if you’ve got the time, that is?”

“I do,” Tom told him, and lead Harry towards a small staircase a fair distance from the front door. “But we can’t talk here. Let’s go to my office. It’s on the second floor.” There was a strange familiarity to the words that sparked a strange bout of anxiety that Harry did his best to push aside and ignore.

“I’ve told you a bit about my job, haven’t I?” Harry asked, unsure if Tom remembered him mentioning anything about the paranormal investigation him and his friends were doing. “To keep our viewers entertained, we’re aiming to make each episode a story of sorts. We wrap the investigation at each location with some conclusions. With the Riddle House, however… the conclusions are quite a it harder to generate than we thought.”

“Oh, does that mean you’re about to wrap up and leave?” Tom asked, surprised. “Haven’t you been here just a few days?”

“Yes but… things have proceeded surprisingly fast,” Harry replied. “Our next location is in London, though the investigation there isn’t meant to start until next month.”

“London is so far away,” Tom said, words yet again strangely familiar. And before Harry even realized what he had been thinking, he said:

“Why won’t you come with us?”

Tom looked now even more surprised than before, and Harry once again felt a blush creeping up his neck and cheeks. “I mean, I don’t mean to sound like a weirdo— I know we don’t really know each other, but Hermione, Ron and I… we’ve been talking about needing to add a researcher. And if the only reason why you haven’t left Little Hangleton is because of the employment, I can tell you that we make a pretty sweet amount of money, and you’ll be paid an equal share.”

He was promising a lot, but considering how Hermione had brought up Tom’s love for research a few times in the span of a fewer minutes, Harry felt that they wouldn’t oppose his actions now.

“I...,” Tom started, “I… thank you. I don’t wish to decline, but you must understand that I’m a bit hesitant.”

“Of course,” Harry hurried to say. “And you can ask us anything, at any point!”

“Sure,” Tom murmured, a pleased look in his eyes. “But let’s first just focus on this conclusion you were wanting to ask about? Something to do with the episode?”

“Ah, yes,” Harry said. “Just a bit of brainstorming with your help, if you’d be up for it. I mean, it’d be also an example of things you might do with us, if you… if you want to come with us. But like I said! There’s absolutely no pressure, I know I sound insane for even suggesting it.”

Tom’s dimples deepened as he watched Harry flounder. He then laid his hand to rest on top of Harry’s, and said: “Sounds great. Why don’t you tell me first about what happened in there, and what kind of an ending do you guys usually prefer having?”

*

“And I’m not saying he held my hand, but I just want you both to know he kind of did,” Harry said, lying on his back on the backseat of their car. Ron and Hermione had come to pick him up after making sure that there was no serious injury inflicted on Hermione’s knee, and had been subjected to hearing about Harry’s time with Tom at the library.

“What a loser, I can’t believe people thought you were cool at uni,” Ron muttered. “Did he have any good ideas?”

“Yeah, so many,” Harry said, sitting up. “I wrote the ideas down. I also mentioned to him that we’re looking for a full-time researcher to join our team.”

“Yes!” Ron yelled, punching the steering wheel. “Please tell me he said yes?”

“He said he’d think about it.”

“That makes sense,” Hermione said. “I mean, come on. We could be serial killers for all he knows. But if he’s open to it and wants to join us, then I’m pretty sure all of us will be incredibly happy about it! He seems like such a nice guy.”

“Tell us about his ideas for the conclusion,” Ron suggested. “That way we can gauge how well he’d fit in with the script-writing as well. Since we tend to brainstorm those together.”

“Sure,” Harry said, pulling up the notes he had written during his meeting with Tom. “Okay so, I told him a watered down version of what had happened in the house, and he said that the sleepwalking would be great to keep in.”

“It is creepy footage, so he’s not wrong about that,” Hermione nodded. “What else?”

“He disagreed with the narrative that Junior’s step-mother would be fixated on me. Rather, he said we should just focus on Junior and basically suggested to build on the sequence of events that he told us. We could act as if we were witnessing Junior waiting on the stairs for his father to appear, then follow the spirits upstairs and witness the murder. And we’d wrap it all by saying something along the lines of how houses like that one as so infused with evil they maintain the echo of the atrocities committed within despite the passage of time.”

“Beautiful!” Hermione said, clapping. “If only we could do that without spending the night there.”

“At least now we know what to watch out for,” Harry told her. “And… let’s not sleep this time? We could just turn up pretty late, make sure the equipment is all working, and then just get to work. And oh! We need to find time for at least one EVP session – we’ve got the ClawTech sponsorship to work into the episode, don’t we?”

