Title: Never Been Kissed: A Ghost's Tale
Author: Tiny Q
E-Mail: one_legged_lesbian_seagull@hotmail.com
A/N: Sorry this took rather long. But oh well. Hopefully this one's a bit more humorous than the last chapter, which I think was downright dull. Bah on unhumorness. No signing in this chapter, I promise! Though I can't say the same for others...
Disclaimer: I own nothing! Not even my sanity! (I sold that for $4.99 last year) In other words: you sue, you get nothing. Nothing I tell you! Mwa ha ha ha!
Never Been Kissed: A Ghost's Tale
Chapter 3
A Stalking We Will Go
~*~
Ginny floated away from a room she had never been anywhere remotely near, even after her whole day of exploring. Supposedly only the ghosts knew of it, and now she did too being one of them. She had just spent the entire night talking to what seemed like every ghostly resident of Hogwarts. There were ghosts she had never even seen or heard of before now all gathered in the relatively large room. And they had all seemed anxious to meet her and speak with her. She suspected it was because she was the newest ghost since Moaning Myrtle, who most simply ignored.
And speak with her they did. She heard story after story of how they had all died, varying from war and brutal battle to choking on a peanut. And they all seemed to have a reason to be where they were. Vengeance seemed to be the most frequent reason, but there were also a few who simply did not want to leave just yet, and one who was simply too stupid to realize she was supposed to die. Ginny hoped to forget her as soon as possible, for she was insufferably dense. Yet after all those stories, when it came time for Ginny to tell her own tale of death she found she had none. She still couldn't remember how she died or why she was a ghost at all.
"You will understand in time," one ghost had said. "Everything will become clear in time. And it's not like you don't have that!"
"There is a reason for everything in the afterlife," another had assured her. Though she didn't trust the second's advice as much as the first for the ghost had been convinced that when he was alive his soup could talk to him. Supposedly there was a reason for that as well, but Ginny by that time had begun to tune him out.
No amount of asking why she couldn't remember seemed to help either. From almost every floating being she asked she received the same result. She was beginning to suspect that ghosts were very stubborn. She was also beginning to wonder if in a bit of time if she would become like them. Her mother always complained she had been extremely stubborn; would this attitude soon be amplified?
'I hope not,' she thought drearily, drifting down the halls at random. She didn't really care where she was going, being more interested in reviewing what had happened in her mind.
Realizing that she wouldn't get far with her line of questioning, Ginny turned to asking questions she figured might help her in her new after life. She confirmed quite quickly that ghosts do not require sleep. Well with the exception of Sir Minkoff who was rarely ever awake. They say he loved sleep so much when he was alive that when he died he simply did not wan to give it up. He awoke every now and then just to catch up on the last month or so of news then went right back to sleep. They had wafted him into the room that night, but he did not awake to meet her. Not that she minded. There had been more than enough ghosts to meet as it was.
Ginny had also confirmed that ghosts were incapable of eating, much to her growing dismay. Though she couldn't actually feel hunger, she knew she would begin to miss the taste of food soon, no matter how foul or horrible it tasted. Perhaps even dirt would taste better than nothing after a time. Some of the older ghosts seemed to think so anyway.
After a few more questions she found out that some ghosts liked furniture where they resided while others did not. Some of the ghosts claimed they enjoyed haunting people while others that were present tended to stay away from the residents of the school all together. That was probably she had never some of them before. They claimed she would realize which was best for her as she got more familiar her semitransparent body.
But for some reason Ginny got the feeling that everyone of the ghosts who had been present had been hiding something. That they were making the afterlife seem much more splendid than it actually was. But the more she thought about it the more preposterous it sounded. Being dead wasn't some sort of cult that you just joined. You couldn't be converted to their ranks simply because you could now see through your own body.
'I'll just have to keep an eye on them,' she told herself in her mind. 'If they try anything I go straight to the headmaster.' Even this sounded stupid though. What would they try to do? And if they were trying to do something to her, what could Dumbledore do about it any way?
