Grim Spectre

"Oh dearie me, Peeves certainly has a bee in his bonnet, doesn't he?" Nearly Headless Nick shook his head vigorously. This was most unwise as the head instantly wobbled dangerously. Nick had to catch it hastily.

"It's the Grim!" the Fat Friar couldn't resist a good-humoured chuckle. "Did you hear? The Grim threw Peeves out of Moaning Myrtle's the other day."

The ghosts were now using the term "the Grim" as a nickname for their mystifying new member, rather than a reference to the most dreaded omen in the wizard world. After all, whoever heard of the most dreaded omen in the wizard world throwing a poltergeist out of a toilet? Furthermore, Grims were supposed to cross the paths of the soon-not-to-be living, not the paths of the already-dead. And this Grim had not crossed any of the paths of the living at Hogwarts, not even the most unpopular professor in Hogwarts.

So the initial sweeps of horror at the rumours that a Grim was lurking in Moaning Myrtle's toilet had settled down to the cautious assumption that they merely had a mysterious new member in their midst. They were not yet certain as to exactly what it was that now resided in Moaning Myrtle's toilet, but they felt it would be imprudent and disrespectful to press the matter for the moment. Moaning Myrtle had made a pet out of the mysterious visitor and that would have to suffice. As a matter of fact, most of the ghosts were delighted and even astonished, to find that Moaning Myrtle had a friend. The whispers that Moaning Myrtle was happy would not cease to amaze, delight and raise their ghostly eyebrows...

So the ghosts had agreed to just let things be. They would let the mysterious visitor open up to them in its own good time - assuming it would be so inclined. In the meantime, the ghosts had made a pact to keep a quiet, respectful distance.

There was just one problem...

*~*~*

Nick had to chuckle as well, but in a more foreboding tone. "Peeves hasn't taken kindly to that, isn't he?"

This was a major understatement.

Ever since suffering such indignities of being thrown out of Moaning Myrtle's by his behind, Peeves had been in the most vecordious mood that Hogwarts had ever seen. He was rampaging wildly through every single toilet, flushing every cistern over and over until the water threatened to gouge out the toilet bowls. But that seemed to exasperate him all the more. Peeves' new-found campaign against toilets took on a far more flagitious turn as he heaved everything he could find into toilet cisterns, and then flushing the water down on top. The poor toilets choked, slubbered, and overflowed like cracking dams. Water, frequently intermingling with sewage, gushed out ceaselessly into the corridors. Poor Filch was overburdened with cleaning up after the poltergeist's relentless deluge of destruction. No sooner had Filch cleaned up one mess when the alert came that there was yet another flood coming from another bathroom. Dumbledore was even more burdened than usual when Filch kept storming into his office, demanding that he get rid of that stinky little vandal or he would bring out his sorely-missed horsewhip and flog the little monster right out of Hogwarts. The Bloody Baron wearily confessed to Dumbledore that even he was losing his grip on Peeves on this occasion. The little poltergeist had become so furious that he was no longer heeding the one ghost who was usual quite capable of keeping him under control. As for the other ghosts, they had all rallied to protect Moaning Myrtle and her mysterious pet from Peeves' rampages as best they could. But Peeves had never heeded them even in the best of times. And now the indignities of being thrown out by the ghosts had only served to inflame Peeves' indignation...

It wasn't just Moaning Myrtle's bathroom which was out of order now. Hogwarts bathrooms were so often rendered unusable that the staff had to take to the Room of Requirement if they were to have any hope of relieving themselves. That was fine for the Hogwarts staff, but what about the hundreds of Hogwarts students who would be returning in only a matter of days? The picture of hundreds of uncomfortable Hogwarts students queueing outside the Room of Requirement was rather awkward and embarrassing to think about.

In the end it was all down to Dumbledore. Dumbledore was already looking greyer than normal from the constant stress and worry of Dementors crawling all over the school grounds and the ever-present threat of Sirius Black. And now there was the additional worry of broken bathrooms, Peeves running wild, and the stories of a Grim haunting Moaning Myrtle's bathroom. The potion never simmered but it boiled...

