Grim Grinning Ghosts Chapter 10 - Nimbus 2000 and Redheads Solve Most Everything
AN:
Oni: Holy Smokes its almost been a year since this has updated!
Harrison: University has sapped you of both motivation and time?
Oni: Yup, but since its almost Halloween, I've gathered my motivation and got it work! So here's the new chapter! I hope you all enjoy it!
Harold: You...forgot...something...
Oni: Oh right!
"Normal"
"Mindspace"
Oni: And Ron shall do the disclaimer!
Ron: I feel imporatant! Oni does not own Harry Potter nor its characters not the plot bunny. The interesting premises are, however.
Oni: Annnnd ONWARDS!
The next morning had Harrison scowling with great annoyance at a package that had just been delivered to him by no less than six large screech owls, causing most of the dwellers of the Gryffindor table to turn their heads to stare at it. It was rather large, and suspiciously broomstick-shaped. A note had fluttered right on top of it, and Harrison had already read it, rolling his eyes as he did.
DO NOT OPEN THE PARCEL AT THE TABLE.
It contains your new Nimbus Two Thousand, but I don't want everybody knowing you've got a broomstick or they'll all want one. Oliver Wood will meet you tonight on the Quidditch field at seven o'clock for your first training session.
Professor McGonagall
Harrison internally snorted. Honestly, what else could the package be, but a broom? Sometimes he wondered how the Wizarding World managed to hid themselves from everyone else if their level of subtlety was this bad. A glance to his side told him that Ron was looking curiously at the note in his hands, so he passed the piece of parchment to him whilst still muttering about their common sense.
"A Nimbus Two Thousand!" Ron moaned enviously, "I've never even touched one."
Hermione, who had managed to grab the note during Ron's whine, raised a single eyebrow at the package.
"It's not that..." she began, but was interrupted by Neville leaning over on the other side of the table.
"Hey, who gave you the broom?" the round faced Gryffindor asked curiously.
Hermione simply made a noise of derision before handing over the note. Harrison watched as Neville's eyes scanned the elegant writing, before once again returning to the obvious broomstick package.
"It's for getting on the team, if you're curious as of why. McGonagall's got us as the new Seeker after she heard of how we...saved you." Harrison explained softly.
Neville simply nodded in understanding before handing the note back and returning to breakfast. The group of Griffs decided to focus on eating the rest of their meal and pretended for the moment that the broomstick package did not exist. Well, except for Ron, who was stuffing his face with bacon while somehow simultaneously drooling over the unopened Nimbus.
When breakfast was over, it was Harold that took the brown package with his normal labored, slow movements. The smile that threatened to split his face apart was the opposite of Harrison's internal worrying, but the zombie had been around the ghost long enough to know this wasn't the important kind of worrying that he should be concerned about. So ignoring Harrison's internal soliloquy of why flying a broom was still a bad idea, Harold, along with Ron and Neville, promised Hermione they would meet her at their first class before making their way out of the Great Hall.
Or, at least, they were going to leave before Draco and company decided to bar their way out in a mock haughty fashion. Malloy himself was standing in a rather silly pose, with his arms stretched to the sides and his nose in the air. Harrison, seeing his friend in such an amusing stance, took over the body for a moment and raised an eyebrow.
"Yes, Draco? How may I help you?" he asked with a small smirk.
As if on a hinge, an arm swung to the front, stopping so that the hand was pointing at the package. This caused the Slytherins behind him to stifle their laughter, while Neville and Ron didn't even try to hide their chortles as they watched the white haired Slytherin's funny behavior.
"What..." Draco drawled in an almost perfect mimicry of Professor Snape, "is that?"
"Isn't it obvious?" Harrison mockingly drawled back, holding out the package.
It was at this point that Draco broke character in his little charade and, like Ron, pounced on the parcel, feeling it's shape.
"It's a broomstick." the Slytherin replied, confusion written on his face, "I thought first years weren't allowed to have them."
Ron, ever the broomstick (or just Quidditch in general) fanatic, immediately jumped on topic for the one other person who was nuts for brooms.