Turning a corner she saw a large window before her, a crack of sunlight breaking through the over cast sky. It reminded her of the Burrow. Ginny suddenly felt a sharp pang of homesickness. She floated quickly by, hoping to get away from the sight, but it only drew her deeper into her memories as she began to once again drift through the halls. Her mother, after getting over the initial shock of her death, had insisted that Ginny come home and stay with her family. Yet Ginny herself had insisted on staying at Hogwarts, she wanted to finish school. 'And I will,' she reassured herself once more. She didn't know why she felt the need to reassure herself and she found herself doing it more and more often than when she had first decided on the plan. Her mother had claimed she would support whatever Ginny felt the need to do, and she was going to do it.
"Ginny?" she heard someone call her. Looking about she spotted a crop of brown, wavy hair.
"Hey Hermione," she said, looking about. It seemed she had drifted herself right into the library. She suppressed a shudder at the daft look she must have had on her face as she had drifted about the school. "What are you doing here so early?" She really didn't have to ask, but it was more of habit than necessity.
"I'm searching for something," the older girl replied, seated at a table covered with books. Ginny couldn't even see the table top there were so many.
"Oh," she replied, pulling out a chair across from Hermione, and floating down into it. Yet once again, she found herself going right through the chair. She let out a small yelp of surprise.
Hermione quickly stood, looking with concern on the dead girl. "Ginny?" she asked with worry. "Are you alright?"
"Peachy," Ginny muttered, rising once more to hover over the seat. "Just haven't gotten used to this not being all here bit."
Hermione looked at her for a moment longer, seeming to debate something in her head, before retaking her own seat. She reached out for a book and began to flip pages in what seemed to be an idle way. Ginny found herself watching the girl across from her, realizing just how serious she could look when she wanted.
"You should go talk to your brother," Hermione said suddenly, after a few moments of silence. "He's been so odd lately."
"He has?" Ginny asked in surprise. She hadn't really been around her brother too much lately. She actually thought he was trying to avoid her. She had tried to tell herself she was being ridiculous, but the feeling still persisted in the back of her mind. Perhaps her thought has had been well founded after all.
Hermione nodded. "He's actually driving Harry and I crazy," she added, still flipping through her book. "All snappy and the likes."
"Oh," was all Ginny could manage. She knew her brother wasn't happy about her death. She had seen it in the way he had stood at her funeral. Snappiness was just his way of showing his discontent. His way of trying to solve his own issues. But she also knew he plainly sucked at it. "I'll talk to him some time today."
"Thanks," Hermione sighed. "He needs it." Ginny once again stared at the girl before her. She had gone out with her brother for about a year and a half and Ginny had thought the two of them were perfect for each other. But they always fought. It was rather scary the amount of rows the two would have in a week. So honestly Ginny had not been too surprised that they had decided to break it off and just be friends. Yet she had this feeling deep in her heart that they would try again some day when they were more mature and more capable of accepting one another. She just hoped for both their sakes that it was sooner rather than twenty years down the road.
"So what are you looking for anyway?" Ginny asked, trying to keep the silence from lasting too long.
"This," she replied, holding up a book. It was an old and rather musty looking volume that probably hadn't been looked at for fifty years or more.
"What is it?" Ginny asked, looking curiously from the book to the bookworm's satisfied face.
Silently she passed the book to her, seeming careful not to touch the blue mist she was now made of. Ginny ignored this and looked down at the title of the book.
"'The Inner Workings of a Ghost' by Stockwell Tingles?" Ginny asked incredulously. "Hermione, what is this?"
"Well I remembered reading the title a few years ago," she said, turning slightly red as the semitransparent redhead looked at her. "And I thought that you probably don't have much of an idea what's going to happen, or what already has happened. So I figured if I could find it, it might be of some use for you." She glanced down at the other titles. "Then I thought there might be other books but I have yet to find any, but I will keep at it."
Ginny stared at her, feeling a huge sense of warmth pass through her. Someone cared enough for her to search the entire library to help her? For by the pile of books Hermione had going she must have been in here for quite some time already. And it was her holiday.
Before she could voice this wonderful feeling however, someone else's voice interrupted her.
