Disclaimer:I do NOT own Harry Potter, or any of its characters.NOTE: Hey, guys! I'm back. :D I hope I'll be able to upload chapters more regularly now that I'm on vacation. ^^ Anyway, I PROMISE I'll get to the requests after this chapter. I just had to write this down before I forgot all about it. Enjoy~
Eleven: Haunted
It had only been two days since Fenrir Greyback moved into his new house, and already, he suspected that his new home was haunted. The creaking floors, the flickering lights, and the sound of footsteps weren't brought up the suspicion. After all, the house was several decades old. No, shit like creepy sounds and all that wouldn't scare him. But the spirit sitting right on the edge of his bed, just a few inches away from him, did creep him out.
Okay, truth be told, Fenrir was scared shitless when he'd opened his eyes and saw the ghost right there, looking straight at him. Who wouldn't have been? But after a few moments of still, uncomfortable silence, his fear slowly ebbed away, and was soon replaced with curiosity, and a little bit of…attraction? Yes. The ghost certainly wasn't anything like the malevolent ones he'd seen in horror movies.
The spirit was in the form of a young man, probably in his early twenties. He was a petite, dark-haired specimen whose lithe, lightly-muscled body was covered in a white, almost ethereal glow. His hair was a tousled, pitch black that starkly contrasted against his paper-white skin, and his large, bright eyes were greener than anything Fenrir had ever seen before. He was drawn into those eyes, and it felt as if he was going to drown in them if he didn't stop looking soon.
"Hello."
A soft, whisper of a voice broke through the heavy silence. Fenrir felt his heart practically stutter as those full, pale lips turned up ever so slightly. He stared at the spirit for a long time before replying with an equally soft, disbelieving,
"Hey."
The ghost's smile widened just by a fraction, and before Fenrir knew it, he was gone. He stared at the empty space in front of him for just a while longer, and then collapsed back onto his pillows. His wide eyes locked onto the dark ceiling as he tried to process what the hell just happened.
Weeks had passed since the "bedroom incident," and Fenrir was still living in the house.
Sure, there was a ghost in his house, but he wasn't scared. He'd seen what it looked like, and it didn't look scary at all. If anything, it was the prettiest fucking ghost he'd ever seen. So, he stuck it out, and stayed.
After a while, Fenrir was sure he was seeing the ghost more and more often. Not fully, like in his bedroom, but just little glimpses. Sometimes when he was alone in the living room, he'd feel the spot on the couch next to him dip a little, like someone was sitting next to him. Then it would be gone. When he's in the kitchen, he would see a dark spot move in the doorway from the corner of his eye, and again, it would disappear before he got a good look at it.
This would happen a few times every day. Fenrir didn't mind it too much. It was creepy as hell, but as long as it didn't trash his furniture, he could learn to live with it.
2.
"AAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHH!"
Fenrir grunted in annoyance as he rolled onto his back, and sat up, rubbing his hand over his eyes. "What the fuck is wrong with you?" He grumbled, staring at the blonde woman lying in bed next to him with a face that managed to be both drowsy and pissed off at the same time. The blonde stared right back at him, her face turning a deep, angry red (though it wasn't visible in the dark) as she tugged the sheets up to cover her bare chest.
"I saw someone standing right next to me, that's what's wrong with me!" She yelled. Her shrill, incredibly loud, voice made Fenrir regret ever having let her stay the night.
"Just a bad dream," Fenrir assured her sleepily as he closed his eyes, and lay back on his side, facing away from her, "go to sleep." Though as he tried to get back to sleep, he knew she wasn't just dreaming. Someone was standing next to her, and he knew full well who it was. But he wasn't about to tell his one-night-stand that he wasn't the only one living in his house. He'd deal with the ghost in the morning, when he wasn't naked and exhausted, and when there wasn't a now-paranoid blonde next to him.
The blonde frowned deeply, and looked around the room once more. There was no trace of the mystery person she'd seen standing right above her. Perhaps Fenrir was right. She was just dreaming. That's it. She cuddled in close to Fenrir's back (ignoring the disgruntled sound he made at their close proximity), and went to sleep.
"Is she gone?"
Fenrir stared at the spirit over the rim of his coffee cup, then went back to reading the newspaper. "Yeah," he replied flatly, "she's gone." The ghost, who, over the past few weeks, he'd come to know as "Harry," nervously left the doorway, and slowly sat down in the empty seat next to Fenrir at the dining table. He didn't need to pull the chair out, he simply sat down, his body going right through the table, but somehow managing to stay atop the chair.
