Grim Spectre

Professor Trelawney's eyes had bulged like a bullfrog's as she intoned the words, "oh, my dear boy...you have...the Grim."

Harry's cup clattered to the floor and smashed. It was all he could do not to let it slip in front of this weird teacher that a Grim had appeared in his room and licked his ear. Ron blanched and whined as if he was seeing a spider.

Harry was still feeling rather shaken as he headed towards Hagrid's first class with Hermione and Ron. Ron was still shaken as well and mumbled something yet again about the fate of his Uncle Bilius. Hermione snorted matter-of-factly about how Divination was such a woolly discipline and how Ancient Runes was such a superior subject, but even she had shown a start and a shiver about this strange Grim back in Trelawney's class.

"A Grim comes into my room and licks me in the ear? What's so woolly about that?" Harry snapped, then felt a violent shudder at the ice cold memory.

"Oh, come on, Harry! You heard what Professor McGonagall said! Professor Trelawney's a hammy old fraud!"

"Yeah, but what about the Grim who licked Harry's ear?" Ron shot back.

"Oh, so the Grim finds Potter tasty?" A voice said behind them.

They turned to face a sight they dreaded even more than the Grim. Malfoy and his stooges stood poised and ready to rouse the doggy chorus yet again.

"Woof, woof! I'm the Grim! Take me for walkies! Woof, woof! Growl, growl! Whimper! Pant! Want walkies! Want a bone! Feed me! Feed me! Yap, yap!"

But before they had gotten into full chorus, a loud, familiar voice boomed over them.

"Oh, so ye fancy yerselves as dogs, do yeh?" The most intimidating sight of a furiously reddening Hagrid loomed over Malfoy and his cronies. The mock yaps, barks and dog impersonations instantly melted away into awkward hush. "Well, ye can go an' clean Fang's kennel - an' yeh're doin' it without magic! Un'erstand?"

Crabbe and Goyle groaned loudly while Malfoy reddened at the very thought of getting his pureblood hands dirty over a filthy mutt's hovel. His lips began to mouth in protest but Hagrid was having none of it. He yanked Malfoy by the arm and directed him in the direction of the kennel.

"Go on, get goin'! An' mind ye do a good job, cos' I'll be lookin' later! If I'm not happy, ye'll be scrubbin' much worse!"

Malfoy and his gang stumbled off grumbling while Harry and his friends burst into the first peals of laughter they had had since the term began.

"Gosh, thanks Hagrid - er, I mean, Professor!"

Harry shook Hagrid's hand gratefully. Hagrid beamed back, his heart full of gladness at being of service to the friends who had saved him from the dreaded wizard prison. As Hagrid followed them down the path, he was surprised to suddenly find himself in an odd way, grateful to Malfoy as well. It had been all thanks to sorting out that bully that Hagrid had completely forgotten his nerves at conducting his first class.

"Woohoo!"

Harry had grown steady and bold enough to take his hands off Buckbeak and ease his hands behind him and let the hippogriff glide him along as it sailed over the lake. Harry had not felt so exultant in a long, long time. Riding a hippogriff felt nowhere near as comfortable or safe as riding a broomstick, but the sheer ecstasy of freedom from the Dementors, being able to forget about Sirius Black, the sheer joy and exhilaration...

Far below, Hagrid was almost bursting his half-giant form with pride, delight and immeasurable confidence...

And Malfoy was almost in tears at his shameful, degrading exposure to filthy Muggle cleaning. Not to mention totally clueless! Oh, poor Malfoy - looks like he is going to be "scrubbing much worse"...

*~*~*

In the quarters reserved for the Defence against the Dark Arts teacher, Lupin was poring over a book that looked almost as worn and tattered as his clothes were. It was the book that Lupin had been burying his face into constantly ever since he had heard about this strange business of the Grim. He was poring and poring over it - but he couldn't take in a single word. All that kept intruding upon his mind were those ceaseless thoughts about the Grim...