"So this is what the dead do for fun," a cold and drawling voice sliced through the air behind her. They both turned to see Draco Malfoy come out from behind a large bookshelf. "That explains a lot about you, Granger," he sneered.
Ginny and Hermione both glared at him. It seemed the boy was back to his old self, in comparison to the night before. The peaceful face she had witnessed as he had slept was gone, replaced by his usual sneer. She frowned, fighting off a feeling of disappointment. 'He's a Malfoy,' she said to herself sharply. 'M-A-L-F-O-Y. No good.'
"So then what is your impeccable reason to be here, Malfoy?" Hermione said smoothly, holding her head high as she often did lately when confronted. To Ginny it seemed the older girl was becoming much more comfortable with herself.
"It's none of your bloody business, Mudblood," he snarled, his face suddenly contorting. Ginny frowned further. Something was definitely up with the boy. He hadn't called anyone a "mudblood" in over a year. But it seemed that something was different about him now and Ginny was noticing it. Perhaps it was because she was dead and she had more time to observe things than she had when she was alive. But she didn't really like this idea because why would she want to notice a Malfoy? 'Malfoy's are bad,' she told her mind. 'Bad, bad, bad.'
"He's probably here to find some spell that will help him run faster," Ginny said offhandedly to the girl across from her. She looked at the blond to see something pass before his eyes. 'BAD!' her mind screamed at him, regardless of the almost hurt look that had passed. 'But then' she reasoned to herself, 'why would a Malfoy look hurt?'
"Ginny," Hermione said sharply, frowning in her know-it-all manner. Obviously the girl had heard about Malfoy's week long stay in the hospital wing. But then Ginny realized that she definitely would have for she had been in there for a time herself. "That was uncalled for." Ginny stared at the girl before her. Usually she ignored her superior tone, having dealt with it most of her school life. But for some reason it irked her today. A sense of irritation washed over Ginny yet she shoved it down. Hermione was her friend. And she needed her friends. Didn't she?
"I did not run away," he growled after a moment. Ginny looked at him.
"That's not what it looked like to me," she sneered. Perhaps if she insulted him enough the feeling that she needed to notice him would go away. "You only stopped to throw a rock at me," she paused. "Well two rocks as I remember it."
"What is with you and the bloody rocks?" he suddenly yelled at her. Ginny's eyes widened. "Every time I am around you all you can do is talk about rocks! It's maddening!" With that the Slytherin turned and walked swiftly away and out of sight.
"I don't always talk about rocks," she sputtered defensively to Hermione. But then she realized that she did. 'Rocks,' she thought. 'Why rocks? What's so special about a rock?' She accepted the fact that she had caught it, but why the apparent obsession?
Hermione remained silent and simply stared at her for a moment. Ginny felt as though the girl was looking right through her. 'Which,' she realized, 'she can'. A sense of remorse and depression overcame her then and she let her head drop to the table. Once again she passed through. "Don't look at me like that, Hermione," she muttered, her voice muffled by the wood encasing her head. "I don't think I can bare it."
"Ginny," the other girl said suddenly. "I know that you are going through something." She paused. "Well I suppose something is an understatement." She paused once more. "And I sincerely hope you get through this. You are too good a person to crumble. It's not fair that this has happen to you, but maybe there's a reason. I just hope you figure it out before it's too late."
"You sound like that ghost," she replied glumly, not bothering to lift her head from the table. "And he said that his soup talked to him." She suddenly got an odd mental image of Hermione holding a conversation with her food. "You don't have conversations with soup, do you Hermione?"
"What?" the older girl asked in confusion. "Of course not. There would be no point. It doesn't talk back."
"But what if it did?"
"Then I suppose I might respond."
Ginny lifted her head, a grin slowly spreading across her lips.
"Now that's the Ginny I like to see," Hermione said with a smile, and Ginny felt the same expression spreading across her face as well. "Come," she said suddenly, rising to her feet. "Let's go take this book out for you before Madam Pince wanders off somewhere."
~*~
Draco Malfoy left the library as quickly as he could, heading down the hall to the left. He wasn't sure where he was going. He didn't care. He just felt like walking. Perhaps if he walked far enough and long enough everything would fall away from him.
