Hogwarts Ghosts

Hogwarts Ghosts
Part I

The Bloody Baron was in a mood. Of course, as he never spoke, one would think this wouldn't be too troublesome, but the Slytherin House ghost was quite an intimidating figure nonetheless, what with the bloodstains covering him from head to...tail. Especially to the blubbering homesick first-years, who made sure never to get caught in dark corners with the brooding "His Bloodiness", who had a nasty habit of looming closer and closer, backing his quivering victim into the wall and floating right into them, chilling the very bones. Honestly, the Slytherin first-years had an advantage over the others, as their house ghost let them alone. It was no wonder they had a higher confidence level than students of other houses for the rest of their Hogwarts days (some might call it arrogance, but really, that's much too harsh a word).

Today he was in a dark cloud, and it wasn't because of Peeves, for once. No, the Baron had detected a foreign ghostly presence in the castle, and it was decidedly unwelcome, thank you very much. It was right and proper that there should be four House ghosts, after all, and as for Moaning Myrtle, well, the poor chit was deranged as everyone knew, and she never left the first-floor girls' bathroom in any case.

He slipped through the darkened halls of Hogwarts, pearly white nimbus creating a soft glow on the walls and floor, relieved that it was after curfew and he wouldn't have to scare any eleven-year-olds for the sake of appearances (the Baron was quite sympathetic to Professor Snape in that regard. If he could speak, he would probably refer to the little buggers as 'dunderheads' as well). He was off to find the Grey Lady. The Ravenclaw ghost was easily the most intelligent being in the castle, and she could always tell what the Baron was thinking; she seemed to have a strange affinity to his thoughts. The Baron himself had a soft spot for the Grey Lady, but the taciturn ghost would not admit that even to himself.

He found her haunting the library, as usual, perusing the stacks at the back of the Restricted section. He came upon her reading Nifflers and Nogtails: How to Boost Your Pranks' Popularity with Common Magical Creatures by her own luminous glow. She looked up when his own light fell across the pages, and said serenely at his raised eyebrow, "Purely an intellectual exercise, Baron." He smiled at that, which was a rather unpleasant sight, as his features did not lend themselves to mirth--again, much like those of Slytherin's illustrious Head of House.

He turned in a slow circle then and looked at the Lady with an expectant expression. She smiled gently, which rather suited her face. "Ah yes, there is a new presence in our halls. I have felt it too. In fact, our friend Sir Nicholas tells me it has made itself a home in Gryffindor tower. Shall we go and consult with him?" She led the Baron out of the Restricted Section, carefully shelving Nifflers and Nogtails in its proper place before looking at the Baron for assent. He followed her readily, and the two drifted through the library doors, glowing whitely for a moment until they disappeared from sight.

.

Harry Potter was in the Department of Mysteries again.

He stood on wooden steps with Neville Longbottom, which extended above and below him in concentric circles. They stared, dumbfounded, at each other as the smoke from the prophecy shimmered and dissipated, the figure of a younger Sybil Trelawney fading.

And then Sirius was taunting Bellatrix Lestrange, and she cursed him with a bright flash of her wand, cackling her eerie laugh as Sirius fell slowly through the air in a terrible and beautiful pirouette, disappearing through the fluttering grey curtain of the Veil, and suddenly he was gone, gone, never to return, and Harry was burning, aching with the horrible pain of it...

A ghostly white figure stood at the bedside of the thrashing black-haired boy, who was muttering unintelligibly in his sleep, tears leaking out of his closed eyes. The figure reached out with a glowing hand and brushed Harry's sweaty fringe back from his forehead, causing the boy to shiver at the sudden cold on his brow. He stilled, his screwed-up features relaxing from anguish to their usual sadness.