“You’re right,” Ron said, nodding. “I think it’s all doable. If we act fast and don’t indulge any… you know, happenings. Whatever weirdness we see, we either record it for the episode or just ignore it to the best of our abilities. Harry won’t be sleeping, and thus he won’t be sleepwalking either.”

“It’s weird to think that we expected to stay here for longer than two weeks,” Harry said. “But everything went by so fast – every interview was on time and provided great footage. Our visits to the house were incredibly fruitful as well, and despite the craziness of last night and the fact that we can’t use all the things we recorded – people accept shadows but actual visible apparitions? No – we still have a lot.”

“Think we could make it a two-part episode?” Hermione said. “That way we can take our time with the conclusion, and the interviews will also get to shine. Not to mention the whole gloomy setup of the town itself.”

“And if Tom agrees to join us, we could even use the episode to introduce him,” Ron suggested. “Thoughts?”

“Well, considering how much material there is and how much we want to put in there, I think two parts sound reasonable,” Harry said, already imagining how working would Tom would be like. “Should we pack up our sleeping bags? And generally just pack up anything that we don’t need – that way we can make a swift exit if that becomes necessary.”

“Sounds good,” Hermione agreed. None of them wanted to admit how nervous the return to the Riddle House was making them, but there was no denying the tension as they stood outside the building, looking up at it. Harry looked at the windows that he could see, dreading the mere thought of spotting someone’s face looking down at him.

“Let’s get this done,” he said, trying to sound much more confident that he actually felt. “Double the episodes, double the revenue. We’ve got quite a bit of hours to go before sunset, so we can set things up again and go through more footage from last night.”

“And if anything seriously shitty happens,” Hermione said, “we get out. We grab each other, and we get out. No fool left behind.”

‘Amen,’ Harry thought, still eyeing the entrance to the house with dread. ‘A-fucking-men.’

*

Nightfall was inevitable, and Harry felt almost sick as he watched the sun dip into the horizon. He stood by the window watching the darkening world outside, listening absently to Ron and Hermione discussing the merits of upgraded batteries and UV-lights.

“The EVP recorders are ready,” Hermione told him when she noticed Harry looking at them. “And the GoPros are ready as well. All we need to do now is set your mic up. The starting scene will be you taking the garbage – the pizza boxes from last night – out, and when you come back you notice an apparition on the stairs. You then gasp and call for Ron and I. Ron will rush downstairs while I will observe the events from here. Then you follow the apparition to the second floor, and we take a break to discuss the next steps. All right?”

“Brilliant,” Harry replied, tapping his GoPro to make sure it wouldn’t fall, before surrendering himself to Hermione’s capable mic-attaching hands. After that he was handed the empty pizza boxes, and he started heading downstairs.

And as much as they had talked about ignoring their fears, he knew he reeked of it when he walked past the second floor. He was terrified of seeing anyone from the corner of his eye, and let out a heavy breath of relief when he got outside the house. He knew that Hermione would be recording his short trip to the garbage can – after all the grain footage was meant to add some of the homely realism that was becoming their unique selling point.

‘Please, oh please, I don’t want to see anyone on the stairs,’ Harry thought as he turned on his heels after disposing of the pizza boxes. If something positive was to be found in this, it was the ease with which he pretended to see an apparition, despite thankfully not actually witnessing one on the stairs.

The fear that hadn’t left him since last night was easy to pull back to the surface, and there was nothing feigned in the shakiness of Harry’s voice when he asked Ron and Hermione to come downstairs to see what he was seeing. Ron’s heavy footsteps were quick to reach him, and Harry felt a wave of relief. He then slowly climbed towards the second floor, before coming to a halt a few steps before passing the mirror he would doubtlessly have nightmares about.

“Okay, cut,” Ron muttered, before calling out for Hermione. “Next steps? Do we do the EVPs now?”

“Yes,” Hermione yelled back. “You’ve got the list of questions we agreed on. Just go down that list! It doesn’t matter what sounds you pick up, react to the statements “get out” and “junior” at any point. Junior first! Then get out!”

“Okay, brilliant,” Ron replied. “We count to ten, then we start.”

Harry nodded, holding the EVP recorder in his hand in front of them. When he switched it on, the familiar sound of the crackling white noise filled the hallway. He looked at Ron, who gave a small nod before starting:

“Is there anyone here with us?”

