Bound

Chapter One ~ The Contract

"Hey! 'Mione, where're you going?" Ron shouted from their table in the Three Broomsticks.

Hermione glanced back over her shoulder. "I wanted to get some birthday shopping done and there's supposed to be a new book out that I've been waiting for. I'll meet you at Honeydukes."

Nobody had time to reply as she slipped quickly out the door and down the street. She walked swiftly through the bustling crowds, following a sensation in the pit of her stomach that she found difficult to deny – it felt like a rope was tied around her waist, pulling her towards something.

She paused at the edge of town, where the noisy, milling crowd became sparse and the cobblestone path gave way to a smooth, solid dirt track.

Still, the urge to follow pushed her to continue, and so, holding her breath, she took a step.

Her foot sank into a thick, clinging mixture of moss and mud.

After a brief struggle to free herself, she pointed her wand at her boots and muttered, "Tergeo."

Once again clean, she cast a charm on her feet to make her footsteps feather-light. Stepping out again, she found she barely even made tracks, and was soon striding confidently along the track.

Some minutes later, when the village and its people were nothing more than a dull buzz behind her, Hermione released a breath she hadn't realised she was holding. It formed a white, cotton-candy cloud before her - odd for this time of year, even in Scotland – and then it disappeared. Every breath disappeared, mere inches from her mouth.

Puzzled, with her heart beating a tattoo against her chest, she lifted a hand up, stretching out her arm.

For a heartbeat, it felt like pins and needles had engulfed her hand, and then it transformed into a pleasant tingle running up her arm. Her hand had disappeared from sight and, emboldened by the apparent acceptance of the strange magic, she followed. The same pins and needles spread throughout her entire body, followed by the pleasant tingle of the wards, and she could once again see her hand.

Looking about warily, wand clutched between her tingling fingers, she saw that the snow was utterly devoid of disturbance.

It struck her as odd that someone would ward an empty hilltop.

Feeling her curiosity piqued and, given the stupidity of her actions, strangely confident, she pressed onwards.

After several steps, the tingling of the wards washed away, as if a shower had been cut off.

Hermione stopped.

In front of her, appearing out of nowhere, was a huge, gated mansion. There were three floors lined with darkened windows, above which sat tall, pointed roofs of weathered, slate-grey tile. It looked every part the old, Victorian mansion, with an apron of patio slabs that lead around one side of the building, presumably to what had once been a servants' entrance.

She wrapped her hand lightly around one of the black bars of the towering, wrought iron gate and the great, shaggy, grey dog dozing on the top step lifted its massive head. It stared intently at Hermione for several seconds, while she remained frozen with bated breath, then lowered its head and went back to napping.

"Magnificent, isn't it?"

Startled, Hermione spun in the direction of the voice.

Not far from her stood an unfamiliar witch. Her robes, a deep burgundy reminiscent of fine wine, clung to her tall, slender frame, and her sleek, black hair reminded Hermione of Morticia Addams. Her eyes, the striking colour of forest leaves in the summer, flickered from the high-reaching rooftops to the bushy-haired little witch before her.