A/N: Post Deathly Hallows. Snape is a ghost. The him that is mentioned is an OC who has no name.
Disclaimer: JKR owns Harry Potter. This is merely an outlet for my amusement. So go, and be amused.
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"Fine October Night"
By VirgoMaiden
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"Sometimes being dead is so dull," I muttered to myself, looking at the Great Hall, swirling with colors of dresses and formal robes. I was sitting in the corner of the hall where the party of the season was in progress, watching as he was dancing with her, sweeping her across the floor.
I watched the ladies swoon and sigh at his charm, grace, wit, and (obviously) good looks. And I saw the men watch her with anticipation, for as soon as the two would let go, then they would be on top of her.
I blew a piece of hair out of my eyes. It was my fault, really, for being dead, considering that it was I who stole mother's diadem, and therefore brought on my death from the Baron with a smile, a beckoning finger, and a sign that read "Hi, I'm Helena Ravenclaw; How can you screw me over today?" (I knew that my choice of language was…questionable at best, but I knew that times like these were excusable.)
"Helena," a voice said in a drawl, "How are you this fine October night?"
I turned my head at the newcomer stiffly, and, upon seeing that it was none other than Professor Snape, turned my head back to the festivities, said coldly, "As fine as a dead person can be, I suppose."
"Careful, Helena," he said, "You wouldn't want it to appear that you have a heart, would you?"
"Obviously not," I said. "And it is not 'Helena,' Severus, but 'Grey Lady.'"
"Of course," he said evenly. "My mistake."
It was quiet between us as we observed the festivities before us, him being as antisocial as ever, and I being… undesired company.
Finally I saw, from the corner of my eye, a faint shimmer, and I knew that another ghost was coming over my way to save me from this wretched night.
I almost groaned in disappointment; it was The Bloody Baron. Really, such an insufferable man… And not only because he had killed me. But because he had spent his days moping around afterwords, trying to please me, asking if I needed anything…
All I needed was to be human, so I could have his arms wrapped around me.
The only good thing about his appearance was that that was when Severus decided to take his leave.
"Grey Lady," he said formally, "Baron. I shall be seeing you two later."
"But of course," I said stiffly. It was just formalities, after all; it wasn't like he would actually be looking forward to it.
I was used to formalities. Being the daughter of the founder of Ravenclaw made sure of that.
"Helena," the Baron said simply, bowing as he used to do when seeing me in court.
"Baron," I said evenly, dipping into a curtsey.
"What brings you here on this fine night?" he asked.
I scoffed. "Everyone is here tonight, Baron," I said. "It would be a shame to miss out."
"But of course," he said dryly. "For the start of another Triwizard Tournament is something that all would be proud of."
"But since Lord Voldemort is dead," I pointed out, "there is no reason to worry about such misfortunes as the one with Cedric Diggory."
"He was an amiable sort," Baron said. "A bit too much of a 'golden child,' but still amiable."
"You think that everyone is 'amiable,'" I said, turning back to the dancers, following him with my eyes. "Or miserable. One of the other."
"That is not true," he said. "I do not think of everyone as amiable or miserable."
"Oh?" I asked, clearly mocking him. "Then who, pray tell, is this person?"
"You," he said simply. "You are neither miserable nor amiable. Almost like a skewt."
"I am offended that you would think such a thing," I said sharply.
"Do not be," he said, holding his hands up. "For I meant no offense."
"Oh?" I asked. "Then what did you mean?"
"When you are with the students of your house, you are quite amiable. When you are alone, or when faced with someone that is ignorant, you are quite clearly miserable."
"I see," I said, even though I did not.
"Shall I explain it to you as we dance instead?" he asked, holding his hand out to me.
I looked at it for a moment, my upbringing clashing the desire of what I would like to call "Dumping his sorry arse," but I instead took it.
Mannerisms had won this round.
"But only one," I warned. "And if you go over, I shall see to it that you shall not get anything like it for another ten years."
"But of course," he said, bending down and kissing my rings. "I would not have it any other way."