Harry had never actually believed in any evidence collected via an EVP recorder, and yet… yet right now he couldn’t help but anticipate something. And the longer they stood there in the corridor, listening to the white noise and waiting for something, the worse he felt.

“What’s your name?” Harry asked then, but no response was forthcoming. Regardless, he played along when Ron gasped and said: “Junior?”

“I heard it too,” Harry said, feigning excitement. “Junior! Are you talking about Riddle Junior?”

“Is Junior keeping you here?” Ron asked, looking around them with wide eyes, as if expecting someone to jump out of one of the empty rooms. “Are you Junior?”

”We were told that Junior’s ghost wants to leave this house,” Harry said. “How does that make you feel?”

[Already out.]

“Holy fuck!” Harry shrieked, almost stumbling away but then latching onto Ron’s arm in fear of being grabbed by something. By whatever had apparently reached towards him from the mirror last night. “Did you hear that? What the fuck!?”

“It said already out,” Ron said, looking pale and sounding scared. “What the fuck does that mean? Hello? Who’s here with us?”

“It sounded like a woman,” Harry said. “Is it his step-mother? What was her name? Shit, we should’ve asked Tom.”

”What’s your name?” Ron asked Harry’s earlier question now. “Are you Junior or his step-mother?”

Listening to the white noise was starting to hurt Harry’s ears, and he was about to pretend to have heard the ‘get out’ that they had agreed on when both him and Ron were startled by the sound of Hermione screaming. Moments later she flew down the stairs.

“Get out!” she screamed, barely pausing to pull the two of them along. Harry, in his haste to stumble after his two friends, didn’t stop to look behind long enough to figure out what had spooked Hermione so. Ron, however, who had gotten to the door somehow faster than the two of them, stood aside to let them pass by. Harry barely caught a glimpse of his freaked out expression before they all stumbled outside, slamming the front door shut. Harry, still not realizing what they were fleeing from, felt a chill wash over his body when he heard something solid thump once against the closed door.

For a long moment the three of them sat outside, trying to catch their breaths. Hermione was sniffling, clearly still shocked by what had happened.

“It just… it crawled out of the bathroom,” she eventually said, her voice hushed and tearful. “Fuck. Just seeing it… I’d just been there washing my hands and there’d been nothing. Then I sit down to keep an eye on the two of you and suddenly I just hear this thump. All the things we heard about how terrifying it is when someone crawls towards you fast? Yeah, doesn’t quite capture how horrifying it is when it happens to you.”

“Well, I think we might as well just leave it here,” Ron decided. “In the morning we can go and get our stuff back, and then we can just… spend an extra day or two at the inn planning our next move and the episodes, and—"

“Let’s take a bigger room this time,” Hermione said. “I know we didn’t actually check out but let’s tell him we want one big room for all three of us. No way should anyone of us spend time alone until we leave this whole town.”

“Yes, please, and thank you,” Harry said. “I can’t believe… I mean, come on. This has to be a prank of some sort.” Except as crazy as the event had been, none of it could be dismissed or debunked.

“I’m not suggesting that we sleep in the car,” Ron said, standing up with great effort. “But after this I’m too tired to think or drive, and too scared to sleep here. At least in the car we get to lock the doors.”

“So you are suggesting that we sleep in the car,” Harry said, scrambling up as well, and helping Hermione back on her feet too. “Honestly, I’m too exhausted to argue. I’ll welcome the neck pain if it means I’ll live.”

Harry had never actually thought of their car as some sort of a safe fortress, but when he could sit inside and lock the door, knowing that whatever had chased them out couldn’t get to them anymore, and knowing that no one would be trying to open the door while he slept, well… turned out that he slept in their car better than he’d slept for the past few days.

*

The next morning, they woke up fairly early, with morning dew still covering the grass around them, the sun peeking boldly from the horizon as it rose. Bleary-eyed and tired, they pushed the front door open with great hesitation, not knowing what to expect inside.

“It’s empty,” Harry said, eyeing the hallway and the staircase.

“So far,” Hermione muttered. “Oh, let’s just do this as fast as we can. I can’t believe that this is how this case has ended up.”

“At least we’ve got more footage than we usually get,” Harry pointed out, hurrying after her, with Ron right behind him. On the third floor there appeared to be nothing out of place, except that there were some strange stains on the floor between the staircase and the bathroom.

“I’m not going to think of those,” Ron said firmly, before rushing to pack up everything he could as fast possible. “In fact, I’m not going to think of anything until I absolutely have to.”

