Hoshi no Hikari

Jedi Goat

Disclaimer – I don't own Harry Potter or a certain anime.

Author's Note - And so the plot thickens... I promise I'll reveal what the crossover is soon, but for now... ;P

Chapter 2 - Potter's Not the Only One with Fangirl Issues

Rain lashed against the high windowpanes, scouring downward like the long, jagged claws of some abhorrent monster. Outside, dark clouds obscured the moon's vision; only the occasional swift flash of jagged lightning cast a sudden ray of light over the unwelcoming landscape. Above it all, the wind's furious howl rose and pummeled the glass panes in vain.

The dank corridors of the castle were shrouded in night's spell; a cold breath seeped in through the cracks in the ancient stone walls. At night, when the tumultuous waves of students and their buoyantly echoing chatter were gone, the deserted castle seemed older - more menacing. Entombed in a blanket of eerie silence, the slightest scuffle of footsteps, of steady breathing, echoed unnervingly in the endless gloom.

Fred Weasley didn't slow, even as his heart began to hammer in his chest. He didn't know where, exactly, he was headed; but by the sudden quickness in his breath, the electric excitement in his veins, he suspected he was getting close. He wasn't worried - he knew the castle like the back of his hand, or his twin's; and the thought of getting lost even at this dark hour was nothing more than laughable. So, with a cheery acceptance of the unknown, he tossed aside his rationale and merely followed where his footsteps were guiding him.

The last thing he could remember was falling asleep to the warm comfort of his four-poster bed; the next thing he knew, he was wandering the winding passages of the broad castle in the dark. His nighttime adventures were nothing new to him; since he'd been young he'd experienced them at random, finding himself wandering into the strangest places in the dark. By morning, however, he'd always awaken in his own bed, leading George to doubt the wild stories he told him. Well, Fred then would say with a heavy sigh, it's your loss. Maybe next time you'll think to come with me.

He rounded the corner, mindlessly aware of the chill of stone floor seeping into his bare feet. His light pajama pants hung a good couple inches off the ground and he'd neglected to wear socks to bed again. He ignored the sensation, allowing his mind to wander.

A leering tapestry loomed out on his left; the interwoven pattern of dueling monsters toyed his memory somewhat as he rounded another corner, ending up in a long and empty hallway.

The second floor corridor…

He noted it, absently. The map he'd endlessly poured over in his youth surfaced once more in his mind, orienting him. He could imagine it now, tucked away in the safety of the bottom of his trunk. Now Fred wondered what the magical map would say if someone glanced at it now - a Weasley twin, sneaking around after dark? Nothing out of the ordinary.

He smirked slightly to himself and drifted onward.

He wasn't habitually clumsy – but now he tread on cat's feet, unconsciously very attuned to every noise around him. Padding slowly forward, he strained his ears, blinking on the darkness. The hairs on the back of his neck were on end; he saw nothing in the pitch black, but it was as though the world had suddenly sharpened around him, alerting him of a presence nearby…

"Where do you think you're going?"

The insolently patronizing voice arose behind him; in a split-second he whirled around, suddenly jolted back to full consciousness. A round, spectacled, faintly transparent face peered back at him. As he jerked back in surprise, she did too, drifting a few feet away from him.

"Moaning Myrtle," Fred managed, a slow half-grin reaching his face. He realized distantly that his every muscle had gone tense and strived to ease them, stepping back. "I wasn't expecting to see you here. I thought you might've been Filch or something." He smirked to himself.

Myrtle sniffed, drawing herself up to drift above him. "Well, that's rude. You did just walk by my bathroom, and not even a hello? All I get for visitors these days are some cruel sixth years who throw things through me." Her voice trembled at that last comment and she had to choke back an abrupt sob.

"Well, sorry," Fred said flippantly, shrugging, "I didn't notice."

Too late, he realized he'd said the wrong thing, as Myrtle's voice rose in an alarming warbling wail.

"Notice me? Why should you? Who should ever pay any attention to a g-ghost in a g-girl's toilet?"

Shit.

Eyes widening in alarm, Fred glanced around hastily, knowing the noise was a siren to Filch and his sentry cat. His mind raced for a solution and he strived to pacify the wailing ghost. "I didn't mean that, okay? Now quiet down, will you? I don't need anyone finding me here."