"It's not any old broomstick," he sighed, "it's a Nimbus Two Thousand. What did you say you've got at home, Draco, a Comet Two Sixty?"
"Yeah." the Malfoy scion answered in a far off voice, looking at the wrapped broom in awe.
Ron grinned at him in reply.
"Comets look flashy, but they're not in the same league as the Nimbus."
"True, true, I've heard the Nimbus Two Thousand can make faster turns, though since it's so new they haven't recorded its fastest speed yet." Draco chatted animatedly.
"I hear it's the fastest broom yet! Wonder what would happen if you did a Wronski Feint with it..."
"Right!" Harrison interrupted with wide eyes before the two of them could go on a broomstick discussion, he voice a little high, "I'm taking this to my dorms now, but I shall open it after dinner if it makes you feel better."
With that, he ran off towards the Gryffindor Tower, leaving everyone but Neville, who knew Harrison's fear of anything dangerous (e.g., Quidditch, Broomsticks, etc), a little confused at his behavior.
Harold could not pay attention in any of his lessons. Every time he tried to concentrate, his mind wandered to the Nimbus 2000 sitting on the bed he never used, unopened. His own broom, they actually gave him his own broom. If it wasn't the broom, then it was the Quidditch pitch where he would be learning how to play the fascinating sport. The walking corpse felt like he would burst from excitement and happiness. Thankfully, most of the lessons were not the hands on ones that required Harold's attention, so the zombie happily let his ghost counterpart take over while he thought about broomsticks and his new Seeker position.
Harrison, on the other hand, was doing his best not to think about the looming Quidditch lesson, and the broom that could very well lead them to another Neville incident. Therefore it was of no surprise that he instead concentrated intensely on the lessons, earned House points without noticing as he vehemently tried to focus his mind on other things.
With his mind so one tracked, Harrison didn't even notice his friends studying him as he worked, trying to figure out who and what he was and how he ticked. Sometimes they would see a flash of the ever present bruise on his neck when his collar shifted, and the way that he sometimes forced his chest to rise and fall after it stayed still for minutes on end as if he had to remember to breathe. Hermione was taking both notes on the lesson while simultaneously writing in her little black journal on everything she found off about her green eyed dual conscious friend.
And while she never thought about it before, when she went through her notes afterwards, she realized that there was quite a bit off about Harry Potter. According to his dorm mates, he slept under the bed. He had a bruise in shape of a large handprint around his neck that still has not gone away, still as fresh looking as it appeared on Express (according to Greg and Vincent). There was the dual personality of Harrison and Harold, who were almost complete opposites of each and yet still held the same core beliefs. It was easier to see them as brothers than as fragments of a whole.
But that made no sense, as that would imply one of the two did not belong inside the body, which sounded rather silly. Then again, a year ago she didn't believe that magic existed. Even though none of the books she read explained such a phenomenon didn't mean it wasn't possible. It was just a matter of how. Unfortunately, that also posed a matter of who and what Harry Potter actually was, because most of the feats he pulled and the traits he had pointed to the fact that her odd friend(s) wasn't exactly...human. More research had to be done, it seems.
The last class finished, and the bushy haired girl watched closely as Harrison packed away his things, before his expression and posture immediately...changed. No longer was she seeing Harrison the quick speaking intellectual, but instead she was now watching Harold the kind, slow speaking counterpart. His movements were far less graceful than Harrison's but fast as he excitedly talked to Ron and Neville about opening the broom package after dinner. She followed them, eventually catching up with them and striking up a conversation with Neville, otherwise known as her next interviewee. Ever since Harold caught Neville from falling of his broom that first flying lesson the round faced Gryffindor had acted differently around his apparent savior.
Almost as if he knew more about him than everyone else.
And thus, none of the boys realized that one of them was being led off for questioning by a very curious Hermione Granger. By the time Neville realized that he had been dragged unwittingly to an abandoned classroom instead of following Ron and Harold to dinner, Hermione had already locked the door. He turned around to face Hermione, who had a strange glint in her eye as if she was looking at a particularly interesting book.
