7. The Ghost

Madam Frieda stifled a yawn with the back of her hand. The sun had barely cleared the horizon line, but already she could hear the early risers stirring overhead. They'd want breakfast soon, and now that Ginevra Riddle was gone, there was nobody to serve it but her, Madam Frieda.

She heated up the stove and, with a flick of her wand, cracked some eggs into a skillet. Behind her, flour and water began to mix together of their own accord, forming the beginnings of a pancake. She lined up bagels, bread, and English muffins on the counter, and then enchanted them to jump into the toaster one by one. Bacon, cereal, milk, tea, coffee, fresh fruit, hash browns, oatmeal . . . anything anyone could possibly want for breakfast was here in her kitchen.

Madam Frieda was about to cast a spell on the waffle iron to speed it up a little when she heard the door to her inn squeak open and slam closed. Dusting off her hands on her white apron, she scurried out of the kitchen and back to the front desk. "Welcome to Madam Frieda's Inn," she said cheerfully. "How may I help you this morning?"

The bushy-haired girl on the other side of the counter smiled politely. In spite of her heavy coat, she looked quite cold, with rosy cheeks and a pink nose. "I'm looking for someone," she said, pulling off her gloves and rubbing her hands together. "He was staying here a few days ago."

"Can I have the name?"

"Harry. Harry Potter."

Madam Frieda frowned. "Harry Potter? The Harry Potter?"

"Yes. A friend of mine told me I could find him here."

"What friend?"

"Ginny Weasley?" the girl tried.

Madam Frieda shook her head. "I don't know any Ginny Weasley. And I've never met Harry Potter in my life."

"Are you sure you don't know her?" the girl insisted. "Red hair? She was with a man? She stayed here for months. There was an enchantment on the doors that prevented her from leaving."

Madam Frieda looked at the girl suspiciously. "What did you say your name was?"

"I didn't," the girl replied, "but it's Hermione. Hermione Granger."

"Well, Miss Granger, I've never had a Ginny Weasley at this inn. I'm sorry."

"She - wait a minute, not Weasley. Riddle. Ginny Riddle?"

Madam Frieda pursed her lips. "I knew a Mrs. Riddle," she said carefully.

Hermione sighed in relief. "Right, okay, Ginny Riddle. She's a friend of mine from school. She's actually my boyfriend's sister. Anyway, she told me Harry Potter was living here for awhile. Erm, well, not living. He's a ghost."

"If a ghost has been staying at my inn, I certainly don't know anything about it."

"Do you mind if I take a look around?" Hermione asked. "I'm sure Ginny was telling the truth. I think she mentioned the basement?"

"The basement?" Madam Frieda repeated. "I suppose. It's right this way." She started to lead the way back into the kitchen. At the top of the stairs, she turned to Hermione and added, "Don't you go stealing anything."

"Oh, I would never." The bushy-haired girl smiled sweetly and followed Madam Frieda down into the basement. It was wide and dusty, as all basements are, with long pipes running in complicated patterns overhead and giant crates stacked up around the perimeter.

"So as you can see, there's nothing down here but supplies," said Madam Frieda.

"Yes," muttered Hermione, illuminating her wand and moving to inspect the corners. The first two yielded nothing but cobwebs, but the third corner was more promising. "Aha!" she cried, reaching behind one of the crates and pulling out a rucksack. "This is his!" She reached inside and pulled out a small object wrapped carefully in a piece of cloth. "This is a piece of a two-way mirror," she explained, unraveling the cloth and revealing the shard. "It was a gift from his godfather - Harry was here!"

Madam Frieda had begun to feel uneasy. What guarantee was there that this girl was telling the truth? "Right, well, you can take the rucksack then," she said, edging toward the stairs, "but that's all. Your ghost isn't here. If you'll leave your address, I'll send you an owl if he turns up later on."

Hermione put the shard back into the sack and pulled on the drawstrings until it was closed. "Thank you," she said, following the innkeeper back upstairs. "You can send your owl to the Leaky Cauldron in Diagon Ally, London. It'll end up in good hands there."

"The Leaky Cauldron," muttered Madam Frieda, bustling behind the front desk and scribbling it down. "Is that where you work? Mrs. Riddle used to work there."

"Erm, yes. We worked together. That's how we met." She slung the rucksack over her shoulder.

Madam Frieda paused in her writing. "I thought you knew her from school? Boyfriend's sister, or something?"

Hermione didn't falter. "We're very close," she explained. "Sometimes I can't remember how we met. Ginny also mentioned a graveyard where Harry's body was buried," she added before Madam Frieda could interject. "Do you know where I might find that?"

