Disclaimer: Oh, the joys of stealing J.K. Rowling's characters...

A/N I...am...going...to...cry. I'm feeling very unloved as of RIGHT NOW! I only got three reviews for my second chapter! *sob* If there are people who are reading this and not reviewing...well, you're just...not...nice...yeah, that's right...not nice...but you people who did review are wonderful!..definitely... thanks ever so much!...I'm gonna stop with the little dots now...maybe...I think...or maybe not...I scare me...

Chapter 3 ~ Spirit Blade

After Harry was banished from Dumbledore's office, he roamed the corridors restlessly, feeling an undefined sense of urgency and unsure how to appease it. He shook his head angrily and reminded himself that there was nothing he could do at the moment about Ginny; the matter was in Dumbledore's capable hands. He sped up as if trying to leave his troublesome emotions behind and soon was moving at a respectable clip. Mrs. Norris glared at him with her lamp-like eyes from the doorway to an empty classroom, but didn't bother him. Perhaps, he thought wryly, it was because of his purposeful stride and lack of the furtiveness usually shown by students in unoccupied parts of the school.

That thought brought him up short. Unoccupied parts of the school? He'd walked right out of the area he was familiar with and into a rather grimy corridor. Beams of sunlight illuminated scores of tiny dust motes that danced in the breeze of his passing. Doors on either side of the corridor led into disused classrooms that were as echoingly empty as the hallway itself, all devoid of any pictures, suits of armor, or desks. Harry looked behind him, and the corridor seemed to stretch off into infinity. With a shrug of his shoulders, Harry continued along the hall with a slight smile upon his lips; this was just the sort of thing he needed to take his mind off of things. Maybe he'd find a secret passage that Fred and George had missed, or something equally interesting. He decided not to take out the Marauders' Map, which he had permanently stashed in the pocket of his robes, until he absolutely needed to get back to the others.

Harry walked down the corridor, carefully looking for something interesting; he didn't see anything. It was just nothing...and nothing...and more nothing. (A/N There I go with the little dots again...*grin*) With a frown, Harry turned around and began to walk back, deciding that he could find somewhere more interesting to explore elsewhere. And so he walked...and walked...and walked through the unchanging scenery. After he'd walked for almost half an hour and was still in that barren hallway, he started to suspect something fishy. He stopped and glanced around carefully. Everything looked familiar: the doors, the emptiness, the walls, the floors...his mind stalled as his eyes took in the stones under his feet. Many lines of crisp, fresh footprints passed by in the layer of dust upon the floor. He placed his foot inside one of the imprints with trepidation, and sure enough, it was a perfect fit. Was it possible that he'd been walking the same stretch of perfectly straight corridor over and over?

The Marauders' Map was clearly in order. He whipped it out of his pocket, activated it, and scanned it to ascertain his position. Another shock lay in wait for him on the parchment. He wasn't there. The map stated that he was nowhere in Hogwarts. Either he had ceased to exist, or he was somewhere that even the infamous Marauders hadn't known of. He put the map slowly back into his pocket, as it clearly was going to be of no help, and turned around in a slow circle, surveying the endless lines of footprints that stretched in either direction.

With a growl and a curse directed at dark magic, which Harry was sure must be at work, he tore his feet from their old path and ducked into one of the barren classrooms. It almost seemed as if a spectral laugh echoed through the desolate air. Thinking of recent events, Harry couldn't help but wonder. He wouldn't discount anything as merely his imagination anymore.

The classroom was bare except for a grand wooden cabinet sitting in state at one end. Intricate carvings were incised in the dark reddish wood and, fascinated, Harry crept closer to inspect them. However, he soon wished he hadn't for they all seemed to be representations of vengeful spirits who pursued unlucky mortals to their deaths. The carvings, when followed to the end, inevitably showed the spirit with a long sword protruding from its chest and the mortal, while usually maimed or scarred in some way, on the whole seemed to get away alive.

Harry was thoroughly engrossed in the pictures until a soft chuckle echoed behind him. Startled, he spun around quickly to confront a Hogwarts ghost whom he had never encountered before lounging indolently on the air. She was tiny, coming perhaps up to Harry's waist, and had long silvery hair that brushed the floor even from her elevated position. Transparently feathered wings fanned the air indolently and childish eyes stared up at him with a sickly green glow in their depths.

"I was wondering when somebody was going to show up for it," she said with a cute pout. "It's been lonely here." It was obvious that she'd been rather young when she died. Harry estimated she'd been the age of a first or second year, and wondered why she'd died at all and why the green in her eyes was so familiar.

"Um...what's 'it'?" Harry asked, still staring at her in amazement and contemplating the hidden mysteries of Hogwarts.

"You're here to get it and you don't even know what it is? That's weird! I suppose if you want to find out, you'll just have to go and open the cabinet. It's in there," The green in her eyes flashed brighter and the expression on her face was challenging. Harry shrugged and headed for the cabinet; he didn't see any problem with humoring her. After all, she was a ghost—what could she do to him? He reached for the handle to the cabinet.

