Ghost
by LondonWitch
A/N: I took a good look at all of my stories and realized they needed updates – more description, more plot, and more character quirks. :) This is the story you remember…with some changes to make it even better. Oh, I own nothing except the plot.
Ghost stories never fazed me.
Before I came to Hogwarts, I was one-hundred percent pure muggle. I didn't believe in the slightest thing that was anywhere out of my ordinary. Sure, I liked to read about Greek mythology, or fantasy stories in which good always conquered over evil – but I didn't believe in any of it.
At sleepovers with my primary school friends, they'd scare themselves silly over tales of murders and ghosts while I calmly read a book in the corner. They'd jump at the slightest sigh or creek of the stair – almost wetting themselves – and I'd just roll my eyes. If a tree branch swung up against the windowpane, they would shriek that the one-armed bandit was coming to get them – and I would just sigh and return to my story.
I'd always known that the world is not a place where fairy-tale creatures could exist. Unicorns and dragons? Fairies and ghosts? And for the longest time, I considered those who were scared by ghosts extremely immature. But not anymore.
This is my ghost story. I can't promise anything – because I really don't know how to explain. Well, I can tell you the plot – but you had to be there to jump and scream like I did, smile and laugh like I did. It could be called a mystery, a romance, a comedy, or even a horror story.
Because, truly…my story is a bit of everything.
Tap, tap, tap. I didn't look up from my Transfiguration book, even hearing the light tapping sounds. It was probably one of my parents, down in the kitchen for a late-night snack. My dad had taken a liking to those little cracker-and-cheese packs, lately. Curling a loose strand of frizzy brown hair around my fingertip, I continued to read on about the transformations of phoenixes into party poppers.
I was at home for the Christmas holiday over break in our 6th Year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. I'd been home for about three days and was going to leave in four days to see Ron and Harry at the Burrow. Both were staying there; as was the entire Weasley clan, and I was immensely looking forward to seeing them again. Especially the tall one with those baby-blue eyes and…no! I couldn't let myself think of him – that - at the moment. Because right now, I was studying my Transfiguration book in hopes of bringing my 109.8 percent average up to a solid 110.
Tap, tap, tap. My head snapped up this time. That couldn't be my mom or my dad – it was distinct, so it was most likely coming from somewhere in my room. I glanced about, and my eyes quickly took in everything around me. Bookcase – check, dresser – check, desk – check. I stood up, carefully marked my page and walked over to my curtained window.
Tap, tap, tap. There it was again. I tugged on the rusted locks for a moment and threw open the window. Taking a breath and hoping it was nothing more than Pigwidgeon or Hedwig, I leaned over the sill and stuck my head out, looking all around me. Nothing. The bitter cold bit at my nose and I quickly checked to see if there was any wind – there wasn't.
Tap, tap, tap. What was that? I slammed the window shut, and then silently chided myself under my breath for possibly waking my parents. Cautiously, I walked back over to my bed and was about to sit down when I heard it again. Tap, tap, tap. Shaking, now, and hoping that a mass murderer or a raving lunatic wasn't in my bedroom, I pulled my wand from my back pocket and held it out. Slowly I edged towards my desk, where my brand-new computer and a few other schoolbooks sat.
Everything seemed fine at first, until some headlights from a lone passing car shone through the window and threw a sharp light onto my keyboard.
The keyboard.
The keys were moving by themselves, slowly typing out words. The hard-drive was on, but I'd turned the monitor off. And I'd left a blank Word document on the screen.
Whatever was being typed would be on the document.
Oh, crud.
The computer had been an early Christmas present from my parents, and I sincerely hopedit wasn't jinxed. And I hadn't thought anything of it, but my trembling finger was moving of its own accord towards the POWER button on the monitor. No, no, I thought to myself. Tap, tap, tap, the keyboard continued.
Click.
I pressed the button. I. Pressed. The. Button. I was ready to Avada-Kedavra myself just for doing that. What was I thinking? Maybe it wasn't too late…maybe I could turn around and throw myself on my bed, pretend it was all a nightmare.
But it was too late, no turning back now. For on the screen read the following words: I know you can't see me bu…
The keys continued to type themselves out: …but I can se…
Se? Se? Se what? …see you.
"I know you can't see me but I can see you."
And then the enter button pressed down twice. Tap, tap. And two more words came:
"Goodnight, Hermione."
I've never been more scared in my life. Well, not including the following evening, when something just as – er – peculiar – happened.