Neville, understanding slowly dawning on him, backed slowly to the dusty wall. A nervous smile crept to his face.
"Uh, so, Hermione..." he stammered out, flattening himself against the wall as the bushy haired brunette slowly prowled forward.
"Talk." she intoned lowly, trying to imitate all the cop movies she saw with her parents.
"I don't know what you're asking Hermione..." Neville squeaked out, holding up his hands in surrender.
"Harold and Harrison. You know something about them, don't you? Tell me what you know!"
At this, Neville seemed to sag in relief.
"Oh thank goodness, with the way you were acting I thought I had forgotten a homework assignment..."
At this, Hermione facepalmed.
"That doesn't answer the question, Neville! I've been tracking their movement and nothing seems to make any sense! None of my books are giving me any answers to how anybody can survive a fall of that height, nor an explanation for any of his strange mannerisms!" she ranted, her speech speeding up as she got more riled up.
Neville waved his arms in a calming motion, his courage beginning to build.
"That's not up for me to tell. If you want answers, you might as well ask them yourself. Yes, I know they're secretive about what's the matter with them, but I can say that it's for good reason! You have to give them a reason to trust you with that kind of information, Hermione." he told her seriously, making his way toward the door.
Hermione, confused at his behavior, simply opened and closed her mouth in a manner befitting a goldfish. The round faced boy sighed, attempting to unlock the door and failing.
"You know, the best way of understanding them is to look outside the box a little."
The bushy brunette sighed. He was right. When she looked up to tell him so, Hermione realized he was looking at her with a sheepish expression.
"I...can't unlock the door. Help?"
Well, at least she knew where to start now.
Harold didn't think he ever wolfed down his food so fast in his life, or his unlife. He didn't even know what he was eating for most of it, all he knew was Ron was doing the same thing as he was. Most of the Gryffindors watching had gawked as the amiable half of Harry Potter was usually slow moving, but Harold's mind was only focused on the Quidditch training that evening and the broom sitting on his bed. After devouring the last morsel of his meal, the zombie half had leapt out of his seat at the Gryffindor table, closely pursued by Ron, eager to open his package. When they got to their dorm, Harold finally torn open the parchment covering with satisfaction.
"Wow," Ron sighed, as the broomstick rolled onto Harold's bedspread.
Even Harold, who knew nothing about the different brooms, thought it looked wonderful. Sleek and shiny, with a mahogany handle, it had a long tail of neat, straight twigs and Nimbus Two Thousand written in gold near the top. He had only ever seen the dusty cleaning brooms that he had to use during his stay at Privet Drive, or even the twiggy ones that Filch seemed so fond of. Nothing like this. He was going to be using this for Quidditch? Excitement built up inside his core while worry grew in Harrison's.
"You are sure about this?" the ghost asked within their mind.
Harold nodded vigorously, a wide smile on his face, causing Ron to look at him confusedly. The redhead said nothing about it, however.
As seven o'clock drew nearer, the two of them left the castle and set off in the dusk toward the Quidditch field. Harold had never been inside the stadium before, though Harrison had already explored it a week ago. Hundreds of seats were raised in stands around the field so that the spectators were high enough to see what was going on. At either end of the field were three golden poles with hoops on the end, fifty feet tall.
Too eager to fly again to wait for Wood, Harold mounted his broomstick and kicked off from the ground, paying no attention to the panicked shriek that emanated from Harrison inside their mind. What a feeling! He swooped in and out of the goal posts and then sped up and down the field. The Nimbus Two Thousand turned wherever he wanted at his lightest touch. Was this how Harrison felt flying around? Harold's grin grew wider the faster he went, pulling stunts no living person would dare to try, loving the feeling of the wind and the freedom.
"Hey, Potter, come down!"
Oliver Wood had arrived and was carrying a large wooden crate under his arm. Harold expertly landed next to him.
"Very nice," commented Wood, his eyes glinting, "I see what McGonagall meant... you really are a natural. I'm just going to teach you the rules this evening, then you'll be joining team practice three times a week."
He opened the crate. Inside were four different sized balls.
