Grim Spectre

The next morning, The Daily Prophet was trumpeting the news:

ESCAPE FROM AZKABAN!

The headline captioned a mugshot of a howling, shrieking man that enhanced Sirius' reputation as a "murderous raving lunatic". The same photograph was being plastered everywhere that every wizard and witch turned.

The news had already thrown the entire wizard world into a flat spin. Panic, hysteria, paranoia, wild rumours, gossip and speculation on "how Black did it" were all flying faster than Harry chasing a Snitch. The Quibbler had lost no time in launching a "Guess How Sirius Black Did It" competition - with a mystery prize for the best entry (until Black was caught, even The Quibbler was in no position to judge which was the correct entry). In the days that were to follow, entries flew in thick and fast, with suppositions ranging from the downright wacky to the outright ribald. Some entries, however, did show more insight into how Azkaban prisoners and their Establishment operated. One has sneaky suspicion that an Azkaban guard or two sneaked in an entry as well.

Nonetheless the prize was one by a witch at Five Feathers, Barnsley. Her entry:

"Sirius Black is an Animagus who can turn into a spider. He spun a thread to sail down onto a patrolling Azkaban guard and was carried right out of Azkaban when the guard Flooed home that night."

The Quibber must be losing its touch.

In the shadier corners of the wizard world the fan clubs were starting up, to the utter chagrin of the Ministry. To the even greater chagrin of Cornelius Fudge, both sides of the wizard world started a roaring trade in Sirius Black souvenirs that ranged from the tacky, to the cheeky, to the outright hazardous (and we don't mean hazardous to children less than three years of age). It was no wonder that Fudge would later describe the whole Black affair as "highly embarrassing".

However, embarrassment was the least of Magical Law Enforcement's concerns right now. They were being swamped with wild rumours of Dark Marks looming in the sky, Sirius Blacks popping up all over the place in Deatheater's robes and threatening hapless wizards; endless tips, leads and crank owls that led to nowhere; crazy stories of buildings, streets and people blowing up, and jitters everywhere whenever there was a real explosion of some sort or another; and finally, explosions of their very own - from floods of Howlers sent in by frightened and outraged witches and wizards at every quarter. But nowhere, just nowhere, did they seem to find even a trace of Sirius Black, not a single genuine scent.

At least they knew Harry Potter was safe. As long as he remained at Privet Drive, none of You-Know-Who's followers could lay a wand on him. The Ministry was now watching Privet Drive even more closely than ever, for the faintest hint of Black. But so far, the only settling thing had been the sighting of a Grim. The Ministry and Dumbledore watchers had gone into a right flap when a Grim materialised at Privet Drive, and seemed to be prowling in the grounds. They all knew what that would mean if Harry should see the Grim - and there was no way they could risk losing the Boy Who Lived. The Ministry had been dispatched at once to deal with the Grim any way they could. Better them than the Boy Who Lived. But when the Ministry officials appeared, the Grim surprised them by taking the most startled yelp, as if the sight of them was frightening it to death - and vanished.

Though not before it had re-appeared in Harry Potter's own bedroom. Harry was fast asleep; the strain of having to put up with Aunt Marge for one whole day, to be followed by one whole week, was already taking its toll. The spectral dog dared not linger in Harry's room for more than a few minutes. He had to content himself with floating above Harry's bed and gaze down on Harry's sleeping form. So near, and yet so far. He yearned to give Harry its first ever loving nuzzle in such a long, long time. When Harry was a baby Sirius had taken great pride and responsibility in transmuting to his Animagus form and play with his dear little god-baby. Other times he would stand guard over the sleeping baby, growling against any stranger, be it Voldemort himself, who dared to go near his precious godson. Even now, the dog was seized by an unbearable desire to curl up right beside Harry and guard him against any hurt - specifically, that frightful Muggle woman who dared to call herself Harry's aunt...

"What's that?" A child's sharp murmur suddenly appeared in Padfoot's ear just as loudly as if the child was screaming.

Padfoot suddenly found that he had been nuzzling Harry's ear without even realising it! Now in the heat of mid-summer, Harry suddenly felt like somebody had dropped an enormous ice-cube on his ear.

The spectral dog froze in horror in mid-air as the child stirred, and sat upright in bed to stare back at him. Harry couldn't see Padfoot clearly - he had forgotten to put on his glasses, and was still bleary-eyed from sleep. But he could still recognise the pearly-white haze of a ghost. Only it didn't seem to be the familiar form of a wizard ghost...as Harry continued to stare, he began to make out the outline of a four-footed thing...