“Solid plan,” Harry replied, zipping up his backpack and grabbing one of the monitor cases. “You guys ready?”

“Just about,” Hermione said, rushing around the room to make sure nothing was left behind. “Okay, everything’s packed. Let’s get going.”

The amount of relief Harry felt when he exited the Riddle House again – for the final time, hopefully – was hard to describe. It was difficult to think of how much had changed in the span of just two nights, with his whole world view twisting in an attempt to understand something he had wholly rejected all his life so far.

“So,” Hermione, who seemed to have been thinking along the same lines, said when they got into the car and locked the doors again. “So, ghosts are real.”

“Who knew,” Ron said, starting the car and driving out of the driveway with more speed than entirely necessary. “Could’ve lived my whole life without that learning experience.”

“Tell me about it,” Harry sighed from the backseat, leaning against the window. “I’m still bothered by— already out. If Junior’s – well, Voldemort’s – spirit was truly out, then why is the house being haunted?”

“It could be that the spirit got out only recently,” Hermione said. “Not that I really know. I didn’t think I’d be studying actual ghosts when I joined the two of you.”

“Well, I don’t think either one of us expected this to happen,” Ron said. “We better not get demonetized. And we definitely should email ClawTech and ask if they want us to promote them twice.”

“Is that how you handle fear?” Hermione asked. “You just cover it with money and hope it disappears?”

“It usually works,” Ron replied. “I usually cover it with food. And, failing that, money. Meanwhile Harry over there covers his traumas with banter.”

“I resent every part of that sentence you just said,” Harry said, stretching as well as he could in the limited space he had. “My back hurts, oh shit. I really need a massage or something. A proper one, not the one where Ron keeps punching me in the back and claiming it makes the muscles less stiff.”

“I know I’m going to have nightmares,” Hermione said. “And we’ll need to start figuring out how to handle situations like these. If one place was actually haunted, that means that we just got lucky every single time before. Lucky that there wasn’t something real that could’ve hurt us. We can’t let a future episode become another Riddle House.”

“Yeah, I agree,” Harry sighed, nodding. “We definitely need to look into different ways to handle spirits, now that we know that’s actually a thing. What bothers me though is whatever it is that crawls. What the fuck is it because it’s too solid to be a spirit, right?”

“Something else to research, I guess,” Ron said with a heavy sigh. “If only we had your precious Tom with us, eh?”

“Oh, shut up,” Harry said, blushing. “He probably doesn’t want to see me anymore. Likely thinks I’m a creep for asking him to travel with us after having met him only twice before.”

“I don’t know, sometimes people see opportunities and they grab them without thinking too much,” Hermione said. “Is it dangerous? Yes. But I think people in this town know a thing or two about managing danger.”

Harry nodded. He could only hope that his friends were right.

*

Two days later they were packing their bags at a room Barty had given them. The sullen man hadn’t even asked any questions and hadn’t bothered with adjusting the price either. Hermione had huffed and puffed about the terrible service, but eventually had decided to be thankful for being able to leave sooner than anticipated after all.

Harry was just wrapping an extension cord and shoving it into his suitcase when a knock on the door startled him. Hermione and Ron had gone to grab them snacks from a store nearby, and he doubted that they were back yet.

He hadn’t thought that the Riddle House would have a long-lasting effect on him, but he couldn’t deny the sudden feeling of fear and alarm when he approached the door with a wary expression on his face. His whole demeanour changed, however, when he saw who was standing there.

“Tom,” Harry breathed, delighted. He pulled the taller man inside the room, and felt his heart leap in joy when he spotted the small suitcase with him. “Are you really—?”

“I thought about your offer,” Tom said. “I realized that even though I was already out of my own four walls, I hadn’t left my comfort zone. If I get to work as a researcher while travelling and experiencing the world with you, I… I would be delighted.”

“Of course,” Harry said immediately, reaching to take a hold of Tom’s hands. “I’m so— we’re all so incredibly happy about you joining us. Ron and Hermione kept bringing it up.”

“And you?” Tom asked, turning his hands to intertwine his fingers with Harry’s. “Are you happy?”

Harry swallowed, feeling breathless as he nodded. “Yeah.”

“Well,” Tom continued, sounding so endearingly smug that Harry couldn’t help but smile. “I guess I like the thought of making you happy.”

“You do,” Harry swore. He couldn’t believe that his terrible days at Little Hangleton had ended up like this – with someone as lovely as Tom with him, ready to leave his own hometown just to go and travel with Harry and his two friends.

It was incredible, and he felt so, so lucky.