"Right," started Wood, "Now, Quidditch is easy enough to understand, even if it's not too easy to play. There are seven players on each side. Three of them are called Chasers."
"Three...Chasers..." Harold repeated as Wood took out a bright red ball about the size of a soccer ball.
"This ball's called the Quaffle," the older Gryffindor explained, "The Chasers throw the Quaffle to each other and try and get it through one of the hoops to score a goal. Ten points every time the Quaffle goes through one of the hoops. Follow me?"
Harold slowly nodded with furrowed brow.
"Fantastic! "Now, there's another player on each side who's called the Keeper. I'm Keeper for Gryffindor. I have to fly around our hoops and stop the other team from scoring."
The zombie tried to sort it all in his mind, and nodded again when he got it all together. Curious, he turned to the box of gear again and mutely pointed. Oliver Wood got what he was conveying and handed Harold a small club, a bit like a short baseball bat. After seeing his confused look, Wood decided to elaborate.
"I'm going to show you what the Bludgers do."
He showed Harold two identical balls, jet black and slightly smaller than the red Quaffle. Harrison noticed nervously that they seemed to be straining to escape the straps holding them inside the box.
"These two are the Bludgers," Wood stated, "Stand back."
He bent down and freed one of the Bludgers. At once, the black ball rose high in the air and then pelted straight at Harold's face. Harrison, his survival instincts kicking in, swung at it with the bat and tried not to scream. With a stricken face he sent it zigzagging away into the air. It zoomed around their heads and then shot at Wood, who dived on top of it and managed to pin it to the ground.
"See?" Wood panted, forcing the struggling Bludger back into the crate and strapping it down safely, "The Bludgers rocket around, trying to knock players off their brooms. That's why you have two Beaters on each team, the Weasley twins are ours, it's their job to protect their
side from the Bludgers and try and knock them toward the other team. So... think you've got all that?"
Wood looked at him expectantly, and Harold thought it over for a few seconds before nodding again. Harrison, however, was not done.
"Have... have the Bludgers ever killed anyone?" the ghost counterpart asked, hoping he sounded offhanded.
"Never at Hogwarts. We've had a couple of broken jaws but nothing worse than that. Now, the last member of the team is the Seeker. That's you. And you don't have to worry about the Quaffle or the Bludgers unless they crack my head open." Wood began, but seeing Harrison's look of fear, he placated the child, "Don't worry, the Weasleys are more than a match for the Bludgers... I mean, they're like a pair of human Bludgers themselves." he finished with a laugh.
At last, Oliver Wood brought out the one ball Harrison was familiar with, to silver wings fluttering like a hummingbird.
"This is what I tested you on before. This," explained Wood reverently, "is the Golden Snitch, and it's the most important ball of the lot. It's very hard to catch because it's so fast and
difficult to see. It's the Seeker's job to catch it. You've got to weave in and out of the Chasers, Beaters, Bludgers, and Quaffle to get it before the other team's Seeker, because whichever Seeker catches the Snitch wins his team an extra hundred and fifty points, so they nearly always win. That's why Seekers get fouled so much. A game of Quidditch only ends when the Snitch is caught, so it can go on for ages. I think the record is three months, they had to keep bringing on substitutes so the players could get some sleep. Well, that's it... any questions?"
Harold shook his head slowly. He understood what he had to do all right, and he was excited. His eyes following the fluttering wings, his hands itching to catch it.
"We won't practice with the Snitch yet," said Wood, carefully shutting it back inside the crate, "it's too dark, we might lose it."
"Nooooo..." Harold moaned quietly, earning a snort from Wood.
"What, you think you could do it?" the Gryffindor Quidditch Captain asked rhetorically, only to frown when Harold instead nodded vigorously.
Closing his eyes and scratching his chin in consideration, Oliver Wood weighed his options. He had already seen that this kid had lighting-fast moves, but was nervous on what would happen if Potter didn't catch the Snitch. At this hour, if he lost the bloody golden ball, McGonagall would have his head. After mulling it over, he drew a deep breath.