'What does that Weasley know,' he thought darkly. 'She'd dead.' He paused. A pleasantly malicious thought passed through his mind: 'Obviously she didn't run fast enough.' With this sadistic yet slightly comforting thought in mind, he continued to walk aimlessly about, a grin pulling on his lips.
His feet echoed hollowly down the hall and he couldn't help but notice how quiet and alone they sounded. He was so used to having Crabbe and Goyle thundering behind him, that it just didn't sound right to him. He glanced behind despite himself. 'They're not there,' he scolded. 'They never will be again.'
With this final thought Draco no longer wanted to walk down the halls where even his foot steps reminded him of his two lost friends. So traveling as quickly as he could without seeming suspicious or down right daft, he made for the Entrance Hall. There were a few people scattered about the large hall and he could have sworn he heard whispering. And he had a sinking suspicion that the words were about him.
'Great,' he thought bitterly. 'Now I'm becoming paranoid.' He paused. 'Never mind, I think I was already.' Despite his suspicions he sent the nastiest sneer he could muster in the directions of the whisperers. The voices stopped. So he had been right.
Not sure if he should feel proud for figuring out the master plot or worried that people were talking about him, Draco pushed the doors that led outside open. It was a rather nice day out. There was no wind and no sun. Overcast and dreary were the words some would have used to describe the weather. Others would have claimed that it was utterly depressing. Draco thought it was splendid. He enjoyed when weather matched his mood. It made him feel powerful.
The school grounds still bore the wounds of the battle from but weeks before. The professors had been struggling to get them back to their original state but it was hard. There had been so much damage from various causes that that the grounds still resembled a battle zone rather than a school zone. 'But it had been a battle zone,' Draco reminded himself as he looked over the half burnt trees and large trenches caused by excessive amounts of magic.
Ignoring the brutalized surroundings, Draco headed towards the Lake. Crabbe and Goyle had hated the lake, and he had a feeling he would miss their presence less there. As he approached the calm waters he felt his mind begin to reflect them. All his worries seemed to slip away like water through cupped hands too far apart.
It was all so odd to him. Nothing really seemed to be making sense. He just kept thinking that he would wake up at any moment in his bed and keep on living his real life. But as the days were passing by and he got further and further along with his life he realized that the chances of this happening were slim to none.
'So now what do I do?' he asked himself, spotting a rock that had sitting potential but kept on walking. He didn't feel like sitting. It was like resigning to his problems. If he could walk away from them at a walking pace, he would. Why give them the opportunity to catch up with him? 'I can't very well snap my fingers and make everything go away.'
He pondered this for a moment. No, that defiantly could not happen. Even Voldemort did not posses that type of power. It seemed he was stuck in the preset time with the ditz patrol of Slytherin trying to be his "friend", an antisocial roommatewho he couldn't stand and the ghost of his enemy's sister trying to haunting him. 'It would almost be funny if it wasn't me,' he thought darkly and looked around.
There were more people outside than he had expected. A few people even passed him and he caught snippets of conversations like: "You can't do that, it would tickle" or "Cheese is mold you know. Every time you eat cheese you're eating tiny little..." While most of the conversations had seemed mundane, if not a little odd, he didn't think he would forget the last one any time soon: "You can't kill him yet! His liver needs to fresh before he comes!" Draco had a suspicion he would never look at Hufflepuffs in the same light again. He glanced backwards, reassuring himself that the three fourth years were as far away from his as possible.
Yet this action drew his attention to something else. Or rather, someone else.
'Parkinson,' he thought with a slight amount of surprise and a touch larger amount of annoyance. The blond girl seemed to be on her own and he idly wondered where the rest of her annoyingly loud gang had gotten to. Perhaps Hogwart's apparent cannibals had gotten to them. Ignoring this thought, he began to notice that perhaps the girl was trying to follow him. She seemed to be trying to keep a distance from him, but was holding the same, quick pace he was. And he knew the girl did not much care for exercise if she could avoid it. Speed walking include.
'You're being paranoid' he thought darkly. Yet as the girl realized he was looking at her she automatically stopped, seeming to pick something up off the ground. 'Or not.