"Two miles to the west. It's directly off the main road, you won't miss it." Madam Frieda still didn't trust this girl. "Give Mrs. Riddle my love. And her husband as well."

"I will," Hermione promised. "Oh, just one more thing."

"Yes?"

She pulled out her wand. "I'm really, really sorry about this," she said with a sad smile.

Madam Frieda drew her own wand and began to back away. "What are you - "

"Obliviate!"

Madam Frieda blinked twice. A bushy-haired girl stood at the front desk, a rucksack draped over her shoulder. "Hello," she said slowly. "Welcome to Madam Frieda's Inn. How may I help you this morning?"

"Oh, my mistake," the girl said easily. "I thought this was a different inn. I'm supposed to meet a friend of mine for coffee, but I must have taken a wrong turn somewhere. Sorry to bother you." She turned on her heel and marched toward the door.

"Have a nice - " The door slammed, cutting off Madam Frieda's farewell. "Rude," she muttered, looking down at the pile of papers on her desk. One of them had an address scrawled across it. "The Leaky Cauldron?" she muttered. "Whatever did I need that for?" Then the faint smell of burning bacon issued from the kitchen, and with a gasp she hurried back to fix breakfast, never giving the bushy-haired girl a second thought.


The cold air easily found its way through Hermione's coat, and within seconds she was shivering. "Ventus," she muttered, blasting herself with heat. She tugged her gloves back onto her hands, and then set her wand in the center of her palm. "Point me." The wand spun until its tip was pointing north. Her makeshift compass told her that west was to her right. She began to walk down the paved street, pausing every few minutes to renew her heat charm.

In thirty minutes' time, the graveyard came into view. Hermione approached carefully, making sure to stay out of sight of the man on the porch. Billy Stubbs, Ginny had said his name was. Hermione licked her lips and scanned the edge of the forest for any sign of Harry's ghost, or his patronus, but there was nothing. "Harry?" she dared to whisper, even though there was no way he would hear.

Maybe he wasn't here, she reasoned. Maybe he'd finally made it to the Leaky Cauldron, and she was freezing her arse off in Denmark for no reason at all. "Harry?" she said again. Nothing.

Closing her eyes, Hermione raised her wand. This was her last resort, the spell she was the most reluctant to try because to be honest, she didn't know if she could even do it anymore. "Expecto patronum," she whispered. Her wand issued a few wispy tendrils of white vapor, but nothing more. Clenching her jaw, Hermione pictured Ron, with his stupid freckly face that she couldn't help but adore, and she imagined him grinning at her and telling her she was beautiful and brilliant and that he wanted to spend his life with her, and a ring on her hand with a diamond that was tiny, but she didn't mind because it meant he loved her, and a white dress and a kiss and a wedding night and a first child and a second child with faces just as stupid and freckly as his, climbing aboard a train to go have their own exciting adventures at Hogwarts, and in spite of the cold she suddenly felt very warm.

"Expecto patronum."

A silver otter shot forth from her wand. Exhaling with relief, Hermione called it to her side. "Find Harry," she told it. "Tell him I'm here, and I need to see him.

The otter glided away into the forest, weaving between trees until she could no longer see its glow. Hermione pushed a hand through her hair. Ron was her happy thought. Ron Weasley. That stupid, rude pig from first year. Who would have thought? She'd always pictured herself with an intellectual. She'd never be able to read with Ron, or have deep, meaningful conversations with him about anything other than the Chudley Cannons. He made stupid jokes and didn't care about house elves' rights and he cheated on his homework, for pity's sake! He was so wrong for her in so many ways, and somehow he was her happy thought. That's love, she thought. Barging in and ruining every plan you've ever made.

A new glow had appeared at the edge of the forest. It was much larger than her otter. Hermione squinted as the patronus galloped closer. Her heart began to pound as she recognized its shape. The stag halted in front of her, staring into her face with eyes she couldn't see. "Hermione," the stag said in Harry's voice. "I'm in the forest. Follow the patronus. We can talk there."

"That's it?" Hermione said to the stag. "No 'how are you?' No 'good to see you?'"

The stag didn't reply. It turned its head toward the woods and beckoned for her to come. Sighing, she doused herself with one final hot air charm and then followed the patronus.

Harry's ghost, along with Hermione's otter, was lingering in a clearing only a few hundred yards beyond the tree line. "Hermione," he said when he saw her. The stag cantered off into the trees and disappeared, but the otter floated to Hermione's side. "What are you doing here?"

Hermione felt tears stinging her eyes. "You really are dead," she said. "I don't know what I expected, but. . . ."