Alarm and gut reaction overtook Harry Potter. In an instant his fumbling fingers snatched his wand and glasses from his bedside table. The ghostly dog now found himself at wand point by a very startled, but indignant boy wizard who could now see that his strange midnight visitor was in fact a dog...a ghost dog.

Ghosts were something Harry was well familiar with by now. But never before had he seen, or even heard of, a ghost animal. All the ghosts he had ever known were humans. And a ghost in his bedroom? Was this like one of Dobby's visits, or another little surprise from Lord Voldemort?

Harry demanded answers. "Who are you? What do you want? If you're from Voldemort, I'm going to hex you!"

The dog could not wait around to answer, although it yearned most desperately to draw closer to Harry, to gain his trust, his love, his companionship...

With a most rueful whine that sounded surprisingly like a sigh to Harry, the dog instantly vanished from Harry's sight. Harry was left all alone once more, still abruptly shaken by the surprise nocturnal visit of a ghost dog nuzzling in his ear.

To say nothing of the other nocturnal visitor who was now banging at his door shouting, "What's the ruddy racket, boy?"

Where the dog appeared next was the place he felt most drawn to at this present time. It was also where the dog instinctively felt would make the most suitable hiding-place until the Rat returned to Hogwarts.

*~*~*

It had started out as yet another miserable day for poor, miserable, moping, moaning Myrtle. Nobody had ever loved poor miserable moaning Myrtle. Not even the other Hogwarts ghosts found her comfortable company. It was only during last year that Myrtle had finally acquired the first friends she ever had. The nearest she had ever had to friends, anyway. Nobody had ever wanted to be friends with poor moaning Myrtle. Harry Potter, Hermione Granger and Ron Weasley. They had even been kind enough to ask poor Myrtle how she had died. Nobody had ever asked her that before! And after nobody had even bothered to look for her body for two days, when a student got expelled for killing Moaning Myrtle - nobody had even bothered to ask poor Moaning Myrtle how she died until Harry did last year.

But now it was the holidays, and Harry, Hermione and Ron had gone back home; leaving poor, miserable, moping, moaning Myrtle all on her own again...

It was all too much. And when it gets too much even for the usual misery of Moaning Myrtle, she heads straight to the U-bend. Moaning Myrtle gave the most heart-wrenching howl you ever heard as she plunged headlong down the toilet, and up came the endless stream of agonising howls and sobs. They were made all the more ghastly listening as they drifted up the U-bend to get amplified when they met the toilet bowl and then the dreadful acoustics of the toilet room. Such a cacophony of torment would be guaranteed to drive anyone who stepped into the bathroom out of their wits, which would have course given Myrtle such delightful, perverse pleasure and one of her extremely rare displays of happiness.

Poor Myrtle was so consumed with misery that she barely noticed that another eerie, ghostly howl was drifting to meet her own. But eventually it somehow had to penetrate her dark depths of misery that there were howls that did not quite match her own...her surprise and curiosity were so intense that for once Myrtle stopped crying and moping. Instead she was listening in silence.

Still there was howling.

But it was definitely not coming from her.

Was something moaning and moping as much as she was?

Curiosity consumed Moaning Myrtle. She floated right out of her toilet and above her cubicle. And then she saw what it was.

It was a Grim!

Her very own Grim, sitting right in her own bathroom, and howling and baying like a werewolf at the full moon.

Fancy that!

Moaning Myrtle had never felt so happy in her entire life, alive or...well, you know. Not even when Hermione turned herself into a cat instead of Millicent Bulstrode when she drank Polyjuice Potion last year. The silly know-it-all had mistaken cat hair for Millicent's hair! The sight had been so glorious that Moaning Myrtle had actually resorted to bursting into one of her extremely rare fits of laughter.

And then there was the time when Myrtle had been looking most forward to having Harry permanently join her in her toilet. That had seemed such a promising prospect. Myrtle had been a little put out when that she-basilisk failed to deliver. Instead she had ended up being killed instead of Harry because of that stupid sword. Not to mention that stupid phoenix.

Oh, that had been a most bitter, miserable disappointment indeed, so Moaning Myrtle had descended back into her innate pit of misery once more.