"Find you?" Myrtle hiccupped, wiping her nose on her sleeve. She raised her gaze to him a bit curiously. "Why should anyone mind you? You're just another ghost."

"Well-" he began, irritated by her simplicity, before faltering, "Wait, I'm not a-"

"You're the only other student ghost I've ever seen around here," she remarked, leaning closer to peer curiously into his face. "You must be new. Well, if you're looking for a place to stay," she smiled coyly, drawing uncomfortably close to him, "you can always can share my toilet."

Face burning, Fred backed away. "Thanks for the offer, but I'm not a ghost. I'm a student here and I just was – was sleepwalking." His mood was deteriorating fast from their confrontation - Myrtle could be annoying on her good days. The twins' relation with her had been shaky from the start, when they had tried to spy on the girls' bathroom during their first year. She hadn't taken too kindly to it – the memory of being chased down the halls by a shrieking ghost was vivid enough of a reminder. Fortunately, she didn't seem to remember the incident quite as well.

"Oh, really?" Myrtle said sweetly. "Sleepwalking, is it? Then how come I can do this?" With a smile apt to petrify a Basilisk, she reached down and closed her fingers around his left hand. Her vice grip was as cold as ice; Fred gasped, half from the cold, half from pure shock.

"But - you're a ghost - how come-" How come you feel so solid? Her hand on his was as real as the cold stone beneath him. Though he could feel no warmth nor pulse beneath her skin, he was sure, if he tried to chuck a textbook at her as he had done in first year, it would rebound instead of passing through her translucent body. And, he reflected with a chagrined grimace, she could probably kill him this time if she felt so inclined.

Myrtle let out a cackle, grinning in delight. "I knew you were a ghost! You looked a little pale around the edges." She prodded his cheek enthusiastically; unnerved, Fred swatted her hand away.

"I'm not dead! This must all just be a dream or something," he fumed, trying to wrench his arm away from her and failing. But suddenly Myrtle pulled away from him of her own accord, her eyes wide. Her hand flew to her mouth.

"You didn't...die?"

He snorted, disgruntled. "Well, duh. I've only been trying to tell you that for the past five minutes."

"Then you must be...no, you can't be..." She shook her head wildly. "Not one of those monsters..."

"What are you talking about?" Fred asked warily, inching away from the preoccupied ghost; when she finally raised her eyes, she appraised him silently from head to toe.

"You don't look like it... But maybe...maybe you're one of them?"

The hushed way she said them, with an excited sparkle in her eye, was enough to send shivers down his spine.

"All right, I told you, I'm not a ghost," he muttered. "There's no point in me staying here."

"But of course!" she gasped, clasping his hand again as he attempted to escape. Damn it...! For a ghost, she sure was strong.

"As long as you're a half-ghost," she jubilantly declared, "...we can go on a date!"

I'd rather die, Fred thought in mortification, but Myrtle was already dragging him down the hall in her clutches, eagerly gushing. "I know all the best places in Hogwarts! Or even, if you're feeling feisty, we can go to the Shrieking Shack," she batted her eyelashes at him. It took all his self-control not to gag.

"Great...but Hogwarts is fine..."

If George finds out about this, he'll die laughing. Fred resolved to ensure his twin never, ever learned of this particularly embarrassing venture.

Myrtle squealed. "I haven't had this much fun in fifty years!"

Someone needs to get out more, Fred thought, mentally steeling himself for whatever other insane arrangements she had in mind for him. He struggled to match her pace down the corridor; they practically flew down the moving staircases, her cold grip on him the entire time.

Reaching the Entrance Hall, she finally eased up on him enough for him to stop and catch his breath, glancing around warily. Already he was calculating how long it would take to run to the nearest secret passage. He just needed a way to distract Myrtle...

Up ahead a silvery figment was floating, deep in conversation with a portrait of a stately man. Fred recognized, with a leap of hope, the ruffles of Nearly-Headless Nick's outfit. He waved to the ghost with a shout of greetings.

Nick turned in such surprise that his head toppled sideways; he righted it as he drifted nearer to the duo, and his face broke into a smile. "Why, if it isn't one of my own house! And an infamous Weasley too. You are George, yes?"

"Actually I'm Fred," he grinned.

"Pardon me, then. Ah, good evening, Myrtle."