He turned back around, walking with his face forward. 'Perhaps if I ignore her she'll go away.' Yet as he increased his pace he began to think that perhaps what he himself did wouldn't matter as something struck his head. Slightly startled, Draco looked up towards the sky. Another something landed in his eye.
"Rain?" he asked himself under his breath.
Sure enough, within a few minutes, the ground around him was being pelted with water. He stood there for a moment, not quite sure if he believed what was happening. It was rather early for rain, especially rain as hard as this. As he stood there, he began to get wet at an increasingly fast rate. The wind began to blow against him, tossing his longish blond hair about, despite it's dampness. The water beside him in the lake began to crash against the shore and he was beginning to get the feeling that perhaps he should go in.
Turning around to retrace his steps, he saw that Pansy was already making a mad dash for the school. 'Wouldn't want to mess up our lovely hair, now would we?' he thought with a smirk and began to take his time to walk back. He hadn't realized just how far he had traveled, but he didn't really care, the rain against his skin felt more real than anything had in a while.
As it fell ever harder against him he began to smile slightly, the rain gracing his lips, under the hair that was now limply hanging in his face despite the wind. He was by now soaked to the bone and it didn't matter. It felt good and if he got sick and died he didn't think he would really care. He didn't think anyone else would either. Yet this did not make his as upset as it should have, it just made his smile spread further.
The school got ever closer and soon he found himself lazily opening the main doors and walking through. His clothes and body were soaking wet, causing water to drip off him and splatter on the floor. He stood still for a moment after the doors had closed enjoying the feeling his fingers and wet toes made as they warmed up. Grinning slightly he finally forced himself to move towards the dungeons.
'I wonder how long this will last,' he thought idly, referring to this amazingly calm feeling that had come over him. He felt that what ever happened in his life next he would simply face it and not really care. If he didn't care if he died, what could life really throw at him?
"You know," a voice said lazily from behind him. "Flich isn't going to like the mess you're making."
Draco stopped in his tracks and turned about to see the dead Weasley girl floating about two feet off the ground before him. 'Not too long,' he thought and then sneered up at her.
"What would you like me to do?" he demanded. "It's raining outside. When it rains you get wet."
"Oh I know that," the girl replied, grinning slightly at him. "But he won't. Trust me, I know all too well."
"Whatever," he sneered at her. What did he care if she had gotten into trouble with Filch before? He wasn't about to stand about and experience it. He turned on his heel and walked away.
"Where are you going?" the girl demanded. A brush of cold air old him that she was moving along with him. The chill that passed through him seemed to be amplified by his drenched state. He didn't show it though.
"What he can't see can't hurt him," Draco replied, not pausing in his movements. "If he doesn't see me, I can't get in trouble." It seemed logical to him.
"Typical Slytherin," Weasley sneered. He glared around at her. She put her hands up in a swirl of blue mist. "Hey, don't look at me," she said defensively. "It's a fantastic plan, really. Only there's one flaw." He stared at her, waiting for elaboration. "You're leaving a trail. He's not stupid you know. He can follow a great bloody trail of water."
Draco glanced behind himself to see that she was right: there was quite a bit of water behind him. Quite a bit of water that led right back to him. Without a word, he pulled out his wand and made the water on the floor go away.
"Happy?" he sneered, and kept walking.
"Why don't you make yourself dry as well?" she asked, still following him. "You'll get phenomena or something like that."
"I don't want to," he said, not turning around. "I don't really care." Perhaps if he didn't look at her she would go away. It used to work with Crabbe and Goyle sometimes. Not very often though.
"What ever," she said, probably shrugging. "But I can't wait until you die and I can say I told you so."
He stopped once more, before the stairs that lead down to the Slytherin Common Room. "Is there any particular reason that you are following me, Weasley?" he demanded. "Other than stupidity that is."
"No," she said, grinning. Draco felt his annoyance rise. "But remember I did promise to haunt you until the day you die. So I guess I am just making up for the lost time in the past week."
"Lucky me," he said bitterly. Then turning once more he began to descend down the stairs.
"Don't turn your back on me," she suddenly growled.