His hand faltered and stopped as a sudden vision of his fingers and Cedric's reaching out to grasp the Triwizard Cup invaded his mind. At that moment, a strangled shriek sounded behind him and he turned to see the little girl's eyes change from a pale green to regular translucent white and then blaze to a startling evil-looking emerald. Her little hands were clenched in fists and her face was twisted into a grotesque mask of agony. Suddenly, Harry remembered where he'd seen that color before.

It was the shade of the death spell, Avada Kedavra, that he'd seen so many times in his dreams.

He backed away from her in horror. What was going on? But the color was fading from her eyes as she fought it down, gasping and apparently exhausted.

"Don't!" she panted. "Don't open the cabinet by the handle. Don't touch the handle! Port—" But she never finished as the emerald once more invaded her eyes and she writhing in agony.

She must have meant that the handle was a port-key, Harry decided as he looked in dismay at the battle being waged. That was why he'd remembered the Triwizard Cup. The green faded again and she screamed, "Take it now!"

Take 'it', but don't touch the handle...Harry gazed at the cabinet in confusion for a second and then snorted in disgust at himself. He set his fingernails in the crack at the bottom of the doors and levered them open with little difficulty. Inside was a single shelf made of a matte black material and on it lay a long sword that shimmered with an otherworldly quality. Harry had little trouble identifying it as the sword in the carvings. A quick glance over his shoulder revealed that the ghost's face was a blank mask and her eyes held a burning green fire. She had a faint sickly green aura and was advancing on him step by step. He hurriedly grabbed the sword by the hilt and made a dive for the door to his left. As he crossed the threshold, sword in hand, the winged girl collapsed in a heap and the light left her eyes completely. She looked up at him pitifully through locks of draggled hair and whispered, "Sorry about that."

"Are you all right now?" Harry asked, concerned that his presence had put her through so much, even if she was already dead.

"Yes, I'll be fine. I failed and They won't have any other use for me now, I suppose. They'll probably release me soon. You'll be able to leave now, too," she replied, seeming years older and sadder than when he first met her. He opened his mouth to ask another question, but she shook her head firmly and pointed down the hall. "You don't want to be here when They come to release me."

~*~

Ron and Hermione sat silently in the common room, both lost in their own thoughts. After the interview with Dumbledore, Ron had rushed back to Gryffindor tower to inform Hermione of the situation and find Harry, as he'd been warned not to allow Harry to wander about by himself. They'd all been excused from classes on the grounds of emotional trauma, and so were without supervision. Ron had thought he'd been lucky to find Hermione alone (she'd been doing schoolwork in the common room; no surprise there); he hadn't wanted to say anything in front of Harry. Now, however, he would have been thrilled to find Harry in Hermione's company.

Harry was missing. Ron and Hermione had looked all over the castle: in classrooms, the Great Hall, the kitchens, the dungeons…everywhere. The Marauders' Map would've been a great help, Ron though wryly, if it hadn't been in Harry's possession. After the search had proved fruitless, they'd gone to Dumbledore and begged him to perform a searching spell on the castle. Hermione had been quite put out when hers had rebounded because of anti-magic spells in the walls. Not only had it failed, the backlash had made her unable to find anything, including herself, for almost an hour. It would have been very funny if they both hadn't been so worried and sad. Apparently, only the Headmaster had the ability to work magic that affected Hogwarts itself.

Dumbledore went them one better and included the grounds, Hogsmeade, and the Forbidden Forest in the spell. But this came to naught, as well. It simply dissipated as if Harry didn't exist. At this point, Ron had gotten a sick feeling in his stomach. The searching spell should have worked even if Harry was invisible, unconscious, or even dead. He hastily excused himself and Hermione from the professors' deliberations and they made their way back to Gryffindor Tower to nurse their worries in private.

"Maybe he's fallen in the lake?" Ron ventured. Hermione glared at him and he shrugged apologetically. "You never know, Dumbledore could have left the lake out of the spell." Hermione's lips thinned and she abruptly got up and stalked towards the portrait hole.

"Where are you going now?" Ron yelled after her.

"I'm going to do a searching spell on the lake. I might not be able to do one on this stupid castle, but I can bloody well do one on a lake and a giant squid." She slammed the portrait shut behind her, startling the Fat Lady, who scolded her retreating back shrilly. About ten seconds later, the portrait was slammed closed again as Ron went tearing after Hermione and the Fat Lady was left complaining about indecency and inconsiderate children to the empty air.

~*~

Almost immediately after he left the ghost-child, Harry found himself in familiar surroundings once again. Portraits on the walls waved merrily to him and the air was dust free. He might have thought he was hallucinating if not for the magnificent blade he held in his hand. It was strange, he reflected, that he always seemed to come up with swords. He must have some sort of affinity for them. He vaguely considered actually learning how to use one as he examined the hilt of the sword. It was decorated with twining designs and seemed to have something written in elegant runes. The pommel had a design that closely resembled a Celtic knot. He followed the line with his eyes, but it just kept going and he finally had to jerk his eyes away from it to avoid being hypnotized. Hearing the laughter of students approaching, Harry ducked into another classroom. He didn't think it was a very good idea for anyone to see him carrying around a huge sword. They'd probably start rumors that Voldemort was prowling the school and Harry was hunting him down to get his final vengeance.