"Are you mad at me?"
Harry's ever quiet, sad voice drifted over to him. Fenrir kept his eyes focused on the small, black and white print on the paper. He just knew those large, green eyes were looking at him with that look, the one that made him go, "no, I'm not mad at you; don't be sad." Though the young man wasn't even alive, he was the only one Fenrir knew who could manipulate him easily. If Harry wanted to, he could make Fenrir do whatever he wanted (not that the man would ever admit such a thing).
"Hell yeah, I'm fucking mad." Fenrir managed to respond to the question with his usual, gruff, irritated voice. "You think you can just do whatever the hell you want, and I won't care? If you do, you must be fucking stupid."
A small, distressed whimper left Harry's lips. The sound closely resembled that of a kicked puppy. Fenrir's fingers tightened around the edges of his newspaper, causing the paper to crinkle noisily, as he fought the urge to look up once again.
"I'm sorry. I really am. Please don't hate me!" Fenrir felt a faint brush of cold, soft fingers against his hand. "You're the only one I have left…" Harry sniffled softly, and Fenrir felt the final shred of his self-control snap. Putting the paper away, he placed his hand right over Harry's, gently enough that it didn't just fall through and land on top of his other hand.
He sighed heavily through his nose, and looked directly into the green, green eyes that, somewhere along the way, he'd grown immensely fond of. "I don't hate you," he said, his voice taking on a soft, strangely tender tone only Harry had ever heard before, "and for whatever reason… I can't stay mad at you. No matter how hard I fucking try," he added, muttering the last bit to himself.
Harry nodded, wiping a finger against his eye, and sweeping a little tear away. "I'm glad," he said, and for a split second, Fenrir saw those lips tilt up just a little. Fenrir's hand lingered on top of Harry's for another moment before he returned his attention to his paper.
"Out of everyone who's ever lived here before," Harry began, snagging Fenrir's attention once again, "I think I like you the best." The larger man's eyes widened as the ghost leaned in, and pressed a cold, barely-a-brush-of-the-lips kiss onto his cheek.
"Hey—!" Before he could say anything, Harry had disappeared. Rubbing his cheek a little, Fenrir grumbled to himself, and flipped to the next page of his paper. Goddamn troublesome ghosts… And though he tried to be annoyed, he simply couldn't. A little smile wormed its way onto his lips, and though he tried to ignore it, he heard a quiet giggle come from the other room.
3.
"Aw…are you sure I can't come in?" The blonde (no, not the same one as last time) asked, batting her eyelashes up at him, and pouting. Fenrir held back a little scowl. She had nothing on Harry's pout. "Aren't you lonely? That house is a little big for just one person…"
Fenrir glanced up at the second floor window. A familiar, pale figure stood there, hands pressed against the cool glass, and wide, green eyes staring down at him with a mixture of curiosity and a little sadness.
"Yeah, I'm sure," he said, already stepping back to shut the door, "and just so you know, I have all the company I need." With that, he promptly closed the door. He stayed there for a bit, just until he heard her heels fade into the distance and her car drive away.
"Was it really okay? Making her leave like that, I mean."
Harry was standing right behind him, his hands clasped together in front of his chest, his fingers wound together nervously. He stared up at Fenrir, his eyes no longer sad, but still curious, and a little happy, but also unsure.
The look made Fenrir want to smile, but he didn't. "It's my fucking house," he grunted as he brushed past the ghost, and into the living room, "if I wanted her to leave, then she had to fucking leave." As he plopped down onto his couch, and flipped the television on, he didn't notice the utterly pleased look on Harry's face. With a tiny smile, Harry sat down next to him, and allowed himself to lean a little against Fenrir's arm.
"Alright then. What are we watching?"
A/N:
The end~! Did you guys like it? I know everyone's been asking me to try and write longer stories…so I tried on this one. I didn't write the story in an exactly…chronological order…since I'm not very good at slow development and all that. So you guys can fill in what happened in the spaces. Just know that Fenrir stays with Harry for a very long time. Sorry if you guys were expecting a lemon…I didn't know how to do that, since Harry's a ghost in this one. XD;;;
Anyway, as I said before, I WILL get to the requests soon. I've just had this idea for so long, I didn't want to lose it.
There's always room for more requests, so please leave some if you want.
Reviews keep me going! Thank you~
