The Silent Specter of Hogwarts

Chapter Three: Sound Bytes and a Plea

“Let me die.”

Harry grinned at the moan coming through the bed drapes over Ron. “Got a few aches and pains?”

“Bugger off, Harry. I feel like I’ve been trampled by a herd of hippogriffs.”

“It can’t be that bad.”

The drapes were thrown open by the scowling redhead. Ron gingerly lifted his shirt and pointed at his stomach. “What does this look like to you?”

Harry blanched at the angry, purple and red bruise that stretched over his friend’s middle. “I think you need to go to the hospital ward.”

“I’d get laughed off the team before I got to play the first game.” Ron pushed himself up with a groan. “What a bloody nuisance! Sunday morning and I have to spend it walking about the library like a little old man.”

Harry had to bite his tongue at Ron’s apt description as he waited for his friend to finish dressing and head down to breakfast. Hermione tutted and fussed over Ron, to which he only half-heartedly protested, but still made them all go to the library. Madame Pince sent Ron and Harry incredulous looks, but said nothing as she pointed Hermione toward the stack of old ledgers and records.

It was boring, dusty work. Harry spent much of the third hour staring at the sunshine streaming through the window and kicking Ron under the table when he started snoring over one of the parchments. Hermione was immersed in old copies of The Daily Prophet, searching through old news reports for some clue. Harry watched her expression change from concentration to horror to amusement and back again for as long as he could stand it. Ron was peacefully snoozing on The Official Record of Magical Deaths 1985-1987. Harry had avoided the records where his parents were listed. He knew enough without wanting the cold report echoing in his head.

“Oh, dear,” Hermione closed the last bound copy of the newspaper archive with a bang.

Ron’s head snapped up at the sound. “Is it time for breakfast yet?”

Hermione grimaced at him. “No, but it is time for lunch.”

“Excellent,” Ron murmured. “All this sleeping makes me hungry.”

“Did you find anything?” Harry asked as they made they way down to the Great Hall.

“No,” Hermione sighed, “but not a lot of records were kept during the last years of You-Know-Who. Things were such a mess. The articles about that time…well, they’re…”

“I can imagine,” Harry replied, seeing an unexpected sheen in Hermione’s eyes.

“If she died during a Death Eater attack,” Hermione said, “she may just have gotten lost in the confusion.”

“That’s terrible,” Ron said. “That woman must have someone, somewhere who misses her. Imagine…to never know what happened to someone you love. It would drive me mad!”

The trio spent the rest of day in Hagrid’shut, watching him coddle a drooling, cold-ridden Fang. Hagriddidn’t have anything useful to add, saying that he didn’t think much of a ghost that didn’t even know she was a ghost.

“I supposed I could ask Sirius,” Harry said as they trudged back to the castle. “Seems a bit silly though.”

“It is a bit silly,” Hermione said. “Leave it be. Maybe she’s gone away.”

By midweek, Harry was ready to concede that Hermione was again correct. There had been no sign of the ghost, and even the most determined students found other ways to occupy their time than conducting séances. He had considered and discarded the idea of writing to Sirius several times and berated himself for being silly. That this mystery woman knew who he was made him vaguely uncomfortable, as if her condition was in some way caused by Harry himself. His mind told him it was ridiculous to feel responsible for someone he had never met. But his heart whispered that he had never met his parents, and they were dead too because they protected him.

The thought swirled around his head throughout dinner Wednesday night, making Hermione and Ron impatient with him. He waved them away and lingered over his cooling treacle tart until he was one of the only people left in the great hall.

Sighing, he pushed himself off the table, waving to Dobby who had come with the other house-elves to clear the mess students had left in the Great Hall. He ambled toward Gryffindor tower almost absently, nearly missing the soft voice that called his name in the dark hallway.

“Harry…”

He whirled around, his breath catching as he caught a glimpse of a ghostly figure standing several feet away from him. She still had that sad look in her eyes, but her hands were folded and pressed to her robes and through her he could see the rest of the darkened hallway. She waited for him to acknowledge her and smiled kindly, as if consciously trying not to scare him.

“You can talk,” Harry said.

“Yes, now I can,” She replied, still in that thin, threadbare voice. “But it taxes me to do so. I don’t have much time or energy. But I need your help.”

“Who are you?” Harry whispered.

“I don’t know.”

“You don’t know who you are, but you know my name?” Harry said doubtfully. “Do you know you’re a ghost?”

Her eyes closed as if in pain and then opened again to survey herself. “So it would seem. But it doesn’t seem right. I don’t remember dying.” She seemed to realize Harry had nothing to add after a moment’s pause. “I’m sorry I scared you last time. I had only just realized…”

“It’s all right,” Harry interrupted. “I wasn’t scared…just startled.” Yeah, that sounded better to his ears. “How do you know me?”

“It’s one of the only things I can remember. That you lived. That you survived. It was important to me.”

“What else do you remember?”

“Nothing. Blackness.I feel as if I have been searching for an opening for so long.”

The conversation was confusing Harry to no end. “I don’t know if I can help you.”

“You must!” She stepped closer to him and it took all of his courage to stand still. “Please. I need to know.”

“Perhaps one of the other ghosts,” Harry suggested. “I can go get Nearly Headless Nick.”

“No, please. Help me. Help me find my body. I can’t accept that I’m dead until I find my body.”

Harry gulped, shuddering at what her body would look like after a decade of burial. “I don’t know if I can do that.”

She nearly sobbed at his reply and the light around her flickered and faded. “Please,” she begged. “There’s something more that must be done. Someone who needs me. You’re the only one I know I can trust.”

“If you don’t know who you are, how am I supposed to find out?”

“Please, Harry, please,” she repeated, her essence fading rapidly. “Don’t let me down. I will visit again when I can.”

Her voice faded along with her image and Harry was soon alone in the hallway. He stood there for countless minutes, her last words echoing in his mind and weighing on his soul.

“Bugger all,” he muttered and sprinted toward Gryffindor tower before Filch or Peeves caught him out of bounds.