Author's note (please read, it's quick!): So this story has been on my computer now for quite some time. It's not entirely finished, but I do have around 50 pages written. I'm only home for a short while, and the computer it's saved on is here, so I'll probably be updating about a chapter a day. I hope to completely finish and publish this story by the time I go back to college. While reading, please keep in mind that this is fanfiction. It won't adhere strictly to the events that occur in the books, and I'll be fudging the timeline a bit, as well.
In this story, Harry and his friends are seventh years, and the war is over. All the people who died will still be dead, unless I declare them somehow still alive at a later date.
Anyways, I hope you enjoy. Please review! I haven't posted anything in a long while, so it would be nice to get some feedback :)
Oh, and also, I obviously don't own Harry Potter. Don't sue me.
"The tender words forgotten, the letter you did not write, the flower you might have sent, dear, are your haunting ghosts tonight." –Margaret Elizabeth Sangster
By his seventh year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Harry Potter figured that he knew the Gryffindor common rooms better than he knew his small room at 4 Privet Drive. He knew how many stairs in the winding stone staircase there were leading up to the boys' dormitory. He could close his eyes after climbing into the portrait of the Fat Lady, and make it to the red cushioned couch in the middle of the lounge without tripping over Neville, who was usually crawling on the ground, looking for his toad, Trevor, or walking a few steps in the wrong direction, and falling into the glowing red fireplace. God knows how many times he had stumbled into his dorm, bleary-eyed, already half-asleep, and successfully pulled back the curtain to the correct bed before falling into the cot, and out of consciousness.
The boy lounging on his bed, however, he was not familiar with.
Harry had been feeling rather victorious about having successfully avoided another dreary Potions lesson, being taught by his least favorite professor, Professor Barron, Snape's replacement. He walked with his closest friends, Hermione Granger and Ron Weasley, halfway there, before faking a sudden illness and rushing back to their common rooms. Nobody, he figured, should ever be forced to wake up at such an ungodly hour of the morning. Skipping Barron's class to get a few hours more of sleep seemed like the logical thing to do. The brunet walked cheerfully up the stone steps, preparing himself for a glorious nap. When he opened the door however, the simple pleasantry was pushed to the back of his mind.
The boy looked so at home. He was stretched out on the bed, his arms crossed behind his head. His skin was pale and his hair was an unattainable white-blond, making him look almost unhealthy. His eyes were closed, he was frowning almost imperceptibly, and seemed impossibly still, but Harry got the feeling he was awake.
He stuck his hand into his cloak pocket and curled his fingers tightly around his wand. He cleared his throat, drawing the attention of the other boy. Harry was right – he had been awake. His eyes were a pale blue-grey, and despite his sickly pallor, the boy's eyes were wide and alert. He took in Harry's rigid figure, and smirked.
"Hello," the boy said, politely.
Harry's hand remained wrapped tightly around his wand as he took a step closer to the stranger. "Who are you?" he demanded.
A muscle in the boy's jaw twitched, and his playful smirk turned into something of a grimace. "I knew you wouldn't remember," he muttered.
"What are you talking about? Remember what?" Harry struggled to suppress the growing panic he felt. He had been in situations far worse than this one, after all.
The boy sat up in his bed, swinging his legs over the side, and pinched the bridge of his nose. After a moment of silence, he opened his eyes and stared at Harry. "Nothing. It's nothing."
"Who are you?" Harry asked once more, pulling the wand slowly, menacingly out of his pocket.
Pushing himself off the bed, the blond gave no sign of having noticed, or having cared about, Harry's threatening gesture. He looked around the circular room, taking in his surroundings slowly. "You know," he started, his voice smooth as silk, "I always wondered what the Gryffindor common rooms looked like. I was never too interested, but it was a passing curiosity, like how I wonder what keeps the fires in this castle burning at all times, or what kinds of charms enchant the ceiling of the Great Hall." He thought for a moment and then added. "Appears I wasn't missing out on very much." The boy had a slow, drawling voice, making it sound as though he was rather bored with their conversation.
Harry blinked at the intruder, confused, and trying to ignore the obvious slights against his home. "So you go to school here?"
The boy tilted his head and leaned against the wall opposite of Harry. "You could say that."
"Obviously not a Gryffindor, though."
He scoffed. "Of course not."
Harry rolled his eyes. "A Slytherin, I bet."
Nodding proudly, the boy confirmed his suspicions. "Through and through."
"Well, what are you doing here?" Harry asked, putting his wand back into his pocket. Whatever the kid wanted, Harry now doubted that he wanted to do any real damage. He seemed far too relaxed for that, and his wand was nowhere in sight.
The boy stood and walked towards him. "As appalled as I am to be here, doing this, I must ask you a favor."
Harry was vaguely aware of the door opening and closing behind him. "What do you need?"
"Ah, sorry, Harry!" Harry's attention was ripped away from the stranger as Neville Longbottom answered him. "I forgot my Potions textbook, and Barron will have my head if I'm not back soon." He scurried to the trunk beside his bed and started rummaging through it for his book.
Harry shook his head, "No, sorry, Neville, I wasn't talking to you. I was talking to-"
"I wouldn't tell him if I was you," the blond interrupted. His cool demeanor had been replaced by an amused smirk that confused and irritated Harry.
The brunet furrowed his brow and continued, "- that bloke, over there."