He glided closer. "What are you doing here?" he repeated.

"I wanted to see you. I had some questions, and - "

"Is that my rucksack?" He pointed.

"Oh - yes." She dropped it on the ground at his feet. The otter swooped to push its nose inside. "I went to the inn first. It was in the basement."

"I know. I thought Ginny took it with her." He looked down at it sadly. "I guess not."

"Speaking of Ginny," said Hermione, wiping away a tear as inconspicuously as she could, "she told us you were coming back to London. But you're still here."

He looked sheepish. "I, erm . . . well . . . yes."

"Were you ever going to come back?"

"I don't know." He sighed. "Maybe."

"Why not?"

"I wasn't sure if you wanted me there."

Hermione felt her jaw drop. "What the - why wouldn't we want you there?"

"I failed you," he said. "I died."

She heard herself laugh. "So what? A lot of people die! Do you think Dumbledore failed us? Did Sirius fail us? Did Percy fail us? Well, Percy actually did fail us. That was a bad example."

"Percy?" Harry said. "Percy Weasley? He's dead?"

"Yeah." The otter was rubbing up against her now. She casually scratched at its head.

"How did Ginny take it?"

"Ginny's still in shock about Voldemort dying. I don't think she has room to feel anything else right - "

"Voldemort's dead?" Harry's eyes went wide behind his glasses.

"Oh! You didn't know? Snape killed him. Two days ago. Ginny keeps having nightmares about it. She's been trying not to sleep, but every time she closes her eyes she drifts off for a few minutes and wakes up panicking.

"That's not new," said Harry. "She was having nightmares here, too."

"Really?" Hermione began to fidget with her gloves. "She didn't tell us that."

"Sounds like she didn't tell you a lot of things."

"She did seem to be holding back," Hermione mused. "But she spent the last year kidnapped. That would be traumatizing for anyone."

"Traumatizing?" Harry let out a little bark of laughter. "She really didn't tell you anything."

Hermione felt herself flush. "Like what?"

"She was in love with him."

"With who? With - "

"Voldemort."

Hermione scrunched up her forehead. "If that's some kind of joke," she began, but he shook his head.

"He had some kind of anti-aging spell, because he looked the same way he did when he brought her into the Chamber of Secrets, and she completely fell for him. It was the diary all over again. She was calling him Tom, she was sleeping in his bed every night, she was hanging all over him."

Hermione felt as if she'd been punched. "How could she?"

Harry shook his head darkly. "I don't know. I tried to talk her about it, but she wouldn't listen." He sighed. "It's not her fault. She tried to fight it, for awhile." He pushed a hand through his hair, still messy in spite of being made of ectoplasm. "You know, I think he did care for her. As much as Voldemort knew how to care, anyway."

"How do you know?"

"He saved her life," he said. "She went out to destroy the locket - she put herself in danger because I asked her to - and when she couldn't do it, Voldemort stepped in and killed it himself."

The world was spinning. Hermione bit down on her lip. "It's just Stockholm Syndrome," she said finally. The otter was turning somersaults in the air in front of her, but she looked right through it. "It happens all the time. People who are kidnapped begin to sympathize with their captors. She'll get over it now that she's back. It'll take time, but she'll realize she never actually loved him."

"That's the thing," Harry said. "I don't think she will."

This was frustrating. "Why not?" Hermione demanded.

"She's stubborn. And she's not dumb. She knows what she felt."

Hermione didn't speak for a moment. "So you think it was real then?"

He shrugged. "Ginny doesn't do things halfway. It's all or nothing with her. I saw the way she looked at him, the way she talked to him. To be honest, that's part of the reason I haven't come back to the Order. I don't know if I want to see her again, knowing she loved him."

Hermione had begun to shiver violently. "V-ventus," she said, and warm air blasted her from head to toe. "I do wish you'd come back, Harry," she said. "Ginny does want to see you. And the rest of us do, too. But if you don't want to, I understand."

She started to walk away from him. "Hermione," he said, and she stopped. "Take this." She turned. He was gesturing at his rucksack, still lying on the ground. "I can't use any of these things anymore. Someone should have them."

She crossed back to the sack and hoisted it over her shoulder. "Thank you," she said. "If you ever decide to come back, the door is always open. Erm, sort of. Spell's revelio. Not that you'd need it," she amended quickly. "You could just float through the wall."

He smiled tightly. "Let me think about it," he said. "I'm sure I'll see you again."

She smiled back, albeit shakily. "Sooner, rather than later, I hope," she said, and then she turned on the spot and apparated away, leaving behind only her footprints and a faintly glowing otter.