"Alright, I'll get it out again, but you have to catch it." Wood emphasized, taking the fluttering golden Snitch back out of the crate and holding it up.
Taking the vigorous nodding as affirmation, Wood released the tiny thing, wincing as it immediately disappeared from sight. Sighing, he was about to turn to tell Potter to mount his broom when he heard the telltale sound of someone taking off into the sky. The older teen's eyes could barely follow the first year as the boy zipped through the sky, coming back down within seconds holding the frantically fluttering ball between his fingers. The tiny green eyed child eagerly handed the Snitch back to Wood, like a puppy handing back a ball after it's fetched it.
Visibly impressed, Oliver Wood opened his hand once more and let it Snitch zoom off into the dim, with Potter flying to catch it. Again, Potter returned within seconds with it in hand, grinning widely like a child who had been given a basket of candy. The gears in Woods head began to spin as he formulated a plan. Surely, if the boy was this good, then McGonagall wouldn't mind if he also used their back up Snitches...
Making up his mind, the Quidditch Captain opened a hidden panel in the crate, where they kept the other Snitches, and released them along with the original Snitch. It took a little longer, but within a span of ten minutes Potter managed to catch and return all seven back up Snitches, along with the original. A mad grin spread across Wood's face.
The next hour saw Oliver Wood vibrating in joy as even in the dim light Potter had still managed to catch every single Snitch. He didn't even seem to be breaking a sweat, nor was he red in the face, nor breathing heavily...
In fact, that seemed rather peculiar. Potter was not only not sweating, but his face was still the same pale complexion. Stranger still, his breathing wasn't labored. As he packed up the Snitches back into their proper places in the crate, he realized something much eerier.
Through the darkness of nightfall, Wood noticed that Potter wasn't breathing at all.
But that couldn't be right. Potter seemed more energetic than ever, his movements quick and lively. Perhaps it was simply the trick of the darkness and fatigue. Shaking his head to clear the strange thoughts from his mind, Wood became determined to simply focus on the player that should get Gryffindor the Cup for the year.
"That Quidditch Cup'll have our name on it this year," he told the grinning first year as they trudged back up to the castle. "I wouldn't be surprised in the slightest if you turn out better than Charlie Weasley, and he could have played for England if he hadn't gone off chasing dragons. With skill like that, we should be undefeated."
Harold beamed at the praise, and waved the Quidditch Captain goodbye when it was finally time to part ways. When they were finally alone and making their way towards their dorm, Harrison made himself known.
"That wasn't as bad as I thought it would be, minus the first take-off, Harold you really do have an incredible talent on the broom." were the first words that echoed through their shared mindspace.
The zombie, still in control of the body, grinned wider than before.
"Thanks..." he thought to his counterpart, trudging his way up the staircase to the Gryffindor Tower.
"Perhaps it would be best, however, if I buried myself deeper into the mindspace when you start the actual games as I don't want to distract you with me worrying while you play." Harrison continued after a few seconds of silence, his voice barely above a whisper.
Harold wanted to placate his counterpart, but Harrison was right. The ghost had a tendency to worry himself into a panic, and in a game of Quidditch (which was already hazardous on its own) it could hinder him on the field.
Without a word Harrison took control of the body while Harold was thinking, letting the zombie rest after such a strenuous day. Absentmindedly he muttered the password to the Common Room, the Fat Lady's portrait swinging open with a yawn. When they trudged into their dorm room, they found everyone to be asleep. As quietly as possible Harrison placed the Nimbus Two Thousand into their trunk and cast a weary look at his dorm mates.
"Everyone seems to be asleep. Should we risk it?" he asked inside the mind, only getting a silent shrug in reply.
Feeling a little adventurous, Harrison unattached himself from Harold's body, his translucent form floating cross legged above the now seven year old looking corpse. Harold's ember-like green eyes glowed in the darkness of the dorm, blinking sleepily.
"Get some sleep, you've had a long day." the ghost whispered out, already floating up toward the ceiling, "As usual, I'll be back in the morning. Goodnight, Harold."
"Night...Harrison..." the zombie mumbled sleepily, getting on his knees and crawling under the bed.