All members of the staff and ghost fraternity felt it would be most discreet if they tucked out of sight while Dumbledore set about the task of sorting out the peevish little poltergeist. No eyes, not even Filch's or the Bloody Baron's dared to linger as Dumbledore strode quietly, but firmly, into Moaning Myrtle's bathroom. On the other side of the door Dumbledore could hear the vengeful squeaks and the woebegone gushing of yet another strangled toilet, but he gave no flicker of horror, anger or disgust. He remained completely unruffled as he crossed the threshold of Moaning Myrtle's bathroom and swung the door firmly behind him...

The rumours were never to cease buzzing as to why Dumbledore soon emerged with a quiet, satisfied look on his face and Peeves drifted out meekly, expressing his rage in a morose, frightened sulk...

Only one had been bold enough to eavesdrop on what had passed between Dumbledore and Peeves in Moaning Myrtle's bathroom. The spy then beat a hasty retreat down the S-bend to have a sneaking, uproarious chuckle that took a long, long time to settle down. But it was in no position to spread the gossip on what it had seen.

*~*~*

If a monstrous basilisk could slither its way around Hogwarts through the plumbing systems, then other things could as well. If necessary, the plumbing system would work like a Floo system as it intertwined and interconnected the corridors, halls and chambers of Hogwarts. If any creature or person chose, they could disappear down one toilet and emerge through another toilet, just as they would a fireplace if they were using a Floo network. Of course, the toilet system was more limiting than a Floo system. An office would certainly have a fireplace, but it would be far less likely to have a toilet cistern.

Furthermore, there was the constant threat of being flushed right out into the lake. Flushing would have been no problem for that basilisk. After all, who could flush a monster that size down the sewers? Unfortunately the resident lavatory ghosts were far smaller and more lightweight than the Queen of Serpents. Such indignity was a constant woe for woebegone Myrtle but it was even more of a nuisance for Padfoot. Just imagine having the Rat in his sights when somebody suddenly flushes the toilet right down on his ghostly head...

At least the flushing had receded once Dumbledore had curtailed Peeves' toilet-flushing rampage. However there was the problem of regular users. Padfoot had noticed that the Hogwarts residents were far more wary of coming into the toilet. If they did come, they came in somewhat jumpy duos. Whether it was the problem of Peeves or the morbid rumours of a Grim haunting the toilet system he could not tell.

There were more distasteful consequences of hiding in toilet bowls - such as when Snivellus wanted to use the toilet. The one incident of dear old Snape sitting on the toilet seat with Padfoot skulking in the S-bend was a most beastly experience indeed - especially when those eerie, menacing howls from deep within the bowels of the toilet didn't even raise the hairs on Snape's head. Snape just snapped irritably about that wretched girl ghost haunting the S-bends of the toilet system and flushed the toilet hard to get rid of that annoying little moaner down in the S-bend. Being hurled out into the lake by a torrent of sewage was undignified enough - but having his old arch-nemesis doing the flushing was humiliation beyond description for poor Padfoot.

All the same, the inconvenience of flushing, the offensiveness of some users, and the discomfort of S-bends and crawling around the plumbing systems could not compare to the one, huge advantage - the toilet system in Gryffindor Tower. At the end of each dormitory was a toilet for pupils who might want to relieve themselves in the night - or for anything else which they didn't want anyone to see. It was through the cistern in the boys' toilet that Padfoot was emerging the most often these days. Way back in his Gryffindor days, Padfoot had sometimes hidden in the toilet with his friends to practise their Animagus transformations. They had used the toilet for so many other purposes too, such as scoffing the goodies they had swiped from the kitchens or showing off their latest Zonko purchase without the whole dormitory knowing about it...

Such happy memories of this toilet...all flushed out of him Azkaban and into the rattling cisterns of the vile Dementors which guarded the unspeakable cesspool that was Azkaban...but now slowly, painfully, starting to ebb back to waft through his battled, ravaged memory.