After I'd seen what was being typed, and the keys had stopped, I quickly clicked the POWER button again and threw myself onto my bed, breathing heavily. What was going on? A few tears leaking out of my eyes and now hoping that it was all a terrible dream, I fell fast asleep, my cheek against the spine of my Transfiguration book.
When I'd awoken the next morning, I'd shaken my head, trying to relieve myself of a terrible headache. As I did so, my glance fell onto my computer. Slowly I got up and walked over to the computer.
The hard drive was off. I hadn't turned it off – only the monitor. I pressed the button to turn on the monitor and jiggled the mouse to relieve the computer from stand-by.
There was the Word document…with no words typed on it. None at all. I clicked buttons and highlighted the empty space, but nothing came up. It was like nothing had happened the night before. Sighing, I quickly got dressed and practically ran down the stairs to the safety of the breakfast table.
Later that evening, after spending a quiet day playing Scrabble with my Dad and knitting with my Mum, I retreated back upstairs to take a shower and get ready for bed. First, I checked my room for any suspicious activity - nothing out of the ordinary. Crookshanks was asleep on my bed, purring contentedly as he yawned and stretched. Smiling at him, I grabbed my pajamas from where I'd left them on my desk chair and headed for the bathroom across the hall.
I showered, dressed, and was about to brush my teeth when I had a funny feeling in the pit of my stomach. Hoping I was imagining things, I took a deep breath, set my toothbrush on the counter and opened the bathroom door leading into the hallway.
What I saw was unreal.
The house wasn't my house – well, I guess it was – but everything had been changed. My room was no longer across from the bedroom. As I carefully walked down the hallway, I noticed that there were lots and lots of locked doors instead of the usual doors leading to the guest room and my parents' room. When I reached the stairwell, I walked down the steps, biting my tongue harder with each step I took.
All of a sudden a loud BANG! came and a blast of wind and light threw me backwards. After checking to make sure I wasn't hurt, I stood tentatively, wincing and rubbing my backside. Then I continued down the stairwell into the kitchen, which wasn't where mine usually was.
Anyway, I stumbled over to the large oak table (also not mine, this was getting creepier by the minute). I sat and glanced around hopelessly. Rubbing my eyes, I folded my arms on the table and put my head down – this was really getting to me. I promptly fell asleep, but woke about a half an hour later to my mum's gentle nudges.
"Hermione, honey, are you alright? You look as if you've seen a ghost!"
The house was back to normal. I was at my kitchen table, not the oak one I'd been at earlier. Maybe the past two days had been a very bad dream.
"Honey, we heard you creeping around down here. And we just got a call from Aunt Becky – she's gone into labor and she'd really like to see your father and myself. I know you came home for Christmas, but would you mind terribly going over to the Weasley's a few days early?"
Phew. That sounded fabulous, actually – maybe I could get away from these recurring, awful dreams. I nodded weakly and my mom smiled and said something about taking the next flight out of London for New York, where Aunt Becky lived.
I gave my parents quick hugs as they stepped out the door, suitcases in hand. They walked to the car through the slushy snow and waved goodbye to me. As I shut the door and locked it, I felt very relieved.
Before my parents had left at noon, I'd owled Ron to see if the Weasleys would mind having me over a few days earlier than expected. He'd sent Pig back rather fast with a short but sweet reply:
Hi 'Mione!
Mum is absolutely thrilled that you're coming three days earlier than planned. Well, we can't use the Floo network and neither of us can apparate, so I'll be coming by to pick you up at about four, I guess. Harry and Ginny aren't coming – they seem to be a bit – er – preoccupied with one another. More about that later, though. Okay, can't wait to see you, bye!
Love, Ron
Aw. He said love. Anyway, I spent the next three and a half hours gathering up all of my things from around the house – it took longer than I thought it would, especially with me jumping at the slightest noises and looking over my shoulder every two minutes.
That's when I remembered those sleepovers we used to have – and stubbornly I pulled out a book and went downstairs to wait for Ron. But I couldn't concentrate…I was remembering what my mother had said. "You look as if you've seen a ghost!" Was I just imagining things, or was there really a…spirit?...following me around? I had read all about ghosts, plus there's all of the ones at Hogwarts; so it didn't seem likely.
At about 4:06 the doorbell rang. I laughed to myself; I was a bit surprised that Ron knew how to use one. Pulling open the door, I saw that Ron was dressed in black jeans and some very heavy sweatshirts and coats. He had what looked like a hat and earmuffs on. I laughed again, it felt great to laugh. "Yeesh, I didn't think it was that cold out."