"I already have," he snapped, continuing to walk down the stairs.
Another gust of wind told him she was moving once again. Sure enough she was floating before him a moment later.
"I'm trying to haunt you and you will be haunted," she stared at him, looking suddenly stubborn. It was a look he had seen her wear many times around her brothers when she had still been alive. Though as to how he had managed to see it so often he had no idea. No matter it still annoyed him.
"And besides," she added. "It's not very nice to turn your back on people. In fact, it's down right rude.
Draco glared up at her, coming to a stop, his annoyance seeming to get the better of him. "I'd hate to inform you of this, Weasel," he sneered, suddenly feeling the urge to be angry. "But you are no longer a person." He paused. "You're no longer alive. You're dead. Thus ending any responsibility on my part to be polite to you."
He paused, slightly startled at how harsh his words had sounded. The girl before him seemed in a similar state for it took a moment for her to react.
"You are the most," she began, "terrible, horrible creature I have ever met!" she shrieked, her voice shrill and loud. Draco took a step back as the ghost rose into the air, seeming to increase in size. He never realized just how tall she was. "You should have been the one to open that bloody chamber, Malfoy! You and Tom would have made a great pair!" With at she flung the book that had apparently been in her hands, at him.
He ducked just in time before the object could strike him. Instead it hit the step behind him and began to plunk its way down the stairs. He stared at it knowing that if Ms. Pince had been there he would have been deader than Weasley. The ghost didn't seem to care though for she flew by him, seeming to take great care in passing right through him. The chill he felt seemed far worse than any cold he had ever felt in all his memory. He couldn't help but give off a terrible shudder. Then something occurred to him.
"Who's Tom?" he called after her quickly retreating form. She didn't respond verbally, only giving his a ghostly middle finger. He stared after her, wondering if a dead girl's gesture of that kind actually counted. Coming back to the fact that he was standing on a set of stairs, shivering as though death were upon him, Draco turned and began to go down the steps once more. When he got to the bottom he saw that the book was lying face up, about midway through the large collection of pages.
He bent down and to pick it up, scanning the words as he went.
Poltergeists are temperamental entities. They seem to act on pure emotion, most of which is tainted with mischievous impulses. This is one of the most curious conditions of this species of ghost. While all ghosts dwell on one subject, often to an obsessive extent, poltergeist's dwellings seem to be far more meddlesome and malicious than those of ordinary ghosts. It seems that these tendencies develop within the first few weeks of their initial after life. The mind to the ghost seems to
The page ended, and Draco, frowning, turned the page and continued to read.
Bend and warp around a very select few ideas. It has been known as well that instead of an idea, the ghost's mind will warp around a particular emotion, though this is not as common as a simple idea. There have even been a few cases were the mind has warped in such a queer way that both emotions and ideas remain in the mind. This is the most hazardous situation for if the ghost is set off it will often become violent.
Yet, we must keep in mind that the ghost it self has very little to do with the original individual before death. The mind often warps so badly that there is very little of the person left within the twisted spirit. Yet it is hard to realize this when the person looks like the one you know yet acts in a completely rash manner. A good example of this was back in
Draco stopped reading, not sure if he was willing to believe what he was reading or not. Would Weasley's mind warp as well? And if so, would her soon to be warped mind include him in there? Some twisted obligation to truly haunt him until the day he died?
Closing the book, he continued on his way to his Common Room. There was a feeling at the bottom of his stomach that that was exactly what was going to happen.
~*~
A/N: And once again I have managed to weasel Riddle into my story. ~sigh~ I was going to continue with this, but I decided to leave that to the next chapter. Most of the beginning is written up, but I don't know when it will actually come. Reading the 5th book and doing all those pesky exams will take up quite a bit of time. ~sob~ Oh well, just keep an eye out, it will show up eventually. Hopefully brining with it a bit more D/G...
Many thanks to: Darcel, Gusha, Lallie(I didn't tell you because you are not worthy. JK), Katie Bell, jlo's-lil-baby, keita, karen, tulzdavampslayer(And I know how difficult that can be for you. JK), Spider Fairyz and Laiannon-fae-elf.