Crossing his arms in typical graveyard fashion, Harold closed his eyes, happy with the ending of the day.
For some people, however, the day was not yet finished.
Ronald Weasley had been intercepted by Hermione Granger after Harold had left for Quidditch practice with Oliver Wood. The redhead had been in the Common Room, playing a game of chess with Percy (who had some free time before his rounds started) when she had asked him for a favor.
"I can't do anything tonight, Hermione, Scabbers has gone missing again!" Ron had whined, only to be interrupted by Percy.
"Scabbers disappeared all the time when I had him. He'll be back, he's a smart rat." the prefect told his younger brother, his eyebrow raising curiously at the muggleborn girl, "Does this have to do with Potter's strange behavior? I've seen you stalking him and writing in that book of yours." he told her flatly, pointing to her black notebook.
Hermione had squeaked, and held her notebook close to her chest.
"I-I'm not stalking him! I'm studying him!" she had stuttered out defensively.
Percy simply shook his head.
"Don't worry, I've noticed his oddities as well. Sometimes I swear I saw him wandering the corridors at night, but it's always around the times Ron told me he was sleeping under his bed." the fifth year prefect placated.
"Yes, well, that's the thing," Hermione explained, "Harold and Harrison don't make any sense!" she handed her notebook over to the older redhead to read, "Not the bruise on their neck, not the duel personalities, not the way he should be-"
"Dead." Percy interrupted lowly, flipping through the notebook, "so you have written many time in here I see."
Ron took this opportunity checkmate his brother, as the game was nearly over anyway, watching his brother's king throw down his crown, signaling that he had won. For a few brief moments no one spoke, par the complaints from Percy's chess pieces as they were packed away. Then Percy stood up from his seat.
"Well, I have a theory, but you're not going to like it." he told the two first years, who looked at him expectantly, "It doesn't make any sense, but it's the only explanation that fits."
"What is it?" Ron asked, readying himself for the usual boring explanation that came from his third eldest brother.
"Potter really is dead, and somehow still walks among the living as some sort of Inferi." Percy said simply, much to Ron's surprise.
"Yes, but they don't look like a corpse!" Hermione argued.
"No, but he does trudge like one. The slower personality, Harold was it? He has nearly every trait of an advanced Inferi. The Defense Professor last year was obsessed with them, and he had managed to make one from his own mother's corpse before perishing under it. The Inferi itself didn't last very long, as it still had the personality of the mother and had set herself on fire. Needless to say our class had been given a default pass after that." Percy retaliated.
"Oh, so that's what happened to him. Fred and George said it was because he had found the meaning of life and therefore transcended to a higher plain of existence." Ron interrupted, causing Percy to stare at him incredulously.
"Honestly Ron, why do you believe some of the crazy things the twins say?" he asked exasperatedly.
"Well, the real explanation wasn't much easier to believe..." Ron answered defensively, "Anyways I'm a bit out of the loop here. What's an Inferi?"
Percy was about to answer, but Hermione beat him to it.
"An Inferus, or Inferi for plural, is a reanimated corpse raised usually by a Dark Wizard. They're very dangerous creatures that have a taste for human flesh, and have no sense of right and wrong. They can only be destroyed by fire. Advanced ones are said to be able to speak and think for themselves, though both their speech and their thoughts are significantly slower, their words sometimes coming out slurred. Inferi also have a distinct way of moving, usually trudging everywhere unless provoked or if they sense fresh meat when starving, to which then they move five times faster than that of a normal human being."
"So...like Harold." Ron said slowly.
At this, Percy motioned to his brother.
"My point exactly." he said haughtily.
"But then explain Harrison! Or the fact that they don't look like a corpse!" Hermione retorted.
"I don't know what to tell you about the other one, but you can't deny the fact that Potter does possess traits of an advanced Inferi. Perhaps start there, and we can crack this mystery." Percy answered before handing Hermione's notebook back to her, "Now, I believe it's time for me to make my rounds, and time for you two to get some sleep. Goodnight Ron, Granger."