"Hello, Nick," gushed Myrtle, clinging quite painfully to his arm - Fred figured he had frostbite by now. "We're on a date."

"Oh, my." Nick's brow furrowed but he made no further comment. "Well, do enjoy yourselves...but not too much. Be wary, there have been...sightings tonight."

"What d'you mean?" Fred demanded. To him it seemed the ghosts had their own particular lingo that they were quite happy to keep him in the dark about.

Nick's gaze darkened. "We do not speak of it," he said gravely, turning away. "Take an old ghost's advice and stay in the lighter passageways. Good night to you two."

"Good night," they echoed, Fred with some puzzlement. He didn't know what was going on, but it sounded ominous...maybe it could sway Myrtle to leave him be.

He didn't have a chance to try his strategy, however, as she was already parading him down another winding corridor. She was giggling madly as they ran, her pigtails bouncing behind her. Fred only sighed in exasperation.

They stopped short in a quiet wing of the castle - Fred sighted their Astronomy class flash by on his right. Myrtle paused suddenly in front of a secluded window, settling on the ledge and patting the space beside her.

Fred sat, unwillingly.

"So, how long have you been a ghost?"

"I told you, I'm not a ghost."

"Well, surely you've been this way for some time." She poked his cheek again; Fred ground his teeth in annoyance. "You're the first person to have a full conversation with me in a long time! You must be special," she concluded dreamily, observing him with her hands folded beneath her chin.

Fred wouldn't deem their exchanges a "conversation", but resigned himself to nod vaguely and contemplate plans for escape. Myrtle chattered at him for a bit, most of which he ignored and only acknowledged with the occasional nod. He was just wondering if she would ever lose interest in him when a sudden earsplitting shriek split the gloom.

Myrtle sat bolt upright; Fred blinked, glancing around.

"What was that?"

"Them," she breathed, eyes wide. "We should go."

Just like that, he was free? Fred frowned dubiously. "Why?"

Myrtle gave him a small shove. "No one's safe when they're within the walls! Just hurry, you've got to hide before they find you!"

Utterly bemused, Fred did as told and ran. He lost track of Myrtle - thankfully - in the twisting hallways, and only stopped running when he was outside the fifth floor passageway he and George often used to hide from Filch. He opened the hidden tapestry with a whispered command and crawled inside. In the darkness his heart pounded abnormally loudly, his rasp of breathing echoing around him.

What the hell's out there in the castle?

He didn't know, but he could feel a presence - a chill deeper than the physical cold of his feet, or the reminder of Myrtle's grip on his arm. Something was out there...looking for him...

Even wondering as he was, and hearing every noise as the approach of a monster, eventually the long night's ventures caught up with him. His eyelids grew heavy and it was soon that he drifted off to the comforts of a large and warm bed...

(-)

Fred Weasley opened his eyes slowly on a darkened room. He raised his head from his pillow, blinking in mild surprise: the last thing he could remember was running down the corridors in fear of his life. He yawned, rolling over, wondering if it had only been a dream.

"Finally, you're awake."

The familiar voice jolted him back to consciousness; he sat bolt upright, his limbs crying out in protest. Fred groaned faintly; he was as sore as if he had just run a marathon. Rubbing the back of his neck, he blinked in the direction of the speaker. A figure was perched on the edge of his bed, watching him.

"George? Have I told you not to scare me like that?"

His twin didn't laugh. "Have I told you not to scare me like this?"

"What're you talking about?" Wincing, Fred rubbed his left arm, which felt suspiciously cold.

George slid off the bed and marched over to the window. "What I mean is this." He thrust open the curtains to a sudden burst of light; Fred shielded his eyes, blinking. When he could see again, he saw the fifth year dormitory was deserted: miscellaneous clothing and items were scattered everywhere, signs of the hurried students who had left in a rush for their early classes. Outside, the sun hung high in the cloudless blue sky with no reminder of yesterday's storm to be seen.

"Blimey, George, what time is it?"

"Just about noon," he said coolly, folding his arms. As he stood by the window, Fred couldn't look at his silhouetted expression without nearly blinding himself again.

"Why didn't you wake me up?" he demanded crossly instead.

George let out a noise of frustration. "Don't you think I tried?"

Fred didn't know how to answer that.