It had to be something to do with Sirius, there could be no doubt about that. A real Grim wasn't going to skulk about in toilets, flush Peeves down the toilet bowl, or make friends with Moaning Myrtle...

On the other hand, none of it fitted the indelible, infamous concept of Sirius Black that everyone, including Lupin himself, had held for 12 years...the mad mass murderer who blew up 13 people in that Muggle street and laughed his head off about it...the right-hand man of Voldemort (none of this "you-know-who" nonsense for Lupin)...the utterly insane man who had somehow utilised some unknown dark magic spell to break out of the prison it was supposed to be impossible to break out of...all because he was hell-bent on killing the Boy who Lived...

If anything, it fitted far closer to the Padfoot he had always known - or thought he knew - until that day Sirius blew up that Muggle street. An utterly loyal, devoted friend, the reckless, hotheaded rebel, the incorrigible mischief-maker...which didn't fit into the concept of the mass mad murderer that everyone talked about...

Then again, Lupin had never dreamed that Sirius could turn out to be such a monster. For 12 years he had wracked his brain about how the beloved Padfoot could ever have turned out to be the right-hand-man of Voldemort and all the rest of it...

Tears splashed down and hit the pages of the book. Lupin's aching head throbbed ever more in turmoil as it sank ever lower into the hands that wrung his very hair-roots...but that was nothing compared with the anguish his heart was feeling as it had done for so long...

Lupin wrenched his gaze back upon the tear-blotted pages. The book was an ancient, well-worn tome he had uplifted from the Restricted Section. Ancient and Cunninge Mirror Magick by Thomas Gazer, the blotted cover said. Lupin had borrowed this restricted book because it detailed a spell known as the "Master Mirror".

Lupin sighed and stared at the Master Mirror he had created, as he had so often done of late. He tapped on the mirror and whispered, "Moaning Myrtle's bathroom".

The glass cleared to reveal the grim, blotted bathroom. There was no sign of Moaning Myrtle or the mysterious Grim floating around the bathroom. But he could hear their moaning and howling echoing and amplifying from the depths of the toilet bowls. Even from the safe distance of his Master Mirror that eerie wailing could still raise the hairs on his neck. Still, so long as they were happy...

Lupin sniggered weakly at his unwitting. Still, it was obvious that they were actually happy...they were wailing in unison, weren't they? They made quite a chorus, a deep, profound melancholy cacophany that would frighten the living daylights out of anyone who wanted to use the toilet...

It didn't look like there were any mass murderers around here. Lupin tapped the Master Mirror again: "Boys' toilet, Gryffindor dormitory."

Moaning Myrtle's bathroom dissolved and the Gryffindor boys' bathroom took its place. Lupin stared at the scene for a long, long time...but there was nothing to see but the ripples in the toilet water from the dolorous duet down in the pipes.

Lupin tapped the Master Mirror several more times for more panoramic scenes of the diverse toilets and bathrooms situated around Hogwarts. Nothing turned up anything remotely like Sirius Black. Mind you, on several occasions Lupin had to quickly change the scene, lest he flush in profound embarrassment and shame should he spy anything or anyone in a situation that should remain private in the privy...

It was no wonder that this book was in the Restricted Section. No decent person would consider a spell like this when it was so potentially embarrassing to people's dignity and privacy. A less moral person would not hesitate, of course. A vast network of spy mirrors would be infinitely useful to a Deatheater working at the Ministry of Magic. He or she could bewitch every single mirror in the building, and then use the Master Mirror to use every single one of those mirrors as eyes to spy on everyone in the building. Just imagine if, say, Rookwood had been able to use a Master Mirror on the mirror in Fudge's office. And what Rookwood would think if he could spy on Fudge as he used his private bathroom was best not imagined...