With that, the fifth year prefect walked out of the Common Room. When the portrait door clicked shut, Hermione grabbed Ron's arm.
"I need you to watch him tonight, see if you can see anything strange about him when he gets under the bed to sleep. Lack of breathing signs, anything. Just tell me in the morning, alright?" she whispered to him urgently.
"And what do I get out of this?" Ron asked in a Draco-esque manner.
"Other than satisfaction? I will help you write your Transfiguration essay, which I noticed hasn't been started even though it's due tomorrow." the bushy haired girl replied with a smirk, causing Ron to pale.
"Touché... alright I'll do it."
Which is why he laid in his bed, pretending to be asleep and waiting for Harold and Harrison to get back from Quidditch practice. When the door finally opened, he forced his breathing to be deep and slow. This was it, is all he had to do was look for strange behavior...
He cracked his eyes open slightly, noticed that it was Harrison controlling the body by his paranoid behavior, green eyes passing around each of the dorm mates. Ron forced his breath not to hitch when it passed to him, and it seemed to have worked. When Harrison turned away to pack up the broom, the red head chanced to open his eyes a little wider to get a better look. Sure enough, Hermione was right. There was no telltale rise and fall of the chest that meant he was breathing, even though he should be doing so heavily after Quidditch practice.
Then it happened.
A white mist seemed to rise from the body, taking shape above the raven haired first year. After a few seconds the definitive shape of a person could be seen floating five feet in the air. The translucent figure looked like a younger version of the Boy Who Lived, while the body that was left...
It took Ron all he had not to scream. There, standing in the place of the healthy eleven year old, was a corpse standing up. It was shorter than before, depicting the body of a child four years younger. Ember green eyes flashed in the dark, the skull they glowed from still had bits of flesh stuck on it. Both beings were wearing a small muggle tuxedo with green bow ties, but the corpse's suit was torn and shredded in places while the floating...ghost...still had it in pristine condition.
"Get some sleep, you've had a long day." he heard the ghost whisper as it floated upwards, "As usual, I'll be back in the morning. Goodnight, Harold."
The corpse, now identified as Harold, bit back a yawn. Well, Ron thought to himself, Percy was right with Harold being the advanced Inferus. Which meant that the ghost being floating out must be Harrison. As if to prove Ron's theory right, Harold spoke.
"Night...Harrison..." he mumbled before crawling under the bed.
When it was evident that neither of them had noticed him, Ron opened his eyes completely. He waited for the shuffling beneath the bed to stop before getting up out of bed and looking under the bed where Harold was. The Inferus seemed to be asleep, his arms crossed across his chest, the green embers extinguished for the moment. Seeing his like this brought a chill down Ron's spine.
Yes, Harry Potter was both a ghost and a walking corpse, but the real question was how. Most importantly, why was the Boy Who Lived dead? Judging by the deaging that they underwent when the two split, they had to be younger when they died. But if a wizard had killed them, wouldn't it have been all over the Daily Prophet?
Questions whizzed through Ron's mind. He had to get this to Percy and Hermione-
A green glow emanated from below the bed again, and the red haired first year was now face to face with Harold the reanimated corpse. Blue eyes widened in fear and surprise. What was he going to do now?
"Please...don't...tell..." was the almost pitiful plea from Harold's mouth, green embers somehow conveying the likeness of puppy eyes, "I don't want...them to be...afraid..."
So that's why they kept it a secret. He wondered if Neville knew about this, or if that's the reason they were visiting the boy for so long in the hospital wing.
"I won't." Ron promised, hoping Hermione could forgive him for this.
Harold seemed to smile, sharp jagged teeth more prominent and yet still managed to look innocent and harmless.
"Thank you..." was all he said before the embers extinguished again.
Taking that as he cue to leave, Ron tiptoed back to his bed. It wasn't until an hour later when he finally fell asleep, his dreams once again showing him a cold winter morning filling snow, screaming, blood and pain.
AN:
Oni: And that's all for now!
Harrison: Don't forget to Follow, Favorite, and Review!
Harold: And check out...her other...works...
Oni: And I'll see you next time, my pretties!