No Malicious Haunting 1/?
Summary: Sequel to Lost Boys. When Snape and David visit the Potters for the holidays, they find that the past is neither forgiven nor forgotten. FRT, genfic.
FEEDBACK: Oh yes. Concrit especially welcome.
DISCLAIMER: The characters are the property of J.K. Rowling, Scholastic Books, and whoever else may have a hold on them. I own nothing in the Potterverse, or anywhere else, for that matter. Strictly for entertainment, and noprofit is being made. Please sue somebody else.
A/N: Special thanks to research-girl and sahiya for beta work on this, many ages ago before we started to tackle In Loco Parentis together instead. I made some corrections they suggested at the time, but any good advice of theirs I did not follow is my own responsibility. I decided not to ask betina and whitehound for new input mostly because I really wanted to start posting this by Christmas as originally promised (the days have really gotten away from me, what with preparations and house hunting with my Beloved the past couple of days.) They get first shot at future installments, but if anyone else would like to offer beta help on this, let me know.
David woke to find a familiar dour presence hovering next to his bed. He raised his head and looked blankly at it for a moment, then the corner of his lip quirked upwards. "I've overslept again, haven't I?" he asked rhetorically, flopping back on his pillows.
"One might say that," the figure replied acerbically. "Have you forgotten what day it is, Mister Dursley?"
David grinned and raised himself up on his elbow. "The Hogwarts Express leaves right after breakfast, doesn't it?"
"I'm sure I have no idea. But breakfast ends in a half hour."
The ghost was affecting an air of indifference, but David knew him well enough by now to read the tension in his stance. His friend might be dead, but that did not stop him being very nervous. David smiled in a way he hoped was reassuring. "This will be a brilliant holiday, Professor. You'll see."
The ghost was examining the clutter piled on the trunk at the foot of David's bed with a disapproving frown. "Assuming you manage to be packed and ready to go in time," he replied pointedly.
David rose and headed for the shower. Returning, he found the ghost floating a few inches above his bed, leaning back against its headboard, flipping idly through a Quidditch magazine Uncle Ron had given him while he'd been ill. The ghost paused in the act of turning a page to look a little embarrassed. "You really have nothing worthwhile to read in here, do you know that?"
They were alone in the room. David's dorm mates had already headed down to breakfast. They had been letting him sleep late, these past couple of weeks, having been instructed to do so by Professor Wattlebain as well as Madam Weasley. It was a little humiliating, but he really did need more sleep these days, and he was grateful for it. He pulled a t shirt over his head and asked, "Are you sure you're going to be okay on the train meeting my friends?"
The ghostly Potion Master's expression was dubious, but he replied, "I am sure I shall be fine. And I must admit a certain curiosity about the spawn your idiot uncle has produced. Not to mention my godson Draco."
David grimaced. "I've never understood Al's fondness for that conceited little git," he admitted. "But nobody can deny that Scorpius sticks by his friends. And it's fun to watch him needle James." He finished dressing, then packed his possessions with a flick of his wand, just like Rose had showed him. The interior of his trunk was a mess, unlike her neatly ordered one when she'd shown him, but David didn't care. Turning back to the ghost he said, "You want to come down with me?"
The ghost sniffed. "Not in the least. One of the many perks of being dead is no longer being forced to endure the clamor of the Great Hall on the last morning before end of term."
"All right. I'll meet you on the platform, then."
The ghost inclined his head and disappeared, and David bounded out the door and down to the Great Hall, hoping someone would have saved him at least a bit of toast.
Snape chose to rematerialize just inside the front doors of the castle. He took care to remain invisible, listening to the laughter and chatter of students passing in and out, making final preparations to leave school for the holidays. He could have easily passed right through the heavy oaken doors, but he chose instead to nip through with a particularly dull-looking boy wearing the colors of his own house, and he smiled briefly at the confused shudder he caused. Then he turned his eyes to the grounds, covered as they were in a blanket of deep snow.
It was so bright. Everything was. Overwhelming. After so long in the dark, surrounded by deep walls of stone, the wide blue sky would have snatched his breath from his lips, had he still been a living man. As it was it took all his courage to step forward into the open space, to fall into step with the students trudging down to Hogsmeade Station, or to the waiting carriages. He listened to the crunch of snow under the children's boots, remembering a little wistfully how much he had always liked the sound, and leaving his prints in new fallen snow. He supposed he could do it now, though it wouldn't be quite the same. And he did not wish to call attention to his presence thus. Not to mention that it was taking almost all his energy not to bolt back to the comparative warmth and safety of his dungeon.
But he had promised David he would accompany him home, and to the Potters' home for Christmas day. He wondered how much he would find had changed since his death. Minerva must be... he did some quick arithmetic. At least a hundred, he guessed. Not terribly old by wizarding standards, but he knew she had never really recovered from the multiple curses Umbridge and her inquisitors had struck her with. It had been so difficult, that last year as headmaster, not to coddle the woman openly, to force her to slow down a bit without her catching on. In the end, he had managed it, but only by the expedient of giving most of her work to Amycus Carrow, saying he no longer trusted her to do it properly. He felt a little sorry now, but he reminded himself that he had been the one who had had to endure reading Carrow's barely literate drivel. Still, he could not shake feelings of apprehension at the thought of seeing her again after all this time.
He slowed his pace to allow a knot of student to pass him, hoping for a little quiet in their wake. Instead he heard a familiar voice in his ear. "Sunlight suits you, Professor." It was Rose Weasley.
They were alone, though he could hear voices just past the bend in the road ahead of them. "And you, Miss Weasley," he responded, hoping he did not look as uncomfortable as he felt.
Her next words told him that he did. "It'll be all right, Professor. Are you sure you want to meet everyone on the train? You could put that off a bit, just watch them, until you get comfortable. They're all prats, really. Well, all but Lily."
The ghost gave a sour smile. "Of that I have little doubt, Miss Weasley," he replied. "But I may as well get introductions over with. I am somewhat out of practice in the social niceties."
"You're fine. Better than some with no reasonable excuse," she added darkly, as a group of laughing first years chased each other past them, hurling snowballs back and forth as they went. One snowball sailed directly through Snape's right shoulder. It was an interesting sensation.
"You live near the Potters, I understand?" he asked, pulling his mind back automatically to his years as a spy, when idle conversations gave him power and forewarning. Just now, he felt very much a desire to know the lay of this land.
"Oh yes. Grandma and Grandpa still live in the Burrow where Dad grew up. Uncle Harry built a house just past the gardens, and Mum and Dad built theirs on the other side of the village, near Stoatshead Hill."
Snape nodded, trying to form a picture of the map in his mind.
"And if things get too crazy at Uncle Harry's, you are always welcome to come to our house. I expect our selection of reading materials alone will be more appealing."
Snape chuckled, remembering Madam Weasley nee Granger's childhood love of books. "Your mum was probably the most intelligent child I ever taught. Though if you tell her that, I will deny it to your face."
Rose smiled. "I won't breathe a word," she said, raising her hand solemnly in pledge. They had reached the station. "You ready for this?" she asked softly.
Snape looked dubious. "We shall see."