But there were no happy memories right now as Padfoot paced the empty dormitory silently, morosely. It was nothing like the happy, mischievous days he used to spend here, hiding under bed covers waiting for the signal to sneak off yet more mischief of some kind or other...

Padfoot's gloominess took an even darker hue when he thought of the Rat hiding in here all this time, probably right next to Harry Potter's bed...Padfoot stopped at the nearest bed to give it a low, menacing growl as a token...

Then the growls died abruptly. The ghost dog stood stricken, and then cowed in mortified shame. Suppose it was Harry's bed he was growling at?

Shamefully, fearfully, Padfoot edged his way towards the curtains which enclosed the bed. The ghost dog was shaking as he took his terrified, gingerly sniff...

He backed away, his tremors giving way to whimpers of profound relief. No, it was not Harry's bed. Those curtains did not have his scent...

It was four beds further down when Padfoot did find Harry's bed. He should have known. It was the same bed that Prongs had slept in! The ghost dog wuffed and wagged his tail joyfully and settled down on the bed like a purring, contented cat snuggling down for its nap...

But Padfoot didn't snuggle down for long. His ghostly ears suddenly pricked up in fright as he heard footsteps coming towards the dormitory. And much to his surprise, they sounded so warmingly, yet, sadly, familiar...

The ghost dog leapt from the bed and fled for the sanctuary of the toilet. He had barely time to leap into the cistern when the door swung to. From the depths of the lavatory, Padfoot cowed as his eyes barely rose above the lip of the lavatory to see who it was...

He gave a bizarre yip of astonishment, joy and horror.

It was his old friend Moony.

Old friend was right. He hadn't been any friend of Padfoot's since the day he had coldly, broken-heartedly, turned his back on Padfoot the day he was sentenced without a trial or decent hearing...it had been twelve years but the ghastly, unspeakable memory was still as heart-breaking and searing as if it had been this very moment...

Padfoot wouldn't look anymore. His head sank beneath the toilet lip. If he could cry in his dog form, his tears would have intermingled with the toilet water. The toilet heaved a melancholy bubbling from the doggy whimpers as Padfoot submerged beneath the bowl.

Moony now paused, and eyed that same toilet most thoughtfully indeed. He, too, remembered the happy times they had shared together in that toilet.

He strode over and stared down at that same toilet water. It was still rippling from Padfoot's bubbles. Hardly a thing to excite anyone's interest, much less suspicion...but Moony still kept staring most meaningfully down the vacant toilet bowl...

*~*~*

The Hogwarts staff had been assembling for a Council of War, as they had so often since the day Sirius Black had escaped from Azkaban. Varying mixes of fear, anxiety, irritability and weariness were making their mark across all their faces. Snape was looking the most irritable of all - especially when he stole glances at the werewolf who passed for the new Defence against the Dark Arts teacher.

Across the assembly, the Defence against the Dark Arts teacher glanced back at Snape in polite puzzlement. But Snape was not fooled. Neither was he taken in by that show of impassivity.

Snape was right about that, but not in the way he thought. The mask of impassivity concealed fretful guilt all right - but it was not for aiding and abetting the fugitive who had the entire world on tenterhooks. Or was it...? By concealing the fact that Sirius was an Animagus, was he indeed aiding and abetting the most wanted wizard in the Ministry?

"I have been hearing some sort of Grim has taken residence in Moaning Myrtle's toilet," Dumbledore was saying most pointedly at Nearly Headless Nick.

Gasps and jerks of shock at the word "Grim" swept through the assembly.

A jump of shocked surprise barely filtered through the mask of impassivity. Underneath, his uneasiness deepened most intensely. He kept his eyes and ears firmly riveted on this conversation.

As did the piercing eyes of Snape - right on the werewolf.

"Yes, it would seem so," Nick chuckled. "He's making quite a pet for Myrtle."

Dumbledore raised his silvery eyebrows. "A pet?"

"Yes, quite a pet for Myrtle now. She simply adores him."

Low, confused chuckles of amused surprise swept through the assembly. The werewolf was as surprised and confused as the rest of them - but relief was now unwinding the knots of unease in his stomach.