And there was another problem. How could he use the mirror effectively at night, when the Grim was certain to be the most active? There were potions enough that he could use to keep awake, but there was the awkward matter of getting them from Snape, who was already deeply suspicious of him, and he could scarcely afford to buy them. He must keep whatever salaries he earned this year in his Gringotts savings - whenever they could be called such. He had tried coffee. Muggles found it a most effective concoction to keep them awake. It was rather a pity they drank too much of it at times and were all red-eyed and grumpy the next morning. This was the drawback that coffee had to anti-sleep potions. Coffee could keep you awake, but it could not take away the feeling that you had not had a decent night's sleep. Furthermore, there was the matter of the dreaded nights of the full moon...

Lupin pored over the book yet again, but more intently this time. Was there a way to refine the Master Mirror? He perused over every sentence in the chapter marked Moste Cunninge Uses for thy Master Mirror...

Lupin's finger ran down "moste cunninge uses" until he came across the very thing he needed: Howe to use thy Master Mirror for the moste cunninge and relentlesse hunt of thy quarry...

Lupin abruptly sucked his breath with glee. He could modify his Master Mirror so it would show him whenever Sirius Black was in any of the toilets - not just some unfortunate person wanting to use the facilities.

However, Lupin's delight dropped as he read on. You needed a picture of your opponent (no problem with all these photographs of Sirius plastered all over The Daily Prophet) and an item belonging to that person. Now this was a problem. Where, oh where, was he going to get something that belonged to Sirius? Lupin scowled in thought, deep, deep thought...this was going to require a lot of thought and a little time...but how much time did he have, with this mad murderer on the loose and ready to strike at any moment?

*~*~*

That night, Sirius dared his first trip up the toilet and into the Gryffindor dormitory where all the boys lay sleeping. Back on the toilet seat Myrtle was keeping watch. She might have felt all the more anxious had she not been silently giggling that she was finally doing what she had always wanted to do - sneak into a boys' dormitory. When she was alive, she had been regarded as so dull and morose that the other girls had not considered her worthy of including in such an honourable act of mischief. This, of course, just sent her flying off crying into the girls' toilet. Well, she was doing it now, and for a far more honourable reason than an expected act of mischief.

Cautiously, gingerly, the ghostly dog padded silently between the seried rows of beds. As he silently padded his way forward, he found himself shaking all over. This may sound so strange and shameful for a ghost, but Sirius could not help it. Silently padding down between the rows of beds in the dead of a chilling, stormy night reminded him of that ghastly, nerve-wracking night in Azkaban, when he had padded down the rows of barred cells. Those shrieks, howls and whines outside reminded him of those rows. It had seemed that they themselves were wailing, screaming and clawing helplessly, not the wretches behind them. The curtains surrounding the beds were still, not floating and swirling around him as he had tried to dodge them...yet they were so deeply grey in the darkness they somehow reminded him of the Dementors' robes. And the atmosphere...so oppressive...so terrifying...the choking dread that at any minute now he might be caught...the only thing that kept him going was that burning image of the Rat searing in his mind.

Yes, the Rat...

And this time, something else. Ghostly arms were wrapping around him, hugging him in what was clearly intended to be comfort, but felt as if it didn't know quite where to start. Sensing her Grim was beginning to falter, Myrtle had glided silently up to his aid. Comforting someone was a new thing entirely for Myrtle and it was such an unreal, unwieldy experience for her.

Finding words of ease were alien to Moaning Myrtle as well. She didn't know where to start and she was mouthing like a guppy fish. It was such a relief when there seemed to be no need for such a thing. The dear Grim had stopped trembling and gave her a great big lick of appreciation. She almost spun backwards in giddy exhilaration. Her first attempt at comforting someone, and she had actually pulled it off!

Some moments later, the Grim felt steady enough to continue. Behind him, Myrtle hovered, still rather out of breath. Had he been human, he would have been struck down with deep shame for weakening like that, when he should have been keeping his mind on the Rat. Well, that won't happen any more. Resolutely, grimly, he prowled on between the rows of beds. He passed the bed where Harry lay sleeping, and forcibly swallowed down the unbearable urge to go up and nuzzle Harry. He shook again and whined slightly as he forced himself on past Harry's bed.