"Well, I walked from the bus stop, if you must know," he said defensively, giving me a quick hug. I smiled at him and then saw that it had started to snow heavily outside. "I hope it doesn't turn into a blizzard, if I have to be stuck in that house watching Harry and Ginny flirt one more time, I think I'll go mad and murder Harry," he added.
I punched Ron's shoulder playfully and we walked into the living room. "Are they really that bad? You said so yourself that Ginny should find someone better than Michael or Dean!" Giggling as he nodded fervently, I motioned to my trunk and everything I pretty much owned, which was sitting on the floor. "Here's my stuff and I – oh, shoot!"
"What is it?"
"Crookshanks! I couldn't find him this morning and figured he was probably in the dishwasher again or something – muggle thing, Ron," I added at Ron's puzzled expression, and continued, "And I figured I'd search for him later, but I forgot!"
"Well, let's find him, then."
We set about trying to find Crookshanks. We looked everywhere, too – kitchen, all of the bedrooms and bathrooms, living room, dining room, my Dad's study – everywhere. Just as I had the idea to run out to the garage, Ron pulled back the living-room curtains to reveal snow that was at least five or six feet high.
I gasped. "We're stuck here!"
"Yeah, unless you want me to carry you above my head on the way to the bus stop," Ron said lightly, and then added, "But I doubt the bus would even be running – it had a hard time getting through the slush as it is."
Sighing, I sat down on the couch and looked up at Ron. "What are we going to do, Ron? We don't have any way to contact your parents, or Harry or Ginny, or mine…and we'll just – freeze! No, no, there's a heater and –"
Ron cut my dramatic ramblings off with a chuckle. "Hermione, how about your felly-tone thing? Your parents must have some kind of – what do you call it? – molecular, atomic…"
"Cell phone!" I cried with joy, jumping off of the couch and making a beeline for the kitchen telephone. Ron hurried after me, still trailing snow throughout the entire house. I motioned for him to take off his boots as I picked the phone up off of its cradle.
Frantically I began to dial my Mum's cell phone, but when I reached the sixth digit, I paused for a moment. There was no noise, had been no dial tone. Hand shaking, I hung up the phone and then tried again.
Nothing.
"Oh, Ron, the phone is disconnected! Now what are we going to do? Your parents will be frantic, and so will mine, if they don't know where I am…they think I'm at your house!"
Ron sighed, and plopped down into one of the kitchen chairs. He ran a hand through his hair, which still sported a few small snowflakes stuck between the strands of flaming red. Sighing again, he glanced at the wristwatch Harry had gotten him for his last birthday. "5:30 already!"
"I guess we're camping out here 'til the storm is over. You can sleep in the guest room for tonight, and I'll just make something to eat and then check the heater…" I said, running a hand through my own bushy, frizzy, mocha-brown locks. I started over to the refrigerator and yanked open the door to see what we had as provisions went.
"I'll check the heater," my red-headed best friend volunteered. I smiled at him and he embarked on the long and perilous journey that was finding the heater. "Oh, where is it?" he added as he turned a bit to look at me, grinning. That grin sent my heart into a little flutter, but I ignored it, sighing to myself.
"No idea," I replied. He left the kitchen and I got out the fixings for PB&J sandwiches.
Later that evening, after we'd finished our sandwiches, played two rousing games of chess, and found the heater, Ron asked me what I'd been up to for the first few days of the break.
We were sitting in my Dad's study, which was, remarkably, the only room in the house with a fireplace. I'd pulled up two of the leather armchairs that Dad kept in the room closer to the fire. Crookshanks had finally emerged from his hiding place in the garage, and was curled up on top of Dad's desk. Silently I cursed the cat for hiding and making it so I had to stay in this haunted house for another night.
I was a little taken aback by Ron's question, although it was a fairly innocent and good-intentioned one. Ron just didn't know what I'd been through in the last couple of days. I cast around for a neutral-sounding answer.
"I dunno – studying, mostly."
"On that com-pooper thing?"
"Computer, Ronald," I said, smiling slightly.
"Oh."
Luckily, Ron sensed that I wasn't going to say anything else, and so he went on in an elaborate story of how Harry and Ginny had disappeared the day before.
"And so, in the end, they were up in a tree. No idea how Harry coaxed Ginny to climb up there, she's terrified of heights."
"But she plays Quidditch!" I said, surprised by this piece of news.
"Yeah, I know. It's the only exception," Ron said with a laugh.
Tired from the long day, both Ron and I fell silent. I watched Crookshanks leap off of my Dad's desk and onto the hearthrug. He turned his yellow-and-green-flecked eyes upon me and for some odd reason, I shivered.
"Cold?" Ron said.