Once there, he continued to scrutinize the weapon. The blood red leather sheath was hard and cracked with age. Harry had to be very careful when he withdrew the blade from it. Even the strange circumstances of its acquisition had not prepared him for the shock of the blade. It was transparent and glowing, as if it was a ghost itself, and was inscribed with more runes of the same kind as those on the hilt. He wished desperately right now that he'd taken Ancient Runes instead of worthless Divination. He'd have to get Hermione to take a look at it and translate for him. He reached out a tentative hand to touch the blade, and gaped when his hand went right through the blade and came out the other side unscathed.

Harry scowled. It was obviously a magic sword, but what good was a sword that just went through everything? He tested it again by swinging it at a desk, and sure enough, it went right through with no resistance. What fun was that? Shaking his head, Harry went to resheath the sword, thinking that he needn't have been so careful with the sheath since the blade was insubstantial. The edge nicked the red leather and the aged material acquired another notch in its surface. Harry stared at the sheath, and wondered why the sword blade was tangible to the sheath and nothing else. The mystery of the whole thing irked him.

With the sword safely back in its scabbard and the students dispersed to their next classes, Harry made his way back to Gryffindor tower.

~*~

The restriction would have been killing Ginny if she hadn't already been dead. She was bored and frustrated with her location and thoroughly disgusted that, as a ghost, she got stuck in a boys' dormitory. What was the point of that? And why on earth did she go there— a boys' dormitory? She couldn't make sense of it, and it annoyed her to no end. To make things worse, she was very embarrassed to be there when the boys changed, but she couldn't very well leave. Ginny didn't watch, of course, but it was still distressing, especially when Harry was getting changed and this insistent little voice was telling her to turn around, just a peek, and he'd never know...Ginny was frankly shocked by herself, but she couldn't deny the temptation. She resisted the impulse firmly, however.

Ginny remembered so much of Harry that it hurt to think of him. Everyone was grieving for her death, but she was grieving as if for theirs. They had no idea she was here and would simply move on and continue their lives. She would be forced to sit in this room for eternity, or however long ghosts stayed around, and watch them forget about her. If Harry, Ron, and Hermione forgot about her, she'd die, or would if she hadn't already. She was having a little trouble with that...she didn't feel dead. She especially hadn't last night when she'd gotten sucked into Harry's dream. It had been wonderful, and Harry really had a beautiful mind. Maybe she'd be able to do it again and he wouldn't forget about her.

Harry...she let her mind sink into contemplation of him, as it had so many times in life. She remembered vividly the day she'd lost her absurd little infatuation with him. She'd been doing a project with a Ravenclaw in the library, and Harry had walked in. The girl had been pathetic, following him constantly with her eyes, blushing, knocking things over. Then, of course, she'd made the awful mistake of trying to get Ginny into a conversation about Harry's virtues. She'd blathered on about how he was soooo brave, soooo handsome, soooo this, soooo that...Ginny had been disgusted with her. He wasn't some kind of paragon, he was just a human being, if an exceptional one. He didn't seek celebrity, or particularly want it, so why should he want a fan club? She'd grabbed her books and stalked out of the library but stopped short as a thought struck her. That was how she used to act; why didn't she anymore? The answer was simple, really. She didn't have a stupid schoolgirl crush on Harry anymore. She'd fallen in love with him.

It was quite a relief, actually, since she'd been able to stop blushing and knocking stuff over when he was around. She'd integrated herself into their little group; it wasn't hard since she was Ron's sister (even though he complained about her constantly) and had formed a friendship with Hermione. Harry had been skeptical about including her, but after he'd seen that she wasn't acting like a bimbo anymore, he'd been fine with it, and they'd even become friends. Good friends, Ginny reflected, by the way he'd been acting. At that moment, a crash from the common room startled her out of her thoughts.

~*~

A/N Got this one out quicker, didn't I? I believe that there are SOME people out there who haven't even read the second chapter yet...(*cough* Veldan! *cough*)...but I won't name names, now will I? That's ok, you're forgiven. Anyway, I hope you guys like it...and I know that the "Ginny falling in love with Harry" scene is kind of trite (*wince*) but I couldn't help it. He couldn't be in love with her if she was still acting like a little bimbo, could he? Right, that's what I thought. *grin* And guess what? I'm sixteen tomorrow!

One last little note: I'm probably going to be reposting this whole thing just as soon as my boyfriend shows me how to get the italics going, and hopefully that will make it easier to understand the ghost and dream sequences.

Thanks to my THREE reviewers for this chapter:

Bucky: Is this soon enough? Glad you liked it!

Julephenia: Are you sure? *grin* Thanks for reviewing!

Mike: Wow, you read my bio, too? I'm gonna faint! Thanks! I feel so flattered...*blush*

And for the final reviewer of my first chapter whom I didn't get to include in the first chapter credits:

jade: If you're still reading this, I'd love it if you would tell me why you thought the story sucked. Is it just a personal peeve with the plot? Too melodramatic? What could I do to make it better? Anyway, thanks, 'cause being called a good writer is the ultimate compliment for me.