Next to Harry's bed, his ghostly snout suddenly pricked. His nose poked at the bed. Yes, he could start to smell him. The Rat was there - somewhere in that bed. He glided his way up and along the bed. The covers pressed down as his ghostly paws padded silently, the legs trembling, the jaws baring as if they were going to growl, and the nose pricking even more fiercely as the scent of the Rat blew so near...

Unfortunately, the chill that ghosts make was blowing so near for Ron as well. His sleeping body began to shiver and twitch, his arm flailed upward - and right through the Grim's ghostly face. The ferocious chill caught Ron's arm, burning it with pain that extreme cold does when it touches frail human skin.

"YEEAAGGHHH!"

Ron's shriek rebounded off the walls with all the eerie terror that the Grim's wailing did way down in Moaning Myrtle's. In seconds, Harry had fished his way out of Ron's bed while the dormitory erupted in to quizzing, annoyed and somewhat alarmed voices, groans, sounds of disoriented boys floundering to wake and shouts to call for the professors, the prefects...

Harry held onto Ron as he clutched his trembling, shaking arm. In minutes, Percy, Professor McGonagall and Dumbledore had burst into the room, staring quizzically at Ron's arm and wondering what on earth could have happened and how on earth it might be related to Sirius Black...

Ron was bundled off to Madam Pomfrey's while the professors tried to soothe an extremely frightened dormitory. But it must be said that even Dumbledore was not being very successful since he himself looked befuddled and unsure as to what was happening or whether they should set the whole castle searching for Sirius Black. It didn't fit the pattern for Sirius Black at all...on the other hand, it sounded so cruel and glib to put it down to one boy's nightmare. If only they had noticed it, they might have been intrigued by the heavy splashes all over the toilet floor. These had erupted when Sirius and Myrtle made their hasty getaway down the cistern...

In the morning, a deeply flushed Ron was disappearing down the table even more shamefully than when he had received that Howler. Madam Pomfrey had found nothing wrong with Ron's arm, only an odd flushing of the blood in the tissues. It was, however, enough for the whole school to laugh and jeer at poor Ron for waking up the whole dormitory with one of his nightmares. At the table, Ron was being pelted with hard stares and grumbles for waking everyone up and making them lose a good night's sleep. And poor Ron didn't know which was worse; the predictable jibes from Fred and George, or the self-righteous preaching from his pratty prefect brother....

It was at times like this when you really appreciate good friends to stand by you. Only Harry and Hermione believed Ron when he kept begging that he hadn't imagined it when he felt something biting cold on his bed, and it almost froze his arm off. And from the beginning, Harry had looked fiercely thoughtful.

"You know what this reminds me of? That Grim who woke me up in my bed and licked me in the ear!"

"You don't say that-that Grim was going to lick me in the ear?" Ron almost disappeared into the ground from whitening terror now. "And now I'm going to see the Grim in my tea leaves? Oh, won't that make Trelawney's day!"

There was none of that matter-of-fact nonsense about Grims from Hermione now. "Well, it can't be coincidence! But I don't believe that rubbish about Grims either! There's got to be a reasonable explanation!"

Ron's face coiled into sarcasm beneath his white façade. "Yeah, like Sirius Black turning into a Grim and scaring us to death! That'll make a change from blowing up Muggles!"

"RON!" Hermione looked utterly reproachful. Harry flashed an equally reproachful glance at her before he wrapped his arms around Ron who was beginning to look as if he might faint any second.

Hermione noticed it too and immediately relented. She fished into her overloaded bag and fished out her flask of pumpkin juice for poor Ron.