He led me out onto the dance floor, and I spotted a few of the students gawking at us. A Ravenclaw and two Slytherins. It figured. Were ghosts not allowed to have any sort of life post ( or pre, as it were) -mortem? Obviously not.
The nerve, I thought indignantly. So help them, if they think of the Baron and I beyond the reaches of friendship, then I shall have no choice but to haunt them for the remainder of their time here.
We stopped near the outskirts of the floor, and he bowed. I bobbed, following the custom of our original time. The band started a semi-lively tune and we began to waltz around the room (we had learned the dance in the 1800s, when all of the students were learning it; it was very proper, and the ghosts took an immediate liking to it).
"So," The Baron said as we began to glide over the floor. "What is you head thinking of now?"
"Being dead," I replied simply, "and how boring it is. Are we not allowed to live after we die?"
He motioned to his chains. "Pardon me, Madam, but I am not one to talk of such things."
"But of course," I sniffed. "There are such cases as yourself."
"What are those cases?" he asked.
"Those who deserved their afterlife," I replied simply.
He stiffened, and I was surprised to find that I felt it.
"I wish that you would not bring up such events," he said stiffly.
"You mean our deaths?" I asked defiantly. "Too late. I can't be brought back any time soon."
"Yes, our deaths," he said with a large bit of difficulty. "And my… actions that lead to it."
"If anything, blame my mother," I said, spinning under his arm, "For it was her who created the diadem, her who flaunted it and all the power that it held under my nose, and her who sent you after me."
"She was on her dying bed," he said indignantly. "And she knew that I would be the one to accomplish the task!"
"Then I blame you," I said, "and your impulsive actions."
"What actions?" he bit back, and I had a feeling that this might turn into a brawl.
"Your feelings towards me," I countered, "Even though I attempted to convince you otherwise."
"Believe me," he snorted, "If I was able to choose who my heart lived for, it would not have been you."
"Oh?" I asked. "And why is that?"
"You are impulsive, bitter, cold, beautiful, and have standards that are much too high."
"At least I have standards," I said, "Instead of falling head over heels with the first person that I met at court."
"Forgive me if I am wrong," he retorted, "but I was under the impression that you felt the same!"
"You are wrong," I answered, "but I shall forgive you for it. What shall we talk about next? I fear that this dance shall be rather long."
He paused, obviously thinking of a subject, before saying, "Why you have been staring at Professors Morgan and Wills all the night."
If I was alive, color would have flooded my cheeks, but instead I managed to answer: "Was I? Well then, such a coincidence! I really must do something about my constant daydreaming…" I laughed nervously.
He didn't take it.
"If you love him, then you should tell him," he said carefully. "Do not constantly worry about it. It shall only leave you miserable."
"Miserable?" I asked. "How?"
"You will… Lose confidence in yourself," he said. "And you will find yourself being constantly humiliated for reasons unknown to the other, and you –''
"That's quite enough," I said, holding my hand up. "It is starting to feel a bit more… personal for my tastes."
"Of course," he said, bowing his head. "I apologize."
We stopped, and I stared at the top of his head. Were the things that he had been saying…about me? Were they the feelings that he had when he was around me? Then, if so, why?
"Not accepted," I said. "Turn your head up so I might see your face," I ordered. "Now, tell me the truth."
"Of course," he said.
"Why did you continue to love me after I scorned you openly? After I showed that I had no such feelings for you?"
He shrugged. "The same reason that I killed myself after killing you."
The music stopped, but I didn't notice, and, to be bold, I didn't think that he did either.
Suddenly realizing the position that we were in and the stares that we must have been acquired, I straightened up and took a step back.
"Lovely, as usual," I said. In reply, he took my hand, for a moment than perhaps necessary, but I strangely found that I didn't mind.
"Pleasure," he said, kissing my knuckles.
I stood and stared as he walked away.
Another dance would be in order later tonight.
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A/N: The ship was Grey Lady/Bloody Baron, in case you didn't notice. Such a small ship. Their language was very old and proper for a reason – they were born in a time where the more difficult the words and the more word sused per sentence, the better. The professors were also minor OCs.
Constructive Criticism is very much appreciated.
VM