"No, thanks. But I do think I'll be getting to bed." I glanced up at the clock above the fireplace. "It's almost eleven."
Ron's face fell, but he too looked at the clock. "Alright. Do you have any extra blankets, if I'm sleeping in the guest room?"
I nodded and stood, and together we collected several extra afghans and pillows from the linen closet in the hall. I was about to bid Ron goodnight when I realized he didn't have any pajamas to sleep in.
"Uh, Ron? Would you like to borrow some of my Dad's pajamas, or a pair of flannels, or something?" I asked, starting towards the room my parents shared.
"That'd be great. I don't much fancy sleeping in jeans." Ron replied. I grabbed him a pair of flannel bottoms and a large tee-shirt that read 'Mike's Auto Shop.' On second thought, I also picked out a blue, oversized sweatshirt from the closet and tossed that at him too.
"Well, 'night, 'Mione."
"Goodnight, Ron."
I slept soundly that night, warm under my sheets and blankets with the heater kicking to life every ten minutes or so – until the noises, that is.
Woosh. Creak. Moan.
I awoke with a start and almost fell off of my bed. What had woken me, I wondered, and why did I feel like I was being watched? I hated that feeling – you know, the one you get when someone is staring at you from across a crowded room, or when the teacher bores their eyes into the back of your skull? Or when…never mind. Back to the creepy noises.
Creak.
A stairstep. That's what it sounded like, or at least that particular noise did. I shook my head, trying to rid myself of all silly and scary ghost stories. It was probably just Ron, getting himself a midnight – wait.
What was that noise?
"Haaaairrrrrrr…meeeeeee……oooooonnnnn."
What the heck was a 'Hair-me-on'?
"Herrrrrrrrr…miiiiiiiiiiii……owwwwwn…nee……"
I jumped up out of my bed, grabbing my wand from the bedside table. I dashed out into the hall and down it, madly, to the guest room door. Not caring a single shred if I woke Ron or not, let alone the whole neighborhood, I flung open the door and catapulted myself onto his bed.
"'Mione?" Ron asked sleepily, squinting at me as I trembled from the direction of his feet. "What time is it? And what are you doing in my bed?"
I felt silly, now, and paused for a moment. There were no voices…at all. "I – I heard voices. They were saying my name and…well…I was scared. And I had to do something." Outside, a tree branch snapped with the weight of the snow and I started, and then began to shake again.
Ron, now fully awake, wrapped his arms around me and pulled me closer towards him, until I was almost in his lap. I began to cry, feeling both utterly scared and foolish.
"Shhhh…it's okay, 'Mione."
"No, it's not," I sobbed into his shoulder, noting on the off-hand that he smelled like citrus and after-shave.
"It's just a bad dream, that's all," Ron replied gently. I actually was a bit impressed, given the current situation, that he was being so nice and all. But then I remembered the other awful occurrences and began to sob even harder.
"'Mione? Something that's been bothering you?"
I buried my head in his shoulder and muttered, "The computer. The house."
"What about the house, 'Mione? And the computer?"
I didn't reply, but paused in my sobbing to take a deep breath. I felt Ron slowly take my head and tilt it upwards towards his. The next thing I knew – he kissed me.
"Ha! Hand it over boys, twelve Galleons each," Ginevra Weasley shouted triumphantly, jumping onto the sofa and throwing her hands up in an 'I'm #1!' position. Fred and George grumbled but nevertheless thrust their hands into their pockets to begin searching for the golden coins.
Harry Potter stood across the room, watching the television monitor, captivated. "It worked. I don't believe it," he said slowly, in a disbelieving voice. "It actually worked." He disgustingly turned away, not really wanting to watch his two best friends snog anymore.
"Never doubt your girlfriend over there, Harry," Gred said sighing. Forge nodded ruefully and continued to search for the Galleons, now overturning overstuffed, plaid couch cushions.
"I must admit, Gin," Harry said, sighing, and making his way over to where Ginny was now sitting in an armchair, smiling contentedly, "If you ever have another plan again that involves a television monitor, a cat, and a snowstorm, I will never doubt you. Ever."
Well, that's it. That's my story in its entity. Although I'm beginning to suspect that you know something I don't, dear Diary, I won't press the matter. I'm sure I'll find out about it sooner or later.
And so now you know how my fairy-tale played out. Well, more of a spooky story, actually, but you know how it goes. The handsome prince rescued the damsel in distress, and together they rode off into the sunset for a life of happiness, bliss, and great scores on their N.E.W.Ts.
The end.
A/N: Oh, I loved updating that. I forgot how fun it had been to write in the first place. Please review, and let me know what you thought!