George sighed, flopping down beside him. "You were "sleepwalking" again, weren't you." Fred knew he didn't need to answer that one, and didn't.

His twin sighed. "You know I hate it when you do that, Fred. When you don't wake up... It's hell to get people to leave you be, else they'll think..." He trailed off, then drove on the argument, "I'm worried too, you know. I know you don't care what others think, but... at least think of me. Please."

Fred absently picked at a fray in the blanket. "Look, I know what you do for me, and I'm grateful for it really. But I can't control it. It's like... It's happening more and more often. Not always the whole night. I don't know why."

"You should have told them," he urged. "The first time, all those years ago. We really all thought you were dead."

"I know," Fred said flatly. "You've told me."

A long moment of silence followed. George lay beside him, hands behind his head, contemplating the ceiling. His creased expression conveyed the turmoil in his mind, and Fred couldn't help but feel guilty. He was at a loss to explain the origins of his dreams, or to control their happenings.

As far back as he could remember, they'd haunted him - not dreams per say, though he couldn't find words to describe their true nature. It was like he was sleepwalking, yet fully conscious; his words and actions were his own, so real that he wondered if he was, in fact, awake the entire time. He'd told George his speculations, but his twin remained skeptical. If he was really wandering around at night, then why couldn't his twin ever hear or see his comings and goings? Neither did this explain the eerily deep sleep he entered on these occasions, so much so that even George admitted it was a perfect illusion of death.

His twin had ample reason to be afraid - Fred was, too, he privately admitted. But he couldn't reveal as much to George, when it would only increase his anxiety over his state. Most concerning, Fred thought, was his creepy confrontation with Moaning Myrtle last night...

"You should go to Madam Pomfrey," he mumbled faintly.

Fred glanced sharply at his twin. "And tell her what? I'm having weird dreams?" He snorted, "A load of good that'll do."

A pained look flashed across George's face; regretting his sardonic words, Fred turned away.

"Look...it's not hurting anyone, right? It's not a big deal."

"I don't want to lose you, Fred."

He stopped, having no rebuttal to those words; George was avoiding his gaze. "I don't know what it is you dream of, sleepwalking or whatever. But I know that you didn't leave your bed last night, and this morning..." He swallowed hard. "It scares me every time you do that. What if next time, Fred, you don't wake up...?"

"I don't know much more than you," he snapped back, growing irritated. "But nothing's happened all these years, George, so why are you worrying now? We've done loads of stuff more dangerous than this, all the time, and you've never had a second thought about it."

"Those times I was with you," George countered.

Fred stopped. Every waking moment, he was never far from his twin's side; they did everything together, practically since they had been born: even Hogwarts couldn't abate their routine, as they attended the same classes, held the same friendships, and even shared their role as Gryffindor Quidditch team's star Beaters. Only in sleep was Fred frighteningly different... That alone had to be unnerving, let alone the unusual state of his dreams, something far out of range of either of their control. Suddenly, George's fear was a lot clearer. As well, Fred could admit, was his own.

Fred stretched, striving to get his mind off those dark thoughts. Something strange was going on here, he knew, and remembered George's accusation last night. Could it be the Dementors caused this, too?

It was too much of a coincidence to rely on - sure, Dementors had been around the first time he'd dreamt, when he'd only been five years old. But that explanation was moot when it came to all the other times it had happened over the years. Why now? was a fairly prominent question in his mind.

Fred rubbed his eyes, feeling strangely drained. His body throbbed - it was as if he hadn't gotten any sleep last night at all.

"George," he mumbled, "you going to class?"

George sat up, eyeing him warily. "Potions is halfway over by now," he pointed out. "It's the first day of classes - I don't know about you, but I wouldn't be so eager to see Snape's long nose again so soon."

Fred forced a smirk at the attempt to cheer him up. "No one said I was going." Pulling the blankets more comfortably around himself, he rolled over. "Wake me before lunch, m'kay?" he mumbled into his pillow.

George was watching him. He could feel his twin's eyes on his back - George knew he was evading the subject of their discussion, and was clearly dissatisfied - but he said nothing. For that Fred was grateful, if not a little guilty for shutting him out, as he was distantly aware of long curtains dragging shut. The room plunged into welcome darkness once more.

Half asleep already, Fred smiled into his pillow.

I owe you one, George.

To be continued...

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