AN: I wrote this just for fun, before returning to add finishing touches to the 6th chapter of Victorian Lonely Hearts Club. Yep, it is a bit angsty...I've never seen this pairing before but the plot bunny is relentless. No carrots for you, old chap! Read and and review, please.
"Harry, wake up!" said bushy- haired young woman. Wake up! You will be late for breakfast! You know how Snape gets when we are late for his lessons..." The young wizard tuned out his friends rambling. He remembered this. Dé ja vu. Bullshit. He just couldn't believe how repetitive all this was. Wake up, go to your lessons and then listen to the greatest AlbusDumbledore as he describes to you your tasks and duties yet to come. You're apparently the only hope of the Wizarding world. It doesn't matter that they slander you, laugh at you or point at you as if you were some freak from a circus, some wondrous beast in a cage to put up a good show for the assembled crowds. The audacity of their demands (you save us, we do nothing) is nearly comical. So why does he feel tears stinging in his eyes? He is alone. That is why. He hopes to meet her again. That is the only reason why he slowly gets dressed and leaves safe confines of Gryffindor tower for the first meal of this day.
"Harry! Mate!" gasps Ron, his mouth full of bacon and eggs. Harry wonders how exactly is the redhead able to speak. Aunt Petunia would die, should she witness such blatant disregard for the table manners. But hey! Every man for himself. He wants to hit the boy. Hit him, till his teeth fall out and his bones break. Beat him into a bloody pulp, while screaming at him about absurdity of this all. He was a good friend. Everything is slowly moving into past.
"What ?" he finally asks.
"You are spacing out."
"So? Is it something forbidden?"
Both his best friends exchanged a glance. It's fairly usual with them. Their relationship is doing wonders. Scratch Ron's eating habits, of course... Soon, his male friend will be nothing but another experiment of the Ms. Perfect Prefect. He feels ashamed for thinking so lowly about his best friends. The fleeting, traitorous thoughts are constantly running through his head. Aargh! He was tired. Bearing everything, being told nothing . They were kids. They're brilliant and lucky kids, at least sometimes, but nothing more than that. There was no chance of all of them walking away from this Voldemort business alive. They didn't know, yet. Good.
"You have been very quiet lately, Harry. We just wanted to make sure you are alright."
Is it a pity I see in her eyes? I surely hope it isn't. Otherwise I will have a fit. Does Wonderbush not know when people need their time off? They will soon call me to the most safe chamber in the highest tower of this blasted castle. Oh, how everything I loved is slowly turning sour. Dumbledore and his games. He knew I have to die. Others are not so sure. Of course he won't tell them. Of course they'll try to help me. Blasted fools. She touches my hand.
"I'm quite alright, Hermione. I was just tired, that's all. No need to panic, just tired from the Quidditch practice we had yesterday, yes that is it." She doesn't look convinced.
"That's a very prefabricated answer, I just want to help you." Ooh, she finally did it, crossed the line that is.
"Sorry, that my answers are not enough Miss Know-it-all!" There is desperation in her eyes. "Sorry, that I'm not able to give you profound and elaborate response when you wake me up so early and after yesterday! It's weekend for Pete's sake! Can't you see that I just wanted to be alone? Who the bloody hell cares if I do what I do? Fuck it." His shouting attracts attention.
"Look Harry," Ron starts to speak. Hopeless. Harry stands up and leaves Great Hall, in a manner of one billlowy potion bat. The stares burning into his back him are nearly physical. He doesn't care about gossip anymore. He just wants to see her.
The summer is near. Few weeks has passed since his outburst. Hermione is still not talking to him. He walks through corridors full of children who will soon be carted off to their safe homes and to the embrace of loving families. He never felt so lonely. Luna is dead. Small and quirky young girl lost her life and he was forced to watch as Tom Riddle cut her wrists loose, so Bellatrix could use the blood for some obscure ritual to make herself younger. He doesn't feel anything but pure hate. He met the snake-faced bastard too many times, only to find himself defeated by powerful dark wizard. He feels useless and weak. A tear rolls down his cheek and makes a small stain on his robe.
"Harry, do not cry."
He looks up to see tender smile of Gray Lady. She never judges him, much like Luna. Her medieval dress and intricate locks of her make her even more beautiful. She too is concerned about his welfare. She too knows what he has to face, but unlike Ron and Hermione she understands him.
"Harry, do not cry. I cannot bear to see you like this. You must live, my good friend."
She is trying to help him. Her face is always overtaken by that motherly look of worry. After long months of her continuous visits he wonders, if she knows about his feelings. Young wizard is also trying to decipher them. It is possible to love only manifestation of human? Is it possible to fall for a ghost?
"Sweet, sweet Helena," says he, wiping tears from his eyes, "I feel much better when you are here." He cannot tell her. She is much of a lady. The fondness can stay in his heart. No one will ever known.
"I am glad to be of assistance." She whispers, trying to pat his head. He feels soothing coldness that slowly seeps through his skin. It's all completely innocent.
Two days later, lord Voldemort tries to put Hogwarts under siege and Harry is at the spearhead of counter-attack leading his schoolmates together with Dumbledore to break Death Eater ranks. He reaches self-proclaimed lord and their battle, which will go down in history books as one of the most vicious magical duels starts. Harry feels a touch of his destiny and clocks in his heart patiently ticking remaining time away. Tom Marvolo Riddle dies that night.
It is morning Harry remembers the battle and green light. He recalls anxious and happy faces. He strolls out from Gryffindor common room. The nightmare is over. He meets Grey Lady near the Ravenclaw tower.
"He is gone, Helena. I am free."
She seems to be more corporeal than ever. The silvery fabric that her body seemed to be from is replaced by normal colours. She blushes and for the first time her eyes are filled with tears. Her fancy handkerchief falls on the stone floor. Polite young man automatically grabs it and returns it to the ghost. He touches her hand as he handles it over. His brain works again.
"What? But...how," stutters Harry.
Instead of answering she kisses him and for the first time Harry Potter feels more alive than ever before. Maybe it is because his obligation to the wizarding world is fulfilled. Maybe it is because the time has no longer any meaning and maybe because he is just young man of seventeen and he is in love.
Many speak about the tragic death of Harry Potter in the battle of Hogwarts as the most sad moment of the twentieth century. I think, that you would find at least one pair of ghosts in the school's hallowed halls who would laugh at the assumption and glide away, holding hands. So many magnificent Scottish sunsets are ahead of them. And all was well.