That night, the Grim bravely dared to return to the Gryffindor boys' cistern - but snarled in frustration as he found he could dare no further. There was no chance of getting near the Rat. That first night had shaken the boy so badly that he could not sleep properly. He either kept awake in terror or toss, turn and moan about that cold icy thing. So there was no chance to get near the Rat. He sank his head back into the toilet bowl, sending up bubbles of growling frustration and anxiety.

*~*~*

Later that week Lupin had his first lesson with Harry Potter. Well, at least that Boggart lesson cheered Lupin up immensely and took his mind off Sirius for a while. Free within the privacy of his own quarters, he could stop repressing sniggers at the memory of Snape in that dress...and oh, that vulture's hat! Lupin bent double over the table as he collapsed in uproarious laughter - something he had little opportunity to do, given his lifestyle.

Already the story was spreading. Even McGonagall's hatchet face cracked into smiles and soft titters. And Hagrid! He just about brought the roof crashing down as he exploded into monstrous, giant laughter. It was all kept tactfully out of Snape's hearing of course, but it could not be long before Snape heard the story.

Like all other Hogwarts gossip, the same story would circulate around the ghosts as well. When Moaning Myrtle heard it, even she could not resist bursting into malicious schoolgirl giggles. Then she whirled around wildly and dived down into her toilet to spread the news to Sirius. She knew so well how Sirius had hated Snivelly Snape. Sirius had been extremely down and almost maddened with frustration because he hadn't caught the Rat and couldn't get near him for that stupid, restless boy. It almost made her envious, watching the Grim sit on the toilet instead of her, looking so miserable and howling with enraged frustration at failing to catch the Rat and growing all the more anxious as to what it might do to Harry. Well, this might cheer him up...

Myrtle abruptly squeaked with glee. Cheer him up? Ooh, she really was starting to get the hang of comforting someone!

Anyone who dared to be near Moaning Myrtle's some time later would have fled in horror at the ghastly, malicious laughter that rolled and richoted off the walls of the bathroom. It sounded all the more horrible for the dreadful acoustics of the chamber, and for an odd, creaking quality that made it sound as if the person laughing had long since forgotten how to do so...

*~*~*

Meanwhile, back in the quarters for the Defence against the Dark Arts teacher, Lupin was sinking ever more despondently over his book on the Master Mirror. He ransacked every storeroom, filing cabinet, trophy room and every room he could think of, in the search for an old school item that belonged to Sirius. He had turned up absolutely nothing. Given the track record of Sirius Black at school, that could not possibly be - unless someone had beaten him to it...

Yes, that was it, Lupin thought all the more as he sank even further into his hands. The Ministry had confiscated every single school item that had once belonged to Sirius. It made sense. Kingsley Shacklebolt had informed them that they had picked Sirius' old apartment clean, and he now had every single photograph of Sirius plastered all over his office walls - well, three of them. The only places left where he might find something that belonged to Sirius were 12 Grimmauld Place and Sirius' cell in Azkaban - and there was no way he could obtain anything from either of those places. Grimmauld Place was unplottable. Even if he had the security clearance for Azkaban, there was no way he could get anything from Sirius' cell. Shacklebolt had told them that Ministry had declared Sirius' cell strictly off-limits. Nobody was allowed access and no other prisoner was to occupy it. Although that cell had been searched like nothing else ever had before, the Ministry was taking no chances that there was still some lingering charm within that might facilitate another escape.

Ruefully, Lupin gazed back at his Master Mirror. What next? He had already taken liberties in creating a Master Mirror. How could he confide in Dumbledore, and get him to pull strings to obtain an item that had belonged to Sirius? He should have thought of all this sooner, he now realised with sickening regret.

Somewhere from the recesses of Lupin's memory he recalled a Muggle expression of something called an "Edsel." As he understood it, "Edsel" was used to describe something that had seemed brilliant at first, but turned out to be a foolish mistake and an utter failure. He looked back at his Master Mirror. It had seemed something so brilliant to create at the time. Now "Edsel" sounded like the perfect word for it.