Neville looked up, confused, to where Harry was staring. The blond boy's grin grew wider as Neville turned to Harry. "What bloke?"
Harry, confused, began to point him out once more, but stopped. The boy was shaking his head slowly, never taking his eyes off of Harry. 'Don't do it,' he mouthed.
"Uh, n-never mind," Harry stuttered, understanding all at once. Neville couldn't see the boy… Could he?
Neville eyed him warily before nodding. "Alright then, mate. I'd better get back to Potions. See you later." He nodded and left. Harry watched him go, and waited until the heavy wooden door closed behind him to turn back to the intruder.
"Why couldn't he see you?" Harry demanded impatiently.
The boy continued to grin mischievously at him, not bothering to mask his pleasure at Harry's confusion. "You really don't know, Potter? Well, I suppose I shouldn't be surprised. You always have missed the things that are most painfully obvious."
"What is so painfully obvious?" Harry yelled, letting his frustration get the better of him.
After allowing for a few moments of tense silence, the blond answered simply, "I'm dead."
"No, you're not."
The blond blinked, taking in the swift response. "I'm not?"
"No," Harry asserted. "Nearly Headless Nick is dead. The Bloody Baron is dead. You are not dead. You breathe. You're standing on the ground, leaning against a wall. Everyone can see the ghosts, but Neville couldn't see you. Tell me why."
Raising his eyebrows, the blond answered, "I was so unaware of how oblivious you are to the dead." He continued, cutting Harry off before he had the chance to respond. "Not all ghosts are like those buffoons that fly aimlessly about this castle. Me? I like to be more subtle about my… talents. For example, I could put my hand through the wall right now, but why should I?" To prove his point, he shook his hand in front of his face, and in the next moment, it was gone. Harry had hardly blinked, but in the moment, the blond had taken his entire forearm, and put it seemingly inside the wall.
"I could float about," he said, bringing his arm inside, and levitating a foot off the ground, "but that seems unnecessary, when I am still perfectly capable of walking." He planted his feet firmly on the ground.
"And as for that bloody idiot not being able to see me, it's a bit harder to explain." Harry noticed that though the stranger sighed, as if burdened by having to elaborate on such a simple topic, his eyes lit up. He was probably just excited to be showing off knowledge that Harry did not possess. Harry had only known the boy for several minutes, so he couldn't say for certain, but he was fairly sure that the blond was the type to think himself above everyone around him. More than a few Slytherins were like that, anyway, so it wouldn't be a completely unreasonable accusation. "Though those idiots swoop around the Great Hall, completely indifferent as to who might see them, I'm a bit more cautious. We all have the ability to reveal ourselves to whom we please, but they just don't see the benefit in hiding themselves from anyone." He sighed, and shook his head, as if even the thought of it greatly offended him.
Harry chewed his lip, trying to process the large amount of information that had just been thrown at him. "So… you're really dead?"
The blond threw his hands up exasperatedly. Of all the questions to ask… "Yes, Potter, I'm dead. Do you think you can get that through your thick skull, or will I have to put my arm through another wall for you to understand?"
Harry glared. "Why do you know who I am? Who are you?"
"Who in this great wizarding world doesn't know Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived?" he asked, his cold tone and bored expression returning.
The brunet saw red, stepping towards the boy angrily, but the other held up his hands. "In all honesty, I mean you no harm, Potter. I need you to complete a task for me."
"And why should I?" Harry asked skeptically.
"Because you're the only one who can," he mumbled. He fixed the collar of his plain black button up shirt, and stepped forward, hand outstretched. "My name is Draco Malfoy. I was murdered last year in this castle. And I need you to find out who killed me."
Harry stared at the hand being offered to him as if it was poisonous. "This can't be happening to me."
Draco snorted. "Yeah, poor Potter. The dead bloke has the nerve to ask you to find out who brutally murdered him. You really got the short end of the stick." He drew back his hand, crossing his arms over his chest.
Harry glared. "That's not what I meant."
"Then, by all means, enlighten me. What did you mean?"
"I just meant…" Harry hesitated, realizing that Draco had basically summed up exactly what he had meant. "I mean, this just can't be real! I'm a seventh year. I would know if someone had been murdered here last year, wouldn't I?"
The blond ran a hand through his hair. "Not necessarily."
"What do you mean?"
"Don't you think I would tell you if I could?" Draco snapped, his façade dropping for a few seconds before he was able to recompose himself. "I would love to tell you everything that happened, and then just be off on my merry way to Heaven or Hell or Purgatory or... whatever the bloody hell comes after this." He slowed down and drew in a deep, calming breath. "Unfinished business is more complicated than it seems. I am physically incapable of just giving you all the answers." He stared down at his hands, curling his fingers into his palms to form fists, and dropping them to his sides, never raising his gaze. "Somehow I just… I just know what needs to be done." He paused for a moment before glancing back up at the brunet. "And I know it needs to be you that does it."
Harry shook his head slowly. "So… what happens if I can't figure out who killed you?"
Draco glanced upwards thoughtfully. "Well, then I guess I'll be sticking around for a long, long while. Watching your every move, even when you're not aware of my presence. Slamming doors shut at random. Breaking your prized possessions. Haunting you, so to speak." The smug boy smirked at Harry and tilted his head. "We'll make quite the pair, won't we, Potter?"
Gulping, the brunet replied hastily, "I'll help you. But if I ever, ever find you watching me in the shower, you're finished."
Draco grinned. "I already am."