The pain faded with a dull twinge as the scene shifted colour and form, changing to a green field with impossibly blue skies, and he was flying on his broom, laughing and being chased by someone. He looked over his shoulder to see if his pursuer was gaining any distance, and grinned at the intent glint in his godfather's bright grey eyes, sitting astride his own broom with practiced ease. The colours of the scene were unnaturally vivid, the sun shining brightly but not blazing down on the flyers. The breeze rushed past them, carrying a scent of home and family; they were landing now in front of a familiar cottage, and everything was as it should be...and this was Harry's life. This was right.

"Harry," came an urgent whisper, along with a cold prod in his shoulder. "Harry, wake up." Harry moaned, unwilling to let go of his rare moment of happiness. The spectre at his side shook his head impatiently, hair flying up into a blur, and grabbed Harry's wrist. The sleeping boy gasped and stiffened, his eyes snapping open in fright. Half-blind without his glasses, he saw a white blur bending over him, glowing eerily in the dark.

"AHHH! Get away from me!" Harry sat up and scooted back on his bed, away from the white figure, who was leaning closer and closer, murmuring insidious dark words that sounded suspiciously like...his name? He scrabbled for his glasses on the bedside table and pushed them onto his nose, bringing the blurry head leaning into his face into focus.

He screamed.

The figure jerked back in surprise, as the other four boys in the darkened dormitory woke with mumbled protestations. "Harry? Have a nightmare?" Ron poked his head out of his bed hangings, concern in his bleary eyes. Seeing the ghost standing in front of his cowering best friend, he leapt out of bed with a strangled yelp. "Harry!" The other boys crawled out of bed and congregated with Ron at the foot of Harry's bed staring in shock at the ghost now kneeling on the bed, reaching out to the Boy-Who-Lived, the ghost of a man they recognized.

The boy in question had now calmed slightly and now was gazing wide-eyed at the face of his godfather, lips parted on surprise and tears on his spiky lashes. "Sirius?" he gasped out in disbelief.

The ghost grinned. "The one and only. Apparently that Veil is not a complete path to the next world, sort of traps one between that world and this. So," he grinned at his godson, "I'm haunting you for the rest of your natural life. How's that sound?"

Harry shook his head, speechless with wonder. After losing Sirius in the Department of Mysteries some three months earlier, having initially refused to believe he was dead, he had finally reconciled himself to grieving for the only father he had ever known. And now...and now.

He threw himself bodily at Sirius' ghost, wrapping his arms tightly around him. He was shocked by the sensation of freezing cold that penetrated him as he fell through Sirius onto the bed. The ghostly man smiled sadly. "Unfortunately I haven't a real physical presence. But--"

A sudden thought struck Harry. "We can spend all our time together!" he blurted. "Out in the open, wherever I go! This is brilliant! We didn't even get to spend that much time together before!"

Sirius laughed. "Glad to hear my death has been so beneficial." At Harry's stricken look, he shook his head with a wolfish grin. "Joke, Harry. I'm over it, and so should you be, after all I am back now..."

The other boys made their presences known, and Dean and Seamus, who had previously known of Sirius Black only from the wanted posters, were thrilled at his tale, which seemed a romantic adventure full of dangerous risks and tragic betrayals. They talked long into the night, until Harry fell into an exhausted sleep, free of nightmares for the first time in years, his godfather watching over him as her had promised the Potters he would sixteen years ago.

In the spiral staircase of Gryffindor Tower, four ghosts floated on the landing outside the sixth-year boys' dorm, peeking in through a cracked-open door. Nearly-Headless Nick grinning widely, the Bloody Baron with thinly veiled contempt (he is a Slytherin after all), the Grey Lady with a suspiciously misty look in her scholar's eyes and hovering behind them all, the Fat Friar, joyfully beaming at the spirited reunion.

Moaning Myrtle was left out of the fun, yet again.

And if you think Padfoot, formerly of the infamous Marauders, stopped playing pranks just because you was dead, you really ought to reconsider. All I can say is that he found Nifflers and Nogtails quite useful, and not at all "purely as an intellectual exercise".