But now here was something that was even better. Myrtle now had a Grim sharing her toilet! The most dreaded omen in the wizard world, the one that portended death to any who saw it - oh, didn't Myrtle chuckle with such relish at that - was going to share the toilet with poor, miserable, moping, moaning Myrtle, whom nobody ever wanted.

Nobody except the Grim, that is.

Well, at least she hoped it would. Suppose her dear Grim just melted away if she approached? Her face began to look miserable again at the very thought and she emitted soft sobs.

The Grim seemed to hear her. It now stopped howling and looked up at her. It sat there in silence, just looking at her. It continued to look at her in silence for what seemed an eternity. It seemed to be waiting for her.

Myrtle now broke into the most exultant fit of joy she had ever known yet. She swooped down like a Dementor after a mortal soul. Poor Myrtle had never had a pet, not even the usual owl, cat or toad when she came to Hogwarts. But here she was now, embracing the Grim as if she had been among dogs all her life...and for the first time in her life - and afterlife - poor miserable moping moaning Myrtle was sobbing tears of joy. She just couldn't let go of her beloved Grim. Her very own Grim!

And as for the dog, it now saw even more of itself in Moaning Myrtle than ever. Poor miserable moping moaning Myrtle who always seemed to be trapped in a perpetual black hole of misery. Or maybe she just didn't have the energy, the inclination or simply the nature - to bother to even climb out of it. Either way, it was just like himself in Azkaban. Forever in a pit of misery and despair. At first it was because there was no way out, no way to escape, except in death. After a while you just became so drained, so sapped, as the Dementors sucked out everything from inside you that made your life worth living...until after a while there was hardly any need for them to do so. You had lost so much of yourself that you didn't even bother to climb up from the bottomless well of misery. No energy, no will, or not even the because there was no way out- or you just didn't see any point. There was nowhere to go but down, down deeper into the pit of dire, until your whole world was encased in it. If you were to go up in any way, it would be either from the odd respite, when the Dementors were not around - or you had something that they could not suck away. Something to give you a foothold against the wall of the well. Something to cling onto, to stop you from sinking...maybe even, as in the case of this dog - to be able to climb out of the pit, after all.

This dejected little ghost of a girl was no inmate of the black pit that was Azkaban, but she might as well be. Anyone would think she was surrounded by Dementors, the way she carried on. As a Marauder, he and his friends used to joke that Myrtle must have been born in Azkaban; that her mother must have married one of the inmates. They used to make up endless stories about the Azkaban liaison that spawned Moaning Myrtle. A huge joke - but anything but funny under these circumstances.

As the dog looked at Moaning Myrtle, it saw in her eyes a fellow Azkaban spirit. It cuddled its ghostly muzzle against her wet ghostly cheeks. If he took his human ghostly form right now, he would ask for help. Considering the circumstances of the past twelve years, it was most difficult for him to trust anyone. But in the case of Moaning Myrtle, he would not hesitate for a second, not even know what he was doing - when he confided in Moaning Myrtle, maybe even ask her for help. She was a kindred spirit, so much like him as an Azkaban inmate...she would understand, she would help.

But the dog stayed in his Animagus form. It was partly habit - when feeling so down, sinking into the black hole of despair, the Animagus would cling to its dog form to stop it sinking even lower. But it was also instinct. Although the dog would have had no qualms about confiding in Moaning Myrtle, it was too scared to shift to human form in this place. Not where there were potential eyes about, ones which would not be as understanding.

Case in point:

"Myrtle's got the Grim! Myrtle's got the Grim!"

The dog and Myrtle looked upward. It was that naughty little Peeves. Peeves had glided into Moaning Myrtle's toilet (typical! No manners about knocking on doors!) and he was now bobbing up and down in the air, pointing mockingly and teasing with the most juicy alacrity.

"Myrtle's got the Grim! Myrtle's got the Grim!"

Myrtle howled yet again and burst into tears from the torment. The Grim immediately sprang to her defence by baring its teeth and snarling at Peeves. Being a ghost, it could leap into the air after Peeves as well. It now saw Peeves firmly off; snarling, growling and barking as it chased Peeves out of the toilet. Being charged by the most dreaded omen in the wizard world was a little too much even for Peeves. For once in his life Peeves took fright of something else than the Bloody Baron. Had Filch been around in the corridor just then, he would have been most taken aback - not to mention vicariously delighted - to be treated to the sight of Peeves taking the most hastiest retreat that Tom and Jerry cartoon-makers would envy.