Nick had more to say. "I am most pleased to announce that Moaning Myrtle is happy for once. She won't stop telling us how the Grim threw Peeves out the toilet when he was teasing her, and saved her from the Grindylows."

Dumbledore caught on at once. "She is indebted to this Grim?"

"It would appear so, Professor Dumbledore."

Everyone's eyebrows were raised, even Snape's. More chuckles of confusion punctuated the atmosphere.

"That is not the sort of thing we would expect from a Grim, is it?"

"That is the conclusion we have all reached, Professor Dumbledore."

"But we must consider the problem of Sirius Black - and we must not forget the entrance to the Chamber of Secrets was located in Moaning Myrtle's bathroom. So I am deeply concerned about this...Grim."

"But, Professor Dumbledore, the Grim has not harmed anyone so far - except for Peeves, of course."

The confused chuckles gave way to uproarious laughter. Dumbledore's face cracked into a huge, knowing grin.

But Snape would have none of it. In an instant he was on his feet, hushing them all with his invective. The spit was flying from his mouth as he hurled his fury across the room:

"For Merlin's sake, we have a Grim, we have a killer on the loose! Can't you see they must be linked? Where else would that Grim come from? Where do you all think that Grim came from?!?! You're all going to let the worst killer who ever lived to walk all over Hogwarts because that idiot girl's made a pet out of him?!?! You're a soft-hearted bunch of fools if you're going to condone that!"

"Yeh shut yer face, yer know-it all Snape!" If there was one thing Hagrid could not stand, it was anyone insulting Dumbledore. And Snape had unmistakably just called Dumbledore a "soft-hearted fool".

"Now, Professor Hagrid - "Professor McGonagall admonished instantly. Hagrid rising furiously to his feet and standing on the verge of striding over to do something very ominous to the imminent Professor Snape was most alarming indeed.

It did not seem so alarming to Snape himself. His shrieks of rampage had given way to snarling, hissing contempt at the half-giant Hagrid. He glared fiercely at Hagrid, as if openly daring him to come over and try his worst. His fingers sidled down and grasped firmly on his wand.

"Expelliarmus!"

Dumbledore's eagle eye had caught what Snape's fingers were doing. Snape's wand yanked firmly from his fingers and leapt towards Dumbledore's.

Dumbledore said nothing further. He merely stared down at Snape in quiet, yet terrible, reproach. The others all stared in hushed horror. Dumbledore returned Snape's wand in polite but chiding silence.

It was rare for Snape to be humbled - or at least, roundly chastened. He sat back down in utter silence and said nothing further for the rest of the meeting. But this is not to say that he was in the least bit humbled. No more than Peeves had after Dumbledore had roundly chastened him for torturing toilets and bathrooms. Just like Peeves, Snape kept right on fuming, gnashing and smouldering with utter rage and humiliation...only like Peeves he was keeping it inwards, biding his time...

Snape's eyes kept right on glittering in fearsome loathing - especially at both Hagrid and the werewolf. Hagrid was only too happy to glare back at Snape and his fingers still twitched as if aching to throttle Snape. The Defence against the Dark Arts teacher paid no more attention to Snape and kept his full attention on the conversation about the Grim.

The meeting concluded with quiet, weary unease about the Grim. There was nothing conclusive they could definitely agree upon about this Grim. The only sensible thing to do at this time was to carry as the ghosts had agreed. But if anything disturbing did happen regarding this Grim, the ghosts were to advise Dumbledore immediately.

The Defence against the Dark Arts teacher concurred with the rest - but he had taciturn ideas of his own regarding the Grim...

*~*~*

Lupin turned away from the toilet bowl, its water still now, and focused his attention on the mirror on the wall. It would have had no place in the girls' toilet. No girl would want to stare at her own face through those aged spots and cracks that pitted its surface. They didn't flatter the man who now stared at its surface either - but he had no time for such vain blemishes. It was something else about the mirror that had him staring at it so long and meaningfully...

Before he finally drew his wand and, for some reason known only to himself...

Cast a most mysterious incantation upon the innocuous, age-scarred glass.